#and ever since they he's just happier when they meet again after however brief separation ;-;

[cacoetheswriting]

hell or high water

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader warnings: angst, possible tfatws spoilers, swearing, dealing with emotions / comforting, mutual pining, a lil fluff, & mentions of john walker [yes, i’m adding that as a warning] word count: 1.5k summary: unexpected, and rather devastating news, bring you and bucky together.

-

The calm before the storm - a period of unusual tranquillity and stability that often foreshadowed grave and difficult times.

The calm before the storm. That’s how you would describe what was happening during this moment, as you propped yourself up on the chair, silently observing Bucky for any sort of reaction to the breaking headline currently being shared on every single news channel.

John Walker. The new Captain America.

Bucky’s face was blank, although by now you’ve gotten to know him well enough to understand what the expression, or lack thereof, meant. He was irritated - no - he was fucking pissed. And truthfully, he had every right to be.

“I liked that what I was doing would make people feel safe. Steve Rogers was the kind of guy who could do that, he gave me hope. Even though I never met him, he feels like a brother.” John Walker’s voice sounded through the shitty speakers.

Bucky’s heart sank at the words. He smacked his lips together and exhaled.

“Hey, uhm… are you okay?” You asked in a hushed tone, eyes glued to the side of his face, nervously chewing down on your bottom lip. It was a really stupid question since you already knew the answer. Of course he wasn’t okay. Far from it, actually. In your eyes however, it was always better to check anyway. 

Especially since the man sitting on the cool ground only an arms length away from you wasn’t one to open up freely.

Bucky grunted in response, followed by a deep sigh.

“Just… peachy.” He huffed, before switching the tv off and sliding a hand down his face, wiping away any lone tears that may have escaped.

His response caused your heart to clench inside of your chest. You wanted to ease any pain the unexpected news caused him, but you weren’t exactly sure how. You felt extremely helpless, and from where you sat you could tell he was feeling the exact same - however, for different reasons.

His powerlessness was primarily fueled by anger.

And Bucky was aware the dangerous emotions circulating through his veins was undoubtedly stemming from heartbreak. Sorrow for everything he lost. Grief for the only family he had left.

Prior to meeting you, Steve was the only person that accepted him for who he was. Cherished him despite the many flaws and mistakes he’s made over the years. The only person in this whole damn universe who could easily separate him from his dark and troubled past. The only person who didn’t just see him as The Winter Soldier, a ruthless killing machine.

No.

Prior to meeting you, Steve was the only person who truly and earnestly believed Bucky was a good person.

And now Bucky had to witness Captain America being formally replaced. As if Steve Rogers was nothing. As if he meant nothing.

Which is why, as the dark-haired man stared at his own hollow reflection in the blank television screen, he was glad you entered his life when you did.

His gaze trailed to the outline of your silhouette and a small smile circled his lips. Knowing that you were here for him. Knowing that it was no longer only Steve who wholeheartedly believed he was genuine and kind… He felt better.

You could see him looking at you through the black display. You could see the miniscule smile present on his features, and you couldn’t help but return the expression.

Soon enough you were up on your feet, gracefully moving from the rather uncomfortable chair to the even more uncomfortable floor next to Bucky. You placed your head on his shoulder and his whole body instantly relaxed at your proximity, at your gentle and soothing touch. His eyes locked with yours through the monitor and you could clearly make out the gratitude, the adoration.

Yes. For a brief moment, a split second, Bucky felt better.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, bringing your knees closer to your chest and wrapping one arm tightly around to hold them in place. “I’m sorry this is happening. I know it’s not what you wanted, and… I know it’s now what Steve wanted.”

“Don’t apologise.” Bucky was quick to contravene.

You just shrugged, your head still resting against him. “Well, the people that made this decision, the people that should apologise most definitely won’t, and it seems like something you need to hear. A simple apology.”

He huffed lightly, once again feeling grateful he had someone like you to ground him. God, if you weren’t here… No. No. He stopped himself and shook the disturbing thoughts away. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because you were here, and you weren’t going anywhere.

He swallowed.

But he was. He had no other choice.

“I- uh… I need to go, y/n. I need to find Sam. I need to talk to him and get some answers.”

“I know.” You stated simply, however there was a detectable hint of sadness in the tone of your voice. Bucky picked up on it immediately and he shifted in his position, so that he was now looking down at you.

His gaze burned into the side of your skull, lip quivering as he searched his mind for what to say next because he hated this. Hated it came to this. And you hated it too.

You began to feel guilty. If you weren’t in his life, he wouldn’t have this problem. He wouldn’t have you to worry about. He wouldn’t need to explain himself. There would be nothing holding him back.

Fuck, you thought, life was just starting to get easier.

Swallowing the growing lump at the back of your throat, you mustered up enough courage to face him. The amiable look in his eyes caused the butterflies in your stomach to flutter momentarily.

“But you’ll come back.” It wasn’t a request. It was a fact. Corners of your lips twirled into a timid smile, yet all Bucky could focus on were the tears you were trying really hard to fight back.

Slowly, he nodded his head. How could he not come back? All you did these last few months was make him a little bit happier. He could only dream to one day return the favour, because as smart as Bucky Barnes was, he had no idea he already made you the happiest you’d ever been.

“I’ll come back.” He reassured.

“Alive.”

He chuckled softly before repeating, “Alive.”

Lifting your hand, you tenderly brushed your fingers down his cheek and across his jawline. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he leaned into your touch. It shouldn’t have, but it did. Because as you held his face in the palm of your hand while he studied every inch of yours, the uncertainty of when you would see each other again gradually settling in, you realised you’ve never been this close to one another.

You thought perhaps you should pull back, that this was a little too close for comfort, but you found yourself unable to move. Frozen. Completely captivated by the handsome man situated in front of you.

It should have felt weird, the intimacy of the moment. It should have felt weird. Why, why didn’t it feel weird? Bucky was your neighbour. He was your friend. There was nothing else to your relationship. Nothing��� more.

But as you stared deeply into his eyes, taking note of the warm expression he was presenting as he continued to scan your face, the air hitched in your throat. 

It felt natural.

Bucky sensed it too. He sensed the change in the atmosphere around the two of you. Unfamiliar, yet not unwelcoming. Quite the opposite actually. It drew him in. He found himself slowly leaning in, and like a magnet, you followed suit.

When his mouth eventually slanted over yours, your heart skipped a beat.

The kiss was gentle at first, as if Bucky was indicating you could stop him at any given time, if you wanted too. It wouldn’t take much to push him away and end this now. But you didn’t want to stop him. Instead, you closed your eyes at the desirable sensation igniting every single cell in your body.

Any boundary the two of you had previously unspokenly set was crossed, broken. However, it didn’t seem to matter to either of you.

The hand previously cupping Bucky’s cheek, was now gripping at his hair. Both of his hands were now holding your waist - not applying too much pressure, but making it known that they were there.

You wanted to comment how he very rarely touched you with his metal arm, always weary that he may somehow hurt you, and now he was latched onto you in a way that suggested he would never let you go, but his tongue wound its way between your parted lips, breaking you away from your thoughts.

After what felt like a blissful eternity, you pulled away simultaneously. Equally flushed and equally breathless. Smiling at one another like a couple of love-struck idiots.

“Hmm.. We can continue this when you’re back.” You whispered against his puffed lips, before pecking them softly.

Bucky smirked. He lifted his right arm and gently brushed loose strands of your hair behind your ear. “Don’t you worry, y/n.” He began, “Come hell or high water, I’ll definitely be back.”

-

masterlist

[trashcanmarvelfan]

Second Chances - A Benverly Post- IT: Chapter Two Fanfic

Summary: After everything is over, Ben finally asks Beverly about the bruises he noticed on her arm the night they arrived back in town.

Warnings: 2 uses of the F-bomb (if you've seen the movie you guys know Richie has a mouth like a sailor so that's not too bad, all things considering) and non-graphic allusions to spousal abuse. Bonus Reddie feels, although Eddie is still dead, guys.

Word Count: 2100-ish.

Author’s Note: I wish we would've gotten more sweet Benverly togetherness in Chapter Two, but that's what fanfic is for, right? Whipped this up, gave it a read-thru, and here you guys are. Enjoy.

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3 (Coming soon).

Ben Hanscom stood in a small circle with his childhood friends inside the underground clubhouse he had built during the summer they had all met, the summer that had been both of one of the best & one of the worst summers of Ben's life-- although he hadn't known it at the time. He had met Bev, Bill, Richie, Mike, Stan, and Eddie, who along with Ben collectively formed the Losers Club. During that summer Ben had also battled an evil demonic clown, wrote the first-- and last-- love poem he had ever anonymously sent someone, and had his first kiss (well, sorta). Unfortunately for Ben the person with whom he shared his first kiss was, at the time, incapacitated due to said evil demonic clown, and the poem was incorrectly attributed to someone else.

The Losers had scattered after that summer. Bev had gone to live with relatives out of state, Eddie had been dragged off to a new town by his mom, and eventually the rest of the Losers moved off as well, forgetting about Derry, that summer… and each other.

All except for Mike. He had stayed, and when It had resurfaced 27 years later, he had gathered the Losers Club to fight It again, this time defeating It for good. However, defeating It had come with a price. This time, Stan hadn't made it back to Derry and Eddie hadn't made it to the end.

Ben glanced around the circle. Each of his fellow remaining Losers were, like him, puffy-eyed and tear-streaked. They had agreed to meet one last time on their way out of town -- Bill was heading back west with the new, 'happier' ending for the film that was being made out of one of his books.  Mike had decided since It was really and truly gone that he was moving on to Florida. Richie was heading back to L.A. Beverly… Actually Ben didn't know exactly what Beverly's plans were. He knew she needed to go back to Chicago to 'wrap up some loose ends' but had no idea what her plans were beyond that.

It had taken 27 years, but Bev had finally figured out that Ben was the one who had written her the poem. Besides that underwater kiss at the Quarry though they hadn't discussed the poem or the fact that Ben had carried around the yearbook page that Beverly had signed in his wallet.

The Losers were currently holding an impromptu memorial service for Stan and Eddie before going their separate ways, and each had shared a memory about Stan and Eddie, respectively.  Ben had gone first, then Mike, then Bill and Beverly, until finally it was Richie's turn as the last Loser to share. Ben listened with a chuckle as Richie reminisced about Stan's bar mitzvah, when Stan had basically told all of the adults in the congregation to go fuck themselves, and now he was about to say something about Eddie. Richie sniffled. "I have to tell you guys something."

The rest of the Losers waited patiently.

Richie took a deep breath. "I'm gay, and when we were kids I was in love with Eddie. I was head-over-heels in love with him, and I never got a chance to tell him before he moved away. Then we came back here and all my old feelings for him came rushing back like I was 13 again."

Ben placed a hand on Richie's shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. He could relate--well, not the being gay part, but being in love with someone and not directly getting to tell them how he felt before it was too late. Fortunately for Ben, however, he had a second chance.

January embers

He quickly glanced over at Beverly, who was watching Richie speak with fresh tears in her eyes.

"He saved us," Richie continued. "Telling us about choking the leper and making it small… if it hadn't been for him then none of us would've made it out. But Eddie deserved to make it out too. He deserved to live..." He broke down into sobs. 

Ben and Beverly both moved to wrap Richie in a hug as he cried, and Mike and Bill placed encouraging hands on his back. 

When Richie seemed to have calmed down somewhat, Ben asked, "You ok, man?"

Richie nodded. "Eddie should've been here celebrating with the rest of us. I never got a chance to tell him how I felt before he died, but I figure if I at least tell our best friends, it'll make not getting to tell him hurt just a little bit less."

He sighed. "Life is short -- I missed my chance with Eddie, but don't you guys pass up the opportunity to tell the ones you love how you feel."

With one final sniffle he wiped his eyes. "I made all those jokes about banging Eddie's mom when we were kids when really all I wanted to do was bang Eddie," he joked.

Ben couldn't help but smile.

Bill's phone went off with an alert. "Shoot, guys. I hate to cut this short but Richie and I have a flight back to L.A. in an hour."

"I should probably get going too," Mike added.

Ben and the rest of the Losers gave them each a brief hug. "We'll stay in touch this time," Bill promised as he gave Beverly a hug, and Ben couldn't help but feel a tiny pang of jealousy before chastising himself. Bill is your friend, you ass. What he and Beverly had ended long ago. Besides, Bill is happily married.  Beverly was married too, but from what Ben had gathered he suspected it wasn't too happily.

He watched as Bill and Mike climbed up the ladder to the surface, followed soon by Richie. As Richie's footsteps faded, Ben could hear Beverly say, "I think he knew."

He turned to her. "What?"

