#and i know she's in her normal skin again but creative liberties

[amethystarachnid]

Hey! If your taking requests, I love your work so much and I had an idea I would really love to see how you execute it.

So it would be with Tony Stark, and if its okay Male!Reader, but not romantic, the reader is a teen who is a product of some old fling Tony had and after being poorly taken care of by his mom (whatever that inclines you to write, abuse, bad boyfriend, alcoholism etc.) She dumps him off at stark tower with a note and what little belongings the reader has and his birth certificate to Tony for him to take care of. And the rest of what happens from there is up to you! Basically heavy on the found family troupe, and a little angst with some good fluff. The reader can be from 16-18 still in high school. He has Tony's sarcastic humor and smarts, but he nodes his intelligence because his mom never really helped him appreciate it, basically one of those kids that gets straight A's without seemingly trying and looking kind of stupid, the reader is quiet and a bit cold but that's because of how he was raised, and isn't one to share how he's feeling. If you can do this I'd be so thankful, if not its completely understandable, I hope I gave you enough creative liberty to make it fun, I know it'll be great if you do write it! Again I love your fics so much and I can't wait to read more of what you have!!💜☺

LEGACY

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x male!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: platonic!, a lot of angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: literally what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of abusive household and rader feeling like people keep abandoning him

ᯓ★ Thank you so much for your request and for liking my work! <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Your whole life, you’ve never known stability. The cramped apartments, the ever-shifting walls painted in hues of desperation, are as familiar to you as your own skin. You’re seventeen now, but you still feel like you’re stuck in this never-ending carousel of uncertainty and survival. Your mom—who’s always been more into herself than anyone else—has a way of shoving her problems under the rug, sweeping you along with the mess until you’re barely holding it together.

Her boyfriend—if you could even call him that—is the latest problem. Travis is the kind of guy who doesn’t need to say much to make his point clear. It’s in the way he takes up space, fills every room with his presence, making himself the center of your lives as if it’s his right. He started coming around when you were fourteen, and it’s only gotten worse. You know he hates you, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. To him, you’re a nuisance, some extra baggage he never asked for, and he’s got no problem reminding you of that. Your sarcasm and quick wit, the things that make you, you, are just more reasons for him to snap, roll his eyes, or call you ungrateful.

Your mom’s always been…complicated. You’ve known that since you were little, watching her go from one relationship to another, always searching for some kind of validation she never seems to find. She calls herself a free spirit, but it’s like she’s just drifting, lost in a fog of her own making. She can be fun, sure, when things are good. There were even moments when you thought she really loved you. But as time went on, you learned to read the signs: the distant glances, the subtle irritations, the way she avoids looking at you for too long, as if you’re some kind of mirror she doesn’t want to face.

It’s your intelligence that bugs her the most, you think. You see through her, every lie, every excuse, every careless decision. And she knows it. It’s like looking into a warped mirror—she can see pieces of herself in you, but you’re everything she’s never been: sharp, observant, with a mind that doesn’t let things slide. And it grates on her.

The fights get worse as you grow older, each one escalating faster than the last. Your sarcasm is your armor, your way of dealing with the endless cycle of disappointment. But every quip, every clever retort, only makes her angrier. You can tell she hates that she can’t control you, can’t manipulate you the way she does with everyone else in her life. She calls you difficult, a burden, a mistake she should’ve never had. You don’t let it show, but each word leaves a scar, another reminder that you’re on your own.

Then one day, it’s too much. Travis and your mom are fighting—again. It’s loud, voices echoing in the small apartment, and you’re in your room, trying to block it out like usual. But this time, you hear your name. You’ve been in this situation enough to know that’s never a good sign. So, you stay quiet, waiting, listening.

“You know he’s not even mine, right?” Travis snaps, his voice dripping with frustration. “Why do I have to put up with this kid? He’s not my responsibility!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Your mom’s voice is strained, like she’s barely holding on herself. “I’ve tried—God, I’ve tried—but he’s just…he’s too much. I can’t handle it anymore.”

There’s a pause, and for a second, you think maybe she’ll say something else, something that makes it sound like she cares. But the words never come.

“Then get rid of him,” Travis says, so bluntly that it leaves a chill in the air. “You’ve got the kid’s birth certificate. Drop him off at his real dad’s. He’s rich, isn’t he? Let him deal with the brat.”

You don’t move. You barely breathe. But deep down, you already know this is it. There’s no fighting it this time, no clever comment to deflect what’s happening. She’s made her choice, and it’s not you.

The next morning, she’s silent as she hands you an envelope. There’s no apology, no excuse, just a look that tells you she’s already gone, checked out of whatever shred of motherhood she once claimed to have. You don’t even ask where you’re going; you know the answer as soon as you see the address on the piece of paper.

Stark Tower.

It feels like a final act of cruelty, really. The man she’s always refused to talk about, the one figure in your life who’s only ever been a name, and now he’s your last option. Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, Avenger. And, apparently, your father.

You stand outside Stark Tower with a single bag of your things and that stupid piece of paper—the birth certificate that’s somehow supposed to mean you’re his problem now. You feel like you’re stuck in some cosmic joke, a punchline to a story you didn’t even know you were a part of. There’s no going back, though. That’s clear enough.

So, you take a deep breath, adjust your bag on your shoulder, and walk through the doors.

Tony doesn’t even get a chance to process it at first. One moment he’s sipping coffee in his lab, deep in the flow of something unnecessarily complex that’s keeping his mind busy, and the next, Pepper is calling him down to the lobby. She sounds irritated, stressed—like maybe it’s his fault, which Tony wouldn’t be surprised by, honestly. He heads down, muttering about "another hero here to tell me how to do my job."

Then he sees you.

You’re leaning against the glass wall, wearing an expression that’s somehow familiar yet entirely alien to him. It’s not hard to recognize the mix of defiance and exhaustion in your eyes; he’s spent years perfecting that look himself. But the shock doesn’t really hit until you hand him the birth certificate. Your name and his, right there in black and white, unavoidably real.

For once in his life, Tony Stark is speechless.

“Seventeen years,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “And now you’re here because…?”

You shrug, clearly unimpressed. “Mom didn’t want me anymore, and apparently, you’re my dad. So… here I am. Congratulations.”

You’re blunt, almost cruel in the way you say it, like you don’t expect anything from him and don’t care if you get it. But he can’t look away from you. For the first time in a long time, he’s out of his depth. He’s had seventeen years to know this was possible, maybe even inevitable, but standing in front of you, he realizes he’s never prepared himself for this. He’s never thought about what it would mean to actually be a father.

Yet here you are, standing in front of him with your mother’s words still hanging over you, and he can see the weight you carry in the way your shoulders are always tense, the way your eyes don’t quite meet his.

“Well, kid,” he says after a beat, plastering on his most confident smile, “looks like you’ve officially joined the Stark family. There’s no going back now.”

