#and being torn apart from the world not even under your own choice but your mothers…

[kenmakaashi]

also I’m so glad that moonlight chicken talked about touch being important to deaf people especially. As the episodes were rolling past, I was thinking about how little touch heart’s probably received in the two (I think) years since he’s been officially deaf with the way he stays home all day and the way his parents communicate with him via notes. he’s had little human interaction for a few years, is probably afraid and overwhelmed with how much his life has changed and his parents aren’t being there to comfort him, instead they’re actively shutting him inside and cutting him of all connection. i can’t even imagine what he’s feeling rn. having someone who wants to be around him and understand him without knowing the him before. with li ming understanding him, he doesn’t have to worry about any thoughts like “did he like me the way I was before?” sure, other thoughts might come like, “am I too much of a bother because I’m deaf?” but how relieving that there’s no seeking to return to the previous self with li ming

[spider-stark]

INFINITELY YOU

part one // back at the beginning

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. all versions of peter are between the ages of 19-23 in this story. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 5.4k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // playlist // no way home fan fiction //

The world seemed to slip out from under you, fracturing beneath your feet and leaving you to sink into a deep, dark hole.  

It was quiet—so unbearably quiet—and the tension between you and your estranged friends had become so thick that you feared it would soon take form and seep into your lungs. Maybe that would be for the best, you thought, wondering if suffocating on your collective grief would somehow be easier than whatever came next.  

“Aunt May…” You sputtered, unable to force the words out. Shaking your head, you asked, “Are you sure?”  

God, what a stupid question. You almost wanted to slap yourself for asking something so mindless.

Ned’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to swallow his own sorrow. “I wish we weren’t,” he said with a small, wistful chuckle, still too shocked to fully acknowledge the gravity of it all. “But… yeah, we’re sure. She’s… She’s gone.”  

Your heart sank, unable to think of the right string of words to form a reply.  

With your mind reeling, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that this was some sort of cruel joke–the kind where the punchline would never quite hit. But all it took was one look at the red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks of Ned and Mj to know that they were telling the truth.  

She was dead—Aunt May was dead.  

And, somehow, it seemed as though that wasn’t even the worst part of the mess your friends had gotten themselves in.  

“I know that it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Ned started back up, perhaps noticing the way the color seemed to drain from your face. “If you need me to go back over it or explain anything then I can-”  

You stopped listening to him, staring blankly at the doormat beneath their feet. They hadn’t even bothered to come inside your apartment, too panicked to waste any time before delving into the details about Doctor Strange and the multiverse and other Spider-Man’s.  

But honestly, you didn’t care about any of that.  

You didn’t care about string theory or whatever multiversal villains had apparently slipped into your world—because you couldn’t stop thinking about what Ned had said about how May died. It hurt to think about it, the shrapnel and debris that had torn her flesh, the glider that had punctured her side and left her bleeding out in Peter’s arms…  

Aunt May had died a horrific and brutal death, and you weren’t sure that there would ever be any way for you to come to terms with that.  

“Peter,” you finally spoke, fire raging in your eyes as you looked at Ned. “Where is Peter?”  

He spared Mj a sidelong glance, as if silently asking for her permission to answer. Frustration began to prick your skin, crawling up your spine as your stare turned harsh, offended that he didn’t just tell you outright. You knew that things between the four of you hadn’t ended well, but this… 

Mj crossed her arms, looking almost as frustrated as you were with Ned’s choice to look to her for permission, and decided to answer in his place.  

“Downstairs,” she told you, her tone purposefully clipped as a way to show that the wounds sustained in the downfall of your friendship had not yet healed–and you didn’t care, because you knew that yours hadn’t either.  

“Is he…” you trailed off, not sure how to say it. If May’s death had been so brutal, then God knows what kind of injuries Peter might’ve sustained in the fight?  

But you didn’t have to speak, because whether the two of you liked it or not, you had been friends—and she always knew what you were thinking. “He’s safe,” she told you, quelling your nerves just a little. A reluctant sigh slipped her lips, shaking her head as she added, “But he’s not okay.”  

You knew what she meant—physically Peter had survived the fight with this Goblin man that they had told you about, but mentally…  

You understood why she was hesitant to tell you about it, too. Of the three of you, there was only one that had ever been able to delve down into the depths of Peter’s trauma and help him claw his way back out of the gnawing pit that threatened to consume him—and it wasn’t either of them.  

And, just as Mj knew you, you knew her. 

She didn’t want you around Peter, not anymore—and so if she was willingly telling you that he wasn’t okay, then it meant that she knew how much he truly needed you right now.  

“You guys should’ve told me sooner,” you grit your teeth, desperately trying to bite back against the resentment rising in your throat. “You should’ve told me as soon as all of this started, instead of waiting until everything went to shit.”  

It wasn’t your intention to sound bitter, but that didn’t stop you from coming across that way. Ned recoiled from your tone like a blow, but you didn’t have it in you to feel guilty right now.  

They had been dealing with all of this multiversal crisis bullshit for nearly a week now—and yet none of them had thought to say a single word to you until now. And while you knew that your presence likely wouldn’t have changed the course of events that had unfolded, it still hurt.  

And it still made you angry.  

“What do you need me to do?” You asked after realizing that neither of them intended to respond to your sharp statement.  

“Well,” Ned started, nervously rubbing his sweaty palms against his khakis, “it’s gonna take us some time to figure out where the villains are hiding, and even longer to work out what to do with them. And, since these other Peter’s have dealt with these guys before, we could really use their help…”  

He trailed off, once again looking to Mj, this time to silently urge her to finish his sentence.  

She rolled her eyes. “We need you to let them stay here.”  

Your brows furrowed, glancing between the two of them as if once again waiting for some sort of punchline to hit. It didn’t.  

“It might take us a bit–a few weeks, maybe—to find all of them and stop them. And now that Happy’s complex was literally blown to pieces, we don’t have anywhere for the two of them to stay while they help out.” Mj tried to explain. She looked defeated when she said, “We didn’t know who else we could go to that would actually understand.”  

Understand.  

If you weren’t still reeling from everything they had just told you, then you probably would have laughed at the word. You would hardly say that you understood what was going on—but you knew what she was getting.  

Mj’s dad would hardly allow two random men to stay in his house with them, and Ned’s Lola probably wasn’t too keen on the idea either. With Happy’s place destroyed, they had nowhere left to turn.  

You weren’t sure how to feel now that you knew they had only come to you because you were their last choice.  

At the risk of aggravating Mj, you said, “I wanna talk to Peter.”  

“I don’t know if now’s a good time,” Mj swiftly shot back. “I told you that’s he’s not okay—”  

“But he’s here,” you stated, nodding your head towards the stairs somewhere behind them that led back down to the lobby. “And you’re insane if you think I’m gonna agree to let two random ass men stay in my house without at least knowing what his plan is.”  

Mj bristled at the harshness of your tone; and so did you.  

You weren’t used to this.  

Mj had been your friend for far longer than she had been whatever she was to you now, and neither of you were used to this—to your once special connection being reduced to nothing more than strained conversations and fractured feelings towards one another.  

“Fine,” Mj surrendered, her hands lifting slightly. “Do whatever you want.”  

It wasn’t until then that you realized that you had been waiting for her permission, even though you didn’t believe you truly needed it. Peter was your friend—and he had been your friend long before he even knew Mj. If you wanted to talk to him, then you had every right to.  

Yet you still hadn’t been able to will yourself to push between the two of them until she had spoken, side-stepping to let you pass. When you started descending the stairs to the lobby, you were shocked that neither she nor Ned followed, offering you a sense of privacy with Peter that you hadn’t expected—as if she still held some shred of trust in you.  

You didn’t want to think about it though, unsure of how you felt about that, too.  

Halfway down the dank stairway of your complex, you felt a shiver dance along your spine. It prickled your skin and set your nerves on edge, but it didn’t catch you off guard. You always felt this way when Peter was around—as if your body could always sense when he was around, even when you hadn’t yet seen him.  

The last step creaked when you placed your weight onto it, and from across the poorly maintained lobby, Peter’s neck snapped in your direction at the sound.  

It felt like ice skittered across your bones at the sight of him, your heart lurching against your ribcage.  

You had gotten used to seeing Peter battered and bruised years ago. Even before he became Spider-Man, he often found himself the victim of bullies and assholes, rarely going more than a few weeks without a busted lip or a new bruise. But this…  

This was different, somehow.  

It wasn’t just the blood-stained suit that set your heart racing, nor was it the lacerated skin or his sweat-matted hair. No, those things were normal—in the same way that being bitten by a radioactive spider was normal.  

It was even normal to see him standing before you, his chin high and shoulders back, presenting a perfect image of strength even after experiencing something as traumatic as losing May.  

Peter’s relationship with trauma had been intimate enough these past few years that you weren’t shocked to see him like this, standing tall rather than balling up and crying on the floor. You figured that was what most others would do if they were in his situation.  

But Peter wasn’t like other people.  

Peter was a hero—and if you had learned anything about heroes in your lifetime, it was that they were incredible liars.  

His eyes couldn't lie, though.

Bloodshot and ringed with exhaustion, his eyes were what had made you feel so sick, your stomach twisting itself into knots.  

They lacked the life and hope of the boy you had loved so dearly, replaced with something like rage—a pure, unbridled and unrelenting type of rage. Looking at him now you couldn’t ignore the burning talon that seemed to rake against your mind, filling your brain with thoughts you didn’t want to think right now—telling you that looking at Peter now, with the light draining from his eyes, was the same as looking in a mirror.  

“Peter,” a metallic tang danced on your tongue as you dug your teeth into your cheek, biting back against the tears threatening to well-up in your eyes.  

Letting your instincts guide you, you rushed across the lobby to where he stood by the front door, reaching for his hand without a second thought.  

His suit had been torn along his palm, and as you felt the warmth radiating from his calloused skin, you tried to take some comfort in the fact that at least he had survived—even if you still weren’t ready to accept that May hadn’t.  

“Don’t,” He yanked his hand back from you, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”  

You froze for half a heartbeat, your hand hanging awkwardly in-between the two of you. “I wasn’t going to.”  

You weren’t sure if you were telling the truth, but it didn’t seem to matter either way.  

Either way, you tried to understand his reaction, even as you winced from the sting of rejection. What good would an apology really do for a boy who had already lost everything?  

It wouldn’t bring the light back to his eyes.  

It wouldn’t bring May back to life.  

“Ned told me everything,” you told him, unwilling or unable to say Mj’s name right now. You clenched and unclenched your fists, painfully aware of the absence of his warmth. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help, so just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it.”  

Peter scoffed, his jaw tensing. “We both know that what I want doesn’t matter,” he said bluntly. Motioning to your surroundings, he continued, “If what I wanted mattered, then we wouldn’t even be here. We wouldn’t be asking for your help—wouldn’t be dragging another person into this and asking them to risk their life!”  

You did your best not to react, knowing that he hadn’t meant it quite as bad as it sounded. It already hurt knowing that you had been Mj and Ned’s last choice for help, but knowing that Peter didn’t want you to be a choice at all hurt far worse—even if it was to keep you safe.  

“Well, you’re here now,” you told him, keeping your voice steady. “So you might as well tell me what your plan is—or at least tell me how long I’ll need to play bunkmates with strangers.”  

You were lying when you had told Mj and Ned that you needed to talk to Peter before agreeing to let the alternate Spider-Men stay in your apartment—you didn’t care about housing with strangers, aware that there was nothing they could do to you that you haven't endured before.  

Selfishly, you had just wanted a reason to come down and talk to him. To see him. To know that he was alive. You didn’t care about anything else.  

Sometimes you worried that you didn’t even care about your own life, only Peter’s.  

But Peter cared about your life—far more than you would ever want him to.  

“My plan doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone clipped, “cause I don’t want you getting involved. And I definitely don’t want you to let those guys stay here, alright? We don’t know them.”  

You steeled yourself, resisting the urge to argue with him and instead asking a simple question. “Do you have anywhere else for them to go?”  

He didn’t respond, huffing out a breath, already frustrated with the defiance he knew you were about to display.  

“You might not want my help, but if Ned’s right–” you told him, gesturing backwards towards the staircase, “–which he usually is—then you’re gonna need these guys.”  

“But that doesn’t mean we need you,” Peter protested gruffly.  

Your chest tightened, but you kept shoving back against the hurt. Later, you would deal with that later.  

“It doesn’t matter if you need me,” you retorted with a defiant tilt of your chin, unwavering as his rageful gaze seemed to pierce through your skull, “because you’re stuck with me either way.”  

You hadn’t expected the statement to affect him, but it did, his voice softening slightly. “I always have been.”  

“Exactly. So you might as well make this easy on the both of us and not fight me on it,” you declared, trying to conjure up the most convincing smile you could offer. “Let me help, Peter.”  

A sigh slipped his lips, heavy with reluctant resignation as he realized he wasn’t winning this battle. “We’ve already lost so many people… I’ve lost so many people. And there’s already enough blood on my hands,” he said, lifting his hands to display the torn, blood-stained fabric, driving his point home. “It doesn’t matter what I say—so let them stay here or don’t, I don’t care. But just know that whatever happens to you, it’s not on me. Because I told you to stay out of it, alright?”  

He took a step closer, and you didn’t dare move a single muscle as his lips hovered just inches from your own. “Do whatever you want,” his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a venomous edge that nearly made you tremble, “but don’t expect me to come running to save you when it all goes to shit.”  

His words hung in the air like a curse, lingering in the lobby for far longer than he did. As soon as the promise had left his lips, he was already turning on his heel and shoving the door open, abandoning you in the dim space.  

You knew better than to think he meant it.  

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.  

You stuck your hands beneath the running faucet, scrubbing the blood from a jagged cut on your palm. It wasn’t all that deep, shallow enough that it probably wouldn't even leave a scar once healed. When you were done rinsing it, you cupped your hands and gathered the water in them, splashing your reddened cheeks.  

Crying would have been a normal part of grieving for May, and when you forced yourself to look back at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but wish that you could’ve been a little more normal.  

But tears hadn’t been the cause of your flushed appearance—no, because you had never been very good at expressing the more delicate emotions, like sadness.  

You were good at expressing anger, though.  

You were very good at expressing anger.  

After Peter had stormed out of the lobby and abandoned you to choke on his cruel promise, it had taken you several minutes to work up the nerve to go back upstairs and face Mj and Ned. By some stroke of luck you had managed to keep a tight leash on your often volatile attitude, telling them your decision to let the other Peter’s stay with you.  

And then you lost control as soon as they left, loosening the reins on your anger and taking the uncomfortable feelings out on a nearby potted plant, shouting curses as you tossed it at the wall.  

By the time you thought to clean it up, after finishing another string of irate profanities, your hands had been shaking so bad that you cut yourself on one of the dirt-covered shards. And maybe, once you felt the jagged ceramic dig into your palm, you should’ve hissed or cursed more or stopped cleaning to patch yourself up.  

But you didn’t. You stayed quiet, continuing to pluck the shattered fragments off the floor until you had gotten them all, dumping them into the trash before grabbing the broom and dustpan and cleaning the dirt and scattered leaves, too.  

There were more important things to deal with than cleaning a dirty wound.  

Like making sure none of your friends could see that you weren’t nearly as composed as you tried to seem.  

The familiar rhythmic rapping of Mj’s knuckles against the front door made you forgo the bandage you were going to fix to your palm, tossing the rag you’d used to dry your face into the sink and heading straight to the living room.  

Carefully shoving your injured hand into your pocket, you opened the door and tried not to look surprised when Peter wasn’t standing in-between Mj and Ned. Of course he hadn’t come with them—why would he? He had already made it clear how he felt about all of this.  

It did become significantly harder to mask your shock however when a tall, messy haired boy stepped into view from behind them, clad in a crimson and cobalt webbed suit.  

“Get inside,” you hissed a bit harsher than intended, stepping aside and waving the three of them into your apartment.  

The last thing you needed was your neighbors seeing an unmasked, alternate version of Spider-Man standing in front of your door. It had already been risky enough that Peter had come here in his suit, standing in the lobby and sticking out like a sore thumb.  

Once they were inside, you shut the door and turned to Ned. “I thought you said there were two of them,” you noted, avoiding looking at the lanky Spider-Man who seemed just as desperate to avoid you, busying himself with walking around the room and studying the art on the walls.  

Ned shrugged. “He didn’t wanna come.”  

“Not that he didn’t want to come,” Mj pointedly corrected him, frowning at his bluntness. “He just wanted to keep patrolling. The Goblin, the one who…” she cut herself off, unable to force the words off her tongue. Scrapping the sentence altogether, she started again, “The Goblin’s from his world, so he seemed to think that he had the best chance of hunting him down. But we gave him the address.”  

You didn’t bother giving her an actual response, a subtle nod the only sign you had heard her at all. She didn’t seem to care much, just as unsure of what to say to you as you were to her.  

“So,” Ned clicked his tongue, trying to cut through the growing tension. “This is Peter 3!” He announced, gesturing to the other Peter, who was picking up a frame that had been face down on an end table. “That’s what we’re calling him, at least. Y’know, to tell them apart. The other one is Peter 2.”  

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Creative.”  

Done dawdling over Ned and Mj, you forced yourself to look at the un-masked hero from another world. He was placing the frame back onto the table—not face down, as he had found it, but up-right. You frowned at the photograph it displayed, a picture of you, Ned, Mj, and Peter from sometime last year.  

“You’re awfully nosy,” you told him, your voice like ice.  

His muscles tensed, hesitating as he faced your gaze. “Sorry,”  

His voice was slightly deeper than Peter’s, his hair a shade or two darker, his features a bit less soft, but still noticeably young, putting him in his early twenties at most. Truthfully, if it weren’t for the suit he was wearing, you would’ve never guessed that he was supposed to be the Peter Parker of another world.  

You had expected him to be more… Peter-like, in appearance, and yet as far as you could tell the resemblances were very slight, if they even existed at all.  

The mannerisms were there, though. The subtleties of Peter Parker, the things that most people never noticed and yet were ingrained in your mind. He licked his lips, a nervous tic that left you always carrying chapstick in your pocket. His hands hung at his sides and you saw the way his thumb tapped against each of his fingers, starting with his index and ending with his pinky, only to start over again.  