Beverly gestured toward the ladder. "Eddie. I think he knew how Richie felt about him, and I think he felt the same way about Richie." She sighed. "They would've been happy together."

Ben nodded. "Yeah, I could see it too between them. The way they would look at each other when they thought the other one wasn't looking." That hit a little too close to home, he thought.

He cleared his throat before changing the subject. "Hey, can I ask you about something? Something personal. And it's ok if you don't want to talk about it, but…" he trailed off.

Beverly nodded and took a seat on the bench that Ben had made their sophomore year of high school, after Beverly had left and Ben started getting more into architecture in order to keep his mind occupied. She patted the spot next to her.

Ben took a seat and was silent for a few moments while he collected his thoughts. How do I go about this? 

Finally, he decided that the direct approach would probably be best. "When we got here… back to Derry, I mean… I noticed bruises on your arm at dinner. Then when you flinched away from me… Is everything ok, Bev?"

Beverly paled and wouldn't make eye contact with Ben, instead choosing to look at the floor. "Tom… my husband… he wasn't very happy that I was leaving so suddenly," she explained. "We-- we got into a fight, and he-- he--" she broke off.

Ben stiffened. "Was that the first time?"

"No," Beverly whispered, then started crying. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Hey," Ben said gently, slowly reaching for Bev and giving her plenty of time to back away. Instead of rejecting his offer of comfort, however, Beverly leaned into Ben's embrace, allowing him to wrap his arms around her as her body wracked with sobs. "There's absolutely no need to apologize for anything. None of anything that you have gone through is your fault, okay? None of it. Not the shit we went through with Pennywise, or anything your dad or your husband put you through. You hear me? None of it was your fault and you have every right to be upset." Ben stroked Bev's hair soothingly as he held her. "You're safe with me, Bev. You're safe. I swear on my life that as long as I am breathing no one will ever harm you again." 

Beverly hiccuped. "Thank you," she whispered, tightening her hold on Ben. "Thank you." She sniffled and leaned back to look at him face-to-face.

When they were kids Ben had thought that Beverly was a beautiful girl; now he thought that she was a beautiful woman. He wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs, letting his hands gently rest on her cheeks. "You deserve all the happiness in the world," he said, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Beverly reached up to wrap her hands around Ben's. "I should have realized all those years ago that you were the one who wrote me the poem."

Ben tilted his head to the side. "How do you figure?"

Beverly smirked. "Bill's a great writer but he's no poet, Eddie and Richie were too busy arguing and making moony eyes at each other to be interested in anyone else, Stan probably either would've been too nervous to leave the note or would've 'fessed up almost immediately, and Mike was just trying to survive the summer-- I don't think he even thought of me as a girl at the time." She paused. "But you… you saw me, didn't you? You've always seen me. Your hair is winter fire," she recited. "January embers."

"My heart burns there too," Ben finished. "Still does. Always has in fact, although I didn't always quite remember why I was carrying around a yearbook page with only one signature on it."

Beverly smiled. "It's ok, New Kid," she said, then the next thing Ben knew Beverly was kissing him.

Their second (okay, technically third) kiss was even better than their first (okay, second). Considering the fact that Beverly was still in the Deadlights' thrall and wasn't even conscious for the first one as kids, Ben figured that shouldn't even count. Their first kiss as adults, shared under the dirty water of the quarry, paled in comparison to the feel of Beverly's lips on his own at that moment.

For a split second Ben thought maybe this was all another Pennywise-induced hallucination, then had the brief notion that maybe he had died in the battle and somehow made it to heaven instead of whatever hellscape Pennywise inhabited.

He realized it was neither when Beverly ran her fingers through his hair and gave it a slight tug, making him moan.

"Jesus, Bev," he muttered, pulling her into his lap and seeking permission to deepen the kiss.

Suddenly they heard a voice:

"It's about fuckin' time!"

They whipped their heads around to see Richie, Bill, and Mike, all watching them with shit-eating grins on their faces.

"What are you guys doing back here?" Ben asked as Bev giggled and buried her face in his neck.

Richie gestured to a now-blushing Bill. "Billy here forgot his wallet, so we came back down to get it. Didn't know we were gonna get a show as well."

"Beep beep, Richie," Bill said.

Richie ignored him. "So this is finally happening, huh? You two gonna ride off into the sunset together?"

Ben shrugged then looked at Bev, who was biting her kiss-swollen bottom lip to keep from laughing. "The man's got a point... What do you say? Come to Nebraska with me?"

Bev seemed to consider it for a few moments."I have a few things to take care of in Chicago first, so would you mind stopping off there on the way?"

"Bev, I'd follow you to the ends of the Earth and beyond if you asked me to," Ben said honestly.

Bev's answering smile made Ben fall just a little bit more in love with her.

"Okay, well, that's our exit," Bill, who had snuck over to the corner and retrieved his wallet from the table, said. "Come on, guys, let's leave them alone."

"Congratulations, you two," Mike said before heading back up the ladder. 

"We'll see you guys again soon," Bill added before following.

"And remember," Richie yelled down as he disappeared out of sight, "practice safe sex!"

Ben shook his head fondly. "Richie is such an asshole."

"Yeah," Beverly agreed with a grin, "but he's our asshole."

"True." Ben bit his lip and slid his hands up Beverly's sides. "Now, were were we?"

Beverly smirked. "I believe about right here," she replied as she sought Ben's lips out once more.

[me-myself-and-my-fos]

Reunion

Pairing: Jeremiah Valeska x Nic Valeska

Word Count: 2442

AU: Dark

Summary: Ten years after Jeremiah is thrown into Arkham he escapes, and the first people he visits his wife and children…

A/N: This is based off an RP I did with @dancing-with-skeletons a long time ago. Basically Jeremiah never falls into the acid in this au

It was exactly 10 years to the day since Nic last saw her husband. She remembers how hard it was to adjust coming to terms with having to raise their twins by herself. Since the trial, since his incarceration, Nic had no contact with Jeremiah as per the agreement she made with the DA, a condition that let her keep custody of the twins and not send her to Blackgate. It hurt, even still. Not being able to let her husband know how the twins were doing. She wrote him letters and took pictures, none of which she ever sent. Jim had offered once to take the package to Arkham, that there was no harm in him participating as a proxy for a brief period. While she appreciated the offer, Nic couldn’t stomach the thought that all of Jeremiah’s knowledge on the development of their children would be coming from a box and not in person. He would never know that Sarah and Tiberius’s first words were “dada” or that Sarah took her first steps at 10 months, much quicker than her pediatrician had expected. He would never know that Sarah was top of her class, or that Tiberius had just recently joined the robotics team. Jeremiah would never get to see how much the twins looked like him, something Nic constantly reminded them. She’d always tell the twins how they had their father’s hair, and that Sarah had his eyes, or that Tiberius looked almost identical to Jeremiah at that age.

In the 10 years she spent without Jeremiah, Nic developed a nightly routine. Every night, after the twins were put to sleep, she would sit in her bedroom and write. She’d write to Jeremiah about what transpired that day, how much she wished he was there and how she hopes that one day she’ll see him again. After the letter was finished, stained with her tears, she’d date it and fold it up, placing it in the box with the other letters and pictures. The box was hidden in her closet, a place the twins would never find it.

It was late, close to 10pm, when she was getting ready for bed. Nic wasn’t aware that the front door to the house had been picked and was slowly opening and closing. She wasn’t aware that someone was coming up the stairs and noticed the bathroom light on. But the hairs on the back of her neck stood up as the figure stayed in the darkness, staring into the bathroom. She tried to ignore the quickness of her pulse, assuming it was due to the thoughts that filled her head all day.

“You still look beautiful, darling.” Came a voice from the darkness.

Nic froze, her brush in her hair as she paused. Her eyes widened, tears pooling in her eyes. No. Her mind was playing tricks on her. It had to be.

“You grew your hair out.” There was a soft chuckle. “I always remember you hating it long. What changed, darling?”

She finished brushing her hair, setting the brush down on the counter. “You should leave, Jeremiah.”

He stepped into the doorway, the lighting revealing him to her. It was no surprise he aged as she did, but her heart still stopped. Even after all these years, he still looked handsome. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“When did you escape Arkham?” She asked, tying her hair up with a scrunchie.

“Hours ago.” He replied, taking a step closer. She tensed slightly at his close proximity, especially when he stood behind her and she felt his hands on her waist. “I needed to see you.”

“Jeremiah… please leave.” She said meekly, not having the heart to look at his reflection in the mirror. She didn’t need to look to know he had a soft smile on his face as he looked at her.

“Are you sure you want that?” He asked. “I’ve missed you, Nic.”

She let out a shaky breath. “I missed you too, Miah.” Her knuckles gripped the sink. “But you really need to leave. The police—”

“—cannot stop me from seeing my wife and children.”

“I… I can’t lose you. Not again.” She whispered. Her knuckles had gone white from her grip. “It’s been so hard without you, Miah. Raising the twins… I needed you. And I’m so sorry I haven’t told you about them. I couldn’t. If I did… if I did, they’d take them away. I already lost you. I couldn’t lose our babies.”

Jeremiah pulled her to face him, and he cupped her face in his hands. He wiped away the tears running down her cheeks with his thumbs. “I promise you, dear, that won’t happen. I won’t let it.”

She covered his hand with hers. “I missed you so much, pumpkin.”

He leaned down and kissed her softly. She leaned into him, her free hand finding its way to his belt. She tugged on it, attempting to pull him as close to her as physically possible. “I love you, my darling.”

She smiled against his lips. “I love you too.” Then she frowned. “The kids… last time you saw them they could barely sit on their own.”

“I imagine they aren’t babies anymore.” He chuckled.

“They’ve gotten so big.” She gave him a sad smile. “Would you like to meet them?”

Jeremiah blinked, taken aback by her question. He honestly wasn’t expecting that, not so suddenly at least. He was hoping for a little more time with his wife before he got to meet his children. But he smiled, kissing her head. “I’d love to.” Nic took his hand, lacing her fingers with his and pulling him from the bathroom. They headed down the hall and stopped in front of a bedroom door that said “Twins’ Room” in bold, rainbow letters.

“They should be asleep,” she whispered to Jeremiah. Her hand reached for the knob and she slowly opened the door. The moonlight shone through the window, and there was a small night light on between the twins’ beds. They were each curled up on their separate beds opposite of each other. Nic quietly stepped into the room, careful not to walk on any of Sarah’s discarded legos or Tiberius’s drawings. She tiptoed over to Sarah’s bed, kneeling beside it. Nic gently brushed some ginger hair from her daughter’s face. “Gingerbread? Wake up, sweetheart.” Sarah slowly opened her eyes, a small whine escaping.

“Mama?” She questioned, puzzled why her mother was waking her up. Nic didn’t reply, only kissing Sarah’s head and creeping over to do the same with Tiberius. Sarah took her glasses from its place under her pillow and put them on. Nic flipped the light switch by the door and the lights came on. The twins rubbed their eyes.

“Kids, someone wants to meet you.” Nic announced, looking towards Jeremiah at his spot in the hallway. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of the reaction he’d receive from them. He wasn’t even sure they knew who he was. Nic gave him a small encouraging smile, and that was enough for him. Jeremiah walked into the doorway, and the twins’ faces lit up. They recognized him from the pictures their mother showed them.

“Daddy!” They both shouted, jumping from their separate beds and running towards him at full speed. The moment they attached themselves to either of his legs, Jeremiah had to grip the doorway to keep from being knocked over.

That was not the greeting he had expected. Yet, he felt relieved they knew him. He bent down, pulling them into his chest and he hugged them tightly. Sarah and Tiberius hugged back, neither one losing the grin on their face. Jeremiah pressed a kiss to their heads.

“You’re home!” Tiberius grinned.

“I am.” Jeremiah nodded, smiling at his son. “And I’m not leaving. I promise.”

“Daddy, where have you been?” Sarah asked. Nic chuckled lightly from her spot in the room. Sarah was always the inquisitive one.

“Away,” Jeremiah said. “But I’m here now.” He kissed each of their heads again. “I love you both so much.”

“I love you too, daddy.” Both twins replied, happily hugging him tighter. Jeremiah could have stayed like forever.

“It’s time to go back to bed.” Nic said. She didn’t want to end the moment, she truly didn’t, but she’s dealt with the twins when they’re sleep deprived and tired. She wanted them to get rest for the next day. “Don’t worry, though, your father will be here in the morning. You’ll get to spend more time with him.” She smiled.

“Can he tuck us in?” Tiberius asked, peering up at his mother. He didn’t have to give her the puppy eyes, but he did it anyway for added effect. It worked.

“Of course he can.” Nic replied.

Jeremiah tucked each of the twins in bed, kissing them goodnight and saying he’d see them in the morning. They were satisfied with that, and Sarah, as always, fell asleep as soon as her eyes were closed.