Over the next few days, Tony throws himself into fatherhood with all the enthusiasm of someone tackling a new, challenging invention. He’s reading parenting books, taking advice from anyone who’ll give it, and trying desperately to crack the code of how to be a “cool dad.” He lets you explore Stark Tower freely, offers you access to his entire workshop, and even builds you a custom tablet, “Stark-style,” he brags, with enough advanced tech to impress even the most skeptical teenager.

He talks to you about science, testing your knowledge and realizing with a mix of pride and horror that you’re nearly as sharp as he was at seventeen. He tries to make jokes, throwing out sarcastic one-liners he assumes will win you over. Sometimes, he even manages to get a smirk out of you. But that’s as far as it ever goes.

Every attempt he makes is met with your icy wall, a defense mechanism built after years of disappointment and neglect. You listen, nod occasionally, but never laugh or even show interest. The most he ever gets out of you is a dry, deadpan “cool,” which is enough to keep him going but never enough to satisfy him.

Tony tries not to take it personally, but it’s hard. You’re right there, his kid, yet you’re worlds away, keeping him at arm’s length as if he’s just another adult you can’t trust. He catches glimpses of the sarcasm, the intelligence, but it’s wrapped up in layers of resentment and guarded detachment. You’re always cool, always distant, and he knows why, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

One evening, he sits you down with a grin, tossing a shiny, compact device into your hands. It’s sleek, metallic—one of his newer designs.

“Mini reactor prototype. You’d be the first to use it.” He says it with pride, like he’s giving you something no one else in the world could get.

You look at it for a moment, then at him. “Cool,” you say again, but your voice is flat, unimpressed. You set it on the table between you without another glance.

Tony’s grin falters, and he lets out a frustrated laugh. “You’re a tough crowd, you know that?”

You just shrug, giving him that practiced blank stare he’s come to know well. He’s finally reaching his breaking point. “Y’know, I’m trying here,” he says, exasperated. “I’m trying to… I don’t know, connect. Be… whatever it is you need me to be. But you’re acting like I’m just another stranger.”

You pause, considering him for a moment, and something shifts in your expression—like maybe, for just a second, you see his effort. But then your face goes neutral again, back to that familiar shield.

“Maybe that’s because you are,” you reply, voice quiet, almost too soft for him to hear.

Tony feels the blow, but he hides it with a forced chuckle. “Fair enough,” he says, though there’s a sting in his voice. “I can’t change the past, but… I’m here now. I’m not gonna just… walk away.”

The words linger between you, both of you knowing the weight they carry. You’ve heard promises like this before. You’ve heard them from your mother, from people who were supposed to care, and each one of those promises had turned hollow, leaving you more alone than before. So, when Tony looks at you with genuine sincerity, with a hope that you’ll give him a chance, all you can do is nod, burying any flicker of vulnerability.

As the weeks go on, Tony keeps trying. He brings you into the lab with him, walks you through his latest projects, even lets you experiment with some of the tech yourself. He drags you to burger joints at midnight, tries to coax out stories about school, hobbies, anything. Sometimes you let your guard slip, offering a sarcastic remark, a comment that makes him laugh—but the moment always passes too quickly, and you’re back behind that wall before he can push any further.

He’s persistent, though, and there’s a part of you that almost wants to give in, that wants to believe him. But your trust is a muscle you haven’t used in so long, it feels impossible to start now. So, you keep him at bay, deflecting his kindness, giving him just enough to satisfy his efforts without letting him in.

Tony doesn’t quit, though. He keeps showing up, every day, every night, and for the first time in your life, you don’t feel like someone’s just waiting for the moment they can leave.

Every morning, Tony insists on driving you to school, and it’s nothing short of a spectacle. He shows up outside Stark Tower in one of his many luxury cars, honking loudly, practically begging for attention. It’s become a routine, one you can’t escape no matter how many times you roll your eyes or tell him he doesn’t have to do it. He’s always got some snarky excuse, saying things like, “It’s my job as a dad,” or “I just want to see the kid off,” as if anyone believes he actually cares about high school protocol.

And everyone notices. Whispers trail behind you as you walk the halls, classmates you’ve known for years suddenly gawking at you like you’re a different person. They don’t know you as you anymore; they know you as Tony Stark’s kid. It’s suffocating. You’ve spent your entire life trying to stay unnoticed, to blend into the background. Now, no matter where you go, everyone’s waiting for you to crack a joke like him, to show off some kind of Stark-level genius.

Only one person seems to still see you, really see you—your best friend, Sam. You’ve known him since middle school, back when everything was simpler, when no one knew or cared who your dad was. He’s the only one who doesn’t treat you any differently now, the only person you actually trust enough to talk to about any of this.

One afternoon, you’re sitting outside on the bleachers with Sam, trying to ignore the fact that Tony’s car is already parked by the curb, waiting for you. The other students eye it like some exotic animal they don’t quite understand, but you keep your head down, just hoping the day will end without any more awkward questions or judgmental stares.

Sam nudges you. “So, uh… you still giving the old man the cold shoulder, huh?”

You sigh, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not giving him the cold shoulder. I’m just… keeping my distance.”

He rolls his eyes. “Dude, I see you with him every morning. The man looks like he’s about to recite the Gettysburg Address just to get a smile out of you. And you’re over here acting like he doesn’t exist.”

You shift uncomfortably, crossing your arms. “He’s only doing it because he feels obligated, Sam. It’s Tony Stark. He doesn’t actually care about me.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You really believe that? You think he’s the kind of guy who’d waste his time on someone he doesn’t care about?”

You don’t answer, but you can feel Sam’s eyes on you, cutting through all your defenses. He’s always been able to read you better than anyone, and right now, that’s the last thing you want.

“He’s trying, Y/N,” Sam continues, his voice softer. “Like, really trying. And I get it. I get that you’ve been burned, but… maybe give him a chance? Just talk to him. It’s not like he’s gonna run off if you tell him what’s going on.”

You look away, jaw clenched as you try to shake off the knot of emotion tightening in your chest. You don’t want to admit that Sam might be right. Letting someone in, giving someone a chance—that’s always been a dangerous game, one you’re not sure you can afford to play again.

That night, you’re lying awake in your room, staring at the ceiling, Sam’s words playing on a loop in your mind. The silence around you feels heavy, pressing down on you, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you owe Tony more than you’ve been giving him. You’ve seen his effort, the way he tries to connect with you, even when you push him away. He’s there, every day, waiting for you, and no one has ever done that before.

Something shifts in you, a kind of tired resignation, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you get up and head downstairs to his workshop.

Tony’s hunched over a table, tinkering with some gadget, and he barely notices you at first. It’s only when you clear your throat that he looks up, surprise flickering across his face before he masks it with a smile.

“Hey, kid,” he says, setting down his tools. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling the weight of what you’re about to say. “Yeah, I just… I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He raises an eyebrow, a mixture of curiosity and concern on his face. He gestures to a nearby chair. “Go ahead. I’m all ears.”

You sit, staring at your hands as you try to find the right words. For a long time, there’s only silence between you, the air thick with tension. Finally, you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to speak.

“I know I’ve been… difficult,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I know you’re trying. It’s just… it’s not easy for me.”