Watching him, taking note of every familiar twitch and tic and habit, made something in your chest tighten.  

And, when you told him your name, it was as if your icy tone had melted altogether. “It’s nice to meet you.”  

For a moment you thought he wouldn’t respond, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly, eyes darting around the room. But then, suddenly, he gave you a weak smile. “You too.” A trace of amusement laced his response, too subtle for you to detect.  

“We’ve gotta go,” Ned suddenly spoke, jutting a thumb towards the door. “Peter’s waiting outside so he can make sure we get home safe, but-” he stopped, brows furrowing as considered whether he should finish. “But text us later, okay? Just to let us know that you’re okay.”  

Your heart stuttered at the mention of Peter’s name, at knowing that he actually had come—even if it hadn’t been for you—but you didn’t mention it.  

Instead, you focused on Ned, giving your sweet friend the kindest smile you could muster—which, admittedly, didn’t feel like much. Despite everything that had happened with your friends in the past few months, your fight had never been with Ned. He was just caught in the middle, unfairly forced to pick sides.  

And you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him for picking Peter. Not when you knew that you would’ve done the same.  

“I will,” you promised.  

Ned gave you an equally somber smile before opening the door to leave. Even once Ned was in the hall, already descending the staircase, Mj lingered in the entryway—not for long, a heartbeat, maybe—turning back towards you just long enough to mutter, “Keep your guard up.”  

You didn’t have a chance to say anything back to her before she let the door slam shut, following quickly after Ned and leaving you alone with… this guy.  

The other Peter had abandoned his spot by the end table, seemingly done with investigating your apartment and left to do nothing but stand awkwardly a few feet away from you, clearly unsure of what to do or say now that it was just the two of you.  

“So,” you breathed out, popping your lips. “Peter 3, yeah? Good name. You go by that back home, too?”  

He laughed, a suit-clad hand nervously rising to the back of his neck. “Uh–yeah, no, definitely not. Just plain ole’ Peter Parker over there.”  

The nervous energy radiating from the boy almost seemed contagious as you started to pick at your nails. “Do you have a nickname?”  

He blinked, looking as if he hadn’t heard a word you said. “Sorry, what?”  

“A nickname,” you repeated, only for your brows to then furrow. “You have those where you’re from, don’t you? Nicknames? Like, you know, something you go by other than your actual name?”  

“Oh! Yes—sorry, yes we have nicknames in my world,” he exclaimed, his pale skin starting to flush.  

“I just thought that this whole numerical system thing that Ned’s going with to keep track of who’s who seems a little dehumanizing, yeah?”  

“For sure,” he agreed, sucking on his lip as he nodded along with you.  

You gave him a second, waiting and waiting for an answer to your apparently long-forgotten question, before asking, “So… Do you have one?”  

The slight blush that had tinged his skin instantly darkened, suddenly the same shade of crimson as his suit. His grip on the back of his neck tightened, too, his fingertips prodding into his own skin.  

“Sorry-” he apologized for the millionth time, more nervous laughter spilling out alongside it, “I do! I mean, sort of, I think. I don’t know if it’s really a nickname, but back in my world you really just called me by my last name most of the time anyway, so–I don’t know—maybe that would work?”  

The sheer quantity of word vomit spewing from his mouth was impressive and likely hard-to-follow for most, but you consider yourself a bit of an expert in the anxious ramblings of Peter Parker.  

“In your world?” You echoed, instantly catching the subtle mention. “We know each other?”  

Maybe it shouldn’t have been shocking to learn that there were other versions of you throughout the multiverse as well, and yet it was. You figured that it was plausible, of course, considering that two variations of Peter had just been thrown into your world, but for some reason it just didn’t feel right.  

You reasoned that anyone would feel that way, though.  

“Yeah,” the boy, Parker, answered, a bit clipped. “We do.”  

“Interesting.” Your brows lifted, “Are we friends?”  

Parker scrunched his nose, his head tilting slightly.  

“Yeah,” his voice was an octave higher than before, and if you knew him better, then you likely would’ve called him on the obvious tell. But you didn’t know him, and so you didn’t say anything when he decided to double-down on the lie, “Yeah, we’re friends.”  

“Well I guess that means that this is just as weird for you as it is for me, then.” You laughed, trying to add some humor to the situation.  

Parker gave a tightlipped smile. “Definitely weird.”  

The seconds felt like they stretched into minutes after that, silently racking your brain for something to say, hoping that he might say something—but, eventually, you settled on offering an escape from the situation instead.  

“You’re probably exhausted from the whole multiversal travel thing, so if you want, I can just show you the guest room and give you some privacy or something,” you told him, vaguely gesturing towards the hallway.  

Parker seemed to relax a bit at the prospect of being alone, loosing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Uhm–yeah, that’d be great, actually.”  

He followed you down the short hall, his hand finally falling from his neck and his skin returning to its normal complexion as his nerves began to wane.  

“This is it,” you told him, the hinges crying out as you shoved the door open. “It’s not much, but it’s somewhere to sleep, at least.”  

Wasn’t much felt like an understatement, though the room was typical for a New York apartment.  

A tad bigger than your average shoebox, there was just enough space to fit a full-sized bed, a small armoire, and a single nightstand adorned with an old desk lamp and a little pink teddy bear—a gift from Peter, years ago.  

Parker walked into the room, looking around and brushing his fingertips against the emerald quilt. It was a bit old and somewhat thin, but it was better than nothing you supposed, and Parker certainly didn’t seem like he was going to complain about it.  

“It’s great,” he assured you, and even though he did sound genuine, you couldn’t help but snort. He looked over at where you still stood in the doorway, giving you a timid smile as he said, “Way better than sleeping on the streets.”  

You returned the gesture, lazily lifting a shoulder. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning. That mattress is about a hundred years old, so it’s probably the equivalent of sleeping on really lumpy cement.”  

Parker hummed his amusement, carefully perching on the edge of the bed, his smile seeming to deepen when he caught sight of the little bear on the nightstand.  

“I guess I’ll let you get some sleep,” you told him, reaching for the door handle, “if you need anything—extra blankets, or something—just let me know; my room’s right across the hall.”  

He muttered his thanks, but as you went to pull the door closed, you heard your name fall from his lips. It was strange sounding, strangled and foreign, like he didn’t quite know how to say it. When you turned back to face him, a subtle wince seemed to etch across his face.  

“Can I… Can I ask you something?” Parker stammered out the question, his voice faltering like a candle flame in the wind.  

You nodded once, fingers still wrapped around the knob, savoring the coolness of the brass against the now-clotted wound on your palm.

He took a breath, his gaze momentarily flickering back to the teddy bear on the nightstand. His thoughts felt heavy on his tongue as he tried to force them out of his mouth, “Are you happy?”  

You blinked at him, unsure of what to make of the hope that seemed to cling to each syllable and half-wondering if you’d heard him right.  

“I-” you tried to start, only to realize that you had no clue what to say.  

There was a fleeting moment where you realized that you could tell him the truth. You could tell him that happiness felt like a distant shore far from your reach, forever obscured by the fiery tempest of a brutal and ancient rage—a rage that, sometimes, didn’t even feel like your own.  

But then he looked at you with those big, expectant eyes; eyes that should have been foreign to you, and yet felt so familiar—and you realized that he wouldn’t like that answer.  

Sucking in a breath, you evaded his question as best you could. “Ask me again when all of this is over,” you told him, your lips curving into a soft, playful arc, “and maybe I’ll tell you the truth.”  

This time when you went to close the door, he didn’t stop you.  

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a/n - i wish that i could properly express just how amazing (and terrifying) it has been to rewrite this story. first created at quite possibly the lowest point of my life, infinitely you has provided me with a necessary escape at a time when i desperately needed it. now that i'm in a better position, i found it necessary to give it the plot, writing style, and dedication that it deserved. i'm aware some people might not be interested in a rewrite and that's ok, but for those that are i just wanna say: thank you, thank you, thank you for giving infinitely you (and me) another shot. you're incredible.

if anyone would like to be added to the tag list, just let me know! as of right now, chapters will be posted every other monday, though i may switch that to weekly soon!

part two, titled "crullers & constants", to be released april 1st

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 31

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words : 5k

Masterlist

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Wednesday, January 6th, 2:45 PM - Class

Three days since classes resumed. Nothing much has changed for now. The only difference is that I can finally go back to the common room after class. My exams are finally over, and I've caught up on all my classes. It’s nice to be able to hang out with my friends again, especially Alexia since we'll soon be in different classes if all goes well. We should receive our responses to our choices tomorrow. The class council meeting will take place in a few hours. Yet the teachers haven't become any less annoying at the end of this semester. I'm relieved when the bell rings, signaling the end of our last class. Ale and I walk out with smiles on our faces. I received my last grade today, and let’s just say I aced it all.

"Hey, Bronze!" I shout when I see her in the hallway.

I apologize to Alexia, telling her not to wait for me, then walk over to meet my advisor, who's pinning up posters on a notice board. Apart from the morning checks, we've barely seen each other since classes started again. She's been less on my back, but I can tell she's still watching me from the shadows ever since I told her about Feli.

"Ona. How can I help you?"

I show her my math paper, proudly displaying a red fifteen. She congratulates me before continuing her work, without giving me much more attention. She’s distant. It's like she resents me for hiding Feli's intentions from her. I hate it when she makes me regret things. She should know that this situation already affects me enough without her adding her two cents.

"Can I ask you something?" 

"Help me, then, if you're going to stick around."

I nod and hold the poster for her while she tapes it up. She pauses for a moment to take a look.

"So? What did you want to ask me?"

"I wanted to know if you could buy me a new phone? Or at least come with me to get one this weekend? Ever since mine broke, I haven’t been able to contact anyone."

"No."

My smile fades at her refusal, catching me off guard. I was expecting there wouldn’t be any problem. I hadn’t even prepared to convince her otherwise.

"What do you mean, no?"

"The answer is no. You won't be getting a new phone."

"But why? You already keep me here, and I'm getting tired of having to bother Ale every time I need to borrow hers."

"I said no, Ona. Don’t insist."

"But, but..." I stammer desperately. "You’re cutting me off from the world!"

I let go of the poster to face her. It falls to the ground since it was only attached on one side. Lucy sighs in frustration at the mess I made. It probably got torn, but that's the least of my worries right now.

"Pick it up, please."

I squint at her, but her stern gaze wins by a long shot. I give in and pick it up. I put it back in place so she can fix my mistake. I only let go once it's properly secured this time, then cross my arms, waiting for her response before continuing to help her.

"I don't see why you'd say no."

"And I don't see why you're reacting like this. You’re acting like a spoiled child."

"Yeah, well, I don’t like it when you tell me no."

"Someone has to, so you understand that not everything is a given."

I puff out my cheeks under her amused look. 1-0 for her. I finally sigh when she gives me a small hug and hands me a new poster.

"Come on, stop acting like a child. I’m doing this for your own good."

"I don't see how," I mutter.

"You don't see why?" she raises an eyebrow.

"No, I don't. How is refusing me a new phone for my own good?"

"Well, for starters, your ex is a dangerous psychopath. Does that answer your question?"

"That’s not a reason," I complain in a displeased whine.

"It is. By now, she’s probably still harassing your number, so if you want a new phone, you’ll need to change your number first."

I'm so tired of her always being right. I didn’t dare put my SIM card in Alexia’s phone for that exact reason. I didn’t want to face her messages and calls.

"Fine..." I concede, facing the facts.

"I can help you sort this out, but in the meantime, you’ll have to make do with Alexia’s phone or mine if you really need to contact someone."

I feel ashamed for thinking she just wanted to stop me from communicating. She only wants to make sure Feli can’t find me. She’s redoing all the steps my mother took a year and a half ago.

"I’m sorry..."

She smiles, ruffling my hair in response. I help her hang the last poster, and she picks up the old ones she left on the floor before we head down the stairs.

"The steps are going to be complicated... My mom usually handles that kind of thing since she pays for my plan. I have no idea how to do it."

"I figured. That’s why I’m offering to do it together since you’ll need to call her."

"Are you serious?"

"You want a phone, don’t you?"

I groan, already knowing what her next answer will be. How am I going to ask my mom to change my SIM card without explaining the situation? I didn’t want her to know. I need to prove to her that I can handle things without her intervening in my life.

"Luce?"

"I already told you not to call me that here, Ona," she scolds.

"Sorry... But... Do you think I’ll have to tell my mom about... Feli and all that?"

"I won’t force you to tell her if you don’t want to, but she’ll need an explanation. As a mother, I’d want to know about this kind of thing with my kids. But I know you’re not on good terms with her, so it’s up to you."

"I’ve been wanting to switch to another mobile phone plan for a while. This could be a good opportunity to negotiate."

"Then you just have to come up with a believable excuse," she says, stopping in the hall. "In the meantime, you’ll have to wait. By the way, you’ll need to give me your phone. Or I’ll come to your room tonight instead. I want to destroy your SIM card."

"Okay... Do you think the stolen phone excuse will work?"

"Maybe," she shrugs. "Now, can I get back to work?"

"Can I stay with you?"

"Now that you’re rid of me, you want to stick around?" she laughs.

"I never wanted to get rid of you," I say, following her to her office. "Well..."

I turn around and walk backward. I return her smile when we face each other.

"Maybe that was the case at first. But it’s not anymore!"

Unexpectedly, Lucy grabs my arm. She must have underestimated her strength because I find myself pressed against her. She takes a step back, apologizing. I frown when I realize the apology isn’t directed at me.

"My apologies, Mrs. Wiegman. She’s a bit scatterbrained when she wants to be."

I widen my eyes, realizing who’s behind me. I slowly turn around to indeed see the principal I almost ran into. Luckily, she said her name, or I would have made a fool of myself. This time I would’ve gotten scolded by Wiegman herself.

"No worries, it’s more fear than harm. Did Ona cause any trouble again?"

"Oh, no, no. She just told me she lost her phone. We’re going to call her mom to have it blocked."

"Did it get stolen here?" she asks me.

"Uh, no. It happened outside the camp... I haven’t had time to tell Bronze," I lie.

"Oh. Will you take care of it, Miss Bronze?"

"Of course. That was my intention."

"Good, I must go. I have a class council meeting to attend. Yours, in fact," she informs me.

"Oh..." I murmur, feeling uneasy.

"Good evening."

She continues on her way to the stairs. I feel Lucy’s hand on my lower back, urging me to move forward. That was a close call. I enter her office, which is empty. Lucy drops the posters she was still holding into a bin and sits behind her desk.

"Is Ingrid not here today?"

"She is, just not here."

"Okay," I reply, sitting across from her. "Why did you say that to Wiegman? Are you really going to call my mom?"

"Of course not," she laughs. "I don’t even have her contact info. I just didn’t want her to know you’re staying in my office for fun."

"Hum..." I mutter, resting my head in my hands. "Hey, I’ve had a question on my mind for a while."

"Hum?"

"Why did you take it so badly that Jenni and-"

We’re interrupted by a noise at the door. We both look toward it, and I’m surprised to see Alessia there. She seems just as surprised as I am. My advisor breaks our eye contact by inviting her in. She hands her a paper about a student who apparently went to the infirmary, if I understood correctly. Lucy needs to sign it to acknowledge that the student won’t be returning to class.

"Aren’t you with the others?" she asks me.

"No," I reply simply.

"Are you going to join them?"

"I don’t know, maybe," I shrug.

"My office isn’t a tea room," Lucy says harshly, handing back the paper.

"Sorry," Alessia replies. "Thanks for signing the paper."

"Hum. Now get back to class."

Alessia nods, giving me one last look. She says, "See you later," before leaving the room for good. I follow her with my eyes before turning back to Lucy. She rolls her eyes, making me chuckle.

"She really doesn’t leave you alone, does she? What was that New Year's thing with her?" she asks.

"Mapi wanted to prove to me that she’s got me in her sights, if you know what I mean. She stuck to me all night to make her jealous."

"Well, it seems like she succeeded, given the way she’s eyeing you."

"You should’ve seen, she got wasted before midnight," I sigh.

"And does she interest you?"

"No. I found her nice, but much less so since we disagreed on a subject. And besides, she’s not my type. Even if she was, I don’t want to get into a relationship right now. As you said yourself, I have a dangerous ex-psychopath."

"That doesn’t stop you from having a new relationship. Maybe not with Alessia, but with someone else in your life could help you move on."

"Drop it," I mutter. "I don’t want to talk about it."

I avoid the conversation by burying my head in my arms. I hear her sigh, but it seems she drops the subject, getting back to work based on the noises I hear. I wait a few more minutes to make sure before lifting my head from my hiding place. I smile when I see she’s wearing her glasses. I love seeing her with them; she wears them so well.

"I can understand that you had a disastrous relationship, but to the point of not wanting another one..."

And she’s back at it. I roll my eyes in exasperation.

"I’m not ready, that’s all. I understand that everyone’s different, but I can’t. There are still too many scars."

"Okay, no need to take it like that," she rolls her eyes in turn. "I won’t insist on the subject anymore."

She finally goes silent, much to my relief. I continue to watch her, or rather, admire her as she works. I have to admit, she has a lot of charisma. Our silence reminds me that I didn’t get to finish my question about my roommate’s relationship. That’ll have to wait for another time. Since she decided to stop talking, I rest my head in my arms and enjoy the quiet to relax.

Wednesday, January 6th; 6:15 PM - Instructor's Office.

I groan as tremors take over my body. I gradually emerge, remembering where I am. I sit up and rub my eyes, catching Lucy's smug smile.

- "About time."

- "What time is it?" I murmur sleepily.

- "Quarter past six."

- "What?" I exclaim, fully awake now. "You let me sleep? For two hours?"

- "Actually, you left me talking to thin air for a while. I realized at some point that you’d fallen asleep, so I decided to let you be. You looked like you needed it."

- "You should’ve woken me up earlier! I wanted to join the others!" I grumble.

- "Well, you'll spend time with them tomorrow."

I sigh, stretching to chase away the stiffness in my body from the nap. Lucy mocks me.

- "Come here."