Nic shut off the light, leaving the only sources being the moon and their night light. She closed the door once she and Jeremiah were out of the room. She took his hand and led him down to her bedroom, closing the door once they were inside. It was a mostly barren room, only the bed and her closet and a single dresser. There were pictures hung on the wall, some of Jeremiah long before everything occurred, others of the twins at various ages. Jeremiah sat on the edge of the bed, taking in everything.

There was a tinge of guilt in his chest as he watched Nic rifle through her closet for something. He was the cause of all this. Had he not done what he did, he would have been able to raise the twins with Nic. They would’ve had the family they talked about so long ago. They would be much happier than they were now.

Nic sat beside him on the bed, a small box in her lap.

“What’s that?” Jeremiah asked her.

Nic scooted over, placing it between them. “Something I made for you.” Her voice was shaky as she spoke, she sniffled as she lifted the lid off the box. Inside were many letters, and pictures as well. They were mostly of the twins, a few of Nic with the twins. She picked up one of the pictures and showed it to Jeremiah. It was a more recent photo, he could tell, as the twins looked about the same age they are now. However, they were dressed as Frankenstein and Frankenstein’s monster. “This is from Halloween.” Nic gave him a small smile. “Sarah got to choose their costumes this year, and she wanted to be Frankenstein.”

Jeremiah smiles softly. “And you?”

Nic laughed. “I was Igor.” She placed the picture down and pulled out another one. It was the twins by the Gotham pier, both holding fishing rods with small fish attached to the hooks. “Every summer I’ve been taking the twins fishing. They love it so much.”

“They look so much like you.” Jeremiah commented. He remembers back in school, the first time he ever saw Nic fishing. She had a bright smile on her face, just as the twins did in the photo. “They have your smile.”

“And they have your freckles.” She replied. “And your hair, Sarah has your eyes, Tiberius has your face…”

“Sarah also has your nose,” he pointed out playfully.

Nic shook her head, smiling a little wider. “Sarah is so much like you. She’s brilliant and determined and she loves building things… She’s so much like you.”

“Tiberius seems to be a lot like you.”

Nic nodded. Her eyes fell to the box. “I wish you were here for all of it. Their first steps, their first words… Miah, their first words were ‘dada’.” She wiped away a stray tear. “Every year, I ask what they want for their birthday. Do you know what they told me every year without fail?” Jeremiah stayed silent, although he had a saddened hunch what the answer was. “All they wanted was their father. And every Christmas… I’d take them to see Santa and all they’d ask him for is for their father. It broke my heart every single time I heard that. I couldn’t tell them why you were away, just that you were and that you love them very much.”

Jeremiah pushed the box to the side, pulling Nic closer and hugging her to his chest. He rubbed her back as she let out the first of many sobs.

“And all I wanted was to have my husband home so we could be a family.” She whispered tearfully.

“I’m here now, darling, and I am never leaving you or the children.” He whispered, kissing her temple. “No one can ever force me to leave you ever again.”

“Miah, if the police find you—”

“They won’t,” he told her. “Because we’re leaving Gotham.”

She pulled away, tears still running down her cheeks, but Nic gave him a look of confusion. “We’re… what? Leaving Gotham?”

He nodded, taking her hands and squeezing them. He absentmindedly rubbed his thumb over her wedding ring. He was surprised to find that she still wore it, even after all these years. “We are leaving Gotham, somewhere the GCPD will never find us. Ecco is going to get us out of the city, and we’ll be free.”

She stared at him for a long moment. It was so sudden, Jeremiah coming back into her life and now leaving Gotham. It was almost overwhelming.

“But–but what about your work? Your–your plans for the city?” She asked. “Everything you worked for…”

“In due time, darling.” He grinned, kissing her cheek. He was thrilled to hear even after all she’s been through, Nic still supported his work. “With you back by my side, we can get back to work. And the children, well when the time comes, of course they’ll be our heirs. But we will be a family.”

A surge of excitement pulsed through her body. Nic grinned, the tears having stopped long ago. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow,” he told her. “Tonight, I want to be with my wife, and in the morning, spend time with my children.”

Nic leaned forward, kissing him passionately, her hands pulling at his tie. She leaned back, laying on the bed with Jeremiah on top of her. “It’s been ten years, love, I need to be with you. In every way.”

Jeremiah smirked, trailing kisses from her jaw to her neck. “As you wish, my Queen.”

[lets-talk-appella]

Five Minutes

Bechloe Week Day 5 - Road Trip

Summary: Beca and Jesse have gone on a road trip meant to seal their future together, leaving Chloe devastated. She gives up entirely, hiding away from the world... but then, there's a knock on the door. For Bechloe Week 2018 - Road Trip.

Word Count: 2.6k

AO3 and FFN

Chloe’s throat burns, her eyes swollen, puffy, and gritty. Her head pounds and her chest aches from the force of her sobbing. Her stomach still churns from the last time she’d thrown up, even though it had already been emptied the first time. She’s utterly exhausted, barely having slept for the last four days.

None of that compares, though, to the excruciating black hole where her heart should be. It hurts to move, so she hasn’t in several hours, except to lean over the toilet. It hurts to smile, so she hasn’t in days. It hurts to speak, so she hasn’t except to yell at the others to leave her alone. It hurts to breathe, and at her darkest moment, she wishes she didn’t have to do that anymore, either. She’s completely empty.

She lies alone on the bathroom floor in the Bella house, isolating herself from the others, unable to bear seeing their faces and searching automatically for the one that’s missing. They tried to talk to her, tried to get her to open the door, but she’d screamed at them to go away until they finally had.

She feels terrible about it, especially since they’ll all be moving out soon. The Worlds competition had been five days ago, and their lease on the Bella house is nearly up. She knows she’s being selfish, knows she’s going to regret not spending time with them before they all go their separate ways, but she still can’t find the strength to pick herself up from the floor. Five more minutes, she keeps telling herself. Just five more. Then five more. She needs more time to recover. Then she’ll see them. In five more minutes.

But she just can’t stop crying.

Beca had left first, which had sort of surprised her, even though it really shouldn’t have. Beca had always wanted to go to LA. Hadn’t she been saying that from day one? So why should Chloe have been so caught off guard when basically the instant they’d come back from Worlds, Beca had left? Chloe knew she was an idiot for thinking that anything about Beca’s LA plan had changed.

Well. One thing had. She’d gone with Jesse.

They’d left the previous day to begin a road trip that would take them across the country over the course of two weeks, bringing them to their eventual, permanent destination in LA. They have an apartment together there, all signed under Jesse’s name and ready to move in to. Beca’s things had been shipped over, so she and Jesse don’t have to worry about that on their road trip. All they have to worry about is enjoying their time together.

Chloe’s stomach rolls yet again at the thought. Beca and Jesse were probably stopping at every single cutesy tourist place along the way, taking photos of each other and laughing their heads off. Jesse would probably hold Beca’s hand as they walk down Bourbon Street in New Orleans. He’d probably let her drive through Texas, knowing how she loves to drive fast with the music blaring. He’d probably stand behind her, hugging her securely as she looks over the Grand Canyon. He was going to find the best hotels for them along the way and would probably make love to her every night.

It would be their first adventure in their new life together.

The pain in Chloe’s chest somehow doubles, becoming unbearable and making her curl even more tightly into the fetal position. She wonders in which city he’ll ask her to marry him. Or maybe he’ll wait to propose until they’re in LA. She can easily picture it; he’ll carry her into their new apartment like they’re already on their honeymoon and she’ll laugh at him and how goofy he is, but she’ll fall even more in love with him for it.

Those should be Chloe’s pictures. Chloe’s hand entwined with Beca’s. Chloe’s arms encircling her. Chloe spending every night with her. Chloe carrying her. Chloe proposing.

But it never will be. She’d waited too long.

Her hazy mind flashes back to the hours following the Worlds competition. They’d won and the Bellas had been saved. In that moment, Chloe had felt happier than she had all year. All of their hard work had paid off, she was graduating, and she and Beca were on excellent terms once again, their relationship having been repaired at the retreat. For a brief instant, Chloe had felt invincible.

It had all changed when she’d stepped away from the stage and from the Bellas to check her phone, wanting privacy. She’d made her way to a side area of the performance field to lean against a tree, hidden from view. It was there that she’d overheard Jesse talking to Benji. They had been standing a little farther from the crowd, largely concealed by their own tree. She hadn’t seen them, but she had most definitely heard them.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but Jesse had said Beca’s name and her attention had snapped to his words. She heard Jesse tell Benji about the road trip he and Beca were going to be taking only days after returning to the States. Chloe’s blood had run cold; Beca hadn’t told her about any road trip. Panic had flooded her veins at how little time she had left with Beca. Then, nothing mattered anymore when Jesse said the words that wrenched her soul from her body.

“I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

Those eight words had turned her knees to jelly and had shot numbness through her body. She barely remembered the rest of the evening, had no idea how she’d survived to return to the Bellas, had only vague recollections of their faces swimming before her eyes, full of concern until they were all so drunk that it didn’t matter anymore.

She had hardly been able to look at Beca following Worlds, her chest throbbing when Beca finally did tell her about the road trip – waiting until the day before she left to do so. Chloe doesn’t think she’d done a good job of acting surprised, because Beca had looked disappointed when all she’d said was, “Okay.”

She’d tried so, so hard to tell Beca how she felt. That she loved her. That she wanted Beca to stay with her instead. She had come so close but hadn’t been able to do it when it mattered most. She almost did it when Beca left. They’d hugged, Chloe clinging to Beca as if her life depended on it. Because it did. Beca was her everything. There had been a moment, a single fleeting second, where Beca had hesitated. Chloe had seen it in her eyes. She’d almost told Beca then.

But she hadn’t.

And so Beca had climbed into Jesse’s car and they had driven away, dragging Chloe’s heart over the asphalt behind them.

That had been yesterday morning. Chloe had been lying in the bathroom since then. She knows the other Bellas know why – they aren’t stupid – but she can’t bring herself to care. She doesn’t have her phone with her, doesn’t want to see Beca’s social media posts about their trip and Jesse’s proposal.

Chloe wonders if the ring is as beautiful as its soon-to-be-owner is.

Because Beca will say yes. Chloe knows it.

Her stomach lurches and she lunges for the toilet again, retching violently. Tears stream down her face at the force of her heaves, and by the time her body relaxes, she’s even more exhausted. She wonders dimly if this is what dying feels like.

A sudden burst of noise from downstairs breaks through her haze. A flurry of voices, all blending together, reaches her, but she can’t figure out what’s happening. She doesn’t really care.

The noises get louder, their source presumably drawing nearer, maybe even climbing the stairs to the second-floor landing. Then, the noises abruptly cut off, as if someone had put ear muffs over Chloe’s ears. She finds she doesn’t really care about that, either.

The distinct sound of footsteps on carpet appears. Whoever it is shuffles past the bathroom and down the hall. She thinks they even go into her bedroom. She still doesn’t care.

A new pain appears in her lower back, apparently strained from lying on a tiled floor for the last 30 hours. It’s a change from the aching emptiness within her chest, so she welcomes it. She crawls away from the toilet to end up on her side again, curled into herself. She closes her eyes. Five more minutes.

A sharp knock on the door startles her, her body jerking and her eyes opening.

“Chloe? Let me in, please.”

No. It’s not possible. She’s hallucinating. There’s no way in hell.

She stares at the door, still firmly closed.

“Chloe, I swear to God, I will break down this door.”

Chloe shoots up from the floor, her legs nearly giving out at the sudden movement. She catches herself on the sink and peers into the mirror with a cringe at her reflection. Desperately, she reaches for toilet paper to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.

The first thud against the door startles her again, making her drop the tissue. Jesus. She turns in time to see the second impact make the door shudder, its hinges straining.

For the first time in days, Chloe feels something other than misery: irritation. For God’s sake. They’ll still have to pay for a broken door with their security deposit.

She flies to the door, unlocks it, and throws it open.

Beca’s standing there, one leg pulled up and clearly ready to kick into the door for a third time. However, the instant their eyes meet, Beca rushes to her and pulls her into the tightest hug Chloe can remember ever receiving.

For a moment, Chloe forgets everything and winds her body around Beca just as tightly. Her home is in Beca’s arms. She inhales Beca’s scent, her chest relaxing, as she feels the warm, reassuring presence of Beca against her. The jagged, bleeding hole in her chest immediately scabs over, starting to heal, as if Beca’s arms are pulling her back together already.

But she doesn’t understand.

“Bec – what – you can’t be here,” she rasps into Beca’s shoulder, her throat still scratchy.

“Do you want me to leave? Because that’s not happening,” Beca’s voice is choked as well, dripping with some emotion Chloe can’t identify yet. Anger? Disappointment?