Tony watches you intently, not interrupting, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen it. You look down, focusing on your hands, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

“When I was a kid, my mom was all I had. I thought… I thought she cared about me, even if she didn’t always show it. But she changed, especially after she started seeing this guy. Travis. He wasn’t… he wasn’t a good person, Tony. He… he made sure I knew I wasn’t wanted.” Your voice breaks slightly, but you push through it, feeling the old wounds tear open. “He told me I was a burden, that I was just in the way. And my mom, she… she just let it happen. She barely even looked at me by the end.”

Tony’s face darkens, his jaw clenched as he listens, but he stays silent, letting you continue.

“I learned not to trust people,” you say, voice wavering. “Every time I thought someone would stick around, they didn’t. So I stopped… I stopped letting people in. I told myself it was easier that way.”

You look up at him, and for the first time, there’s no mask, no shield—just raw vulnerability, something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in years.

“And then I showed up here,” you say, your voice barely a whisper now. “And you… you keep trying. You keep showing up, every day, like you actually care. And it’s… it’s confusing, okay? Because part of me wants to believe it, but the other part…” You trail off, wiping away a tear that slips down your cheek.

Tony doesn’t hesitate. He reaches over, placing a hand on your shoulder, grounding you, letting you know he’s there. “Y/N,” he says softly, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t change what you went through. I can’t go back and fix it, as much as I wish I could. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You meet his gaze, and there’s something in his eyes that you’ve never seen before—a fierce, unwavering resolve that feels almost foreign. You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words sink in, feeling the tiniest flicker of hope spark to life.

“It’s not easy for me,” you murmur. “It’s… it’s hard for me to trust people. And I know I’m not the easiest person to be around. But… I want to try. I want to believe you. I just… I need you to be patient with me. I need you to not give up on me.”

Tony nods, his hand still resting on your shoulder, steady and reassuring. “Hey,” he says, his voice breaking a little. “I’m not giving up on you, kid. Not now, not ever. You’re my son, and I’m here for the long haul. However long it takes, okay?”

The words settle around you, a warmth you haven’t felt in years. You don’t have to say anything; he seems to understand, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he lets go. And in that moment, something in you softens, just a little, like maybe you can let him in.

For the first time, you allow yourself to believe him, to believe that maybe he really won’t walk away. And even though the walls around your heart don’t come down all at once, you feel them start to crack, piece by piece, letting a little light seep in.

After that night, things start to change. It’s slow, gradual, like thawing ice, but there’s a noticeable shift between you and Tony. You’re still guarded, still wary of letting him all the way in, but he doesn’t push. He just keeps showing up, every day, every night, just like he promised. And slowly, piece by piece, you let him in.

The first time you ask to work on something together, Tony practically beams. You’re sitting at the kitchen counter with your physics homework in front of you—normally a breeze, something you’d get done in a few minutes. But today, you’ve left a few problems untouched, hoping he’ll notice.

Sure enough, Tony glances over your shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “Need a hand with that?” he asks, and there’s a careful lightness to his voice, like he’s trying to keep things casual, so he doesn’t scare you off.

You shrug, trying to act indifferent. “Sure, if you’ve got time,” you say, even though both of you know you could solve this on your own without breaking a sweat. But Tony doesn’t call you out on it. He just grabs a chair, pulls it over, and sits down next to you, leaning in to look at your work.

For the next hour, the two of you go over formulas and theories, his explanations coming with a few sarcastic quips and exaggerated hand gestures. Every so often, he goes off on a tangent, telling you stories about his own time in high school or sharing a strange fact he thinks will help you remember a concept. You listen, half-smiling at his antics, and eventually even throw in a few of your own sarcastic comments. You can tell he’s trying not to make a big deal out of it, but there’s a spark in his eyes that tells you he’s thrilled to be here, helping you, no matter how small the reason.

As the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in Tony’s workshop. It becomes your safe space, the place where you don’t feel like you have to hide or put up walls. Tony lets you explore, handing you tools and explaining how they work, guiding you through his more complicated inventions. It’s like learning a new language, one he’s eager to teach you, and he’s a surprisingly patient teacher.

One afternoon, he’s working on a new suit upgrade, and you’re watching, silently impressed by how smoothly he moves, how every action is precise and practiced. You’re deep in thought when he glances over at you, smirking.

“Thinking of joining the family business?” he jokes, tossing you a wrench. “If you’re interested, I could always use an extra pair of hands.”

You catch the wrench, feeling a rare, genuine smile tug at the corners of your mouth. “Maybe I will,” you say, feeling a rush of warmth that’s unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

He shows you how to tighten a piece of armor plating, explaining each step with a casual ease that you find yourself getting lost in. There’s something oddly comforting about the way he talks, like he’s sharing a secret only the two of you understand. And as you work, side by side, you realize that you actually look forward to these moments, the quiet companionship that comes from working together on something you both enjoy.

One evening, you catch yourself staring at your chemistry textbook, pages open to a particularly dull section on thermodynamics. Normally, you’d power through it on your own, but tonight, you feel the familiar tug of loneliness creeping in, and before you know it, you’re on your feet, heading down to Tony’s lab.

When you reach the doorway, he looks up, surprised, then quickly wipes the expression off his face and pretends to be engrossed in his latest project. “What’s up?” he asks, as casually as he can manage.

You hold up the textbook, pretending to be annoyed. “This stuff is terrible. Thought maybe you could explain it better than my teacher does.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, I’m honored to know you think so highly of my teaching skills.” He gestures for you to sit down, and as you do, he starts flipping through the pages of your book. “Thermodynamics, huh? You sure you’re not just here for the riveting conversation?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But you both know the truth, and there’s an unspoken understanding between you as he dives into the material. He doesn’t just lecture; he makes it a story, breaking down each concept with analogies, acting out scenarios, and throwing in enough jokes to keep you both entertained. You throw in questions just to keep him talking, just so you don’t have to go back to your empty room just yet.

And somewhere along the way, you realize you’re not just learning about science. You’re learning about him—about his quirks, his sense of humor, the way he lights up when he’s talking about things he’s passionate about. He’s not just Tony Stark, billionaire genius, Iron Man. He’s… Tony, your dad, someone who, against all odds, actually seems to care about you.

Over time, you both fall into a rhythm. Tony starts waiting for you in the mornings, holding out a cup of coffee or hot chocolate, claiming he needs company on his drive to work. You never say it, but you look forward to those mornings, the way he fills the car with stories about his latest projects or about old college pranks he pulled that make you laugh in spite of yourself.

One day, you’re both hunched over a set of schematics in his lab, tossing ideas back and forth as you brainstorm a new design for a stabilizer that could potentially improve flight control in his suits. You’re getting so into it that you forget to be guarded, throwing out suggestions, bouncing thoughts off each other in rapid-fire succession.

At one point, Tony stops, leaning back in his chair to look at you with a smirk. “You know,” he says, a touch of pride in his voice, “you’re pretty damn good at this. Got that Stark brain for sure.”