Without thinking, I lean over the desk. My reflex is to pull back when I see her hands approach my face. She chuckles.

- "Come on, I just want to clean up your smudged makeup."

I lean forward again, understanding her intent. I roll my eyes as she wipes under them with her thumbs.

- "There, all done," she smiles.

- "Thanks, and thanks for letting me sleep," I say, slumping back against the chair.

- "You’re welcome. I knew it would do you some good."

- "If you say so," I reply playfully, rolling my eyes. "Any news from the class council?"

- "No, sorry. And even if I did, you'd have to wait until tomorrow, like everyone else."

- "You’re mean," I pout.

- "Patience. I’m sure you’ll know more by tomorrow morning."

- "I hope so. Weren't you supposed to attend?"

- "No, it's just for the teachers and the principal in this kind of meeting."

- "I didn’t know that."

- "You couldn’t have known," she smiles. "Anyway, didn’t you want to meet up with your friends?"

- "At this hour, I’ll just join them at the cafeteria."

- "Alright. So can we talk about the insomnia you mentioned on New Year's? I doubt your little nap was a coincidence."

- "On second thought… Maybe I’ll go meet the others..."

- "Too late, your chance to escape is gone," she teases.

She’s only half-joking, as I know she won’t let me go now. Why does she have to remember everything?

- "They persist, but I’m managing," I say honestly.

- "I thought I told you to talk to me if that was the case," she frowns.

- "I’ll tell you if it gets worse."

- "So it could get worse?"

Clearly, I tend to speak too quickly with her. She manages to get me to talk so naturally. I’ll have to learn to watch my words if I don’t want her to know too much.

- "A few weeks before starting school, I had nightmares. I’d wake up in the middle of the night, and it’s starting to happen again. They’re not as bad right now, but they could become more intense."

- "See, this is exactly the kind of thing you should talk to me about more often."

- "I’m sorry," I sigh. "There was a time when I wasn’t having them anymore… I didn’t think they’d come back."

- "Do you want to talk to me about these nightmares?"

- "No. They’re about my past... It’s nothing important," I lie.

- "Hmm," she responds skeptically. "And what’s the worst consequence you’ve had so far?"

- "A panic attack, I guess. The nightmares feel so real that they make me panic," I admit in a whisper.

She sighs, running a hand over her face. I bite my lip, thinking I probably should have told her as soon as they returned. I wanted to avoid worrying her over something so minor while I was still in Barcelona. I had hoped to solve the problem before coming back, but that wasn’t the case. Seeing Feli again must be the cause. I’m angry at myself for not being able to shake it off. I had managed to get rid of it before coming here.

- "Alright. If it gets worse, I want you to tell me as soon as possible, and if you have a panic attack, I want to be notified. Is that clear?"

I nod, not daring to argue. Her tone leaves no room for disobedience.

- "I’ll also inform the night supervisors on your floor."

Great... Now I’ll have to be even more discreet than before. Well, at least they’ll be warned if something more serious happens. I don’t think it will, but you never know. I’d hate to disturb Lucy in the middle of the night. I’m already bothered just by the thought of possibly waking up Alexia if I’m not careful.

- "Alright, I’m done with my work. We can head to the cafeteria together if you want."

- "Yeah."

- "No homework for tomorrow?"

- "No. Our teachers aren’t giving us anything since we change classes next week."

- "Oh right, silly me."

- "By the way, um..." I begin hesitantly. "Can you help me with that? Well, not really help, but supervise me or something like that. I was more serious when you were helping me, and I might slack off if you’re not on my case anymore..."

I feel embarrassed seeing her raise an eyebrow. I don’t like asking for this kind of thing, so I sink into my chair as if it would make me disappear. A refusal from her would be utterly humiliating. Finally, she gives me a silly smile.

- "You’re going to end up on the floor if you keep sinking like that."

- "Oh, shut up," I say, sitting up straight. "I’m not used to asking for this kind of thing. I’ve always managed on my own until now."

- "Oh, but I didn’t say anything," she smiles a bit more.

- "But you’re thinking it really loudly!"

- "Here, after your classes. You can manage your time based on how much homework you have. Does that work for you?"

- "Really?"

- "Yes, of course. But I won’t be able to help you as much as before. I’ll only step in if it’s absolutely necessary. Don’t forget that I have a job too."

- "No worries. I just need your supervision to stay motivated."

- "I know," she smiles. "We’ll start when you switch classes and all that."

- "Yep, that works for me."

- "Good," she says, closing her binder. "Now, how about we go eat? I’m hungry."

I nod enthusiastically. She puts away her binder while I grab my jacket and bag. The building is empty at this hour. She locks the main door behind us. It’s pitch black and still freezing outside. I tighten my jacket as I see snowflakes clinging to the ground.

- "Does it ever stop snowing here?" I complain.

- "I think we’ll have it for a little while longer," she laughs.

- "How do you handle it, coming from Portugal too?"

- "Well, you get used to it, and I don’t complain as much as you," she teases.

I sigh and cross my arms to preserve my warmth. She’s probably right. Lucy complains less than I do. We reach the cafeteria, where she waits with me at the entrance after I tell her I see my friends coming from a distance.

- "Still good for this weekend?"

- "Of course, if you’re still up for it. It’s your only way out of school anyway, since I’m not letting you go home."

- "So I can crash at your place in return?"

- "I never said that. I said a weekend, not multiple."

- "You’re forbidding me from going home. You owe me at least that."

- "I don’t owe you anything," she laughs. "I’m doing this for you," she adds with a wink.

- "Yeah, right."

I turn around when I hear the door open with a rather noisy group. Bingo, it’s my friends.

- "Well, enjoy your meal."

- "Thanks, you too," I wish her.

We exchange a smile before she leaves with Ingrid, who arrived shortly after my friends entered. Everyone heads to the dining hall except Alexia, who comes over to me.

- "So, what were you doing after class?"

- "I was with Bronze for a bit. I wanted to join you all after, but I fell asleep at her desk," I admit.

- "Bravo," she teases.

Alexia is in the best position to know that I’m running on short nights. I had to tell her. I could have hidden it, but I wanted to avoid scaring her by going to the bathroom in the middle of the night. That’s where I need to go to pull myself together. Given my clumsiness, I’d probably wake her up by accident while doing so. It hasn’t happened yet, but stealth isn’t my strong suit. For example, on the first night, I bumped into my desk. Last night, I stubbed my little toe on the bed frame... I’m already dreading what will happen tonight.

We arrive at our table with our trays full. I start eating while they tell me about what I missed after class. It doesn’t seem like much since they didn’t do much except play foosball. Everyone is here tonight, which is quite rare. At least, that's what I thought until I noticed someone was missing.

- "Isn't your sister eating with us tonight?" I asked Leah.

- "Nah, she told me she's eating with her friends. Why?"

- "Just curious. I saw her this afternoon, so I expected to see her with you guys."

- "Oh yeah? Where was that?"

I explained to her what happened in Lucy's office. Based on what she told me, I thought she'd be here. I hope she didn't take it badly that Lucy kicked her out of her office. I didn't really understand why Lucy acted that way. Since the topic of Alessia was brought up, Alexia took the opportunity to question Leah about me to see if she knew anything. I quickly kicked her under the table, not particularly wanting to discuss such matters in front of everyone. It didn't convince Alexia, though, who seemed determined to find out more.

- "I have no idea," she replied. "We don't meddle in each other's relationships. Why, are you interested?"

The question caught me off guard. We had never discussed this kind of thing together before. She didn't seem to mean any harm, judging by the smile on her face.

- "Oh no, not really," I replied, smiling back. "I just like her as a friend, that's all. It's just that Ale and Mapi have been fixated on this since New Year's, so she couldn't resist asking you."

- "What's your type, anyway?" Alba asked.

- "I don't have any particular preference. I suppose brunettes, since all my exes were. But I don't just judge by appearance."

- "Speaking of brunettes..."

I furrowed my brows at Claudia's insinuation. I quickly understood what she meant when I jumped at the feeling of a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see my supervisor's green eyes staring back at me. Since I was facing away from their table today, I didn't see her approach.

- "Don't you get tired of scaring me all the time?"

- "It's not my fault you get startled so easily," she smiled. "When are you heading back to your room?"

- "Probably after dinner," I shrugged. "Why?"

- "Aren't you going to the common room first?"

- "I don't think so," I said, briefly glancing at Ale for confirmation.

- "I'll stop by after eight to fix your phone problem."

- "I can handle it myself, you know."

- "No. I said I'd take care of it. See you later."

I groaned as she ruffled my hair before walking away. I watched her until she left the room. When I looked back at the table, I noticed everyone was staring at me.

- "What?"

- "What's this phone problem?" Patri asked.

- "My phone's dead. I threw it in a fit of anger."

- "Do you want us to take a look at it?" Claudia offered. "Maybe we can fix it?"

- "I don't think so. It's in pieces, so I doubt you could do much, but thanks for offering."

- "Whatever you say."

- "Come on, finish your meal. The last thing we need is Bronze getting on our case for being late."

- "Relax," I teased. "If she takes it out on anyone, it'll be me, not you."

I finished my meal, as I was one of the last ones eating. It was clear the issue between Ale and Lucy was far from resolved. It seemed like she was trying to make a good impression at every opportunity. I really need to talk to Lucy about it. Once we all finished, we headed back to our rooms just before eight. No one felt like going to the common room. We made it back in time, as Lucy arrived a few minutes later. For the first time, she sat next to me on the bed instead of taking my desk chair. She got straight to the point, asking for my phone. She started working on it while asking Alexia if she had a good day. Alexia seemed too surprised to respond properly, which made me smile. She was so thrown off that she excused herself to go take a shower.

- "Are you really going to destroy it?" I asked when I saw her remove the SIM card.

- "I'm going to put it in my phone first. Do you have something to write with nearby?"

- "For what?"

- "To save important numbers, like Mapi's, for example."

I nodded and went to get some paper and a pen. By the time I returned, she had already inserted the SIM card into her phone. She handed it to me so I could enter my passcode to unlock it. Lucy looked over my shoulder as notifications flooded the screen. I bit my lip at the many missed calls and unread messages. Most were from unknown numbers. The rest were from Mapi, worried about not hearing from me.

- "Can I read them?" she asked.

I nodded and handed it back to her. I had nothing to hide and preferred she read them herself rather than me. Curiosity got the better of me, though, and I noticed she started with Mapi's messages. One message in particular caught my attention. I panicked and tried to grab the phone from her, but Lucy held me off.

- "No, please! Don't read that nonsense!"

I nearly crushed her, but she managed to pin my hand behind her back and wrapped her arm around my neck. My free hand tried to reach the phone, but it was a lost cause as she stretched her arm out of reach.

- "'Sexy Commander took away your phone?'" she read, raising an eyebrow. "What's with that nickname?" she laughed. "I assume she's talking about me?"

I stopped struggling now that she had read the one thing I didn't want her to. She looked at me amusedly, waiting for an answer.

- "It's just a Mapi thing. I already told her to stop, but you know how she is; once she starts something, it's a lost cause."

- "Hmm," she smiled. "You'll have to explain the origin of that nickname one day. I imagine it's not new."

- "You don't need to know everything in life."

- "But I want to know," she challenged.

- "I think we have more important things to do, don't we?"

- "You're right, but you won't get away with it," she teased. "Let's check the other messages."

She released her hold on me so I could sit properly next to her. Most of the messages were from unknown numbers. It couldn't be Feli's since I blocked her. But the content of the messages made it clear it was her. They were full of apologies or "let me talk to you." Some even contained the violence and anger of being ignored. I eventually stopped reading, but Lucy kept going until the end. She said nothing before telling me to grab something to write with. I listened as she started dictating the numbers I needed. I didn't save many. The first ones I took were Mapi's, Sam's, and Lucy's. I also kept the numbers of my high school friends I reconnected with, as well as my mom's, the house's, and Marcus's. Since the SIM card would be destroyed, I might as well keep them. She turned off her phone, removed the SIM card, and unceremoniously broke it. She folded it several times until it snapped in two. I wasn't sure what I was feeling at that moment.

- "Are you okay?"

- "Yeah... Thanks for doing all this."

- "If you need to communicate, you can come see me, and I'll lend you my phone."

I nodded, biting my lip. She raised her arm, inviting me to snuggle against her. I sighed as she stroked my hair to help me relax. I'll never understand why she gets so involved in my problems, but I'm really glad she does. From the beginning, she said she wouldn't let me go, and she wasn't lying. I'm developing a real affection for her, and it's growing stronger every day. I moved away from her when Alexia interrupted us by coming out of the bathroom. She doesn't know the extent of our relationship. Plus, since I know things aren't going well between them, I don't want her to know about us.

- "Alexia?" my supervisor called.

- "Yes?"

- "If one night things get really bad for Ona, I want to be notified. You'll tell the instructor in charge of surveillance."

- "I can handle myself just fine," I retorted.

- "Be quiet; I'm not talking to you," she scolded me harshly. "I know you won't tell me. Can I count on you, Alexia?" she asked.

- "Yes, of course."

- "Good. I'm going back to my room now that everything's settled. Good night, girls."

- "Good night," Ale and I replied.

She closed the door behind her. I sighed and collapsed onto the bed. My break was short-lived, as I still needed to shower before crawling under the sheets.

Thursday, January 7th; 3:30 AM - Ona and Alexia's Room

I woke up to persistent shaking. I was completely disoriented. I looked around to get my bearings. I felt like I was suffocating, like I couldn't breathe. I realized what was happening when I saw Alexia's panicked face. She forced me to look at her by gripping my head between her hands. I felt sticky and tried to catch my breath as best I could.

- "Hey Ona! It's just me, calm down. Do you want me to call someone?

I shake my head slowly. I don’t want to disturb anyone else. I have no idea what just happened, but my condition doesn’t look good. Alexia nervously bites her lip. She doesn’t seem to agree with me.

- "I need to inform Bronze... She was clear about her orders..."

- "No," I almost shout. "It’s fine, I promise... D-don’t wake her for nothing."

- "Ona... It took me ten minutes to wake you up... You were really panicked, and you were almost screaming in your sleep. She made me promise to inform her... I don’t want to get on her bad side more than I already am! She’s my boyfriend’s best friend," she adds dramatically.

- "D-don’t call her," I insist. "I’ll deal with her when the time comes. I-I, it’ll be okay. You can go back to sleep."

- "No way. You were having a panic attack, weren’t you?"

I sigh and get out of bed. Alexia remains sitting while I search for a new pajama set in my wardrobe. She watches me until I’m in the bathroom. I change because my pajamas are soaked with sweat. I sigh as I lean against the sink. When I open my eyes, I see my roommate watching me intently from the doorway. She looks really worried, which only makes things worse.

- "I’m fine."

- "Don’t lie to me. Who’s Feli? You kept saying her name, telling her to stop."

- "Please keep this to yourself."

- "If you don’t tell me, I’ll find Bronze right now."

- "She’s my ex, nothing more," I concede. "And stop being afraid of her. She’s not that scary once you get to know her a little."

- "I didn’t know you were that close to her..."

I let out yet another sigh as I splash water on my face to clear my head. I then dry my face.

- "That’s not the case," I say, leaning against the sink.

- "I’m sure she knows more about this than I do. Am I wrong? You could have talked to me, you know. I wouldn’t judge you for being close to an instructor!"

- "Ale... It’s not like that. She’s just helping me get better, that’s all."

- "Should I go look for her?"

- "No, I’m fine."

- "You’ll talk to her about it tomorrow, then."

I groan but nod to appease her. I don’t plan to do it, but at least she’ll leave me alone. We leave the bathroom and return to our respective beds. Alexia quickly falls back asleep. As for me, I try not to think about my nightmare, which keeps replaying in my mind. I just had my first panic attack, and I wasn’t even awake. It’s the first time it’s happened to me. I hope it’s the last because I really don’t want to involve Lucy in this. She’s already taken enough care of me during the day, and I don’t want to disturb her during her sleep. I eventually manage to drift back to sleep a few minutes later.

[shifty-fics]

I wrote a fic

Didn't want to post it on my main blog cause I didn't want people I know irl to find it, and I didn't want to open asks on my main blog either

Also I feel like a more focused blog will be better for info dumping and in case people want to follow for something specific instead of the random stuff I do on my main

It's a Francis/nb!reader fic that uses Y/n, and it's rated mature for graphic violence and strong language

I update every two weeks on Thursdays

I also have a playlist to go with it:

Summary and chapter 1 sneak peek below

Summary:

Being the child of a doppelganger and a human isn't easy, but you managed to survive this long by keeping others at an arm's length and blending in. You were certain you had a good thing going when you got the position as doorman for an apartment complex, until a certain milkman manages to hit a weak spot in your emotional barriers. His suspicions about you are rising, when you suddenly find yourself the caretaker of a young girl who is also half doppelganger.

In your new predicament, you are faced with a choice: learn to come out of your shell and trust someone, or keep running and instill your fear of the world into another young mind.

Torn between the need for human connection and your survival instincts, one mistake could result in you and the kid being on the receiving end of a DDD cleaning protocol.

Chapter Summary:

After years of struggling to get by on your own and find a place that would not only accept you, but would also fit your needs, you finally found the perfect one. Now you, Y/n L/n, are the full time Doorman of Wayward apartment complex

Sneek peek:

If there was one thing that always stayed the same with you, it was that you always ended up alone.

From the moment you were born you were an anomaly, with a doppel father and a human mother, you felt torn between two worlds you never quite fit into your whole life. The constant fighting between your parents tore you apart, and you wondered how they met or even had a child with how often they fought.

Your father would try to instill in you the blood lust of the doppelgangers, teaching you how to alter your appearance to lure in humans or infiltrate the places they felt most safe. Doppels were ruthless, persistent, territorial, and united under one objective: to wipe out and replace humanity. You didn’t share this objective, never having the heart to kill a human. When your father forced you to eat one he had killed, hoping your first taste would awaken the hunger for human flesh buried in you, you had retched it all up when you got home before crying to your mother.