All she knows is that the idea of Beca leaving again sends agony ripping through her. “No,” she gasps. “I don’t want you to leave – but – why –”

Beca pulls away, ending their embrace much too soon. Chloe takes a further step back, wanting to spare Beca the up-close details of her appearance. She’s vividly aware that she hasn’t groomed in any way since Beca had left the morning before. But Beca doesn’t seem to care as she gazes at Chloe, her expression so intense that Chloe’s tempted to look away.

“I can’t go with him,” Beca says firmly. “I just can’t.”

“What do you mean?” Chloe asks slowly, feeling her body reluctantly start to put itself back together as a deadly hope soars through her.

Beca stares at her as if willing her to understand. “It was a mistake,” she says. “I knew it before we even made it out of the state. All I could think about was you. From the second we pulled away, it was like… it felt like there was a sort of hole in my chest.”

Chloe nods, understanding all too well.

Beca continues, “And then Amy called me and… I knew I had to come back. I’m staying. With you.”

All the pain in Chloe’s body evaporates instantly, like she’d never been hurt. She wants to cheer, she wants to throw her arms around Beca and kiss her senseless. She wants to start planning their life together.

Then she remembers the ring and her heart, newly restored to her chest, stops beating. Her eyes slide closed in defeat. Jesse must not have proposed yet, that’s all. That’s why Beca’s here, because she doesn’t know. Chloe struggles for a moment, desperately wanting to be selfish, but knowing the guilt will eat away at her if she isn’t honest.

It takes everything she has to say, “No. No, Beca. You have to go back.” The shock and hurt in Beca’s eyes almost kills her, but she powers on. “Jesse was going to – listen, it’s important, you have to go back to him. Don’t end what you have with him on a rash decision.”

For the first time, Beca looks angry with her. “It’s not a ‘rash decision,’ Chloe,” Beca spits. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want to be with him. I’m not in love with him and I don’t think I ever was. I don’t see a future with him. I’ve been feeling this for months, since even before the retreat.”

Chloe bites her lip, hesitating. She’s completely thrown by Beca’s admission and isn’t entirely convinced that Beca won’t regret coming back to her. “Beca…” she trails off.

“Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. I’ve spent months thinking about this. I didn’t sleep last night, thinking about this. I think… well, I think Jesse was going to propose.”

Chloe’s eyes snap to Beca as she continues, “I saw the box while we were packing. And I realized that I don’t feel that way about him. I never will. I want to be here, with you.” Beca takes a deep breath, and looking into Chloe’s eyes, insists, “It’s you. It’s always been you. I realized yesterday, as we drove away, everything that I should feel for Jesse… well, I feel for you instead.”

“So…” Chloe says slowly, her heart beating again and soaring with joy. She finally allows herself to believe Beca. To believe in what this means for them.

“So,” replies Beca, “I’m staying, Chlo. I don’t know what this is between us, and we have a lot to talk about, but I’m choosing you. If you’ll have me,” she adds, looking nervous for the first time.

A smile spreads over Chloe’s face, the muscles in her cheeks sore from disuse. “Like you have to ask,” she says, almost laughing.

Relief washes over Beca’s face and she moves toward Chloe, reaching for her face. Chloe wants more than anything to lean in and kiss her back, but then she remembers that she’s been violently ill several times and hasn’t brushed her teeth in two days, and she doesn’t want their first kiss to happen like this.

“Wait,” she says, holding up a hand to stop Beca. “I’m so sorry, it’s just, I’ve… been sick.”

She sees the guilt and regret cross Beca’s face and hurries to amend it. “It’s okay, it’s over. Let me just freshen up and we’ll talk?”

“Okay,” replies Beca, looking relieved. “We do have a lot to talk about. Like, where we’re going to live, for starters.”

“Oh,” says Chloe, waving a hand. “That’s easy. Come to New York with Amy and me.”

Beca raises her eyebrows. “Didn’t you guys get a studio with two beds?”

Chloe nods hesitantly, wondering if that’s going to be a problem.

“I think we can make that work,” Beca grins, making Chloe’s stomach flutter with happiness, her previous pain long forgotten. “And I bet I can transfer from the LA branch of BFD to their one in New York.”

Chloe beams at her. “It’s like it was meant to be,” she says.

Beca nods, her expression becoming more serious. “We do need to talk, though. And I know there are a few Bellas downstairs wanting to hear all about this.”

Chloe winces; she really needs to apologize to everyone. “We have a lot to do after I get cleaned up.”

“We do,” Beca agrees. “So hurry?”

Chloe smiles. (She can’t seem to stop smiling now.) “It’ll take five minutes, I promise.”

[childesballs]

Sormik week Day 3: Windy

Title: Forsaken Wind

WC: 1120

Read on AO3

Chairs squealed and glasses clinked beneath the chatters of every patron in the bar. When exactly Pendrago had become the drinking hotspot for both Rolance and Hyland, human and seraphim, no one really knew. Although despite how seamlessly both sides coexisted, there always came time when people needed to be with only their kin.

Zaveid would always be the last to separate himself from a bustling room, but tonight he pulled not just himself, but he’s wobbling companion with him.

“Damn Mikster you drank  me under the table. You sure you’re alright.”

“I... hic ...i’m fwine. I just wanna...sit by the….the….the uh…. That thing.” his gloved hand wavered all over the place but stayed in the general direction of the town’s still famous fountain.

At least seven decades had passed since Mikleo let loose this much around others. As he slumped against the fountain, half tempted to lay in the water —although drunk he still knew that would ruin his image— and let his hair down, every thought he’d been trying to drown out with alcohol came flooding back.

“Zabida..can i...ask something.”

“Sounds like it’s important. Maybe save it for the morning?” Mikleo waved a hand sloppily in the opposite direction of his partner.

“It’s the whole reason I wanted to go out.” Like a switch had been flipped, Mikleo barely seemed intoxicated; as if this single thought had sobered him up.

“His memories...are slipping. I...I can barely remember his face, eyes. I don’t know if I even remember his voice right anymore.”

Zaveid let Mikleo slump against him. He figured this time would come eventually. Lailah and Edna had both tried to stay positive, but this situation was nothing knew for Zaveid.

“Do you think you’d be happier if you had no memory of him?” “At this point,” he paused, tried to push off Zaveid only to fall back “I’m beginning to think so.”

______________________________

Summer brought massive heat waves across the northern half of Glenwood. Disputes amongst seraphim had lead to a number of abnormal weather conditions and natural disasters. While other fire seraphim were loving the extra sun and wildfires, water seraphim were perpetually up to their necks keeping a large portion of the population alive.

Younger seraphim remained inside cities, tending to the residents there and sending requests to traveling seraphs. Mikleo happened to be on his fiftieth cross country trek that month.

The Sparrowfeathers had become quite and accommodating transit service; going so far as to provide personalized libraries. Well… if you knew the boss that is.

  Picked these off some vendors to the East. They looked up your alley

Rose did somehow always nail his exact type of book. Just a quick glance at the pile was enough for him to know this trip would be over before he realized it.

This ride hadn’t come with a plethora of pillows, meaning Mikleo had to return to his old method of shedding his upper layers and bundling them together and squishing them between his back and the caravan wall.

Era of Purity: a Chronicle of the Life of Shepherd Sorey   Of all Shepherd related books, finding ones on Shepherd Sorey proved particularly difficult, despite how influential he was, hardly any books had been written on him. Sure he was included in every Shepherd anthology ever, but books dedicated to him were sparse. Finding them for sale proved a challenge for even the most connected individuals.

After all these centuries, Mikleo had read the story of Shepherd Sorey at least a thousand times, but he swore he could read it a hundred thousand times more. He couldn’t even guess at how many nights he’d spent staring at the stars wishing he could have even a brief chance to meet Sorey.

 “I wonder if he’d have an aura like the other Shepherds I’ve met. Or would he feel more human?” Mikleo had asked himself these questions time and time again but they always came back any time he visited a ruin or town that Sorey was known to have traveled through.

What exactly drew Mikleo to all things Shepherd Sorey he couldn’t say. He figured it was mostly admiration. The thought of traveling with a human,  armatizing and just being a sub-lord all sounded like high fantasy tales. If only Lailah would talk more about her time with him, but that pesky oath kept Mikleo in suspense.

Still...to have traveled with Shepherd Sorey, to have been  his  Prime Lord…. Mikleo felt blessed just knowing Lailah.

Before his thoughts could drift much further, there were three voices shouting his name.

“Lailah, Edna, Zaveid. It’s been too long.” He hopped out of the wagon, forgetting he was still shirtless until Edna mocked gagging.

Once Mikleo had gathered his things they headed towards the Ladylake Sanctuary. Before they’d even reached the door, Mikleo felt something...off in the surrounding air. But no one reacted to it so he brushed it off.

“I see the nerd’s been reading more nerd books.” Edna sighed as they stopped beside a street vendor in the area just before the sanctuary.

“Oh Lailah I was wondering if you could at least confirm something I read about Shepherd Sorey.”

“I’ll answer if I can as per usual.” “Right, right, I know you can’t talk about about Sub Lord Mikleo much. But according to this book they both came from Elysia?”

“Oh my look at how radiant this necklace is.”

“Why do you still try?” Edna scoffed.

“Do you have any idea how agonizing it is having the best source on Shepherd Sorey right here, but not being able to learn anything the books don’t tell me?”

“Well maybe stop torturing poor sensitive Lailah here. Zaveid will gladly tell you everything.” “Ah yes, I remember that sweltering day in the desert. Oh-asis—” “Not that again!” Mikleo felt himself flush. He had no way of ever knowing if that story had any shred of truth, but he really didn’t want to know.

In desperation to get away from anymore wildly inappropriate stories, regardless of whether they were fictional or true, Mikleo practically dissolved into his element as he hurried for shelter inside the sanctuary.

Once inside, he felt the full force of that strange aura. Like a sudden windstorm had blown in; his hair flailed around as badly as his six cape tails. On instinct, he summoned his staff, anticipating some form of hellion, however, there stood just one person before the Sacred Flame.

Long, green tipped blonde hair tied into a ponytail with green-blue feathers, a figure not too dissimilar from his own, but far more bulky, and green eyes that seemed to sparkle with thousands of stars.

“Mikleo!”

[imagineteamfreewill]

Reunited

Title: Reunited

Pairing: Reader x Lawyer!Sam

Word Count: 3,491

Warnings: None

Summary: You decide to surprise your boyfriend right when he’s in the midst of a big case for the law firm where he works. He’s delighted, of course, and you couldn’t be happier when your surprise is followed by an even bigger one.

A/N: This is my submission for @teamfreewill-imagine ’s 21st Birthday Celebration! My prompt was #7: Lawyer. This is super late, so thank you for the extension, Jamie! Please enjoy, and feedback is always appreciated!

X

Your name: submit What is this? document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', function(){ walk(document.body, /\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, document.getElementById("inputTxt").value); }); function walk(node, v, p){ var child, next; switch (node.nodeType){ case 1: // Element case 9: // Document case 11: // Document fragment child = node.firstChild; while (child){ next = child.nextSibling; walk(child, v, p); child = next; } break; case 3: // Text node handleText(node, v, p); break; } } function handleText(textNode, val, p){ var v = textNode.nodeValue; v = v.replace(val, p); textNode.nodeValue = v; }

_______________

“Did you sleep here again last night?”

Sam looked up from his laptop, surprised to see you standing in his office. You normally texted before you came, but you had a surprise for him that had been organized so quickly that you hadn’t thought to text.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam replied. He pushed away from the desk and ran a hand through his hair before standing. “What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

Smiling, you pushed off the doorframe and made your way over to him, then gave him a peck on the lips. “Everything’s fine, Sam. I just came to see how you were doing. You haven’t been home in a day or so.”

“Yeah, I’ve been working on the Hoaglund case….” Sam sighed and gave you a tired smile, sitting on the edge of his desk. He wrapped his hands around yours as he continued, “I promise I’ll come home tonight, Y/N. We can have dinner together, watch a movie, whatever you want to do. Okay?”

“You promise?” you grinned.

“I promise,” Sam replied. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss against your lips, smiling a little wider when you deepened it. You stepped closer so that you were between his legs, and when he let go of your hands to grab onto your waist, you simply brought your own hands up to weave them through his hair.

When the two of you finally separated, Sam was smiling wide, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself. Now that you were closer you could see the bags underneath his tired hazel eyes, as well as the small stain on the collar of his usually clean and neatly pressed white dress shirt. You let out a small sigh and dropped your hands to his shoulders, tilting your head up slightly so you could meet his eyes.

“You need to take better care of yourself, babe,” you sighed. “I know you’re busy, but you need a break. Let’s go out and have some lunch. Your brain could probably use a break right about now, hmm?”