You feel a warmth spread through you, and for the first time, you don’t brush it off. “Maybe,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “But I guess it helps when you have a good teacher.”

Tony chuckles, but there’s a glimmer of emotion in his eyes, something raw and unguarded. “Yeah, well… you’re not a bad student either.”

There’s a moment of silence as the two of you look at each other, an understanding passing between you that doesn’t need words. You know he’s trying, and somehow, that knowledge makes the walls around your heart crumble just a little bit more.

A few days later, you’re working on homework in the living room when Tony walks in, holding a set of blueprints he’s obviously excited about. But when he sees you bent over your books, he pauses, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Hey, need some help?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You look up, raising an eyebrow back at him. “With calculus? Pretty sure I’ve got this covered.”

He shrugs, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I was quite the calculus prodigy back in the day.”

“Oh, yeah?” You smirk, half-teasing. “Care to prove it?”

Tony grins, and before you know it, he’s pulled up a chair, leaning over your work with the same intensity he brings to his inventions. You pretend to need help with a few problems, and he’s more than happy to guide you through them, throwing in jokes and sarcastic comments the whole way. Every so often, he nudges your shoulder, grinning like he’s just scored a victory when he catches you smiling.

Eventually, he lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I think we’ve both learned a lot today,” he says, stretching dramatically.

“Yeah,” you reply, smirking. “Like the fact that you’re worse at calculus than I am.”

Tony gapes, clutching his chest in mock hurt. “Unbelievable. Betrayed by my own son. This is a new low.”

You chuckle, shaking your head, and for the first time, it feels easy. Comfortable. Like maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to keep fighting him off.

“Hey,” Tony says, his tone shifting to something softer. “Thanks for letting me in. I know it wasn’t easy.”

You meet his gaze, feeling that familiar vulnerability creeping in, but this time, you don’t shy away. “Thanks for not giving up,” you reply quietly. “I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with.”

Tony chuckles, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “Nah, you’re a piece of cake. Besides, I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

You smile, a real one this time, feeling a warmth settle in your chest. For the first time, you allow yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, things are going to be okay.

It’s supposed to be a routine mission. Just another intel-gathering run, in and out, with minimal risk. Tony had waved it off as no big deal before he left, throwing you a smirk and saying, “Just another day in the office.” But that was hours ago. And now, as you sit in the dim glow of the living room, watching the news report blaring on the screen, dread twists deep in your gut.

You watch the shaky footage of Iron Man fighting, and this time, it’s different. He’s outnumbered, missiles tearing through the air, beams of energy slicing through the smoke and chaos. The news anchor’s voice breaks as they report the intensity of the fight, how Iron Man was last seen plunging out of the sky after a heavy hit. For a terrifying moment, you catch a glimpse of him falling, his suit battered, smoking, before the feed cuts out entirely.

Your heart stops, and a painful tightness fills your chest. The hours that follow are a blur of pacing, every second dragging longer than the last. You’re used to him going out on missions, used to the danger that comes with being Tony Stark’s son. But this… this is different. This isn’t the usual playful bravado, the usual cocky promises that he’ll be home for dinner. This is life or death, and for the first time, you’re faced with the horrifying thought that he might not make it back.

After what feels like an eternity, the front door finally opens. You spin around, heart pounding, and there he is, looking worse for wear but alive. He’s moving a bit stiffly, his armor scratched and dented, his face smudged with dirt and a few new cuts. But he’s here.

Before he can say a word, you rush toward him, the flood of relief hitting you so hard that you barely register the fact that you’re moving, throwing yourself into his arms. Your grip is tight, like if you let go, he’ll disappear. You don’t even realize you’re trembling until you feel his arms close around you, holding you just as tightly.

“Hey, hey,” Tony says, his voice soft, touched with surprise but warm. “I’m okay, kid. I’m here.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears, and he’s looking at you with an expression so full of gentle understanding that it makes you feel like a kid again, vulnerable and desperate. Without thinking, the word slips out, raw and unguarded.

“Dad…” you whisper, voice breaking slightly, “don’t ever… don’t ever do that again. I thought… I thought I was going to lose you.”

Tony’s face softens, his own eyes welling up. He’s silent for a moment, as if he’s savoring the word, the weight of it finally hitting home. His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, his grip firm but gentle, grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. But I’m here, okay? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod, the tears slipping down your cheeks now, and Tony pulls you in again, holding you tightly, his hand running gently over your back. It’s the first time you’ve let yourself fully embrace him, the first time you’ve allowed yourself to lean into his strength, to accept the warmth he’s been trying so hard to offer. And as you stand there, held in his arms, a sense of peace settles over you, soft and comforting, melting the last of your walls away.

After a long moment, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, a tear slipping down his own cheek as he smiles, eyes bright. “You called me ‘Dad,’” he says softly, his voice full of wonder, as if he’s just received the greatest gift in the world.

You give a small, watery smile, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah, well… don’t get used to it,” you mumble, but there’s no heat behind the words, only affection, only gratitude.

He chuckles, pulling you back into a hug, and you feel his hand rest on the back of your head, his grip firm and reassuring. “I’m already used to it,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m not letting you go, kid. Not ever.”

In that moment, you realize that this is what home feels like—right here, safe in his arms, with nothing left to fear.

I'll never get tired of familyman!Tony I swear.

[notlumenera]

wet cat gains a cat

[evie-lives-here]

The Swarming Incident

Note: Hello! So this is the first fanfic I'm working on; I was fucking around reading another fic when I thought it would be cute to make a fic where there is a fourth daughter that had recently come out of transformation and is maybe struggling with her swarming abilities? Not quite getting it yet. Also, I thought it would be cool if she had something other than blowflies. I'm definitely taking inspiration from the fic where it was fruit flies instead. So, we will be exploring how this works. I will be taking some creative liberties with how the hive mind works. So I hope this goes well. Anyway, enjoy.

word count: 1428

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This is the worst day of my life! Considering I was only born only a few days ago, it is entirely accurate. I pace angrily in the main hall, thinking of how to swarm. I was tired of hearing my sisters and mother say it would eventually come to me. I want to be free so badly! My skin feels like it's crawling, like I have life underneath my skin, ready to burst free.

I whined out loud for the third time. Bela, sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace with tea and a good book, sighs and shuts her book, setting it aside with her tea, and stands up. 

"Young one, please do not try and rush yourself…" she begins walking over to me. My hackles raise, already knowing what she will say. The crawling feeling under my skin strengthens as she says it with gentleness and wisdom. "The process of morphing into a swarm is an incredibly difficult one and requires patience. Remember what Mother said: "Patience is a virtue, not a burden." keep trying, sister, and you shall succeed. It took me two whole months to finally swarm fully."

I turn around quickly and whine loudly again, stomping my feet childishly. My body is still tiny and frail, recovering from the cadou. It is somewhat toned but is still getting used to itself. My hair is deep black, not unlike my mother's. But unlike my mother, my eyes are blueish silver. My mother says they can become steely and cold in half a second.