You did have that hunger in you, but the innocent librarian your father shoved down your throat didn’t satisfy it. You could still sustain yourself just fine on human food, but at the end of each meal it would always feel like a part of your stomach always remained empty, no matter how many seconds or thirds you went back for until you were sick. You even tried eating the rats that scavenged the allies and cellar in desperation, but with that not working you had no choice but to learn to live with it, and soon the pangs in your gut became just another constant in your life.

You would never forget the day you learned how to satiate it.

[ohdearlordspencerreid]

SPENCER REID IS DEAD.

My first Criminal Minds Fanfiction!!

Summary:

What would have happened if Spencer had relapsed after Maeve's death? How would he have coped with his new reality? How would the team pull him back from the brink?

'He knew that his one lifeline was getting shorter, as the immeasurably holy and extensively evil vials of poison that sat on his coffee table, atop a mocking copy of Great Expectations, ran out.'

I put this on Ao3 and didn't get much interaction, so here I am, desperate for validation. Please don't repost anywhere, I'm really proud of this ❤️

Warning:

This is a big sad. Please don't read this if you are not in the mood or in safe headspace to see our baby boy and the rest of the team suffer.

This work does not contain any graphic descriptions of drug use, it is all implied, however it does contain a lot of dark and sad ideas including multiple references to suicide and death. Please be careful and maybe read something happy after this <3

Notes:

In my fanon, as in real life, relapse is a part of recovery, I respect MGG not wanting to continue with Reid’s addiction storyline but it feels unrealistic for Spencer to have stayed sober through all his trauma and stress especially with Maeve's death.

Please be kind, this is my first piece of Criminal Minds fanfiction ever and my first time writing anything in several year, nevermind posting it.

Spencer Reid is Dead- OhDearLordSpencerReid

‐--------------------------------REID-------------------------

He felt like he might melt into the floor, a puddle of pain, anger and suicidal ideation. The world stood still but simultaneously ran past him, leaving him alone, bitter and inconsequential. She was dead.

Spencer’s vision swam as he knelt on the hard wooden floor of his apartment, his week old pajamas sticking to him uncomfortably, personal hygiene had become a thing of the past, so had sleep. The dark circles under his eyes made his face look like a skull, he had torn large chunks of his once soft, honey brown curls from his scalp, he didn’t remember doing it. His mouth was dry, he felt like he had been drinking bleach, maybe the misfiring synapses in his previously exceptional brain were on to something, was that a good idea? He just needed everything to stop.

He barely heard the knocking on his door, the rhythmic sound blending in with the constant and overwhelming pounding of his head. He heard voices outside his apartment, but he couldn't bring himself to care, nevermind open the door. He knew his friends would be worrying about him, he knew they loved him, or at least the part of his brain which wasn't currently tripping on a deadly combination of gut wrenching, life ending grief and dilaudid knew that. The active part of his brain however wanted to be left alone, wanted to sit here as he had for days and rot.

‐--------------------------------REID-------------------------

He didn't know what day it was anymore, he was only aware of two things, that the only person who had ever truly understood him, the woman he loved, was dead. And that his one lifeline was getting shorter, as the immeasurably holy and extensively evil vials of poison that sat on his coffee table, atop a mocking copy of great expectations, ran out. Eventually, he would hit withdrawal. He had two choices, his brain fought to use even a fraction of his usually infinite space and exceptional speed to process his options, feeling increasingly dizzy and hopeless.

Option one, call someone and ask for help.

Pros:

You won't have a seizure from withdrawals and choke on your own vomit and die.

Cons:

You won't have a seizure from withdrawals and choke on your own vomit and die. Let it end.

The team will know you’re being weak again, fucking weak!

You’ll lose your job! Who cares honestly..

Spencer shook his head, feeling his slowly frying brain slosh against his skull.

Option two, go outside and buy more dilaudid.

Pros:

More dilaudid.

No more feelings.

No more thoughts.

Cons:

Going outside.

Being a weak, drug addicted loser.

Spencer began to sob, crying so hard he began to wretch, wretching so hard he had to drag himself off of the floor, running as fast as his shaking legs could carry him to the bathroom and throwing up bile. When was the last time he had eaten? Did it matter? He’d always been too skinny, said his mother. His mother, who had put a goddamn genetic time bomb in his brain. Maybe schizophrenia would be easier than this.

After vomiting bile for several minutes, his nose burnt by the acid, his lungs burning with the effort it took him to keep breathing when he saw no point. He looked back up at the vials, they mocked him.

He couldn't go outside. Not like this. But going outside sober was an even more terrifying prospect, primarily due to the fact that he would be sober.

But he wasn't going to call anyone. As he lay down where he was on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor he made peace with the idea that what would be would be.

‐--------------------------------REID-------------------------

He must have fallen asleep or passed out because the next moment he heard a frantic banging on his front door, it sounded like someone was trying to break it down. He laughed bitterly, thinking of Derek, constantly having to use funding the FBI could use on better things instead, on reimbursing people for unnecessarily kicking down doors. The thought made Spencer laugh, high and manic, it made him cringe, the sounds coming from his own mouth. He hadn't used his voice in days, weeks? How long had he truly laid on the teak effect floor in front of his front door?

The pounding continued, it frustrated Spencer, scared him that he couldnt tell if the noise was real, or if it was a fiction created by his self destructive, drug addled, fucking Intolerable, all remembering, overdue for a bullet, genius brain. He stormed over to the door, on unstable legs, his knees covered in dark bruises from hours of kneeling, he looked through the peephole. And who did he see but said insufferable prick. Best friend? Unfeeling bastard? Brother?

All of the air was knocked out of Spencer's fragile body as he saw it was really him. It was Derek Morgan.

‐-----------------------------MORGAN---------------------

Derek Morgan paced the bullpen, his phone clasped to his ear, he sighed in frustration as Spencer’s phone went to voicemail, yet again. He resisted the urge to scream, to throw something. He knew Penelope was going to Spencer’s house this morning, to drop off her usual gift basket, she would surely call him if something was really wrong.

If she smelt the all too familiar stench of rotting flesh wafting from under the young genius's door.. Derek shook himself, trying to push away the dreadful thought. Spencer knew he was there, knew he loved him like a kid brother, an annoyingly smart and unsettlingly traumatised kid brother.. Oh god.

Were they going to carry the tall, spindly, blood splattered body of Spencer Reid out of his apartment on a gurney, would he have to see his ‘Pretty Boy’ in a body bag, would he be asked to identify him? Was he still Spencer’s emergency contact? The mental image was vivid, horrifying. Should he have taken Spencer’s gun? ‘No, because this was the ‘Boy Wonder’ he wouldn't need something as barbaric and neanderthal as a gun to end his painfully short and difficult life’, a voice that sounded distressingly like Spencer’s echoed in Derek’s mind. Derek began to lose control of his breathing, began to gulp air like he was trapped in the desert and he wanted to drown in the oasis he found there, mirage or no.

Derek’s head span as his breathing became erratic, he hadn't noticed before that his cheeks were wet with tears, his hands shook as he struggled to regain control of himself. He needed to be strong, he needed to continue to hold this team together. It was his job to chase away the monsters, it was his job to protect the little guy, to keep JJ and Penelope and Spencer safe. He’d failed in his big brother capacity before and he’d never forgive himself if he did it again. Derek desperately tried to center himself, but it was no use, the world was cracking like a Chicago sidewalk taken over by tree roots, his brain screamed like a gunshot heard from the footwell of a police car, his heart ached like it had that day and Spencer wasn't even dead, yet.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned, eyes wide to see Hotch.. Hotch, Aaron Hotchner, surely he would know what to do, what to say.

‐-----------------------------GARCIA------------------------

Penelope Garcia knocked on the door, softly at first as if worried the shock of a sudden noise alone would stop the broken heart of the cowering young man, unbeknownst to her, laying half unconscious behind the door. She waited a few moments and knocked again, this time louder. She heard a pitiful noise from inside, it broke her heart but as sad as it felt to think, at least it meant Spencer was still breathing in there. She called out, her lips inches from the door, when she was met with only a phrase she would not repeat in polite company, telling her to ‘go away’ she put down her basket of blueberries. ‘They are high in antioxidants and serotonin vitamins’ her internal Reid said, somewhat inaccurately as Penelope didn't know all the facts, as though trying desperately to drown out the broken and unpleasant memory of the real Reid only inches away.

Penelope wanted to help, she needed to be able to do something. This was Reid, this was the soft young man who brought her baked goods when she had a bad day. Here was Spencer, who could be surprisingly hilarious, even if it hadn’t been his intention. He was the ‘Pretty Boy’ to her ‘Babygirl’ and he was suffering, in a way Penelope couldn't fathom. There was no system she could hack, no phone to trace, no dirt to dig up, that would get Reid to let her in. Only the echoing distance between them, as extensive as the time, space and regenerations between the fourth and eleventh doctors…

Penelope didn’t want to leave, she was so scared for him, it was so hard to turn off her instinctual empathy and intrinsic sense of duty to fix things and make them all sunshine and rainbows… but she knew she couldn't fix this. Especially if Spencer wouldn't even open the door

‐------------------------------HOTCH------------------------

Aaron Hotchner has seen agents in distress. He had seen it many times. Hell he’d seen Reid in distress many times. The thought made him sad. He felt like a bad boss. A bad friend. A bad father? It was true he did see Spencer as a surrogate son, partially because he knew Spencer needed a father figure, desperately. But if he was being honest it was in large part to that fact that the kid was just so easy to fall in love with. He had endeared Aaron from the get go, the way he walked around as if everything and everyone was a potential threat, made him want to protect the young agent in the beginning. The way he lit up when he got to share a piece of extremely niche knowledge, the pride he felt when they solved a particularly difficult case.

Spencer was easy to fall in love with.

But now, that fear, that anxiety and self doubt Hotch had found endearing in the beginning when Spencer looked like a very tall child in a cardigan and obscenely large glasses, had transformed into something terrible. He had seen it, the ugliness that lingered inside Spencer Reid, he had seen it when he had returned from his break after the Tobias Hankel case, seen the anger and animalistic fear in the usually sweet mans eyes, he had seen the metaphorical foaming of the rabid dogs mouth.

He’d known he’d never have the strength to put that dog down.

It had eased and the dog had become a sweet little puppy again, following Gideon around, playing chess, devouring books, opening up emotionally. Hotch had been proud, in the years since he had only seen glimpses of that pain, of the Spencer that could go feral and rip out his throat, they had always faded. But this time, this time Spencer hadn’t screamed or lashed out or cursed the world. No, Spencer had seen the woman he loved murdered in front of him and shut himself away. Shut himself in a cage, biting and clawing only at himself, wounded and content to tear himself apart, by brain or by vein. Aaron’s dark train of thought was suddenly broken by Anderson, who knocked on his door and told him that he thought Derek Morgan was having a mental breakdown. ‘No, no more’ Aaron thought ‘Oh God please, let them be, let me take their pain’

‐---------------------------------JJ--------------------------

Jennifer Jareau walked into the bullpen and found a commotion unlike anything she had ever seen before. A small crowd was gathered seemingly centered around someone, a crying child? Who was sitting on the floor, JJ approached cautiously, not wanting to intrude if this was a family member of a victim. Her blood ran cold as she saw the shaking, sobbing form of Derek Morgan, the strongest man she knew, curled in a ball on the carpeted floor, clinging to Aaron Hotchner’s shirt like it was his last tether to this mortal plane. She stepped forward, the crowd parting slowly as she approached. She got immediately to her knees, gently placing her hands on either side of Derek’s face, trying to ask him what had happened. When she heard the name Spencer amongst Morgan’s apoplectic ramblings, she felt suddenly faint, the images she had been desperately repressing came crashing down, pinning her to her spot, to this singular breath with their gravity.

Spencer Reid was dead.

Her best friend wouldn’t make it to thirty, he would remain forever young. His photo would join the other ghostly faces lining the corridor outside the BAU office, the wall of those who had died because of this god awful job. He would join Roslyn in her mind as the cold corpse of a sibling, of a soulmate. Spencer Reid would never get his fourth doctorate, never see the return of David Blaine, never tell her another fact about enucleation, never be a father, the one job beyond behavioral profiler or exceptionally overqualified college lecturer, that he would be truly exceptional at.

Spencer Reid was dead…

Until he wasn't, a bright pink blur ripped through the room as Penelope Garcia descended on Derek, her face a mask of supposed ‘eternal and infallible optimism’.

Spencer was alive.

He wouldn't open the door and she’d barely gotten a word out of him. But Spencer Walter Reid was still breathing and suddenly, Jennifer could too.

‐--------------------------------ROSSI-----------------------

David Rossi, didn’t have any children, hell he wasn’t sure if he would even want any. But he enjoyed his role as the fun uncle to Aaron Hotchner’s strict father immensely. He loved seeing the program he and Jason Gideon had built flourish into an exceptional team, a life saving and justice affording safe haven, a real family. Family had always been complicated for Dave, he hadn't felt this close to a group of people, trusted anyone so much since leaving the marines. He knew that he could give his still beating heart to any one of the BAU members and they would treasure it, nurture it, protect it at any cost. That was why he felt so helpless as he sent lavish gifts to Spencer Reid’s apartment, sent him texts offering to pay for him to take time off, to pay for therapy, they all felt like hollow gestures. The fickle attempts at support by a man who was yet to realise that money doesn't buy you happiness. Dave knew this practically of course, but he felt trapped, paralised by his inability to read Reid, the way he had encouraged him to pursue his relationship with the woman who was now being prepared for her funeral, a woman Spencer had loved with such intensity and innocence, far beyond Rossi’s comprehension.

It was then as he stood in the lobby of Spencer’s apartment, trying to gather the courage to go up and see him that Dave realised one thing Spencer had that he had never been able to grasp, besides a comprehensive knowledge of string theory, quantum theory and the difference therein, vulnerability. Spencer was able to be truly vulnerable with those he loved.. That vulnerability usually lent itself to him as compassion, as a strong sense of justice and as an infinite capacity to love others, to fight for them. But right now? That vulnerability was slowly sucking every happy memory in his seemingly limitless mind, right now that vulnerability was a weakness. And so, too, David was weak. He walked back to his car, silently begging any god or holy being that would listen to give him even a tenth of the strength Spencer had, even a moment to be truly vulnerable, to show the kid he loved him that he would fight for him.

For the first time in many years, Rossi doubted the existence of god.

The strength didn't come.

‐------------------------------BLAKE------------------------

Alex Blake was new. It had taken a while for the team to warm up to her. But not Spencer. He had met her where she lived, where she was comfortable, in a joining of intellects, a tête-à-tête, a friendly competition of defining obscure words. She had instantly felt a kinship with the boy, she knew he hated being called a boy, a kid, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Not out of malice, but out of a motherly instinct, that had laid dormant for several years. He was sweet and smart, she had often wondered what Ethan would be like, she hoped he would be like Spencer.

She had greatly enjoyed seeing him sneaking around, making mysterious phone calls, after learning that he was calling a girl he liked and not under the thumb of some kind of MENSA mafia that is. Alex smiled at the memory of Reid’s blushing face when he had talked about her, the memory tasted sour now, given the dreadful results of Spencer’s first meeting with his mystery woman. She was dead, and Spencer it seemed was content to let himself be buried with her. She knew that pain, the feeling of wanting to drop dead when the person you love is gone…

Alex slowly sipped her coffee, trying to focus on her morning crossword, dreading the phone ringing, signaling another case, but also desperately wanting a distraction. She felt like an intruder, watching Spencer and his loved ones, his REAL family, grieve and worry. She felt like an aunt's new exceptionally dull boyfriend that you have to endure attending your wedding because he's a plus one. She felt she had no right to be as sad as she was, no right to compound her grief for her son with her newfound worry for Spencer. He never asked for that. But she cared, god she cared. She wanted to help him, to help them all, but she feared she would just be a hindrance, an ill fitting cog, ‘the new guy’. She visited Spencer’s house several times, leaving sudoku and crossword puzzles.

She never knocked.

He never opened the door, even if he saw her.

It was like they had a silent agreement, no one was entitled to their pain.

They simply remained, lonely parallels. Broken hearts.

‐-----------------------------SPENCER--------------------

Spencer reeled as he saw Derek Morgan, the real Derek Morgan outside his door, kicking, flailing desperately trying to break down his front door. Derek’s eyes looked hollow, he looked like he hadn't been sleeping. Derek Morgan, the man who could practically sleep standing up during a fire drill. Spencer felt awful, the slimy self loathing he had been feeling since that fateful night, since his teens honestly, slithered up his throat like a giant, blood filled leach. Full of his friends worry, full of wasted potential, full of things that would never be.

Things he had wanted so desperately with Maeve.

Maeve.

It was as if her name broke through to him, he hadn't even allowed himself to think the word, scared he would completely lose his mind. With shaking hands Spencer removed the chain from his door, unlocking it just as Derek kicked it again. Tears streaming down his face, the door hit Spencer hard in the chest, knocking him sprawling to the floor. A small, sweaty, pale, skeleton-esque mess, his arm littered with needle marks, his aura exuding pure shame and grief.

It was then as Derek stood in the doorway, his heart slowly shattering that Spencer noticed he wasn't alone.

The whole team stood behind him in the corridor, full of love and full of fear.

Penelope looked drained of all hope, her skin grey, her pink glasses doing nothing to hide her red rimmed eyes.

Aaron Hotchner’s face was blank, not in the usual serious way he had. In a way that scared him.

Jennifer was shaking clutching a soft purple cashmere scarf, the one from Spencer's desk. It was wrapped around her neck, right next to her sister's locket.

Rossi hovered near the back, clutching his rosary, caught in a muffled prayer, tears freely falling down his face.

Blake was smiling softly, trying to keep it together, physically supporting JJ.

“Help me” Spencer sobbed, falling as he tried to stand, his voice breaking harshly “please, please help me. I need you”

-------------------------FIN------------------------

[aagiijxbls]

Has anyone heard the song ‘one of us’ by Creeper and thought… holy shit this is Steve thinking about Bucky? 

I'm changing pronouns in the song and swapped velvet for leather.

I'm about to analyze the shit out of this. (Well not really but it's my head cannon for this song)

So get ready for a ramble post with visual aids. If the artists (who have been credited) don't wish to have their art on this post please let me know! I will take them down.

Now, lets get into it.