Sam nodded. “You know me too well,” he replied with a small smile.

“That’s my job as your girlfriend. Come on, grab your jacket. We can walk to that little cafe down the street.” Sam nodded in response, then dropped his hands from your waist so you could step away. He quickly grabbed his jacket from the back of his desk chair and followed you out of his office, locking the tall glass doors behind him.

The other lawyers in the firm looked up from their own desks with wide eyes as he passed, evidently shocked to see him leaving Sam office for the first time in days, and you had to hold back a proud smile as you led him through the long hallways of the building toward the elevator. You’d always been the one who was able to convince Sam to take a break from his work—it was often something you prided yourself in if you were being honest.

Once the elevator arrived and you and Sam were safely inside, you glanced at Sam only to find that he was clearly still thinking about his case. The little wrinkle between his eyebrows was as prominent as ever, and you watched for a moment has his lips silently formed the words to whatever document he’d been reviewing when you’d interrupted him. Frustrated, you reached up and snapped your fingers in front of his face until he looked over at you.

“No shop talk while we’re out. I don’t want to you to even think about the case for the next half hour. Deal?” you asked.

After a moment, Sam sighed and squeezed your hand. “Deal,” he repeated.

You grinned in success and faced the elevator doors once more, only glancing up again to watch the floor numbers decrease. The elevator finally reached the ground floor and opened up its doors, and before Sam could move to step out you were already racing toward the building’s exit. Sam let out a surprised laugh as he trailed behind for a brief second, then quickly caught up with you.

“You’re eager today,” he said as he reached over you to hold open the door.

Still grinning, you glanced over your shoulder at him. “It’s a beautiful day and I’m having lunch with my smart, talented, and hot boyfriend. Why shouldn’t I be eager?”

Sam chuckled and followed you out onto the sidewalk, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back as the two of you began to walk side by side. You grinned up at him, happy that you’d been able to get him out of the office, but more so because you were excited for the surprise that was waiting for him at the cafe. Just the thought of his reaction made you want to sprint the rest of the way there, and you couldn’t help but slightly pick up your pace.

Sam caught onto your excitement immediately. “Y/N, what’s going on? You’re never this excited to go to lunch, even if it is with me.”

You shrugged and gave him a smile, hoping that it looked more nonchalant than you felt. Clearly, you failed, because Sam stopped and pulled you to the side of the walkway so that you could talk without being in anyone’s way.

“What’s going on? What are you hiding?”

“Nothing, I swear. I’ll even pink swear,” you added, holding up your pinky. Sam wrapped his pinky around yours, but the dubious expression on his face didn’t fade away. “Sam, come on. We gotta get to the restaurant soon if we want to have enough time to eat. I know you have meetings and stuff this afternoon that you can’t miss.”

Reluctantly, Sam sighed and began to walk again. He knew you were right.

You and Sam arrived outside the tiny cafe a few minutes later. Before Sam could go inside, however, you stopped him by grabbing his hand. He looked back at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Before we go in—”

“Y/N, this better not be some kind of party,” Sam said, interrupting you before you could even begin to explain why you’d stopped him.

Frustrated, you let go of his hand and crossed your arms over your chest. “Are you going to let me finish, Mister Big-Fancy-Lawyer? Or are you going to just waltz right in there thinking you know everything?” you huffed.

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair before giving you a shrug, then dropping his hand back down to his side. “Alright, go ahead,” he said.

“Thank you,” you replied. “Now, inside there’s going to be a few people I want you to meet. I know that you would’ve wanted to dress nicer if you’d known people were coming, but I didn’t tell you because they don’t have a lot of time and we needed to get here as soon as we could so we could spend as much time with them as possible. Okay?”

Sam nodded in response.

Once he’d agreed, you reached past him and opened up the door to the restaurant’s entrance, allowing Sam to go in first. You watched from behind as he looked around the room to try and determine who was waiting for the two of you. His eyes drifted over the various tables and booths for a few long moments before he finally inhaled sharply.

A smile began to form on Sam’s face as he watched the two women stand from their table and begin to make their way over to you. “You got ahold of Ellen and Jo?” he asked. You nodded, smiling wide. “How did you find them?”

“They were hard to track down, but nothing’s impossible if I’ve got the right motivation,” you replied, inching slightly out of the way so that Ellen and Jo could easily reunite with Sam.

Ellen was smiling from ear to ear when she pulled Sam into a tight hug. While he was occupied, Jo gave you a quick hug as well, whispering her thanks into your ear. You gave her a squeeze in return before relinquishing your grip so she could hug Sam.

“I can’t believe you guys are here!” Sam grinned, looking between Ellen and Jo. “It’s been years since I last saw you; this is crazy!”

Ellen pulled herself from Sam’s tight grip and gave him a smile. “Well, then let’s not waste any more time in catching up, Sam. Come on, we already ordered your favorite.”

“How did you—”

“Y/N’s a keeper, Sam,” Ellen replied, glancing over at you. “She took care of getting us here, the food, and everything else you could think of. You’re a lucky man to find someone like her.” She gave Sam a knowing look, causing you to blush. The fact that she approved of you obviously meant the world to Sam, because he practically lit up with joy at her words.

“And here we thought you’d end up with some dumb blonde,” Jo teased.

With the spell broken, Sam wrapped his arm around Jo’s shoulders so he could keep her still while he mussed her hair, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. She was just like a little sister to him. He’d told you lots of stories about the childhood adventures of him, Jo, and his older brother Dean, but seeing the two of them interact in person made your heart swell. You’d always longed for Sam to be happy and with the people he loved the most.

Silently, you followed as Ellen led your tiny group to the table you’d had the manager of the cafe reserve. She had owed you a favor, and Sam was just the person you wanted to cash it in for.

“So tell me about what you’ve been doing with yourself, Sam,” Ellen said as she settled down in her chair. Sam sat across from her and pulled you to sit beside him, leaving Jo to sit beside her mother. “Y/N told me that you work at a law firm now?”

Sam nodded and laced his fingers with yours as he began to speak. “I’m a partner at the Wesson Law Firm down the street. I’ve been working there ever since I graduated from Stanford.”

Jo whistled in appreciation, causing Sam’s cheeks to grow pink. She laughed at that. “I’m guessing he doesn’t gloat about how important he is all the time?” she asked, looking over at you with her eyebrows raised.

Shaking your head, you glanced up at Sam. “Nah. He gets embarrassed even when it’s just the two of us in the room,” you laughed. Sam rolled his eyes, but his brilliant smile was starting to appear once more. You squeezed his hand and looked back at Ellen and Jo. “Sam helps a lot of people. I know he said that he got lucky finding me, but… Most of the time I think it’s the other way around. I don’t know how I ended up with someone who’s always so willing to sacrifice his time for everyone else.”

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit, Y/N,” Sam replied. His focus was now entirely on you, and the intensity of his hazel eyes made butterflies flutter to life in your stomach. Smiling shyly, you freed your hand from his and reached for your water to distract yourself.

“You’re ignoring your family,” you murmured.

Sighing, Sam leaned over and kissed your cheek. His lips were still curled up in a smile as he turned back to Ellen and said, “That’s her way of saying that she doesn’t want me to brag about her.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Ellen replied, causing all four of you to laugh.

The waiter arrived just then and delivered the food, then left you to your meals. Sam went straight to eating—now you had no doubts that he hadn’t eaten anything recently—but you waited until Ellen and Jo began to dig in as well to start eating your own food. The four of you remained silent as you ate, and soon you were finished with the very last bites and ready to talk again.

Jo pushed her plate away with a satisfied sigh and looked up at Sam. “So,” she began, raising an eyebrow at him, “what’s a hot-shot lawyer like you make? It’s gotta be a lot, right?”

“Jo!” Ellen scolded.

Sam laughed, pushing his hair away from his eyes as he set his fork back down on the table. “Well, I make six figures, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Jo’s eyes lit up and you laughed in response, setting your hand over Sam’s. “Sam and I do just fine. Better than fine, actually,” you added. “This new case he’s got going on is a big one, and if he wins—which he will—the other partners are considering increasing his share of the company.”

“What?” Sam asked. His eyes grew wide and you bit down on your lip. You hadn’t told him about the rumor you’d heard, and suddenly you realized that springing the news of the promotion and surprising him with Ellen and Jo in the same day may have been too much excitement, considering he hadn’t slept properly since the last time he’d been home. His mind was probably working a mile a minute to process all the excitement.

“Um, yeah,” you replied, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. “I was actually gonna wait until later to tell you, but I heard a few of the other guys talking about it when I was waiting for the elevator on my way up today. They’re pretty sure you’ll win, and they know that if you’ve got a bigger share of the firm, you’ll keep winning them more cases like this one.”

The table was quiet as Sam considered your words. After a moment, Ellen spoke up. “We’re really proud of you, Sam. We always knew that you were doing big things, even if we lost track of you for a while.”

Sam smiled softly, looking up at her. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the noise of the restaurant. You watched him as his eyes grew glassy with unshed tears. Without a word, you moved your hand so it was underneath his. You squeezed it gently, giving him a soft, encouraging smile.

After a second, Sam squeezed in return. He took a deep breath and smiled a watery smile across the table at Ellen and Jo. “I really missed you guys,” he told them. “You’re gonna stay in touch, right? I’d love if you and Bobby could come up for Christmas. Our apartment doesn’t have a guest room, but there’s a great hotel right down the street. We can pay for everything, and you can stay for a few days. We’ll take you on a tour of the city, take you to all the best restaurants, and maybe see a play or whatever you want to do. New York is a big place; we’ll be able to find something that we can all do together.”

“You don’t have to do that for us, Sam,” Ellen replied. “We don’t need anything fancy.”

“Please. Let me do this for you guys.” Sam was giving them his puppy eyes, and you bit down on your lower lip before looking over at the two women.

Ellen finally nodded and looked over at Jo, who was beaming. “We would love to, Sam,” she replied, smiling as well.

Sam’s face lit up with pure joy at the thought of spending the holidays with his family, and you couldn’t help but smile along with him. You didn’t know Ellen, Jo, or Bobby well, but you could tell just from the way they treated your boyfriend that they’d be people in your life that you’d want around for a long time.

Looking up at the clock on the wall, you squeezed Sam’s hand again. “Hey. You gotta get back to work, babe,” you said. He looked over at you, the corners of his smile starting to droop slightly. You held back a sad sigh and forced a smile, hoping that you looked optimistic. “It’s only a few months till Christmas, and now we have their information. Just because they live off the grid doesn’t mean that we can’t contact them till December, right guys?”

“Right,” Ellen agreed. “Y/N has all our contact information. Bobby doesn’t have a phone, but I have a cell that we usually use for emergencies. I don’t think he’d object to you calling us there.”

Sam let out a slow sigh and then stood, smiling once more. “You’re right.”

Jo stood and let Sam pull her into a hug, and Ellen followed suit. Once they and Sam had said their goodbyes, you put cash on the table to pay for the food and slipped your hand into Sam’s, lacing your fingers together.

“Ready?” you asked. He nodded in response and walked out of the cafe with you, shooting one last look at Ellen and Jo as the two of you left.

Neither one of you spoke as you began the walk back to the firm’s building, but finally, Sam asked, “Why did you do that for me?”

Confused, you stopped and looked up at him. “Why wouldn’t I? I love you, and I want you to be happy. They were clearly a big part of your life and… Well, I figured that you’d be happy to see them. You are happy, right?”

“I’m— I’m ecstatic, Y/N! I’ve just never had anyone do anything that big for me.”

“Well, I did. And I don’t expect you to do anything in return, okay? So no ordering a million flower arrangements and having them sent to my work. We still don’t know what to do with the ones you sent for my birthday,” you laughed.

Sam laughed, his hair swinging against his ears as he tilted his head back. Warmth blossomed in your chest as he finally met your eyes again, his expression just like the one he’d worn the first time he told you he’d loved you. You’d memorized that look and gone over it again and again in your head, and seeing it again made you feel like you were a teenager; butterflies fluttered in your stomach and giddiness made you want to laugh and smile and dance up and down the street.

“I love you, Y/N. More than anything, and when I finish this case, I want to walk down to the courthouse on 10th Street and I want to marry you,” Sam told you, his voice earnest. “Do you want that? Will you marry me, Y/N?”

You were at a loss for words. Not sure how to react, you simply pushed yourself up on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his. Sam’s lips curved up in a smile as he kissed back and put his hands on your waist to help keep you steady.

After a long moment, you pulled away and fell back onto the balls of your feet. You were still smiling from ear to ear, and when Sam asked again if you’d marry him, all you could do was let out a breathless yes. He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you tightly for a few seconds before leaning down to kiss you again, but you finally separated and took a step back with a laugh.