"But I wanna swarm now! My skin feels so itchy!" I say, whining and pouting

"Don't you think I was the same when I woke up? Do you think I did not whine for two months until I finally swarmed? Of course I did! We all went through this, Elena. You are not unique in your experience. So keep trying and stop whining, or I'll tell Mother you're rushing again!" She stands tall and glares, attempting to intimidate me again.

Instead of backing down like usual, I puff up angrily, the buzzing under my skin becoming practically unbearable. My ears start to ring as I stare Bela directly in the eye. I growl lowly and feel the buzzing come to a head.

Belas POV

I feel a bit shocked when Elena stands her ground. Her eyes have become the steely, cold blue I know from her. I feel myself shiver a little; the coldness in her eyes makes me think of the freezing coldness in the winter. I shake the thoughts away as I notice her body start to swarm, almost making her look bigger and taller than me. I step backward, a bit frighted by the display. It doesn't sound like their sisters, either. It sounds sharper, angrier, louder. Whatever the insects are, they create a very dark black cloud, filling the space around us quickly.

"Elena! Control yourself! You are making a mess of yourself!" I say, trying to be stern, but my voice wavers as I only see the cloud spread, blocking out the light from the fireplace and chandelier, blacking out the room entirely. 

I feel tiny legs crawl onto my arm, look down, and see a small group of weirdly colored insects, about 12. I finally looked at the bug, realizing she wasn't made of blowflies but European hornets. I look at the small bugs in fascination. I noticed their coloration was odd: navy blue, black, and gray with similar markings to the normal hornets. Some were different than others 6 of the 12 had blue diamonds on the abdomen, which was odd. The 6 odd ones crawl to the center of my hand while the others inch around mindlessly. They look up at me, and I move my hand to be level with my face. They start buzzing and moving their wings, and I can easily recognize these movements as her sisters, and I do it to communicate in fly form.

What the actual fuck! I don't know– 

The buzzing gets jumbled, and her wing's movements clumsy, making it hard to understand 

"Do you want me to get mother?"

The small collection of hornets becomes frantic, making it impossible to understand as I start to realize the ones with the diamonds on her abdomen are her consciousness.

I swarm the insects on my hand, now taking flight as I go to find our mother.

I ended up in the countess study, not bothering to knock, basically busting in the door, causing Mother to look up from her work, unimpressed as I reformed.

"Bela! It is unbecoming of a lady to not knock. I wouldn't expect this from you. Maybe Elena or Daniela–"

"Mother, now is not the time to rant about my manners. Elena is in trouble."

Mother's eyes glow, and she stands quickly at the news her newest child is in harm's way. 

"Take me to her now."

 I nod and swarm quickly, taking off Mother not far behind her long strides, making it easy for her to keep up with me. I make it to the foyer balcony; the room is very dark, with just a black undulating ball taking up the center, an almost deafening buzzing sound filling it.

Mother looks over the balcony and says, "That's Elena?" I nod and go down the stairs as best I can through the swarm. The six main bugs found my hand again, frantically buzzing. 

How do I change back??

"Mother will know." I see her behind me in the mess of hornets. I'm lost on what to do, having never had a swarm like this one. It made me wonder what the experiment changed to make her like this.

Mother walks to the swarm's center, and I follow her, taking her hand and gently putting the 6 of the bugs into her large hand. 

"This is her." 

Mother looks slightly surprised but doesn't waste time putting them level with her face, eyeing the frantic insects.

"Listen to me, copilul meu mommy's here, and everything will be alright." Mother stops and then starts softly humming a lullaby she made for us. She would sing to us when we had nightmares or to be comforting.

“Culca-te, puiut micut,

Culca-te si te abua

Pâna mâine-n dalba ziua.

Si te culca si adormi

Pâna mâine-n dalbe zori.

Doina din ce s-o facut ?

Dintr-o gura de mic prunc.

L-o lasat maica dormind,

L-o aflat doina zicând.

Abua – bua – bua,

Abua, tucu-l maica,

Nu te teme tu de zmei,

I-a goni maica pe ei.

Puisor cu ochi de mure,

Maica-i dusa la padure,

Ti-a aduce gatejoare

Si ti-a face scovergioare.”

Slowly, as her humming turns to singing, the buzzing quiets and the hornets take flight, flying down and forming a clump in the arms of Mother. That clump forms slowly into Elena, her going limp against Mother, swaying in time with her relaxing to the sound of the lullaby. Finally, the room has its light back as Elena sighs happily as the song finishes.

Mother smiles down upon Elena with a look of pride. “Well done draga mea” 

I finally relax, walking over. 

"Elena, I'm sorry for angering and invalidating you and causing this mess… I should have been more understanding."

 

She smiles tiredly at me. "No, it's okay. I need to learn to be patient. I shouldn't have been trying to force it."

I scoop her up in a hug of my own. "I'm so proud of you."

I hear mothers' delighted hum and feel her strong arms wrapping around us. "I am proud of both of you for apologizing to each other and asking for help when you need it. Especially you, Bela. I know how hard it is for you sometimes. And my dear Elena, I'm proud of you for being able to reflect and apologize for your wrongdoing."

Eventually, the hug ends, and we pull away. Elena yawned, rubbing her eyes tiredly, causing Mother to scoop her up gently. "I think I will be putting this little one to bed. That was a big step, and it's always exhausting to swarm your first time. I remember when you swarmed for the first time, Bela, you were so excited." Mother smiles softly at the memory before kissing me gently on my tattoo and walking upstairs. I hum quietly and wonder if I can call Mother Miranda and ask for some of her experiment notes to help my sister learn faster. I hum and swarm off, wondering how Mother Miranda would react to the swarming incident.

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Well, I hope I didn't go to OOC because I was trying my hardest. I hope this was enjoyable. I will post some art soon in inspiration for the story, so enjoy it when it comes out.

[silverlullabies]

Took some creative liberties with who the Reaper was speaking to. Also TW for blood, vomiting, abuse by proxy (is that a thing? I feel like that should be a thing), medical gore, and panic attacks.

AIONASE is named after Aion, the Hellenistic deity of eternal and cyclical time. The name was ironic and done on purpose.

•••

“—you tell me five things you see?”

“Blood. Blood everywhere.”

Vivian doesn’t remember making a conscious effort to talk, but she hears her voice- feels the vibration in her sternum, trembling against a building pressure in her chest. Blood? Why is there—? She blinks sluggishly and registers the blood on her hand, her sleeve, her shoes. Static presses against her consciousness like a siren song, attempting to lull her back into that sweet nothingness she just climbed out of.

“Good.” The voice from before says suddenly to her left, making her jolt in surprise at the unexpected sound cutting through the haze. She gets the impression they did that on purpose even if they sound pained that the first thing she picked was the trail of blood on her arm. “Good. Keep going. Four more things.”

She blinks slowly, attempts to look around, but just moving her head feels like too much work right now. She just wants to disappear again; retreat into the safety of her mind. The being next to her nudges her softly, pointedly, and Vivian picks the easiest thing she can see.