-----

-“Boy, when you showed up here there was no blood left to drain”- 

‘Bucky?’ 

Steve's face when he sees Bucky on the bridge. 

When Bucky showed up Steve had already bled for all he had lost. Physically and emotionally. He had mourned for his past, for his best friend who was not standing in front of him and he froze. He completely dropped his fighting stance and stood up straight. He had already grieved and metaphorically bled for this man and now here Bucky was, standing in front of him and he didn't know what to do. 

-“We were born for dying here like snow under the rain”-

Both of them ‘died’ during World War II. 

Bucky falling from the train, thought dead only to have been experimented on and tortured. His own self dying as Hydra took his memories and made him into something so far from himself that he was essentially reborn as someone else. 

Steve who selflessly ‘died’ by crashing a plane in order to save everyone else. Only to be woken 70 years in the future to a world he no longer knew. To a world that he thought he had saved, only to find out his sacrifice hadn't changed anything. 

-“You know when they find us here, they'll kill us both the same”-

Steve, on the run from SHIELD (Hydra) trying to save his best friend. They were completely willing to kill Steve, and as Bucky started coming back to himself, they were completely willing to kill him too. 

Bucky's apartment in Bucharest. Need I elaborate? 

(As a side note/theory, this line also fits to them being together in the 40s. Being found out to be gay could very well have gotten them both killed.)

-“So for the final time, put your hand in mine and I'll kiss away the pain”-

Pushing aside the trash writing of Endgame. Head cannon here is that they finally get to rest for a while, together. They finally reached the end of the line. Bucky coming to grips with his past, with the help of Steve. 

Steve taking Bucky's hand and leading him out of the darkness. 

(art by @ekbe-vile and @queercatcryptid)

-“Born in the shadows, to die in the dust”-

Taking this line literally. Bucky being born in the shadows as the Winter Soldier, somewhat coming out of that pain only to be snapped by Thanos. Literally dying as dust. 

-“Not like the others, you're one of us”-

Steve defending Bucky, standing by him through all of it. He's not what everything thinks he is (especially Sam at first). He's one of the good guys. He's one of the Avengers. He is one of them. He is One Of Us. 

-“No I don't sleep no more, when I did I dreamed of you”-

It would have been so amazing and heartwrenching to see Steve going through some form insomniac faze after he woke up. Being so torn apart from everything that happened to him, to dream only of seeing Bucky falling. His biggest failure and fear was not being able to grab his hand. 

-“Now the devil's at your door and there's a darkness seeping through”-

This is Bucky coming to grips with his own mind. That line in CAWS where he says “I don't know if I'm worth all this Steve.”

The darkness of not feeling worthy of salvation. Of self hatred at what he did, even if he didn't have a choice. Because “I know, but I did it” 

Look at that lip twitch... That's a man who doesn't believe what he's being told.

(Art by @mohish-ko)

-“So pretty like a dying flower in your tight leather clothes”-

Relief that Bucky is alive. But it's not quite Bucky is it? Not yet. 

It's so Beautiful yet so tragic.

Bucky is alive. But - “he didn't even recognise me”

-“So tragic in the final hour as the sun descends over fields of virgin snow”-

Steve willing to die at the hands of Bucky instead of fighting against him. 

Bucky's conflicted face as his mind races, searching to understand this man, this mission, beneath him who is beaten and bloody. 

But Bucky's body just won't move. 

An awareness is slowly rising in him, melting the ice from his memories. Although he can't make sense of why yet. 

I just... omg this song kills me. If y'all haven't heard it I highly recommend checking it out. And if you have any insights or thoughts on this, please feel free to speak up in the comments! Let's discuss!

[dent-de-leon]

Do you ever think about how DEVASTATED Molly would have been if he was still alive around the time of The King's Cage(Episode 69)?

Like, in the midst of battle his best friend, his soulmate, suddenly changes just like that? The others panicking over getting out of there and leaving her behind? How he would cry out for her as he's dragged out and she's closed in?

Like during the course of in between episodes, Molly would be quite snappy and emotional because he's missing Yasha, he's feeling more empty than ever. His solace being the dreams of memories he has with Yasha.

yES I think of this all the time it just breaks my whole heart ; ; Especially within the context of how Molly met Yasha in the first place!! Before she was Love to him, when Molly had never seen her before in his life--he still ran out to protect her as soon as he could.

The villagers look at her as a monster--the same way so many people only ever saw Molly as a devil, no matter how hard he tried to be good. An angry mob ready to tear her apart. She's a perfect stranger to Molly, someone he had no obligation to risk his own life for--but of course he does.

Of course he can't bear to just stand by and watch, not when Molly's biggest weakness is his bleeding heart. "This is my choir practice. I know what the others think, but the truth is...How do I put this...The world is harsh and cruel, and I don't seem to be able to just walk on by. You see a wrong? You fix it." And in the novel, he confesses that he has a particular soft spot for other lost, lonely souls who feel just as shattered and Empty as him, "That's not how we are, Lucien. We love broken things the most." He sees his own gutting grief and heartache reflected in Yasha, and he just can't bring himself to abandon her. Even though she seems set on walking this path alone.

Yasha and Mollymauk only ever meet because Molly refused to leave her. Not only did he come running to defend her, he also gave her a home--the very first place she could ever truly call home since losing Zuala. A family. Love. And the two of them stay together because Yasha cares enough to rescue him in turn. Despite the fact that he's always risking his own neck to save strangers, Molly really can't fathom anyone ever doing the same for him. He's entirely shocked to see Yasha there in the woods that night, never expected her to come chasing after him. To do everything she could to protect him. "We fix it. You're not doing this alone anymore, got it?"

Molly saved Yasha first. And in turn, she looked at this little tiefling and decided she wouldn't let anyone ever hurt him either. No matter what, no matter how cruel the world was to them--they'd always stay together.

If Mollymauk had been there that day when the Nein lost Yasha, if he had to leave her behind--I don't know how he'd bring himself to go through with it. Leaving her trapped under Obann's thrall would go against everything Molly and Yasha promised each other. I think the Nein really would have to drag him away, because Molly is someone who will sooner die before losing anyone else. He did die so that Beau and the others had even a chance at escape, and he literally tore himself apart to end Lucien and save the Mighty Nein once again.

If Molly managed to make it out with the rest of the Nein, I think it would have to be because they didn't give him any choice in the matter--

And Mollymauk more than anyone would understand what Yasha is going through; the prospect of everyone and everything you love being torn away by some nightmare from a past you can't even remember? Having control of your own body torn away from you, your free will and autonomy entirely gone? Having to just stand by and watch while something else manipulates you like a puppet, uses you to hurt all the people you love? It's all Mollymauk's worst fear, and I don't think he'd be able to live with himself if he lost Yasha like that, if he had to watch her succumb to the same cruel fate that always haunted him.

And yes, I can see Molly very much losing his happy, silly Circus Man demeanor the longer Yasha is away. Becoming more withdrawn and sullen, staying up at night whenever there's a storm--still always waiting for her, even though he knows she isn't coming home. And the thought of Molly holding onto fleeting dreams where he and Yasha are back at the circus again and everything is so much simpler and happier and carefree...my heart--

If anything, I think losing Yasha would also be the catalyst to send Mollymauk tumbling down Lucien's path. If he were ever to be tempted by the allure of godly power the Eyes offered, it would be when he loses someone he loves and would do anything to get back. Even make a deal with the devil. Even if it means taking a chance that Lucien's spirit could regain some kind of foothold and come back--

[bloom-hypen]

The new life?📝⚠️

It's dark in the city and all we can see is the light from the busy streets and the vibrent billboards. We see a girl she's sitting on the edge of a building her uniform still on and tears running down her face as she listens to her last song so she thinks. You may ask how did she get to this point?

-A few hours ago-

"Haha you thought he would like an ugly pig like you?" A tall girl with dark brown hair a face full of makeup and a big smirk says as she pulls the girl's hair. She then pulled harder as the girl under her held on the stall door not to fall.

"N-no I'm sorry I was just trying to make a friend!" The girl cried out as she felt pain from her hair being pulled.

"You a friend that's impossible!" A girl said leaning on the main restroom door.

"I'm sorry please let me go! I need to get to class please!" The girl said as her glasses where yanked off her face and thrown to the other side of the restroom.

"Then go get your glasses and be a good girl and not tell anyone" the main bully said as she laughed and walked out with her group.

The bullied girl was left helpless in a complete mess she stood up slowly and walked to where her glasses where picked them up and fixed herself.

She slowly fell to the ground and cried silently letting all her pain out.

After that she stood back up and wiped her tears washed her face. Then walked back to her class like nothing happened.

Once school finished we can see y/n she was was the girl bullied hurt and torn apart for being ugly.

She had decided today was the day today she would end all her suffering one hit and end it.

She got her phone out and sent a message to her brother and mother.

"Hi, if your reading this don't worry if I'm home late.I'll be late so eat at time so don't worry about me. Junghoon don't do any trouble and tell hayoung to not drink anymore! Mom rest today and let Junghoon cook he's old enough.

Love, y/n "

Y/n sighed and sent the message she knew that this would be her last goodbye.

-present-

Y/n looks down she never thought of looking down till now and she regretted that thought until she felt someone hug her and pull her to the roof.

"What the hell where you thinking!"

Y/n blinked but everything was blurry and her ears where ringing she felt as tears flowed down her face.

The only thoughts going threw her head where 'why..why save me I want this to all stop'

"Oh..uh don't cry uhhh -lets get down from here" he said as he stood up and helped her.

"Thank you.." y/n thanked the man she presumed and started to walk away embarrassed and sad from not being brave enough.

"Wait! I don't think you should think of giving up sometimes there are different approaches you can take.." The man said

Y/ns slowly smiled he was right she was leaving a world that she still had an opportunity left. But then she noticed everything was blurry still and then boom.

She fell down and stopped at the next platform.

'Ahh that was embarrassing!'

The guy she walked past her not even helping so she decided to not care and keep going on her own until she got to the first level and walked out as she asked for a taxi.

She had everything except her glasses they had fallen down and she had left her back pack at a near corner store.

They separated paths as she had gotten close to the conference store she paid the taxi with her left over lunch money.

She then walked towards the corner store she had left her bag and walked to her house.

"Mom I'm home!" She then heard crying

"Mom?" She walked towards the living room and saw her mom being comforted by her brother and older sister.

"Eh mom what happened is everything okay?" Y/n asked as she felt bad for almost ending her life.

"Your idiotic father wasted half our savings! On a bet a stupid bet!" Her mother yelled frustrated of her dad's choices

"We now have to move back to move back to our house back in Seoul for a more stable job.." Hayoung her older sister explained.

'Back to Seoul! Wait that means I get to see my friend again!'

"Really! Okay let's start packing!" Y/n said as she ran to her room to pack while her family looked at her woerd for being happy after what the had just said.

Previous ┊ Masterlist ┊ Next

[flower-seller]

I gave it some thought and went "You know what? Its your house, share the vague prose"

The only context I am providing is that this is post-post-postgame and that there was a 10 year gap where Euph and Volo went their separate ways 😔

[Semi-long post warning?]

The first year, she is a mess.

Angry, hurt and undeniably, unbearably lonely. 

The void where she'd given up part of her soul to make room for part of his is ragged, bleeding all over everything she does. She sees red in everything. 

The color of violence, of blood, torn flesh, passion, love.

The second year is worse than the first.

Aftermath given time to settle like infection to a wound that was still too raw to heal, adrenaline fading after a battle.

She wanders, aimless as a cloud caught on the sharp edge of a breeze. 

It poisons her from the inside out, that bitterness.

The third year is passed through as a baneful ghost, something she'd been accused of being time and time again.

She moves without thought, drifting from place to place in search of something that doesn't have a name. The closest she could define it would be 'purpose'.

Hers had been left strewn between the battlefields of Ransei and the mountains and fields in Hisui, no, Sinnoh now.

The fourth year is like picking at the scab.

She still thinks about him, about all of them, daily. That is something she figures will never go away, there was too much undone, unsaid. 

She comes across a trainer with a young cyndaquil and suddenly she can't see through the mist hazing her vision.

The fifth year passes with a feeling of cool resolve.

Not cold, cool. Nowhere near as icy as it had been when they'd first torn themselves apart. 

It is hoarfrost swept away from the surface of deep ice, leaving it clearer but just as frigid.

She tries to take a lover, just a simple one night stand, but cannot bring herself to do more than steal a few kisses before excusing herself. 

She isn't ready. The feel is off. The taste is off.

The sixth year sees her settled into that cool resolve, polishing it to a mirror shine in her spare time.

She doesn't entirely like what she sees when she looks into it.

Between so many memories returned of a world where war and conflict turned the economy as a way of life, she can't help but feel like nothing more than a blood drenched killer at times. It ran in her veins, that violence, that hate, that conflict.

Her fingers itch sometimes, missing the firm hilt of a blade that she left long behind even longer ago.

The seventh year sees her travels less aimless, drawn toward learning what she can about this world she has been torn into by no choice of her own. 

He at least instilled that in her, that curiosity in how things came to be and formed, the various tales that scattered off from those events.

She never had lost the surveyor's habit of writing things down.

The eighth year passes in a quiet, solemn whisper. 

She is occupied, almost obsessively so, but it keeps her mind focused.

It feels good to have some sort of purpose again, she's published a short book on Ransein legends under a pseudonym and carefully, painfully picks at a second regarding Hisuian ones.

So much has changed in the world around her, but when she closes her eyes where there is grass and a soft breeze, she can pretend she is standing in the Obsidian Fieldlands again.

The ninth year feels steadier, solid under feet that had been so shaky for so long.

Confidence had been hard won years upon years ago, that had never flagged. Her spirit is what had been damaged. The baneful ghost fashioned itself some bones to give itself frame, she felt stronger than she had in… a while. 

The tenth year, she sees a fool breaking a promise on live television.

A fool returned to the place that they'd agreed to leave alone to heal from what he– they'd done to it.

The tenth year, she finds him again.

[prometheanpiero]

"Civility hasn't ever been my forté," he replied offhandedly, watching as she approached. Without much realization that he was doing it, Prometheus held his breath, releasing it slowly only once she'd taken the book from his hands and started to round the tree. His memories had not left him, it seemed that he was doomed to remember everything no matter what he wanted. As it was, Prometheus wanted to remember. He'd gone so far as to ask the Dusk Chancellor for assistance on the matter, her elven court helping him collect some of those memories in a way that made them tangible to him too, something that weighed on him both metaphorically and literally. He wore the tiny vial around his neck now, the contents within it swirling with bits of the worst parts of the 15 years and hidden under his shirt. He'd feel the necklace and he'd remember what it was to reach hopelessness and survive. The avariel endured the worst possible state of himself in the apocalypse and he stood alive, arguably sane.

If anything, those thousands of year of torture had thickened his skin enough to prevent madness to get to him in all those 15 years of grief and solitude. If anything, the grief and solitude had made the previous torture almost inconsequential. Birds flew past him and he did not flinch, the wings on his back were freed and the thought of Tisiphone didn't make him want to throw up or commit homicide. Nightmares would persist and some things weren't so quick to heal, but the avariel would at least take the rest of it in stride. He wouldn't try to hide from it behind anger or callousness - not when it had been hopeful action that had led to this victory.

"I told you I have a confession. That was part 1... I waited 15 years so please be patient a minute more and than you can slam the door again all you want." Prometheus hesitated. He'd had ideas of what to say but they fluttered out of his head now, fluttered to nothing. He closed his eyes in brief frustration and then shook his head slowly, just letting out whatever words came to mind. "Part 2 then... I buried you, Nettelia. But I needed you breathing in this world with me, even when I thought I hated you. I would have taken 1000 fights with you over 1000 easy days with anyone else because I never wanted easy, 'Telia, I wanted you. We were never going to be easy. I knew that from the beginning." They had been doomed since the day the wary thief had fallen into a leech infested river.

He paused. "Part 3 is that I have nothing to forgive you for, no matter how angry I was, because I can't blame you for something that I would have done myself. I am selfish. You were the light to my dark in Eden, the closest that I'd ever be allowed to get to paradise. Somehow, still, I wanted to drag you into the depths of misery with me. I did. I hurt you just to get the chance to love you. Your choices are your own but I made it far too easy to lead you there. Now just the fact that we're both standing here today is a miracle because I had already looked out at the world, torn apart by Gods, and I realized I'd help tear down time and space alongside it if it meant that I had just the smallest chance to see you again. So I am sorry for my hatred. I'm sorry that I didn't save you, or Epimetheus. I expect nothing in return, not even forgiveness so do not stand here just to pity me. I've already recieved what I wanted - being able to say this to you at all."

Nettelia would choose to remember because as an archdruid it was her duty to, she'd remember the brief moment of civility between herself and Prometheus, she'd remember the brave faces of every person that stood beside her, and she'd remember her ex-husband putting a sword to his brother's throat. In the end Nettelia had stood alone, had given everything, and it had amounted to nothing. A few archfiends dead at her feet, but Nettelia had failed to prevent the greater horrors that would come to befall this realm. While fate had always had a macabre sense of humour when it came to the archdruid's destiny, this twist felt particularly cruel.

A greater mystery was at foot, the necronomicon was destroyed but the seraphim who'd plunged his blade into it yet lived. Something to ruminate on another time, if Nettelia did not have the answer then the only ones who might were dead or scattered to the wind. Pythia had fought vehemently to keep the book intact, Ayi'ig was assassinated, and Tiamat was all but vanquished once more. A neat, and tidy end to an otherwise arduous tale. Octavian's madness had very nearly cost them the world, and in the end the archdruids had not been the ones to save humanity from their doomed fate. Rather a collective of individuals that Nettelia might have otherwise deemed mediocre, save perhaps for Prometheus, Titania, and Melpomene.

For now, the battle was won, and above Nettelia could hear the druids as they began to celebrate. Acolytes and future keepers toasting to their victories, it was well deserved and she was proud of each of them. Long gone were the days of Eden where she might have joined in on the festivities, and long gone were the days that followed the world's rebirth where she tried to find her place in a crowd. True to her nature, the druidess took to her chambers in solitude.