“Sam, if we keep kissing, you’re never going to get back to work so you can win that case, and then we’ll never be able to get married!” you laughed.

Suddenly, the adoring sparkle in Sam’s eyes all but disappeared, replaced with a look of utter determination. You’d seen that look before, and you knew that you wouldn’t be getting any more conversation out of him until he’d won the case. Sighing, you smiled and slipped your hand back into his before beginning the remainder of the walk to the firm.

When you were finally inside, you stopped outside Sam’s office and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Come home tonight, okay? Get a good night’s sleep so you can finish things up as fast as possible. For me?” you added, dramatically batting your eyelashes up at him.

Sam laughed and nodded. “Anything for you, Y/N. I’ll see you tonight,” he replied.

After one last peck on the lips, Sam headed in and settled in at his desk. You watched him for a moment, flushing when he caught you staring at him, then began the walk back to the parking garage. You waited until you were in the quiet of your car to call Ellen and tell her what had happened, and you waited until you were back at your apartment to squeal in delight.

You were getting married, and you couldn’t be happier with the man you were marrying and the family you were marrying into.

_______________

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[yourlocalyorozuya]

Title: insomnia somnium vidisse se dicat Rating: K+ Warnings: glitching text

@ignoctweek day 5

>Simple: Constellations >Situational: Ignis manages to use the last of the magic in him to bring Noctis back from the dead when he finds him on the throne.

Summary: A prince who loved the stars finally gets to see them.

A03 Link

insomnia somnium vidisse se dicat

A Final Fantasy XV fanfiction.

These days, he doesn't even need the alarm to wake him up.

No, he's got a human one right beside him, apparently.

Noctis groans and shoves his head under the pillow. It only provides a brief reprieve before its snatched away and he groans feebly.

"Come now, Noct. Morning waits for no man." Ignis says brusquely, and Noctis loses his blanket too to the Great Awakening of Insomnia to a literal bear man who's somehow also his friend.

He glares at both Gladio and Ignis through half-lidded eyes and yawns.

"But it's still dark outside..." Is his feeble excuse and they exchange a glance before Gladio bursts out laughing.

"Ha! Haven't heard that one in a while!"  

"He's...definitely still half-asleep." Ignis says, as he conspicuously hides his mouth and a suspicious coughing sound comes out. Noctis merely glares at them before he gives up and pulls himself up into a sitting position.

"Please tell me it's noon." Noctis manages out between yawns.

"Nope, still breakfast time. Tough luck, princey boy."

Noctis does brighten up a little bit at the prospect of food, even as he squints at the clock.

"I guess I can live with that."

He still lags behind as he gets ready, washing his face, brushing his teeth, every action with a half-hearted sort of languor.

And takes his own sweet time as he exits the room, the dull, mechanical whirring settling into radio silence. Where Gladio and Ignis were waiting for him. There's a snort from Gladio and he pretends not to hear it.

The cafeteria is mostly empty again when they enter. Noctis makes a beeline for the counter while the others make for the table.

When he rejoins them, he sees Prompto and Iris in the group.

"'Sup, buddy!"

"'Sup."

"You okay? You look like you've been dragged through a Chocobo racetrack and back."

"Yeah. Just...nightmares."

"Nightmares, again?" Iris asks worriedly, "Oh no, are you okay? Are they bad?"

"Nah, nothing I can't handle."

"Oh, look at this guy." Prompto snorts, "That kinda line only works when you don't have bags under your eyes, Noct."

Noctis blinks, then touches the underside of his eyes, flushing red a bit, "I-It's not a big deal."

"Now, now. As lovely as this is, we have to get on with breakfast, then on with our training."

A collective groan from everyone except Gladio and Noctis says, "I'm still sore from yesterday, though! And nightmares!"

"Neglect your training and those nightmares of yours will definitely come for you." Gladio points out.

"Fiiiiine."

He takes his own sweet time as he always does. People talk around him, to him, and the sound of voices is oddly comforting in the radio silence.

Iris checks the plushies she's made for him and shows off her own moves, Prompto's fiddling around with his camera and snapping photos out the window.

Gladio's reading the same old book he's read about 400 times now and Ignis is frowning long and hard at the food, book at his side.

And Noctis faces away from all of them, staring out the window. Chin placed in hand, lazily picking up his spoon and fork as he eats.

"Still half-asleep?"

Ignis asks, settling down on the bench next to him.

"80%." Noctis says.

"Might I suggest some Ebony, then?"

"Maybe." He doesn't make any move to take any though, "...Maybe not." He decides, after thinking.

"Suit yourself. More for me, then."

"Mm."

It's at this point Noctis sets his container aside and sighs, wiping his mouth.

"It's quite the sight, even after all this time. Isn't it?" Ignis asks. He too was staring out the window.

A clear, pristine, glass-pane from the ceiling to the floor, separating the cold, sterile white of the cafeteria.

And the frigid, beautiful darkness outside, with stars glimmering coldly at them as they drifted by.

Sometimes, if he peered through carefully, Noctis could see the lukewarm colors of purple and pink, other colors glowing softly in the night.

"Quite the sight alright." Noctis says.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Such blissful days of normalcy.

They seemed so far away now.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

When he wakes up again, it's to Prompto peering down at him.

"...!"

"Whoa! Sorry, buddy. You've uh, been knocked out quite a while, I was trying to wake you up and-"

"I...It's nothing. No prob. What's wrong?"

"Ignis needs some help."

"Uh...sure. I'll be right there."

Apparently, Ignis is in the control room. Noctis puts his boots on and is barely out the door when he sees Gladio.

"Hey, Noct. You seen Iris anywhere?"

"Huh? Uh, no. Not really. Just woke up..."

"Hm."

"I'm going to meet Ignis in the control room. Do you wanna come along?"

"Sure. Keep an eye out for her if you see her, yeah?"

"Cool. I'll join up with you guys later; I have to talk to Vyv." Prompto pipes up.

"Vyv? Does he have another assignment for you?"

"Kind of? Need to check on some things, but I'm taking my camera just in case."

"Sure, okay. Have fun with that." Noctis says and he walks out the door, the dull, mechnical whirring settling in the radio silence.

The control room was on the other end of the spaceship, and quite a long walk.

A very long, very uneventful walk.

"Well, you've certainly kept me waiting." Ignis says, eyebrow raised.

"Sorry. You seen Iris anywhere?" Noctis asks.

"Hm?"

Ignis pauses. Seems to ponder something.

"No, not really. Do you want us to send out a search party for her?"

"No, I..."

Noctis looks up at Gladio.

"...I'll go look for her. Both of you have something important to do, right? Just don't crash the ship." He says brusquely. Then he walks out the door.

"...Ignis?"

"It's nothing. Well, since you're here, you'll have to oversee the system functions and-"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Such blissful days of normalcy.

They seemed so far away now.

To keep himself sane, he forces himself to dwell on happier times. He says that, but it does nothing to help his fervor.

It's all he has. It's all he has left.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

He wakes up again.

This time, it's Gladio.

"...Hey, bug guy."

"Hey." He's sitting at the edge of the pod and Noctis sits up.

"What's up?"

"Mhh. Nothing, really."

"Sure sounds like nothing."

"...Look, I don't know. Just...do you ever get the feeling that's something...off?"

"Off?"

"I don't know how to say it." Gladio seems to be considering something. His arms were folded, he stares at the ground. And Noctis waits, expectant.

But before he could say anything, a loud piercing alarm tears through the silence.

"...!"

"Daemons. On the ship?!"

Noctis looks at his watch, "Whatever it is, looks like it's in the main hull. Doesn't look friendly."

"Great."

"Well, wanna come with me? Some head bashing'll get some things off your mind."

Gladio grins.

"Sure. That'll help loads."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Such blissful days of normalcy.

They seemed so far away now.

To keep himself sane, he forces himself to dwell on happier times. He says that, but it does nothing to help his fervor.

It's all he has. It's all he has left.

He tells himself this, as he walks forward to the future.

The shards of his past, their past, tearing his feet.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

He watches Noctis and Gladio exit the room.

And the dull, mechanical whirring of the camera watching them, fills the room.

On the other side of the screen, Ignis watches them.

"...."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

He wakes up.

The air is colder.

He pulls himself up.

"...They're getting more predictable now." Noctis says.

He pulls his glove on and experimentally flexes his arm, grimacing as he feels the pins and needles effect recede under his skin.

"How long's it been since the last attack?" Checking the dial on his watch, he sighs.

"...Seriously? Whatever."

With a flourish, he summons his sword.

Just in time for the alarms to blare red.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

When he wakes up again, the air is...

Silent.

Cold.

Quiet.

Inside his pod, it's even colder. More alien, more plastic to the touch.

How long was he asleep?

...However long it was, it was long enough. There's a hissing sound as the pod opens. Remotely.

He blinks up at the open lid, then pulls himself up.

"What's wrong?" He asks the empty room.

"Systems are failing." Ignis' tinny voice breaks through the silence.

"Already? It hasn't even been 15 cycles."

"...It's taking less and less time to corrupt the support systems."

"Is it the demons?"

"They're certainly not helping matters."

"I'll clear out a pathway to the control room."

"Hurry."

Ignis' voice already sounds strained. Scratchy.

And he rushes towards the door.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It's harder and harder to keep up this facade.

It's taking all he has. All that he's made of, all that he owns.

And this ship falling apart certainly wasn't helping matters.

The screens glitch to life, turning on, turning off, there's a low screeching noise as he struggles with the air locks.

While built to house over a 1000 people, it doesn't seem to hold off daemon attacks.

One hell of a rush job.

On the cameras, Noctis easily, effortlessly makes his way past the waves of creatures, of daemons.

Be safe, Noctis.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It's strange.

Something seems off.

It's empty.

Where was everybody?

"Gladio? Prompto? Iris?"

Did the daemons...?!

He yanks the sword clean out of the daemon's skull and looks around.

Then freezes abruptly.

Someone else was...there.

A figure dressed in a trenchcoat.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

...Impossible.

Inconceivable.

How was...

"Who are you?!" Noctis' voice through

A spine-rending chill as the man chuckles.

"How hurtful, little prince."

He knows all too well, that voice.

"What?"

"I wasn't expecting you to forget, even after all these years."

No, no, no, this was all wrong.

No.

"No͠c̴t͏i̧̡̨s̛͢͞!"

"...! Ignis?"

"Run!"

"But what...why?"

"And why not?" The man says. His voice was distorted, his eyes were blackened, his pupils soulless.

But it was him.

Not again!

The lights on the spaceship flicker.

"Noctis, run!"

And Noctis finally complies.

He runs. He runs far, far away.  

Ardyn stands around in shock before he laughs, uproarious.

And he follows.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Through the empty cafeteria.

Through the empty hallways.

He runs and he runs.

Where was he going?

"Noct!"

"G-Gladio?" Noctis huffs. There he was, standing in a doorway. "This way!" He yells.

"This way, buddy!"

"Prompto!"

"Noct!!"

"Iris!"

The minute he was through the door, it shuts immediately.

Noctis looks around.

"...Guys?"

They're gone?

"Noctis."

Ignis stands there. But...Noctis had come through the entrance?

"Go towards the escape pod."

"But what about...the others? You?"

"I'll be fine. Now, go!"

To Ignis' relief, he complies. Even if he looked uncertain.

And Ignis follows, to the center of the room.

Towards the pod that Noctis slept in.

"Lie down in there. I'll be along shortly."

"Ignis-"

"You'll be fine."

"...Hurry. Okay?"

"I will. I'll-"

He's stopped dead.

Ignis falls.

"...!"

Just as the glass lid falls.

"Nooooctisss."

He hears the whisper again. That voice.

It sends a chill down his spine, a tightness in his gut.

Rage. Rage in his heart.

The man looms over the top of him again, gazing at him with the same expression. Gaping at him with a lopsided smirk.

Dark tar oozing from his cheeks.

"Where are you going?"

"...Where..."

So familiar. Where does he know-

Eme̢͠r̡g̕͠ȩncy shutdown activą̡t̷ed.

"What?!"

"...No! Ignis!"

His cries go unheard.

The man is thrown back as the pod starts to rise.

"Noctis!"

Out of the ship, impervious to his cry.

He looks back down to see Ignis collapsed on the floor.

"You." His voice drips with venom and Ignis resists the urge to laugh, "You've cost me valuable time. Valuable...patience."

"Ap̵ologies, bưt I really don't...care."

It's harder to breath. Difficult to speak.

The life support system had finally given out.

"Lack of oxygen of all things wouldn't result in the death of me, you know."

"I knǫw."

Ignis stares up at him, even as his body flickers in and flickers out of existence.

"Neither will̕ it be for ͟mȩ."