“Tiles.” She’s in no way short at 5’5” but the gleaming white linoleum is closer to her than it normally is and it takes her a second for the synapses in her brain to fire, to register that she’s sitting stiff-limbed on the floor, cold penetrating through her clothes and into her goosebump covered skin. She shivers and once she starts, she doesn’t stop.

“Phone.” It’s sitting in her lap, bloody fingerprints smeared over the screen, a text conversation open illuminating a conversation she doesn’t remember having. She tries to pick it up, but her fingertips are numb and lubricated and by the time she drops it for the fourth time, she gives up.

She trails stinging blurry eyes away from her phone, the movement causing the pounding in her head to spike and throb, made worse by the yellow fluorescent lighting that flickers overhead. Her vision wobbles off-kilter until she finds a spot on the wall to focus, squinting against “-shitty migraine inducing lights.” The figure beside her lets out a huff of air in amusement.

“Good, one more.”

Vivian stares blankly ahead until the fuzzy colorful image on the bulletin board in front of her fully sharpens, reading the advertisement of the new drug AIONASE over and over again without fully taking in the words. ‘You Waited Your Entire Life To Become a Grandparent. Now Watch Them Live Theirs With a Chance to Live Longer. Enjoy More Happy Memories and Choose Life. Ask Your Doctor About AIONASE Today and Decide When You’re Ready To Go!’ Next to a stock image of a happy elderly couple holding a newborn baby in the air. “—bullshit.” She mumbles, a spark of anger in her stomach.

The being next to her shifts, tilts his head in the same direction as her, sees the advertisement, and snorts. “… I’ll take it.” They turn back to her, rubbing a comforting hand against her shoulder, ice cold in a way that burns. She shudders, isn’t sure if it’s from the freeze of their fingertips branding into her skin or—

Or.

“Four things you can hear.”

“Someone screaming.”

The figure is silent for a moment, the hand stilling in between her shoulder blades. “Vivian…” They say very, very softly. Gently. It clashes with the rough and scathing thoughts swirling in her head. She hums, tilting her head in their direction to let them know she heard them and they say ever so carefully. “There’s nobody screaming.”

She furrows her eyebrows, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, confused, because she can clearly hear someone close by screaming high pitched, bordering on hysteria. How can they not hear that? She should probably get up and find whoever is making such a miserable sound because they need help, why is no one help-

“Deep breaths. You’re starting to panic again.”

She’s suddenly aware that she’s been breathing sharp little puffs of air that constrict her throat. She swallows, forces a deep breath, delivers oxygen to the nerves in her brain that finally connects, and begins to awaken the logical rational side of her mind. She lets out a shaky breath and the hazy emotional side of her brain that’s been wailing high pitched and sharp begins to taper off into a soft anguished cry for the first time in ten minutes.

It—

Has it already been ten minutes?

“Oh.”

The hand on her back begins to rub soothing circles into her skin again. “It’s okay. Three more. You’re doing so good.”

She tries to speak around a tongue that’s too heavy, too dry, wincing when it scrapes against her throat and the pressure building in her chest that thrums in time with the roar in her ears. “… heartbeat.” She gasps out, nose burning. It’s a good thing that he still doesn’t want her to see things, because her vision goes blurry again.

“Two more.”

“I can hear—“ except there’s nothing. No other sounds, no background noise that’s loud enough to make it over the sound of blood still bounding in her veins. She wonders if the figure is able to hear the blood dripping from her elbow onto the (previously pristine) white linoleum. “-you.” She finishes lamely, dully.

“One more.”

“I.” It’s funny in a way that isn’t, that not being able to hear anything but the figure beside her and the steady (thump!thump!thump!) in her ears is the catalyst for the pressure in her chest to fissure and collapse. Her rib cage spasms and her face twists as she grounds out between clenched teeth “-can’t.”

The floodgates open with her admission and she’s crying so hard she can’t breathe, can’t seem to suck in enough oxygen in between sobs to expand her lungs fully. Black dots pepper across her vision and she curls in on herself, knees pressed against her chin, arms draped around her midsection to hold violently shaking shoulders. Her phone slides off her lap and clatters to the floor but she can’t find it in herself to care. She can’t hear anything. She knows logically, she should be able to hear so much background noise. But she can’t hear anything at al—

Tock-Tock-Tock

Wait.

Wait, that’s not true.

She can hear something.

Her cries taper off until she’s only sniffling and making shuddering breaths, focusing on the sound until realization lights up in the back of her mind.

Tock-Tock-Tock

“A clock.”

It’s a clock ticking somewhere behind her.

“It sounds wrong.” She speaks the words out loud before she even realizes she says it, before she even registers the truth to her words. She focuses on the noise until it’s all she can hear for several minutes, a feeling of wrongness settling into her bones over the sound. The longer she listens, the more uneasy she becomes, as if she’s intruding on something private, something that wasn’t made for mortal ears. The figure next to her doesn’t respond to her words despite the curiosity she can practically feel rolling off of them in waves.

Tock-

Tock-

Tock-

She sways in time to each click she can hear in the room behind her, until she realizes what’s so off about it. Sucks in a breath of surprise at the revelation. “It’s broken. Stuck. On the same number. It can’t go past what’s supposed to be their time of —”

She cuts off, feeling something in her gut lurch (Danger!Danger!Danger), a warning from the universe to not delve further into that thought. The being hums a reply, neither confirming nor denying her words. They just continue to rub soothing circles, grounding her. Just says softly, “ Now three things you can feel.” in the kind of low tone she would use for scared kids and panicked adults.

“Your hand.” The fingers pause before they press more firmly into her back, acknowledging her words, adding to the sensation to ground her more firmly. She hears a pleased sound from the being when she sinks into the touch. Vivian’s eyes flutter shut against the weight between her shoulders, tears that were welling in her eyes, falling white hot against her cheeks. She blames her malfunctioning brain-to-mouth filter on the next words out of her mouth being, “They’re cold. Like a corpse.”

The being lets out a bark of laughter and she opens her eyes, lulls her head in their direction, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Inside joke.” They admit, still chuckling. “I’ll tell you sometime later. Now two more things.”

“Numb.” She answers honestly, though she can’t tell if it's because she’s been sitting on the floor or if it’s because she’s winding down from the shock and adrenaline. Pins and needles are shooting up her extremities with each movement but her fingers are also shaking in a way that has nothing to do with the way she’s sitting. The static is still whispering at the edge of her head and she wants to go back to it, wants to take a step out of herself and slightly to the left so she doesn’t have to focus on her emotions.

“That’s understandable. There’s nothing wrong with feeling that way. Just make sure you talk to someone about this later so it isn’t left to fester.” They say, pause, and then speak more softly, urgently. Pained. “I’ve seen what happens when someone bottles up all their emotions and doesn’t get any help. It’s not pretty. Don’t let that be your future.”

“Yeah.” Vivian agrees with them, because she has too. Seen the results of self hatred and external rage from people who don’t know how to handle their emotions. Seen the way it manifests as a noose around someone’s throat or their fists cracking bones and splitting flesh.

“What else do you feel?”

“My head hurts.”