"Going through my things? Interesting approach." Nettelia took the book from him, idly thankful that he hadn't seen fit to go through the much saucier collection in her library that she'd been introduced to recently. "I know we're both new to this era, but that's considered quite rude, as is breaking into a woman's home: especially after they've already slammed the door in your face." She rounded the tree, aware of why the avariel had come but she felt the need to ask anyways. "Why are you here, Prometheus?"

[anne-chloe]

Destined To Survive

Negan x YA!F!Reader (Ricks Niece)

Summary: Returning back to Alexandria after a successful supply run, you’re horrified to see your people under the new rule of Negan. Unaware of what he’s truly capable of, you stand against him in an act of defiance, only for your actions to result in some nasty consequences.

( Part 2 Here )

One | Show Some Respect

You tugged the trolley-load with a sense of pride, a giddy grin breaking out across your face as you eyed the loot over and over. You were in utter disbelief at the jackpot you’d secured; having found cabinets full of medicine and a hidden stash of tinned foods to feed Alexandria for weeks, you were feeling pretty damn lucky.

Rick was unsure and in two minds about letting you go on a supply run by yourself. He was minutes away from departing half the group to Hilltop, seeing as Maggie was in desperate need of medical assistance, and he was nervous about letting you go on your own. You would normally have been accompanied by someone—a common rule to travel in pairs or a group—but Carol, Daryl, Michonne and Glenn were missing from that morning.

“I’ll be fine,” you had assured him, departing with a tight hug and a confident smile. You’d waved goodbye at the gate and displayed your gun and dagger before disappearing down the road. You knew you’d be back within a couple days, you wouldn’t dream of being away any longer than so.

And now you could return with something that would ease his mind about your capabilities. Despite the errand having its difficult moments—some of which making you contemplate your own ability to hold your own—you pulled through and focused on the task. You refused to return home empty handed; even if you showed up with a small bag of items, anything would have been enough.

But this was much better in comparison. The building was an underground bunker of sorts, hidden among a simple-looking family home. The house itself was in ruins, torn apart by other desperate survivors and blood thirsty Walkers, but somehow, as if fatefully intended, a trap door remained unnoticed beyond a dusty fireplace. It took a while to get inside, but the effort was worth the reward.

Strangely enough, a shopping trolley awaited your arrival as you’d stepped foot into the building. The world worked in very odd ways, and while you questioned its motives on a regular basis, you couldn’t help but thank the obvious support it often gave you.

With Alexandria finally in sight, you found yourself unconsciously speeding up. Excitement had gotten the best of you, and suddenly you couldn’t wait to show off the goodies you’d found. You were feeling somewhat desperate for praise recently, having felt useless when Rick and some others took down the Saviours a week or so prior. It made you feel sick at the idea of killing another person, so you’d stepped back and refused to participate. It was obvious Rick was somewhat disappointed in your choice, but you knew respected it deep down.

After all, you needed to maintain whatever humanity you had left. Losing it meant losing the rest of yourself. In this world, it was essential to hold every living thing close; it was precious and so, so fragile.

The trolley wheels squeaked loudly as you forced more momentum onto it. With the ground so uneven and rocky, it was a wonder that the wheels hadn’t given up and left you completely stuck. Again, you convinced yourself it to be some sort of luck, and you prayed you wouldn’t run out of it any time soon.

You finally reached the row of cars—of course being mindful of the spikes poking through. You squinted against the hot sun, ignoring the way sweat dribbled down the side of your face. You blinked awkwardly through the light and slowly came to a stop, heart racing at the unexplainable sight of hostile groups of unknown men, women and large, towering vehicles.

Your grip unconsciously tightened on the trolleys handle. What the fuck was going on?

They weren’t friendly—you didn’t need to be a genius to know that. With their wicked smiles and cocky smirks, it was obvious that something had gone terribly wrong while you were away. They stood casually around, an air of confidence surrounding them, a suffocating obnoxiousness that almost made you gag. You eyed their weapons and quickly decided to back away; who knows what would happen if they saw you.

You tugged at the trolley and stepped back. You paused, nervously glancing at the wheels that had jammed themselves into a pothole. You tugged again, and again, desperation clawing it’s way out your body. Of course your unexplainable luck would run out now, the world loved to fuck people over when they least expected it.

A cold pressure pressed against your throat, a slick sharpness that dared you to breathe wrong or it would slice you apart. You paused and slowly released the trolley, hands moving upwards in a non-threatening, surrendering manner. You strained your eyes to look at the side, but failed to see who stood behind you.

“Try anything and I’ll happily kill you.”

Fuck.

What happened to Alexandria? You felt dread pool inside your stomach as you pondered the situation Rick and your family were in. Was it a hostage situation? A ransom? Were your family even alive at this point?

Your thoughts fluttered to Carl and Judith, your younger cousins. You prayed they were unharmed and somewhere safe, and you hoped the same for everyone else. You tried not to think the worst of the situation, but with someone literally threatening to kill you if you tried anything, it was proving pretty hard.

You were then guided forwards and forced to abandon your trolley of goods, much to your dismay. You walked awkwardly forwards, eyes darting to the amused stares of the strangers around you; a malicious intent gleaming in their eyes. You felt like an animal on display, it was horrifying.

“Negan, sir—“

You didn’t have much time to comprehend anything else before the knife was removed and you were pushed forwards. You tripped ungracefully and shrieked in surprise, the floor greeting you with open arms, like an old friend.

The gravel harshly scratched your face, eliciting an unpleasant groan from your throat. You whined loudly and shuffled into a kneeling position, your hand gingerly touching the injury slashed across your reddened cheek. You flinched at the burning pain.

“—we found her lurking outside. She has a trolley full of supplies.”

“That so?”

You shuddered at the snarky, amused tone of ‘Negan’. You dared a glance in his direction, taking in the power hungry stance and “I’m-in-charge”-clothing choice. He was tall—taller than you at least, especially seeing as you were still crouched on the floor like a pathetic lemon. You weren’t sure if it was a wise idea to stand up, not with the immediate threats surrounding you like this.

Like an adult greeting a small child, Negan knelt down to your height. You took instant notice of the wired-wrapped bat, and you didn’t miss the way your heart skipped a beat. You shuddered at the unmistakable fear that clawed it’s way into your system; it merely enhanced your senses and momentarily made you hyper aware.

“And who might you be?” Negan inquired in a low, taunting voice. It was throaty and somewhat aggressive, yet at the same time soothing. Conflicted with whatever he was trying to portray, you felt patronised with the way he stared you down, like he’d found a lost soul stumbling through this broken world.

You felt your stomach churn uncomfortably. You risked a quick glance around you, eyes wildly searching for a familiar face. Whether it was distress making you miss the bigger picture, or reality that your family weren’t actually there, you felt a sudden spark of bravery ignite your mothers unmistakable sass.

“Where the fuck is my family, asshole?”

Negan’s eyes grew wide in surprise. You thought you’d displayed an act of courage, but as his face twisted with a psychotic grin, you felt that, deep down, you might have fucked up. You wished you could take back words and rewind a single moment, but luck had somehow vanished from sight.

“Woah! Woah! Woah! Sorry sweetheart, but I asked you first!” He bellowed with a loud, boisterous laugh. Negan stood up and carelessly started to parade his bat around, scanning his audience and eliciting some timely laughs from his people. Fake. Forced.

Negan tilted his head to the side, a dramatic, elongated sigh disturbing the atmosphere. “I’m somewhat offended that Rick hasn’t informed everyone of me!”

Rick. He knew your Uncle. You straightened your posture and caught Negan’s eye. You held your head high and focused on the fact that he used Rick in a present-term. Rick was still somewhere in Alexandria—granted not somewhere in your direct-line of sight—which meant not all was completely lost.

You squeezed your hands into tight fists and puffed out your chest. “Where is he?”

Negan shot you a small glare. “You don’t get to make demands, darling. You see, I’m in charge now, got it? So you’re gonna answer my questions when you’re fucking asked them.”

His threat left you speechless. You remained silent and steady, trying to figure out your next move. As he displayed a brief show of satisfaction to your compliance, he started to strut around the circle that had formed at some point. He continued to parade his bat around, and you began to wonder if that was his only weapon of intimidation.

“Now, for the love of fuck, don’t make me ask this again,” Negan hissed, the tip of his bat now pointing at you. The smooth edge stared you down; the gleam of the sharp wire inches away from poking your eye out. You gulped nervously, your hands twisting away in your lap. “What is your name?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but found no noise coming out. You closed your mouth, stunned with the sudden silence. Your flame flickered and wavered, on the brink of being extinguished at the intense dose of fear that clouded your brain. You swallowed at the lump in your throat, desperate to get rid of it.

Your eyes trailed along the design of the bat, taking in the worn details to try and soothe your mind. Eventually, you found yourself looking up at the expectant Negan—he watched you with a sliver of irritation, a show of impatience and a short fuse that would surely be the death of you.

“[Name].”

You felt relief fill your system as you finally told him your name. You were unsure why you found such a simple task so difficult; perhaps it’s because the small things held a lot of value, a sentimental piece that remained a part of you throughout the horror of this world. You didn’t have a lot left anymore; telling him your name would be giving something of yourself to a complete stranger.

A dangerous stranger.

A group of frantic, rapid footsteps entered the firing line. You whipped your head to the side and tried to see past the crowd of hostiles. Hope filled your body as familiar voices rang through the air; a chill ran down your spine.

You scrambled to your feet as Rick burst through the wall of people, his eyes glassy and desperately searching for you. When his eyes met yours, it was like all his problems melted away. You immediately felt safe in his presence, knowing that he wouldn’t let any harm come to you.

You opened your arms and stepped towards him. “Rick—“

An arm shot out in front of you and halted you in your tracks. You craned your head to the side and shot Negan a filthy glare, cursing him out in your thoughts for preventing a much-needed reassurance.

Behind Rick stood Carl and Michonne—they both appeared just as distressed and nervous as you. You felt the fear slowly crawling back in, and that indescribable dread came back.

Who was this man to stop Rick dead in his tracks like that? Why the fuck was Negan now claiming to be in charge? It had only been short of a week since you were last at Alexandria, so what had occurred so much in that time?

“I don’t think so,” Negan drawled out in a teasing, taunting voice. You watched Rick for any sort of resistance, yet he remained with his head down; his stance reminded you of a puppy with its tail between their legs. The fiery, “don’t fuck with me” attitude had vanished from sight.

Clapping his hands together, Negan drew the attention quickly back to him. You remained rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do. You always looked at Rick for guidance, but at this point it felt as though he was leaving you to defend yourself. You felt at the mercy of hungry wolves and there wasn’t anything you could do about it. So, you turned your attention to Negan.

You almost flinched when you saw him already looking back at you; it fuelled his ego and made it almost feel suffocating. You paled as his hand gestured for you to walk towards him. You hesitated and glanced again at Rick.

He only nodded.

You obeyed.

“So then, [Name], let’s talk about your horrid burst of disrespect from earlier!”

[neon--nightmare]

I want to send you another ask so that you will share more of ur somehow increasingly correct Fresh opinions with me but idk what to ask because my brain has melted into incoherent screaming of agreement! Please keep talking? Oh! Thoughts on hosts/that whole deal? Whether just in general or in relation to the existential crisis!!!!

YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!! YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FRESH W EMOTIONS ACCEPTIN OTHER PEOPLE BEIN AS REAL AND MATTERIN (not as much as he does but more than zero) MEANS. that he has to ACCEPT that hes causing people incredible pain. the most traumatic moments of their lives. watching a monster puppet their bodies, say words they'd never say, do things they'd never do, forced to watch. unable to even blink by themselves. as this creature crawls around inside their chest, feeding off the very FABRIC of their being, devouring their souls. feeling each little crack get wider and wider, like every bone in your body being slowly torn apart from the inside. just for fresh to exist, and keep existing. and theres NO way around that. nothing he can do. because that's how he was designed. how do you heal and become a better person when causing others unbearable amounts of pain is unavoidable and constant? if fresh could feel guilt, how could he live with himself?

and his friends, his support group, his lifelines in this scenario, the ones he needs to function... they'd have to live with that, too. that someone you love physically, genuinely can't exist without causing others unceasing agony. who do you put first, the life of your friend or the lives of countless strangers? the 'right' thing to do would be to incapacitate him while his guard is down, kill the monster, end the horrible, unavoidable path of destruction, but he's like your family. you care about him so much. what can you do? especially for a pacifist, how do you come to terms with that?

GOT LONG READMORE

AND LIKE. it hurts the host less if they don't fight back. it'll always cause pain, but at least it won't be boneshattering agony. but who wouldn't fight back in this situation? even if you think you can handle being a host in theory, when it's happening, when you can't even move your eyes on your own without excruciating hurt, feeling your very life force devoured, who wouldn't be afraid? who wouldn't struggle, and scream, and fight back? it's so terrifying to be completely helpless, it changes you, and fresh knows that, but there's nothing he can do.

he's spent his whole life helpless, only telling himself he was control, grabbing desperately on to bravado, trying to convince himself he's independent, making his own choices, but ever since he was aware, he's been a puppet for forces beyond his comprehension. that see him as a toy, a little game to play with, poke and prod at until he breaks or they get bored, then that was it. nothingness. and even before the tiniest speck of emotion, before he couldn't even feel anything besides anger and fear, the idea of nothingness terrified him. survival is his deepest motivation. it was programmed into him, to survive at any cost. he can't even think about the idea of his death without spiraling, plummeting, so he just... doesn't think about it. he's good at that. pushing away everything that upsets him, burying it under layers of denial and apathy. if i can't see it, it can't see me!!!

but... just by existing, he puts others through that fear, every agonizing millisecond of every day, of every week, of every year. he makes others confront his worst nightmare, and he used to laugh, he used to think it was the funniest thing in the world, but now... thinking about it puts the heaviest weight on his chest. and he can't avoid it, because they're always screaming inside his mind, begging, cursing, pleading. he was created from the pain of others, and that's what he is, it's what he has to do, what other option is there?

he can try to find willing hosts, though they're so few and far between, though any one could be a lure, a set-up by one of the hundreds of thousands of people who want him dead. he apologizes profusely, he keeps apologizing, he tries to explain, it's all he can do. apologies are second nature to him now, aren't they? when he misses a social cue, when he says something that upsets someone he loves without realizing, when he slips back to his old self, when he gets so angry it consumes him, it's all he is and he yells, lashes out, pushes away those closest to him.

when all he feels is hollow, he isolates himself. he can barely move off the floor. all he can think about is how none of it was ever in his control. he was always doomed to be the person he became, the monster, right? and he wishes he could go back to being that monster, uncaring, an eternally grinning husk. he's still just as helpless as he was then, though now it's because he's at the mercy of his own mind, everything he can't escape, and he longs to just be numb again. and he knows that he still had enjoyed what he did. he still made all of those choices, said all of those things himself, manipulated, lied, drew people in close and betrayed them just for the thrill, for the curiosity, to see what would happen. he hates himself. but when he's happy, truly happy, now, it's the happiest he's ever been.

he tries to drain less energy, though it's irrational, it weakens him for no benefit only than to dull his host's agony, and only prolongs their suffering for longer until he moves on to the next one. and if he had the introspection, he would feel even more guilty that he's making himself seem like the victim, but he doesn't let himself think about it long enough. being outside a host isn't an option. even though he'd be able to last a few days before fully turning to dust, he hates being outside a body more than anything in the world. he's so small, he's so vulnerable, all he can do is screech. unable to communicate, a pitiful, fragile, pathetic little thing. and that's not who he is. that's not who he WANTS to be. it's a living hell. but that's by design too, isn't it? he was created to be perfect, wasn't he? he was never meant to be more. he was never meant to be worse.

there's no easy solution. it's all just harm reduction, punishing others for his continued existence. but he has to keep living, he has to keep surviving. keep going. because, really... the alternative was never an option. so he lives on.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

How would yandere husband Deku react to reader having the power of a celestial discus? Allow me to elaborate: Reader can summon a celestial discus that can behead people in a matter of seconds

Sorry this took me so long to respond to but here ya go

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Yandere Husband Deku x Reader with Celestial Discus

🥦💿🍉With a power like this it's only natural that you both would be fighting by each other’s side

🥦💿🍉Him the top hero with a few super powerful quirks

🥦💿🍉And you the Atlantean warrior that has left their home to fight as a hero along side your husband

🥦💿🍉Yes…you are from Atlantis

🥦💿🍉The forgotten city hasn’t stayed that way without its muscle

🥦💿🍉So when the heroes end up finding them and claiming an Atlantean is using ore specific to Atlantis to run a disastrous crime syndicate

🥦💿🍉While the monarch and council are deciding against killing or letting the surface dwellers live and the surface dwellers are investigating on their part you are sent to investigate their world in secret

🥦💿🍉When you return you dump all your treasures (trash) onto a table and demand the captive heroes provide answers

🥦💿🍉Deku just loves the way your face lights up as you catch every word in his mumblings

🥦💿🍉Or how you so willingly advocated for them when they were on the chopping block

🥦💿🍉And he tells you that when he proposes

🥦💿🍉But you decline on the grounds that you were supposed to guard the prince with your life

🥦💿🍉Not only was he your friend but he too had proposed and in Atlantis it's treason to turn down marriage from a royal

🥦💿🍉So when you are guarding them on their last night in Atlantis Deku proposes a deal to the monarch

🥦💿🍉Apparently evidence had obviously been pointed to the prince as being apart of this organized crime but upon the monarch’s request had been omitted from the report

🥦💿🍉But Deku threatened to change that if he didn’t relieve you of your position as the prince’s fiance and warrior guard.