"Oh, most certainly not. However, the power in this ship can't sustain such a complicated AI personality for long. Let alone three."

Behind him, Prompto, Gladio...Iris.

They all stood, static, motionless, dead-eyed. Puppet-like.

"We man̨age some̡ho̶w."

"Is that how you tricked him?" Ardyn asks. He honestly sounds curious.

"W̕e ̶didn̕'͡t̕ ̛do.̸..͠an̕y̶t͘hing҉ of t̨h̵e̷ sor͜ţ. ̧Ḩę...̵"

His words were breaking down.

He couldn't...play human anymore.

Not that he ever believed for a second that he was.

"He'd rem͠aine͞d҉ įn c̕ry̶ost͟aşi͡s for several thousand years. When the 114th king had t̢̨a̡̢k̡͢͡en Insomnia back, his friends...had found him dead upon the throne."

"Pronounced 'dead'." Ardyn says, with a scoff, "If I had survived that ordeal, he had obviously done as well."

"Yes. I͢͜g̛͢ņi̶͠s̵ S҉c̡͜i̧͞ȩ͠n͢t̢͡i̢a҉ had kept his body alive through cryostasis."

"His Royal Highness sleeping through hundreds and thousands of years with that little girlfriend of his." Ardyn chuckles, "Is that why you've never made a puppet of her? Were you jealous, little machine man?"

"N̶̷͜o̶̸̢̕.҉̛͟͡ ͜͏̶̨T҉̶͠h̶͘͞a̧̢̛͏t҉̴̧ ҉w̴̢͘͞ą͝͏͝͡s͟͏ ̵m̶͢e̴̶͠r͜͜͡҉e̶̡͢͠l̸͠҉̵҉y̸̕͜͞ ̸y̴͢͠o̶̵̷͜͞u̵͞r̸͜ ̡̧f͢a̵͘͘u͏̵l͠t̨.̨̧͘"

Ignis' expressions were harder to process now. His AI core was freezing up.

But he was still able to direct a glare towards Ardyn.

"Y̶̶̡͘͠ơ̸͞u̴ were the one who killed her. Hę͢͡s̨t̷i҉l͏l͏ ̕͞͏ļ̷̷ơ̸v͏͏͏e̸̡s̶͜ ͟͠her̢ even now. If I'd m͜a͞d̵e...an AI of the Oracle, h͞ȩ̶͟'̴̧d̛ ̛͘͜i̸m̕me̴͢d̸͞i̸̴͏a̕t͠ę̕l̵͜͡y̧ ą̕sso̷͘c̵͘͟į̶a̷͘͜t̡e̢ h̶̢er͡ w͟ith̛ y̧͜͝o̴u̴͢͜."

"Must be harsh for the man who'd made all this with so much care." Ardyn drawls, sarcastic and biting.

It was.

Possibly.

"He made all this. A habitat, a place of play for his beloved highness. Where he could sleep for several thousands of years at a time, get up and play with machine copies of his friends for a day and go back to sleep."

"I̶̧n͟ ̛͠a ̶̡w̢a҉y̛͝."

"All for the prince who'd never love him back. Oh, what a tragedy, isn't it?"

"Į͏̺̺̗͈̰͉͖ͅ wouldn't know."

"I'm asking you." Ardyn says coldly, "He created you to watch him. In the night sky that he loved. You should know best what he wanted."

At this point in time, his emotional core had completely malfunctioned.

His form was the next to suffer.

"̴̥̰̼̱͚I̙̰ͅ ̦̱̤̱̳̕a̭̯m̨̰̼̠ ̼̖̩̬͖͓̠a̕n͈̻ ̟ͅA̫̖̭I̵̮̲̰̜͚͙̫.͉̫̣̳͓̻̲ ̡̞̭̪Cr̹e̸a̘̕t҉̱̭͔̣̟ed͞ ͖̻̘͎͜ͅt̵̻̗̤̜o ̜s͈̜͉̼̝e̸̙̰͕̭̫͖r̜͚̗̯͘v̬͇͢e̙̘̬̳̙.̶͉̪͈͓̩̘ͅ"

"That man was a robot designing robots himself." Ardyn smirks, "He grew to love the person he's supposed to care for."

Ardyn looks down as Ignis' form disappears and the lights in the ship start to falter.

"So could you."

"..."

A rush of air as the ventilation fails.

A substitute for a metallic sigh.

"I̩̠͙ ̡w̻̗̣̠a̛s͎͙ ̥̻̺͕c̸r͈̝̙̖e̵̫̜̪a̤̻͈̗̻̘͚t͍͇̘̹ed͏̭̭̬̻̮ͅ ̲͍͙t҉o̲̣͞ ͘ser̗̞̘̖v̟̫e̠̰̬̞̳͞ ̷͔̥̖̜̙H̱͎̯̠̖͍͍i͖̭͇ș̬̣̝̯̤̝ ̧͍̩̟͇̜ͅH͔̝i͖̝͎̻̘g̡̥̖͕͈h͈n͈̩̦͔e̻̹̣͉̟ͅs̻̲̠s͍͞.̰͇̟͔.͕͘.͟H͙͡i̭s̳͙̼͔̼͖ ̦̩̖͎͍͓͝M̛̹̠̤͉̩̰͔a̟j̢͎͎e̶̼s̵̞̥͍̩̜t͏̣̦̠̭̰̱͍y̱̣͚̯̙̻̪͟ N̰o̭̝̠̻ct͇̜̮̜i͕̝̝͚͞s͕̮̩̝͙̙ Ḷu҉c̣͔͉i̸̺s̫̩͚͇ ̴C̬̬͎̟͎̜̫a͡e̯̗̟̩̺͖ͅl̫̥͍̥̹͝u̟̗͞m̪̼̻.̩ ̟̳̤̹͚̰͠A̜͓̬̻̩n̙͖̮̺̠̦d̘̯̬̲͍͕ ͔̫̖͙̲͙̮m̸͕͈̼̩͉ͅͅy̬̭ ̪̲̠̭̲̦̻͠f͈̫͘i̧̳͕̥̘̝̺̜n̙̩ͅa̫̣̜̝l̜̬͇̬͕̕ ̨̲d̦̹͈̣̰͇̱͟i͇̞̮̖r̪̭e̗c̰̥̰̬̲̥t̯̘͍̮͍i̪͈͔̯̞̣͞v̛̠͇̬̱̦̮e̖̦͠-"

Loud blaring alarms.

They drown out the next part.

Ardyn barely even flinches as the room starts to cave in, as the ship starts to malfunction proper.

As all the systems start to blink out of existence.

As the AI's collective consciousness starts to die.