They tut, hand going to the back of her neck to rub out some of the tension and she practically melts against it. “Also understandable. You’ve been crying a lot. Dehydration will do that to you. Make sure you drink lots of fluids the rest of today.”

She bobs her head in acknowledgment and despite the fact that she already knows this, some part of her is glad that someone else has taken the reins for now. She’s so… tired. So unbelievably tired. The world outside their little bubble is foggy and out of focus and she kind of wants to curl up in a ball with them and go quiet forever, hiding from the guilt that’s crushing her inwards like a trash-compactor.

“Are you hurting anywhere else?” They ask softly, but not enough to hide the worry in their tone. “No injuries, right? You’re sort of covered in blood.”

“It’s not mine.”

Something cold and uneasy laces itself into her stomach, nausea rolling in like a stone. Her heart rate picks up, breath hitching between clenched teeth. “It’s not mine.” She says again, jerks her head towards the door on the other side of her. “It’s his. He has cancer, all over—“ She had seen the scans, knows that it metastasized all over his body in such large quantities that they find a tumor every two inches. He’s more cancer than human now.

“He keeps bleeding out. Some of the tumors are weakening blood vessels and it’s causing him to hemorrhage out from every hole in his body.” She’s babbling now, words dripping from her mouth like running water. A distant part of her brain hisses that she’s giving away confidential patient information but the primal part of her brain somehow instinctively knows that somehow this being besides her is already aware of everything she’s saying.

“He should be dead. He should be dead by all rights. A human being shouldn’t be able to survive 70% of their body’s cells mutating against itself but he’s on…” she trails off, eyes darting around until they land on the bright advertisement. “That.” The figure looks up at what she pointed out and sucks in a breath. “He’s on that so he can’t die. But his cognitive function is so far gone that he can’t consent to stopping it. He doesn’t have a POA to consent for him until the Courts appoint one. And they’re backed up for months—“

Her voice cracks and she’s crying again, tugging her blood stained fingers into her hair. The being hesitates for just a second before folding her carefully into their arms with little resistance, fingers carding through her now knotted hair soothingly.

“This-this-this isn’t compassionate care! I’m torturing him! I didn’t become a nurse to hurt people! I wanted to help!” She wails, her fingers clutching into their clothes, knuckles white. She sobs in their arms, not caring that she’s burying her face into the crook of a stranger’s neck, holding on for dear life while she cries so hard her entire body shakes. Her head throbs more but it pales in comparison to the white hot agony of grief and guilt stabbing into her chest. They hold on to her, arms around her shoulders, hand patting in her hair, voice soothing and comforting until her second (or maybe this is her third?) round of crying wanes and she slowly pushes off of them, looking everywhere but them in embarrassment.

“I’m sor—“

“Please don’t worry about it. You’d be surprised at how many strangers cry in my arms.”

“You must have one of those faces.” Not that she would know, since her vision has been so blurry from all the tears in her eyes that she hasn’t been able to get a proper look at them.

They snort and then fall silent, gathering their thoughts before carefully speaking. “For what it’s worth. I think you’re doing an amazing job. You can’t save everyone, but the ones you do save are better for it. They may not remember your name, but they remember what you did for them no how you made them feel. It’s easy to be angry, to hate, to give up when things are hard. It’s even easier to be greedy and only look out for yourself. It takes a special type of strength to see someone in a situation where they’re not happy or safe or healthy and want to change that for them more than anything, even if you get no benefit from it. I’m proud of you.”

Vivian feels something heavy lift off her shoulders, no, off her soul, at their words and quietly offers her thanks, feels something flush on the highs of her cheekbone, that primal part of her brain preening under the praise like she was just complimented by a god.

“Do you still want to tell me two things you can smell now or are you okay to get some water- water Vivian, not coffee, don’t think I don’t know about your caffeine addiction- and then go back to work?”

Vivian huffs at the dig and opens her mouth to tell them that her nose is so clogged from all the crying that she can’t smell anything. Though, it’s odd, now that she thinks of it; before she started sobbing, she could have sworn she smelled the putrid rot of death—

“What are you doing on the floor?”

She jumps, startled, snapping her gaze to see one of her coworker Ellen exiting the patient’s room, staring at her in confusion. The world around Vivian slams back into sharp clarity, the gray haze lifting away from her mind like a camera lense turning into focus. All at once, she’s overwhelmed with sounds of people talking, babies crying, heart monitors going off, alarms of every kind, the overhead speaker calling a Rapid Response on another unit. She can see more than just her, the figure beside her, and the advertisement, like a veil lifting from her mind; sees the rows of rooms, the nurses station, people all around her walking and running and pushing cots.

“… adrenaline crash.” She admits weakly, but her coworker seems to believe her because she lets out a deep sigh; nods her head in understanding, helping Vivian from the floor.

“Yeah, it’s intense. We had to sedate him because all he would do is scream in pain.” Her eyes stray back into the patient’s room, taking in the fitfully sleeping man eyes scrunched tight and tossing and turning even in sedation because it doesn’t fully block the pain. It’s the equivalent of putting a bandage on a bullet hole. She turns back to Vivian. “Were you talking to someone just now?”

“Yeah, I was talking to-“ She turns towards the being only to find the space beside her empty. “I was talking to…” she trails off, looking around the unit for the figure, but the more details she tries to remember of them, the less she’s able to recall. The memory of them starts to slide away, like waking from a dream until nothing is left but vague impressions. She blinks in surprise. “Huh. I thought someone was there. I guess not.”

Ellen eyes her critically with the experience of a nurse of over a decade, used to people lying to her face despite the truth being obvious. Vivian must look pathetic, because the other nurse purses her lips and says “Girl. Go take a few minutes to clean up. You look like death warmed over—“ There’s a chuckle of amusement in her memories, whisper thin like smoke. “—Do you want me to give Mrs. Smith her shot of AIONASE?

Vivian jerks her head up in surprise. “What? Why are we giving her that?? Her quality of life is shit! Why prolong her suffering??”

Ellen looks like she swallowed a lemon. “Her daughter is in vast amounts of denial; refuses to listen to every doctor and neurologist that says her mother isn’t going to get better and decided her Mom “is strong” and “can get through this” like she’s gonna walk out of here or something. Swear you should have to take a medical class before becoming someone’s POA. Shit like this should be considered abuse by proxy.”

Vivian feels the weight in her chest tug her lips down, feels guilt pulse through her heart with each beat. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, willing herself not to cry or rage or something. “No… No, I got it. It’s fine.”

Her coworker eyes her again. “If you’re sure… If you need me, I’ll be in Mr. Delmar’s room changing his bandages. The fool peed on them again.”