🥦💿🍉Reluctantly it is done, and you none the wiser will return to the surface and gladly marry him

🥦💿🍉There you use your warrior ability to manifest discs out of any part of your body

🥦💿🍉Even using them to create highspeed roller blades when your on the job

🥦💿🍉Because of how he dealt under the table to get with you he’s grown a habit of doing that now

🥦💿🍉He wants to preserve you as this optimistic and curious fighter that didn’t ask questions when that hater online suddenly stops commenting

🥦💿🍉Or how when anyone who was on the case asks you about the report on your city suddenly is too scared to ask you anything

🥦💿🍉It only gets hard once said prince now king comes to the surface proclaiming his love for you

🥦💿🍉Now you're torn between your own culture and your husband

🥦💿🍉Deku is scared

🥦💿🍉this is a decision up to you and he’s worried you won’t pick him

🥦💿🍉On the day you were meant to give your choice Deku made the rash and very stupid decision to lock you away

🥦💿🍉It’d be easier claiming you ran away from the decision he didn’t want to take the risk off your rejection

🥦💿🍉His mistake

🥦💿🍉Because he has gotten so used to your presence in his world he forgets your not from it

🥦💿🍉So don’t blame him when you slice away at your antiquirk cuffs

🥦💿🍉And easily escape him running at Allmight speeds back to that meeting place in the city to make your decision

🥦💿🍉He tries to grab you, stop you, Anything!

🥦💿🍉But it doesn’t work you make it to your destination standing tall and proud as you declare your answer

🥦💿🍉Unknowingly setting the hero off you shout how you choose neither and will roam both land and sea to protect its people

🥦💿🍉Without much room to do anything with the public eye he instead is going to chase you around to the best of his abilities

🥦💿🍉The only thing he really has going for him after you took off was the fact that your still legally married to him considering you don’t even know what divorce is

🥦💿🍉And the world will just expect that the measure was taken

🥦💿🍉But the cherry on top with Deku at the end his know-all about you that when you learn what it is you’ll return to him

🥦💿🍉But when you do he’ll be waiting and this time he’ll capture you much better now

[dadsbongos]

gentle lover

(1)gentle lover (2)burn me to the ground Movie/Game/Show: Loki Dynamic: Loki Laufeyson/Reader Warnings: spoilers for infinity war/1st episode of loki ig, fem pronouns Summary: Loki almost wishes he could've experienced the life he's watching of you and him together. ~~~

There’s something about looking upon the gentle face of a lover and coming to the realization that you’d do anything for them. It isn’t as though you never knew - the knowledge was already there, it just took a few seconds for the thought to become cemented as truth. Loki sees this in himself as he stands before the TVA projection of his life.

He’s paused at a moment on an unnameable planet. He sees himself standing on a balcony in what he assumes to be a late-night, but instead of staring up at the stars, he’s looking upon a woman beside him. She’s looking at him as well. They share the glance with smiles - and that’s what alarms Loki most. The smile he sees is one he hasn’t felt in years. It’s small but it’s more genuine than the leather he was wearing moments ago. It’s a smile he hasn’t felt since before he knew about Laufey. Since before his mother…

He knows that woman. One of Thor’s Midgardian friends. The one assigned to watch and guard him in New York.

He doesn’t know why she’s there with him. He doesn’t know why she looks so content to be on another planet with him. He doesn’t know why he looks so at peace at her mere presence. He doesn’t know why it makes him miss a reality he’s never even known to exist.

He almost wants to be there, just to know what it is about that woman that brings him so much tranquility at that moment.

She’s just another bug, their difference in lifespans is proof enough of that. But Loki knows that look, as much as he hates to admit to his own conscience, he knows that feeling smeared across his own face. It’s caring. Tender. A softness he’s never felt for others is now on full display to a Midgardian.

Loki clenches his jaw and resumes the projection.

He watches the two slide their hands together on a railing, interlocking their fingers.

The Loki onscreen’s eyes flicker between hers and their joined hands. It isn’t even him that speaks first, it’s her.

“When this whole thing is over and Sakaar is ruined and Thor has the throne, where will you go?”

Silence is passed between them, Loki brushes his thumb over her knuckles, tilting his head to the side briefly in thought, “Where will you want me?”

She chuckles and shakes her head, “You wouldn’t want to go to Earth. Unless you’d like the Avengers up your ass.”

They giggle together, ignoring the very real reason why the Avengers would be so onto him in the first place. Loki blinks at the woman, scooting closer to her, “I wouldn’t be fond of that… but for you, my dear, I’d tear the universe apart.”

He kisses her knuckles and she merely jokes back, “That sounds like exactly why they wouldn’t want you. Sorry to say they’re not fond of universe-tearing.”

“I’m charming and romantic and this is how I’m repaid?”

“However,” she stresses with a broad grin, “I can’t say that’s not excellent bargaining to keep you on a leash.”

Loki’s brows furrow and he nearly pulls back, “Like a dog?”

“Well, now,” she bites her lip in thought and looks away at the dystopian city below, but Loki still looks at her.

He looks at her as though she’d sewn the very realms together. As though she’d hung all the moons and suns and stars and planted every sweet flower and harvested every fruit. He looks at her like she’s the beginning of his world - and he knows that it also means that, if she asked right then and there, he’d help her destroy the world too. He looks at her as though she’s the only true love he’s ever known. And for all this Loki, watching himself and this woman be entwined, knows - she probably is. He can feel it through the very projection he’s watching, and so he plays another scene with her in it.

“For a woman who could undoubtedly tear people apart, you master the role of a noblewoman, love.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

Her response is dripping in lighthearted sarcasm and it manages a laugh from the Loki onscreen as he lays back in a shared bed.

“I am somewhat on the espionage scene, it’d be a little embarrassing if I couldn’t even pull off a little role like this.”

“Even so, I admire you for it.”

“At this point, it’d be rarer to find something you don’t admire me for,” she lightly huffs, a smile tipping at her lips as she finishes tying up her dress, “Not that I’m complaining. It's a huge ego boost.”

“There certainly is much to admire about you,” Loki shows his palms as if to display a sort of surrender.

Before more can be said, the projection is paused once again. Loki closes his eyes and lets his head down in the silence - almost expecting that voice to creep through his mind again. He can hear her now, in his head. He knows that out there, in those other variations of him on the sacred timeline that haven’t yet become Variants, they can probably hear her too. In a more realistic sense, of course. Because if they’re determined to fall in love, there must be one of her fated for every one of them. And he almost pities the fact.

He plays the projection in bits and pieces.

“My mother…”

“Loki, stop, you don’t have to.”

“I wish to, dear.”

“Loki…”

“My mother, I truly feel that she would’ve adored you.”

He takes in their love story as it comes and he struggles down what feels too intimate for even him to watch.

“Do you ever worry about the day when you wake up and I don’t?”

“Yes, of course, I do.”

“What will you do?”

“I prefer to not think on that.”

“You think about everything.”

“Some things… are better left unplanned for. At least for now, when that isn’t a valid worry in my mind.”

He almost wishes he hadn’t touched that tesseract. Just to live a life where he gets to see first-hand how this human woman manages to creep under the walls he so carefully spent years crafting.

“I love you.”

“Poor choice, really.”

“Loki. Seriously. I love you.”

“I love you, too, dear.”

It’s bizarre to see himself love. It’s bizarre to watch as he cares for a being he once would’ve had no qualms ruling over. It’s bizarre to know that this is what could’ve been the happiest times of his life if he hadn’t picked up the tesseract.

“Did you ever imagine yourself here?”

“On a spaceship with a bunch of Asgardians and the gladiators from Sakaar? No, never.”

“I meant with me.”

“I know, I was just messing with you. And… no. To be honest. I thought maybe I’d have to watch you as a guard or something. With the whole trying-to-take-over thing, but never that I’d be your girlfriend.”

“Eh.”

“‘Eh’? The hell does ‘eh’ mean? I am!”

“It sounds so… juvenile. Girlfriend - boyfriend.”

“What? Wife sounds better?”

“In honesty? Yes, it does. I’d much rather call you my wife than my girlfriend.”

“You can’t joke about that! I’ll get my hopes up.”

“Who said anything about joking, dear?”

And as he comes to the end, as he watches himself be lifted by the titan he’s come to fear more than anything, he hears her. Her mourning. Her screaming. Her pleading. Her gut-wrenching cries.

He watches her and Thor crawl to his body and sprawl themselves over it in heaps of hiccupped tears and choked sorrows.

“You were supposed to out-live me… Loki, please. You’ve come back before, Loki, please, come back again. Come back again… I can’t - I can’t live this life without you, Loki… please… please come back again…” she sounds as though her heart itself has been ripped from her chest and torn in two before her very eyes, “You were supposed to out-live me… Loki...”

He looks away from the screen. Decides that now is too much. He can’t watch her lose what she saw as the world. Loki barely knows her and yet he knows himself enough to know if he watches her grief then he’ll want to mend it.

Looking upon her and seeing how deeply and irrevocably she’d cared for him, knowing of his past and forgiving his ways and loving him anyway, he knows he’d want to end her cries. It’s that feeling of realization that makes him feel ridiculous for wanting to do so much for a Midgardian he hasn’t fallen in love with yet.

Yet?

Yet.

It’s a feeling of realization that he’d do anything for that lover of his, when he gets to love her. If he gets to love her.

And it’s that ‘if’ that makes him understand why Mobius was so interested in making him watch his own life. His own future. It makes him realize what he wants but can’t have. His brother, his love, his happiness - it gives him something to want. Lying just out of reach.

So long as he’s compliant with the TVA, he assumes. Otherwise, he’d have to tear the universe in half to even see that Midgardian woman once again.

[free-pool-trash]

happiness - peter maximoff

yay a new peter fic <3 i was feeling a little unmotivated for a few days (since our boy wasn’t in episode 8 at all :/) but im back 😎 although im back in school so i might be on and off for a while 😩✋🏻

!!!it’s not a songfic those lyrics at the start are just my inspo!!!

word count: 5k <3 😳

warnings: maybe swearing but i dont think so i cant remember, peter being sad, angst, but mostly fluff, WandaVision spoilers maybe??? I pretty much made up this plot so idk, endgame spoilers, reader was an avenger, kissing but it’s not graphic😽 probably some mistakes yk how it is

feedback is appreciated <3

tagging: @enchantedcruelsummer (should i make a peter maximoff taglist? let me know and I’ll do it)

masterlist

haunted by the look in my eyes that would’ve loved you for a lifetime

leave it all behind

& there is happiness

Loneliness had always been something that plagued him. That and a plethora of other negative emotions.

There wasn’t a day that went by where Peter Maximoff wasn’t made to feel like a loser. Admittedly, he’d never held himself to a high standard, he grew up thinking that he’d never fit in anywhere and eventually that thought mutated into a lifestyle as he began isolating himself from the world around him, either far too good or heartbreakingly not enough to be a part of that crowd.

He liked spending time with himself. Nobody else knew him the way he knew him, and still, he found nothing but an overwhelming hollow space where his deepest most important hopes, aspirations, dreams and self discoveries should have resided.

Peter had always put this feeling of exile down to the fact that he was a mutant, it was the most likely explanation, right?

It was only when he’d decided to join the X-Men that he finally came to the conclusion that maybe the rest of the world wasn’t the problem, nor was his mutation the problem, but that he himself was the problem. For even in a school full of people exactly like him he was still the same loser that he was in his mother’s basement.

And he was under no illusions that that was exactly what his teammates saw in him; nothing. No potential. Just a space holder to bring the numbers up.

Super speed was incredible. That’s how Peter acknowledged jobs well done, he praised his speed but never himself. He just saved Charles and Erik from a room full of armed guards? No that wasn’t him, that was simply his speed. He saved an entire mansion full of people from a potentially fatal explosion? Nothing special, Kurt probably could’ve done the same.

Forget all of the good deeds and saved lives because the bottom line of it all, to him at least, was that all he was good for was cheeky one liners and hopeless kleptomania.

His life took a turn for the worse when he found himself being mind controlled in an alternate universe. And even then, he was playing the part of someone that wasn’t him, the thought humbled him, reconnected him to his roots and reintroduced him to his life long philosophy that he’d never be anything more than a social pariah. Not even an alternate reality could accept him for who he was. There wasn’t a warm welcome and despite not knowing what was going on, the definition of “imposter” or the weirder, “recast”, still shot to kill.

He settled on the notion that he was an inter dimensional waste of space. At least in WestView he could be blissfully ignorant, let the real him be drowned mercilessly in favour of being an integral part of someone’s life- to feel important, even if it wasn’t real.

When WestView fell apart he was completely lost. In every sense of the word. In a new world with no way home and as it turned out, nobody was looking for him. Although he didn’t expect anyone to care, it still stung that nobody did. He always hoped that one day Erik would step up as a father figure for him, this; getting kidnapped and smuggled into a different dimension, seemed like the perfect moment for that epic father son moment, but it wouldn’t surprise Peter if his father has yet to notice his disappearance.

But then, seemingly out of nowhere, he came into contact with a beacon of hope. A guiding star that might possibly lead him to an existence consisting of something other than misery and self loathing.

It offered him a choice; return to being the self proclaimed loser he was known as or start fresh as someone new and mysterious, with first impressions yet to be made and conclusions about him yet to be drawn. Peter had known himself to be rash in the past, when it came to making decisions he had the tendency to act impulsively, never putting too much thought into how his decisions would affect his life in the long term. The choice before him now is no different, he knew exactly what he wanted going forward, however selfish the choice may have been, the second he realised it was an option his heart was set on it.

That previously mentioned beacon of hope arrived to him in the form of a girl, in the form of you. An ex-avenger and close friend of Wanda’s, you were hired by S.W.O.R.D to help them clean up the more ‘sensitive’ fallout that the fall of WestView brought about. Obviously, they were sticking you- the only other avenger with magik- on babysitting and rehabilitation rather than letting you go after your best friend who had gone completely off the rails. Having said that though, you didn’t want anyone else handling him.

You hadn’t watched WandaVision, nor were you even aware that any of it was going on until it had reached a boiling point and you got a call from Monica Rambeau, she’d begged you to come and wait on the edge of town while she went in and act as her eyes on the outside along with Jimmy Woo.

That’s where you stayed until the hex broke down.

As soon as the barrier came down the base you manned was overrun by an armada of terribly confused and distressed citizens, Monica and Wanda were not among them but in their places stumbled in Darcy and the man playing the role of Pietro.

Jimmy appointed himself to Darcy, who in all honesty seemed relatively unscathed by the situation while you made a beeline for the dirty blonde charading as your former, dead teammate.

Peter was, to put it simply, completely enthralled by you as soon as you’d strolled over to him and in the moment he’d put his almost magnetic attraction to you down to the fact that you were the first friendly face he’d seen upon breaking free of Agatha’s possession.

But one thing in particular struck him; you’d asked him his name. You hadn’t immediately assumed him to be some knock off Pietro, as everyone else had. You acknowledged that he had his own personal identity and despite how often he caught himself hating the person he was, he found that when it was torn away from him that he wanted it back. The simple question you posed gave him the opportunity to regain his identity.

“Peter. My name is Peter.” He answered you, almost unsure of himself and you found your interest in the man piqued even further.

He remembered with perfect clarity the way you’d offered him a grin, tilted your hand, extended your hand and said, “Well it’s nice to meet you, Peter. Come on, I’ll be your babysitter for the next while.” There was something about the way you’d laughed after saying the words and the slight, yet unmistakable, glint of mischief in your eyes that had him captivated from the get go.

With you came a whirlwind of new emotions. After only a few weeks of knowing you, Peter noticed he wasn’t as lonely as he had been back home. He didn’t hate himself half as much either, he wasn’t entirely free of self deprovative tendencies and maybe he never would be, but undoubtedly, he likes himself more in this world than he ever had in his last. He thanked you and your determination to make him “a functioning member of society” for that.

It didn’t feel belittling, the way you helped him. You hadn’t dragged him to your favourite mall every weekend just to taunt him about how he couldn’t stop himself from stealing something. Even the very first time, when he’d sped away from you and returned within a second adoring a pair of freshly stolen sunglasses. Your only reaction had been to laugh and casually place your hands on both sides of his face.

“At least remember to take the tag off next time, speedy.” You’d muttered, subtly pulling the tacky stickers off the arms of his shades. No, you weren’t dragging him sight seeing or forcing him to help you go clothes shopping because you thought he was a loser who needed reforming you were doing it because you were a true friend who wanted him to succeed.

The pair of you seemed like two peas in a pod. Which to be fair, you were. Peter Maximoff intrigued you in every sense of the word. He was new, quite literally other worldly, he was kind, he was funny, he was perfectly mischievous and completely wonderful.

What caught your eye the most was the way he held himself, as if he wasn’t entirely comfortable in his own skin. It became apparent to you that he lacked confidence with the phrases he usually tacked onto the ends of his sentences. When you’d invite him to hang out in the beginning his response would always be something along the lines of, “Sure. If you want me to.” But the excitable puppy dog eyes told you that he was dying for someone to want him to tag along some place.

There was a certain understanding between you. You were both more than accustomed with the harrowing feeling of being alone and even though you’d never exactly voiced those thoughts with each other, you couldn’t deny that his was a spirit kindred to your own and he felt it too.

Since the Avengers has disbanded, one of your best friends, Natasha, was dead and your other best friend, Wanda, was gone completely off the rails and the people chasing her wouldn’t let you anywhere near her or even attempt to help pull her out of her darkness. You were being kept as a wildcard in case they needed her taken down. Peter was no stranger to the feeling of being cast aside and so he quickly responded to your frustrations, and in doing so, forced himself out of his comfort zone to be there for you. To his complete shock though, you’d been so appreciative of his efforts.

You never failed to thank him for the little things he did for you, always complimenting his mutation when he’d use it and giving him the recognition he never received at home. The friendship he formed with you was so… two sided, again, something he wasn’t accustomed to before. It didn’t involve him giving everything he had to offer and receiving nothing in return, you matched his energy meticulously and never left him hanging.

In a series of firsts, he didn’t wonder whether or not you genuinely liked him, never feeling the need or want to question it as you’d left him with no reason to doubt.

As he walked around the mall with you now, his mind brought his attention back to the question you’d asked him rather casually a few nights ago. You were both lounging on your couch, watching some ridiculous reality show (a favourite of yours and Peter’s) when you’d turned your head to look at him, a thoughtful look on your face. “Do you think when S.W.O.R.D figures the technology out to crack into other realities, you’ll go back to yours?”

The question had taken him aback for a second, in all honesty, he hadn’t thought about going home, not when he was with you at least and considering he’d become your roommate about three weeks after he got out of WestView, the thought of returning to his old life had barely crossed his mind.