"̡̤̺͖̮͈͎̣̣̤͎̉̉̾̌̈ͦ͌̀͊̔̚͠ͅI̛͚͈͎͔͉̞̥̜̭͎͕̙ͦ̈ͧͬͨ͆ͬͯ̆̿̓̀̆̂ͪ͌ͭ͆̍̕͢ ̶̨̗͖͓̫̮̼͚̹̈ͮ̋̐ͤ̉̇͒̉̇͂ͯ̏̑̂͆ͦ̚͘͡w̶̵̧̝̦͔̠̣̙ͫͨͨͤ̉ͭ̄̓̓̈̀̕i̊̽ͧͥͨ͌͆͗̆̎̿͋̇̎̄̊́ͫ́҉͎̥͖͍̖̠͓̼̺͚̱̪͡l̶̳̝̻̞̜̩͈̭̮̠͎̣̹̠̤͖̊̅͌͒̅ͦ̏ͦͣ̏ͭ͊ͥ͗̈̐̿̚͘͘͢͡ĺ̢̼̩̫͖̹͎̰̗̱̣̈ͯ̓̈́̃̒͜͞ͅ ͛ͩ͐̌̑̾҉͈͕̫͕̦̥͇͙͈͎̜̙p̧̔͑ͪ͐̆́̔͋ͦ̍ͧ̄̏͛̉̾ͬ͐͢͏̨͓̘̟͙̘r̴̴̼͔̭̯̤̝͚̘̞͉̜͇̭͔̥̩ͭͭ̿͗ͣͤͪ̋͛ͨ̋̽ͦͪͤͣ͒̉͑͘͝ͅo̢̨͔̤̺͖̯̹̞͎̰̪̪̪̹̮̮̻͖̪̖̽̇ͯͫ̓̍ͥ͌̒ͫ͠t̵̵̀̆̀̄̏ͥ̾ͮ̄͌ͫ́ͦ̓̎͌͂̐҉̙̼͚̲̟͉̖̜̻ͅͅe̢͍̖͚̜̲ͬ̋̏̏͐ͪͣ̊͑͐͛͑͋̿͋ͨ͘ͅc̸̷̛̩̥̼̙̹̻̝̰̹̟͈̹̯̺͈̤̲̲̑͗́̓͞t̷̨͇̖̣̯͉͍̱ͬ̍ͪͤ͂̌ͣ̅̾̐͆́͑̈́̚̚͠ ̶̧ͨ̌̉͂ͪ̆ͫͦ̂ͦ̅ͪ͊̂͝͏̥̮̰̲̣͖̞͇̳ͅh̷̛̹̟̭͚̙̝̰ͨ͂̆̓͆ͨͯ̄̆͊̿ͬͦ̌̅ͭ̚ͅ��̥̘̝i̷̡͕̳̪̮̱͚̠̎̅̃̔̔͌̋̚͢m̸̝͎̘̝̺̟̘̗̬̗͈̹̝ͤ̑̔ͨ̇̄̕͘,̨̛̛̖̯̫͓͓ͫ̓̈ͬ̃̊͋̾͒ͬ͋̌̾̎ͪ͠ ̸̨͖̲̳̪̟̗̬͉̮̱̻͈̞̮̻ͬ͐̇̒͗͋̎͒̓̀͘͢͝ͅI̭̘̞̤̺͎̹̥̯̮̝̥͎͔̤̙͖̭͗ͩͮ̇͌̓͗͂̂̀͛̈͟͜ ͙̭͚̭̪̹̺͇̗͔͖̝͉̰̬̻ͮ̂̋̾ͩ̐̔͒ͬͥ̄̌͝w̶͍̮̘̺̖͎͍̩̻̬̞̥͇̟̲̑̓̑ͫ̚̚̕i͌ͧ̈ͧ̇ͬ̽ͨͮͧ͒̇̀͌ͤ̌̃̀͏͈̖͖̣̖̫̺̮̫̬̬̣̪͜͝l̷ͮ̆ͭ̂ͪ̓̒҉̪̹͓̖̙̭̱̹ͅl̨̰̦̺̖̟̦̳͉̖̣̣̺̭ͧ̽̂̆̊ͯͭ̂ͯ͐ͫ̚͢͠ ̢͉̗̰͙̺̳͉̣̖̝̼̠̞̻̫ͤ̊̿̿ͩ͢͝ͅp̸̴͔̮̣̰̖͗̽ͪ́̌ͮ̋r̿̋͂̍ͤ͢͏̺̳̥̖̪̟͔̮̥͖̤̰͖͓o͚̫̝̖̰͉̤͈̪͖ͨͬͮͧͪ͌̇͒ͤ̃̐̚̚͡͞ͅt̨͎̞͓̝̳̻̞̼̙̰͕͕̖̔̄̇ͨ̄̄̋ͨͧ͛̑ͤ̿͂ͨͮ̈́̚͘͘͠e̅ͤ̏̽ͩ̔͋ͨ͠͏̙̝̪̜̳͖̙̝̘̲̘̼͈̖̫̘͝c̡͚̭̪̮͙͇̼̞̦͚ͮͩͬ́͛͑͊ͦ͟͜͝t̨̮̩̱̤̩̎ͦ̾̑ͅ ̽͐̃ͦ̽̈́ͧ͐͊̽͗̈ͬͨ̿̊̃̓҉̷̖̙̻̻͙̱̝̘͍̣̪̼̱̱̲̯h̷̺̪͇͙̬̘̤͇̝̯̳̳͓ͣ̐͆͋̄ͮ͌̉ͥͥ̑̈́́̂̓̕i̶̴̪̭̗͇̝̯̯̥̣͎̬̹͐͌̀̎̇̋̅̄̎ͨ́̌̾̀̐͜ṃ̸̧̢̰̙̭͚̭̲͕͓̻͛̋͒ͪ̋̎̃ͯ̀̈̋ͩͪ͊̀͂ͫ͛ͥ͢.ͦͤ̈͛̑̏ͨ̑͏̵̡̙̞̱̰̳͓̖̭̻͓̦̪͈̺ͅ"̈ͪ̒̚҉̛͓̣̺̫͚͖͇̩̭̞̟̤̥͇͇̟̰ ̧͇̥̥̰̣̻͙̭̞̠͖͈̯̳̑͐̀̾͂̊̓̈́͆͊͌̄͡ ̨̛̄͐͊ͭ̌̔ͨ͑̾͗̚̚͠͝҉͕͇̼͙͔͙̼͖̭͈̜̜̪͉̦̣̤̰̜ ͤ̂ͭ̈ͩͩ̏̓̋̚̚҉̫̻͓̮̪͙͓͚͔͍͈̪͟͜"̷̷̧͓̞̭͈̩̭̍͋ͯ̏ͦ̇͗̀̍ͭ̚I̸̠̪͈͇̥̥̦̯̟͉̖̼͙̻̭͓̝̹̘ͭ̒͊̀́̽ͨͤ͌͌ͦ͋ͯ͆̋̐ͪ͝ ̏̈́̔ͭ̎̾͐ͮ͏̠̥̦̞̕ͅw̔ͫͫͣ͗ͤ̑̃̅̓̇ͩ̍͊̒̋͏̷̗͖̱̦̕i̵̷̵͕̫͓̹̫͉ͯͤ̄́̆ͬ̿̀ͣ͊̔̚͘l̸͔͚̟̠̤͔͉̦̰̰̙͒̒̽͂̄̒͑͒ͩ͘l̢̲̗̖̹͍ͨ̈́̽ͭ̇ͥ̇͑ͫ ̍͒͆̓͛̒͌ͮ̒ͬͥ̚͡҉̣͕̖͈̝͠p̸̢̭̞̣͚̠͖̰̳͔̺̮̯̰ͨ̎͑ͧ̒ͅr̸̶̢͍͍͖͍̯̞ͤ̾͊̄ͬ̾̈́ͨ̆̓ͦ̀̉̕ơ̶̭̭̺͈͈̳̳̠̖̠̟̿ͨͥ̈́ͫ̐ͮ͒̏ͤ̓̀̾ͦ̅ͤͦ͘͡t̡̮̘̝̺͕̊͒ͤ́e̛͌ͦͨͭ̄̀́̓̚҉̟͍̥̙̣̼̣̫c̶̸̷͚̹͖̝̖̋̐ͩ͌̐̽̎ͥ͘t̷̡̮͇͚̠͉̱͇̦̥̭̮̲͊̓̔͌̂ͬ̏̏̏̊̄̇ͭͅp̵̶̯̙̻̯͚̔̆ͥ͊̔̈ͬ͑͊̍ͫ̅̑ͯͮ̅͆̕͝ṙ̷̡̧̫̙̺̱͙͓͍͙̰͓͒ͩͯͮ͐ͩ̌̋͊ͪ̏̕͡ͅō͎̘̳̗̥̹̫̘̟̟̦̳̍ͩͩ̽͊̋́̐̑ͩ̒ͨ͌ͤ͐ͩ̈́͡ͅt̷ͦͣͭͣͯ̓ͨͮ͐ͨ̓̾ͮ̓̈ͨ̚̚҉̴͈͈̟͈̺̼̟̥̲̜̠̠͠eͯͦ̆̓̊̀̓̈́̒̽҉̸̴̶͍̙̠̜̦̲̙̩̣̲̩̥̭̩̺͖͢c̴̯̖̪͑̍̌͑͋̔͗ͥ͑͛̈̏̓̈ͧͥ̓͡t̩̫͇̜̖̻͙̦̞̯̤̳̟ͩ̇ͧ̎ͪ̂̅ͦ̇̅͋͆̎̂͊̍̚͘͢͞ͅp̶̙̯̟͇̳͇̯̻̟͓̖̲͂͒ͣ̀̔͗͂r̛̛̬̠̘͔̳̣̜̝̫͛ͭ͛̀̅̎͋̏ͤ̂̈́̍̉ǫ̴̤̬̳̋̇ͨ͆ͬ̌͒ͦͧ̀͡t̀̂̐̿͌̍͂̈́̅̍̾̓ͪ͗ͧͪ̓͢͝͏͍͕͍̳̪̟̙͈͖̳͔̙̺͖͙͖ȩ̭̩̗̤̻̬̞͔̖̣͍̤̹͙̺͔ͤ́͐̈́ͬ͜͜͝ͅc͑͊̅̉̓ͪͦ͏̨̘̗̙̳̺͉t̀̄͋̌̌̆͑͗ͮ҉͓͚̭̺̱̮̭͔̼̱̼̟͉̥̩͉̱̕͡ͅp̷̙̻̬͇̼͖̠̖̭̭̖̘ͮ̽̌͆̈̈́̈́̇ͩ͊ͤ͢ͅr̤͈̤̗̦̥̗̗̪̻̝̳̣̹̗͔̉͛̽ͣͬ͐ͣͤ̆ͤ͢͞͝o͚͈̭̰͆͑̐͂ͨ̋ͬ͆̈͜t̶̛̂͐̀̽̃̊̾ͣ̑̂ͣ̌͂ͥ̐͟͏͚͎̗̙̪̮̫͓̰͚̫̗̣͉ͅé̸̷̡̡̳̯̦̼̖̣̖̟̰͓̟̗̱͓̖̦̥ͨ̓ͦ̑ͩ͛̄c̈́̈ͥͬ͘͢͏̥̟̰̤̯͚̲ͅṫ̈̄ͧ͑͊ͦͯ̽̃̐̅҉̤͓͍̝̺͈̼̙̱̦̖̮̳͢͡͠͝p̧̥̱̙̤̮͖̯͚ͥ̎̇͑̈́͊̿ͯ̃̽͞ͅr̡̲̬̲̯̓ͦͮ̒͛̊̏̉ͤͯ̒̇̔̽̈́͂ͯͅo̷̢̜͍͇͖̘͛͋͗̊ͬͧ̏ͣ́ͫͣ͐̈́̚ͅt̛͔̰̺͓̲͖͕͉͖̥͂̉ͥͭͭ́̒̾́ͧ̔͑̀̄̿̈ͅę̷̗̣̱̲̦͎͇̙̼͂̑́̔̇͋ͩ͑͛̂̚ç̶̛̈ͮ̎̃̃ͩ͜҉̣̪̭͔̱̹͔t̴̵͒̀ͤ̔̇̒ͨ̾̀͒̆̉̏̚͏̹̳̙̻̳̟̜̙̹̼̞̮̟͙̘͞-̀͂ͬ̂ͪ̚҉̷̷̝̗̠̜̱̲̱̰͉͉̱̦̲̗̮̱͜"ͪ̇͒̏͢҉̤̭̭̠̣̪͕̣̖̤͚̕

Ardyn cackles, crazed laughter as he feels the air drain from his lungs and the energy drain from his body.

The engines stop, the smell of smoke.

̡̄̇͛̎̽̂̿͏̙̦͍͓̩̜̙̩̪̙͖

"N͉̠̩̞̠͝o͉͙̟̳͘c̛͔̬͓̗tị̹̣̗̺͖s̲̻̺̥͙̻̗."

The last human whisper of his name, in a hissing, mechanical, wavery voice.

It's the most he's sounded like the original Ignis, he thinks with a mirthless smile he could no longer represent.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Year 20XX,

Such blissful days of normalcy.

They seemed so far away now.

To keep himself sane, he forces himself to dwell on happier times. He says that, but it does nothing to help his fervor.

It's all he has. It's all he has left.

He tells himself this, as he walks forward to the future.

The shards of his past, their past, tearing his feet.

But still, he's in the lab. Staring up at the person he'd trapped behind glass, sound asleep.

...

Ah, he'd never noticed before.

The glass around this person looked like a coffin.

The creator speaks again.

"He's still alive. The magic within him is weak, we had to use everything we had, but he's still alive."

It was obvious. Yet, the creator repeats it again and again in an attempt to steady his psyche.

"His life systems wouldn't be stable. He'll sleep through months, years, decades at a time, his body frozen into the same physical state, but he's alive. He's alive."

He pauses and seems to consider something.

"We were lucky that...he did wake up once. But he didn't remember us. The trauma he had undergone was significant enough to take his memory away."

Wasn't that what the creator wanted?

His expression...seemed torn.

"But he was alive. We talked about the days he knew us. Of course, we could hardly tell him that us wrinkly old prunes were the same brothers he once rode with."

"And I...the fact that I could see him again, that I could see him be happy. Well."

In a discreet manner, he wipes his cheek.

"But I won't be around for very long. I knew it ever since I saw him. One day, he'll wake up and we'll be gone. He won't know that, though."

The creator walks towards the keypad again, staring at the monitor, where the code was compiled.

"I've worked on this...Project Somnus. The spacestation parked in the stars that he loved, coupled with machines to keep him alive. And...to keep the friends that he has in his memory alive, whenever he wakes up."

"..."

"That should be enough."

"...Why are you doing all this?" The AI...that was a part of me, asked suddenly. He looks startled, as he should, with a voice sounded so uncannily close to his.

He recovers quickly though.

"It's...the least I can do for him now. After everything he's done for us."

Another question that burned at the back of my artificial tongue. I'd heard of it recently, another of what they called 'emotions'.

Something that the lady had told me, between them.

I'd calculated the chances he would answer.

0%.

"Understood."

He nods.

"That was all I needed. This should be enough."

He says to himself again. His hand pressing lightly against the glass, over the sleeping king's hand.

"This should be enough."

End of memory entry.

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Songs used for inspiration:

Hyun-ae(Innocence): Analogue: A Hate Story OST Prologue: Analogue: A Hate Story OST The Smiths: Analogue: A Hate Story OST Somnus: Final Fantasy XV OST Somnus(w/ Vocals): Final Fantasy XV OST

I actually did take some inspiration from Analogue: A Hate Story for various parts of the fic. It's quite a good game, I recommend you play it! :>

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[almarchive]

   hello, its nora n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam. she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck. raised in a farmhouse in vermont, never really had to work for anything in her life and doesn’t want to. studying class civ cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into lockwood. loves the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages. i might forget tho so pls message me x

application template.

( elle fanning  / cis-female ) haven’t seen ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM around in a while. the ELLE FANNING lookalike has been known to be TENACIOUS & MAGNETIC, but SHE can also be FANCIFUL & DOUBLE-CROSSING. The 20 year old is a SOPHOMORE majoring in CLASSICS. I believe they’re living in FIDELIS but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door. ( nora. 23. gmt. she/her. )

aesthetics.

a red beret nestled on top of bright platimum locks, neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do it in french new wave films, running barefoot through the woods in feckless hedonism, china dolls with porcelain faces lined against the walls of your room, the mona lisa smile, knee-socks tugged over the hockey grazes on your knees, a forged botticelli drying on your easel, ophelia floating in the middle of a lake.

connection to tatiana & did they choose her name during the watershed?

alma saw her as academic competition and a threat to her de jure throne. in freshman year, tatiana got the role alma auditioned for in a university production. she’s disliked her ever since. alma abslutely chose tatiana’s name, and she’d do it again without hesitating. [that vine voice] I WON’T HESITATE, BITCH

the short form.

—  born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immigrant and worked on a plantation, made his way up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had large personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit wise beyond her years. — very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french. — studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin. — isn’t a foward-planner, however. alma prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night. — pretentious motherfucker. loves poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very intelligent and beautiful and knows both of those facts. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. petty and vindictive — just wants to be loved by all. a party girl ; doesn’t rlly enjoy it, jst feels she should enjoy it. — tries to be an enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women desirable and interesting and cool. — obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning. — her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee-high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramophone because “the sound quality is better” kfdsjj.

plots.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends –  probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

people who live on the same floor and only know each other from brief interactions in the lift or the canteen

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

full biography.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

           the girl is a knife. razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. you’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. a mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. to have the power to control that is to be a god. it’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. you cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “mama, when will i be a queen?” as soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

           if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? in the beginning, you never knew hunger. twins, born under the same star, you first, him second – a nuclear family. never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. white-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. the townhouse in vermont and the summer house in lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

           at eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

           your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather wolfgang hildegarde a german immigrant, great-grandmother maura lisbon a prairie girl. they fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the indians, vacations to calcutta, your father todd putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. he worked hard so that you’d never have to. your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? that blood money had no business raising a child. you look far back enough, edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a civil war to silence, and i think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

           language was never fickle on your tongue, french dinner time talk by the time you were out of your hush puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. you learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. by eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. that was how magnetic you wanted to feel. but mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to english boarding school.

           fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. you were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. tell us what it’s like in the states, alma. they’d coo, enamoured by your hollywood drawl. does your father own a gun? you hardly knew. barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. when you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

           the road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to small-town fame. bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. there was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. in leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were helen of troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. but there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. hockey helped. there was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. sweat. stiff knuckles. feet pounding the earth. the smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “slipped, sorry.” hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. on the pitch, you feel alive.