Being an ex-Avenger you were fairly well off, you lived alone in a two bedroom apartment in New York that you’d bought to be closer to Stark tower. Peter had nowhere to go and aside from having a spare room to offer you’d also been sort of lost in the current of the busy city with everyone you once loved in the area either dead, on the run or busy elsewhere.

While the question hadn’t crossed Peter’s mind, it had crossed yours on several occasions. He’d been staying with you for six months and the moment you realised that he was becoming one of the most important people in your life, the thought of him leaving you too weighed on your mind but at the end of the day you wanted him to feel happy. He deserved to feel happy and if going back to his reality brought him that happiness then you’d support him.

“Dunno,” he’d replied, turning to face you, chucking a handful of popcorn at you when you looked incredulous at his response, “To be honest I haven’t really thought about it, m’way too busy babysitting you anyway.” He joked, effortlessly dodging the few pieces of popcorn you attempted to throw at him.

For the last few nights, the question haunted him, but it wasn’t just the question that was bothering him. You were at the forefront of his mind as he replayed the past six months of his life which also happened to be the best six months of his life. WestView put him through hell but coming out the other side of it and meeting you felt like heaven.

He weighed up the pros and cons of returning to his native timeline. The cons: he’d have to leave you behind, he’d go back to being the loser who nobody took seriously, his talents would be downplayed and disregarded and he’d inevitably end up revisiting his lifestyle of solitude. Then there was the pros: he’d get to reunite with his pac man machine. He couldn’t manage to think up anything else.

If he stayed he’d have everything he ever wanted and needed. You’d be there and he knew you always would be, besides he couldn’t leave you knowing that you needed him. If he left who would wake you up when you had night terrors about the catastrophe that your reality was still recovering from? There would be nobody there to comfort you when you woke up from the nightmares, reliving the deaths of Natasha, Tony or Vision and the experience of being snapped out of existence? If he wasn’t there to make you laugh when you were about to cry then who would be? In his heart of hearts he knew you had a huge support system at your disposal, he’d met most of them. Even though he was well aware that Sam visited you as often as he could, that Bucky wrote you letters on a monthly basis and sometimes tagged along with Sam on his visits, that Stephen Strange appeared in your apartment whenever the urge struck him, that the literal god of thunder invited you out for beer whenever he was visiting Earth, that the little spider-kid, also named Peter, swung by your apartment at least once a week to tell you all about school and his good deeds. Despite knowing all of this and knowing all of these people loved you dearly, Peter wanted to be your main source of support, he didn’t want to be someone who came and went, who’d love you then leave you. He wanted to be with you through anything and everything and the feeling that you’d love him for a lifetime had him satisfied with the decision he was about to make.

If leaving his old life meant he could stay here, with you, and experience happiness for more than a fleeting moment then he’d simply; leave it all behind.

“I’ve been thinking about what you asked me the other night.” He spoke through a mouthful of curly fries. You were sitting in the food court of the mall when he decided to let you in on his desire to stay with you indefinitely.

You raised your eyebrow, “You? Putting thought into an answer? Peter, I think I’m starting to become a bad influence on you.” You told him teasingly, taking a long sip of your drink as he rolled his eyes humorously.

“You’re a terrible influence which is exactly why I’ve decided to stay here and put you on the straight and narrow.” The glee you felt at his statement was undeniable, your eyes lit up and your lips curled upwards.

“You’re staying? Really staying?” Your smile was contagious, Peter’s face now painted with a wide grin as he nodded his head.

In a moment of weakness he frantically added, “Y’know only if you want me to though. If you don’t that’s completely cool.” He rushed through the words, feeling more embarrassed when the fond look on your face never faded.

“Of course I want you to stay. You mean a lot to me.” You reassured him, a gentle smile on your lips as you reached across the metal table, intertwining your fingers with his.

Peter squeezed your hand gratefully, holding it in his grasp securely and allowing his smile to return to his face, “I know. You mean a lot to me too.” It was somewhat of an understatement, he was starting to understand that you didn’t just mean a lot, but that you meant everything.

His resolution lifted a huge weight off your shoulders that you wouldn’t be losing yet another best friend. You were glad he’d be with you when everything blew over with Wanda, the two of them definitely had the potential to develop a beautiful sibling relationship and they both deserved that. Of course, Peter would never replace Pietro and having known them both it was obvious just how different the two men were, the only thing they had in common being their powers and last name. Still, he and Wanda would still be able to work on it. He didn’t hate her after WestView and you knew Wanda well enough to know that she was kind hearted and she’d be more than willing to give him a chance. When she eventually comes back to her senses, that it.

As the months went on, life with you and Peter seemed to only get better. You never stopped laughing, your nightmares died down and Peter had taken on a whole new lease of life. Yourself and Peter were the perfect example of meeting the right person at the right time, you balanced each other out and accentuated the other’s good qualities.

Peter could now say with complete confidence that he was happy and what’s more is that he was finally sure that he was making someone happy.

Up until nearly eleven months of living together your relationship had been purely platonic, save for the constant flirting but flirtation pretty much ran in yours and Peter’s blood. Peter wasn’t going to lie to himself, he’d fallen for you the second you’d peeled the security tags off his stolen sunglasses.

You, on the other hand, had been fighting with yourself because yes, you love Peter but you couldn’t have told him when there was the possibility he’d eventually leave and now so much time has passed and you’ve got such a good thing going you didn’t have it in you to ruin it.

However, all of that changed when your original Maximoff best friend came knocking on your door.

Wanda was on the run. She’d caused an amazing amount of chaos but Stephen Strange and S.W.O.R.D were hot on her trail and now she needed a place to lay low with the twins. She figured there was no place more reliable to go than to the always open arms of her best friend, who conveniently had a divinity for earth magik and could muster up a protective barrier without raising suspicions. And that’s exactly where she found herself; outside your door.

You’d been chasing Peter around the apartment when you heard the knock on the door. Peter was on the opposite end of the kitchen to you, using the bar as a shield from you. “You better get that.”

“Oh you’d like that wouldn’t you?” You glared as you spoke, it was his own fault really. What sort of idiot jumpscares a witch while she’s mid-meditation? He’d frightened you so badly you accidentally blasted a ball of your signature green energy and ruined your favourite couch throw pillow. When you were ready to pounce on the scared speedster the knocks sounded again, more frantic this time.

With one last glare towards Peter you stomped towards the door. Your anger melted away completely when you saw her. Her hood was up and she looked completely exhausted, two small hooded little boys by her side.

“Wanda…” You breathed out, relief flooding your system at the sight of her alive. She didn’t get a chance to speak before your arms were pulling her against you tightly, hugging her as if your life depended on it. Wanda returned in your embrace, allowing herself to relax for the first time in nearly a year, she sniffled against your shoulder, holding back tears as she realised how much she’d truly missed you.

Billy and Tommy watched in confusion as their mother cried into your shoulder. They didn’t know who you were, all their mother had told them was that they were going somewhere safe.

It was the yell of one of the boys that caused you and Wanda to separate, “Uncle P!” With that you felt a familiar rush of air across your leg but instead of Peter appearing one of the kids was gone.

You shared a perplexed look with Wanda, although your confusion was for different reasons.

“Hey hell raisers!” Peter responded, catching the mini speedster who all but threw himself at him barely regaining his balance before the other child had flung himself into the hug.

“Wanda? Those two… are they...?” You started, at a loss for words Wanda cut you off quietly, her tone as disbelieving as yours.

“My children? Yes. Is that…?” You nodded your head numbly, anticipating the end of her question.

“Your fake brother? Yeah.” Quickly, you realised you and a wanted woman catching up with the door wide open wasn’t ideal and you ushered Wanda inside, shutting the door when she walked in.

“Hey.” Peter greeted her simply, as if he hadn’t been used as a meat puppet in her altered reality. It wasn’t in his nature to hold any grudges.

“Hi?” Wanda replied, her voice still twinged with confusion.

“Peter, will you keep an eye on the kids for a bit? Wanda and I have some catching up to do.” You asked him with a nervous laugh, just thankful that Wanda was too tired to argue with your suggestion.

Peter ruffled the boys’ hair and gave you a grin, “Only if you stop trying to kill me.”

You rolled your eyes as you began to lead Wanda into your bedroom, “You’re on probation, jerk.” You called over your shoulder.

Once you were securely in your bedroom, the door locked and sitting comfortably you fixed Wanda with an amused look, “I’d ask you what’s new but I’m not sure I even wanna know.”

Wanda gave you a sad smile while she shook her head, “No, you probably don’t. I will tell you tomorrow, I don’t want to get into it tonight. I’m so tired.” She admitted, her voice overcome with sadness.

“I’ll pump up the air mattress and you and the boys can sleep in here for however long you need. I’d offer you the spare room but that’s where Peter’s been staying and I don’t think empty food containers are the kind of decor you’d be into.” Wanda nodded, squeezing your hand gratefully.

“So his name is Peter?” She asked, curious about the man Agatha had used to trick her in WestView.

You nodded in confirmation, “Yeah. Peter Maximoff, actually.”

Wanda’s brows came to a furrow at that, “Maximoff? So he’s a relation?”

“Yes and no. Peter is from a different reality but he’s still a Maximoff and he’s got super speed. So, and this is just my theory, while you’re not directly related he could still be your brother- if you wanted him to.” You explained, as gently as you could, not trying to push her too far but to nudge the idea in her direction.

Wanda, to your surprise, didn't seem to hate the suggestion, “What is he like?”

A genuine smile made it onto your face then, as you shot into your description of your roommate, “He’s caring, funny, a little bit of a kleptomaniac but he’s working on it. He’s understanding and moronically selfless, moronic in the sense that he doesn’t even realise he’s being selfless. Huge pain in the ass too.” Wanda had a soft smile on her face by the time you’d finished.

“You like him.” Was all she said and you let out a laugh in disbelief, standing up and opening the door.

“Go grab a shower. I’ll have Peter blow up the air mattress while I go introduce myself to my god sons.”

“I thought you’d at least wait until I actually asked you.” Wanda laughed as you walked out of the room.

Things moved fairly quickly after that. As promised you introduced yourself to Billy and Tommy as their god mother, which they seemed more than thrilled about and you assumed that excitement had to do with whatever description of you Peter had given them. Wanda and the twins were all cleaned and fed and had all but collapsed into bed, foregoing the air mattress and huddling together in your double bed instead.

“Where are you sleeping, mother Teresa?” Peter teased as he noticed your eyes drooping where you stood.

“On the couch probably. Or the air mattress.” You mumbled, cutting yourself off with a yawn.

Peter, unimpressed with your options, scoffed, “No way. Come on, you can bunk with me.”

Much like Wanda, you were too tired to argue and you let Peter pull you to his, surprisingly clean, room by the hand.

You both crawled into the bed, lying close together despite the amount of empty space on the mattress.

“How are you feeling about all of this?” Your soft voice broke through the silence and Peter turned his head to look at you.

“About Wanda?” You nodded your head, watching him intently as he rolled onto his side, facing you more comfortably.

Peter shrugged lightly, “I’m feeling ok. Just glad the twins still see me as their cool uncle.” You let out a small laugh at his response.

“Wanda was asking about you. Seemed interested in getting to know the real you.” You informed him, your heartwarming as you watched a hopeful look fall across his face.

A lull settled over the room once again and Peter caught himself staring at you. His eyes drifted over every visible part of you, reminding him of most of the points on his pros list for staying in your universe; your eyes, your lashes, your nose, your lips, you.

“What’re you thinking about?” The sound of your tired voice pulled him out of his thoughts and ultimately pushed him to bite the bullet and tell you how he’s feeling. With you curled up beside him, in his bed, fighting sleep just to stay in his company for as long as you could; he knew there would be no better time.

“Just about how happy I am to be here with you.” He answered you honestly, the butterflies in both of your stomachs fluttering in sync at his words.

You trailed a hand under the duvet and onto the bedsheets between your bodies, feeling around until you found his hand and gently intertwined your fingers. “I’m happy you decided to stay.”

“What you’ve all gone through in this timeline sucks- don’t get me wrong-“ Peter started sincerely, scooting closer to you and dropping his head back down on the edge of your pillow, leaving the pair of you practically nose to nose as he went on.

“And I hate that Wanda had to go through so much… but I’m really glad that it led me to you.” Peter swore in that moment, right after the confession left his mouth, that he could die right now and be completely content knowing that you now knew how he felt.

His heart stopped, and he thought that maybe he was about to die, when you gave him the softest, sweetest smile he’d ever been on the receiving end of and whispered, “I feel the same.”

Time moved in slow motion as he felt you moving your intertwined hands towards your lips, your lips pressed gently against the back of Peter’s hand before you brought them to rest against your chest.

It was a fact to say that Peter Maximoff had never felt intimacy quite like this before. But, experiencing it now, with you, led him to wonder how he’d ever survived without it. He wasn’t sure whether it was natural to crave more, especially when the affection you were showing him was so gentle, but he didn’t care as he let the impulsive side of him take over.

Not sparing another word, Peter closed the small distance between your lips and his. His free hand cupped your jaw while yours wasted no time in getting tangled in his silver hair.

His lips moved softly and surprisingly slowly over yours and he savoured the feeling of your hand holding his while your other got lost in his hair, your body pressed up against him, the way your jaw moved against his palm as you reciprocated the movement of his lips and the taste of your lips, promising himself he’d never let the memory slip from his mind for as long as he lived.

With complete clarity, Peter could say he had felt true, genuine happiness and he had no doubt in his mind that there was absolutely nothing Charles, Hank, Scott or anyone else from his original timeline could say to make him leave this happiness behind. Because in the process of forgetting his old life, he couldn’t deny that he has undoubtedly found himself in the position of a man who had so much more to live for.

[kinderdays]

full name: katarina sophia cage // status: alive

can i handle the seasons of my life?

born to immigrant parents, katarina was raised a fighter.  since she was a girl she’s had fire in her veins.  she sticks up for the underdog.  in grade school she once spread super glue stolen from her teacher’s desk on the seat of a student who had been picking on a classmate.  she was never caught.  this would one of the first instances of katya displaying her passion for helping others- even if sometimes means breaking the rules.  she isn’t afraid to do what it takes to protect the people she loves, or anyone she sees who needs it.  when they are running low on medical supplies while working under fedra, it’s her that suggests they seek other ways of getting the medicine they needed.  it’s her who contacts the orquídeas.  

'til the landslide brought me down

katya is sharp, tactful.  when she first meets alexei volkov, she uses her maiden name, carefully slipping into a touch of the slavic accent she heard on her parents tongue growing up.  she thinks that maybe, if he thinks there is a chance she is russian, he will regard her more highly, and in turn favor her family.  she thinks perhaps it is her chance at a bit of protection.  years later she will wonder if it worked, if her husband being selected for a mission in jackson was seen as an honor.  he sent his own brother, after all.  maybe he was meant to come home a hero.  she’s never introduced herself as a mensik again.

children get older and i'm getting older too

she is vengeful- doesn’t quickly forgive and forget.  she isn’t easily fooled.  it’s almost like she can smell trouble- sense it in the distance.  hard work is no stranger to her.  she’s never slowed, even in her older age.  in the past few years she’s developed worsening arthritis in her hands and wrists which as made her work more difficult.  more than the pain, she hates being less useful.  it’s taken a toll.  she refuses to take medication, insisting everything the infirmary has goes to those who need it more.

playlist –– kingdom come by the civil wars // garden song by pheobe bridgers // the mother by brandi carlise // into the fire by thirteen senses // landslide by fleetwood mac

character parallels –– meredith grey (grey’s anatomy), juliet burke (lost)

full name: kenneth alexander cage // status: deceased

come stop your crying it will be alright

his choice to become a doctor comes from a life of looking out for others.  intensely caring and tender, he’s never put himself first.  when he meets a clever nurse with a spark in her eyes, kenneth is instantly hooked.  she asks him out for coffee and the rest is history.  a love story for the ages, perhaps.  but they’re happily ever after is short lived.  soon they are torn from their homes, thrust into a new far more dangerous world.  they don’t hesitate to take action, saving those they can. 

this bond between us can’t be broken

their daughter isn’t exactly planned.  the couple has always wanted children but under the circumstances they weren’t so sure.  but of course as soon as katya tells her husband the news he is overjoyed.  she is born and he names her ophelia.  she captures his heart in an instant, and he knows he will never love anything more than this child.  he wants to protect her, he wants to prepare her for the grueling world she faces.  from a young age he begins to teach her everything he possibly can.  she knows the name for every bone in the human body by the time she’s nine.  by age eleven she knows how to make a tourniquet.  the three of them are a tight-knit unit, loyal only to each other.  and when the son of fallen friends returns to the falls, they don’t hesitate to take him in, they love him as their own.

i may not be with you but you've got to hold on

on a hot summer day, kenneth is selected to be apart of a team headed to jackson town.  he is not a fighter, but he knows it’s not really a request.  and when gil is also picked for the mission, the answer is clear.  he goes with only one task in mind- bring his soldiers home alive.  armed with a medkit and a pistol, they head into the unknown.  of course, they would have no idea the horror that awaited them in wyoming.  they never stood a chance.  shrapnel and bullets flying, kenneth is hit.  ringing in his ears, blood seeping from a wound in his chest, he doesn’t feel the pain.  he can hardly breath but adrenaline pumps through him as he crawls to his boy, applies pressure to his wounds, wraps him tightly.  you’re gonna be okay, i’ve got you, you’re gonna be okay, keep your eyes open.  and perhaps that could have been true for both of them, but he’s lost so much blood.  the color is drained from his face and only now does he lift up his shirt and realize a bullet has gone straight through him.  air escapes him, red stains his lips.  his last words are to his son, don’t worry about me, go.  a part of him wants to tell him to take care of his girls, but knows he doesn’t need to nor does he wish to impose that pressure as a dying wish.  a last act of empathy.  kenneth is a man of science but in his last moments he looks up at the sky and silently thanks god for giving him enough time to save him.  he doesn’t die alone.

playlist –– you’ll be in my heart by phil collins // fix you by coldplay // right by you by john legend // i just called to say i love you by john prine // bring him home from les miserables

character parallels –– jack shephard (lost), sully (monster’s inc.)