Vivian gives her a smile that fools no one, waits until her friend disappears around the corner before sliding into the closest bathroom and throwing up everything in her stomach until she’s dry heaving into the bowl. She splashes her face with cold water until she resembles a regular human again, drinks enough water from the tap until her belly feels uncomfortably full, waits for the heavy nausea in her stomach to pass, before heading to Mrs. Smith’s room with AIONASE feeling like a loaded gun in her hand.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Smith!” Vivian’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She closes the door behind her, the click of the slider feeling like the final nail in a metaphorical coffin. It cuts off all the noise from the hall. Mrs. Smith says nothing, locked into her body after having a brain injury and now is unable to move, eat, talk, or do anything except lay in bed all day. The woman had been active before her TBI and now can do nothing except. Vivian imagines that this is a fate worse than death for the woman, that the relief in her eyes when some other health problem emerges tells the staff that she’s waiting for the day death welcomes her with open arms.

Now she won’t even get that.

Vivian takes another deep breath and continues on as if Mrs. Smith responded to her greeting, as if there’s more than the sound of a ticking clock in the room.

Tick-Tock

“Your daughter wants you to have AIONASE to give you a longer time to recover. It is an injection, so I have to put it in your arm.”

She sees confusion in Mrs. Smith’s eyes, followed by recognition, and then intense blinding fear. Vivian’s stomach clenches, her nose burns, and her fingers tremble.

Tick-Tock

She sees her patient screaming through her eyes and hesitates, considers not giving her the injection, considers lying and saying she did. But, she’d be found out eventually when Mrs. Smith eventually died and she’d be fired and lose her license. She’s stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Tick-Tock

“It’ll start working right away. You might feel some tingling in your arm but that’s normal.” Her voice shakes but she recites the words like she has before dozens (hundreds- thousands) of times. She doesn’t look Mrs. Smith in the face when she injects her and maybe that makes her cowardly to temporarily dehumanize her so she can get through this without throwing up in the waste basket next to her. Her fingers tremble and she nearly misses so she has an excuse if asked— not that anyone will ask since it’s just her and Mrs. Smith.

Tick-Tock

Vivian withdrawals the needle and looks over, sees the five stages of grief flash through Mrs. Smith’s eyes before they settle on resignation and then finally nothing at all.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, throat tightening again. She feels phantom fingers rubbing across her shoulders like a memory from long ago. “I’m so so sorry, I-“

She cuts off because there’s nothing she can say to make this better, nothing to comfort her with. Mrs. Smith’s only response is for tears to build up in her eyes and fall down her face. Vivian goes to wipe the tears away but Mrs. Smith stares at her with such blatant hatred and loathing that she might as well have slapped her. A childish naive part of her hopes the hate is enough to power through this, spite pushing her to start moving again. The logical rational side of her knows this will never happen and she’s doomed to listen to the sounds of a broken clock stuck on the same number second, clicking over and over again. So she gathers her trash, deposits the needle in the sharps container, and leaves the condemned woman to her fate.

Tock-

Tock-

Tock-

In the future, medical science has advanced to the point where people are functionally immortal. However, the Grim Reaper likes to visit people on the day they would have died of natural causes for a talk.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 1: Tobolsk, Siberia]

You are a Russian Grand Duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You hate each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution (1917-1923) and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: "the 1" by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Nothing...?! This might be a first for me.

Word count: 3.9k.

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“There is a man coming for you.”

Mother’s words are very soft, so our jailers can’t hear them, and in English, so they wouldn’t be able to understand anyway. The stained-glass lamp on the vanity illuminates her drawn face in amber, gold, bumblebee jasper, a sickly yellow like jaundice. She stands behind me, dragging the brush through my hair, as I lock eyes with her reflection in the mirror. I knew this was coming when she walked into my bedroom shortly before midnight, or at least that something important was; Mother rarely leaves her wheelchair these days, and certainly not to brush anyone’s hair. Well…perhaps if it was Alexei’s. I nod seriously, gravely even, because that’s how Mother sees this: as a matter of great consequence, of great responsibility. But deep down—beneath this nightgown of linen and lace, beneath this prickling skin, beneath these bones handed down through centuries by the ruling dynasties of Europe—I’m so ecstatic I could scream it from rooftops.

“You’ll know him by his accent,” Mother continues, still brushing. She absently hammers through the tiny knots her fingers stumble across. “He’ll be British, and fairly young. He’s one of Sir Buchanan’s staff.”

I nod again, ostensibly solemn, weighed down by the gravity that only comes to people with years, if it comes at all. My reflection impresses even me. We’re co-conspirators in this mission.

“So don’t be alarmed when he presents himself. He’ll do so when it is most opportune, likely within the next few days. And be ready to leave with him immediately. You may not have any warning. Have you finished hemming your dresses?”

By hemming my dresses, she means secretly sewing our family jewels into them. It’s something we’ve all been doing since we were brought to Tobolsk one month ago. At Alexander Palace in Saint Petersburg, where we were first detained after Papa’s abdication, life had been almost normal: little supervision, plenty of comforts, the retaining of most of our retinue. But it’s different here in Siberia, in the mansion of the former governor who was similarly expelled by the tide of what I’ve heard called revolution. Half of our servants have been dismissed. Papa still receives diplomats, but less often than ever before, and only the few that he can still call friends; one of them is Sir Buchanan, who has been the British Ambassador to Russia and a familiar face for as long as I can remember. The soldiers that the Provisional Government has taxed with guarding us roam the hallways, the walking paths, the shifting shadows of long rooms; they stalk like wolves, their eyes narrow and wary and hateful. And the comforts that remain in our hands feel as fragile as the dwindling Russian summer.

“My dresses are in immaculate condition, I can assure you,” I tell Mother. This is my attempt at humor; my stitching is notoriously hideous. She doesn’t seem to hear me.

“It has to be now,” Mother says, and her knobby, arthritic hands stop brushing. Her eyes have taken on a glassy, far-away quality. “It’s the first week of September. Soon it will be too cold for you to travel safely. And if they take any more from us, if they leave us with no privacy at all, no visitors…if they move us any farther east…we’ll never have another opportunity to get someone out.”

And that someone has to be me, the middle daughter, the third of five extraneous non-heirs. Olga is too timid, too anxious, her nerves could never survive the journey. She’d give herself an ulcer within days and spend the rest of the trip retching blood into rubbish bins. Tatiana is too beautiful; and that may seem like a ridiculous reason for her not to go, but it is also a genuine one, because she is the only Romanov daughter that the average Russian could pick out in a crowd. She is tall and willowy and has striking, wide-set eyes and flawless skin and is just generally an angel fallen to Earth and a rather sizable dent to the ego to have as a sister. Maria is too pliable, she bends when pushed and always has, like the branches of a weeping willow, shoved by the wind one way and then the other until every last leaf is stripped away. Anastasia is too young, only sixteen, and hopelessly wild as well. This task will require restraint, and strategy, and above all else patience. And little Alexei…even if he did not have hemophilia (which he does, an affliction from Mother’s side of the family, and that is a weight she has never stopped carrying), even if he was not only twelve years old, he is too valuable to risk on a gamble like this. He’s more valuable and more loved than I will ever be. But this doesn’t pain me, and never has, at least not in my recollection. I’ve always considered it less a tragedy than a stark and inevitable truth. There’s no point in wrestling with it. I’d be better off resenting the moon, the stars.

My parents still have a great deal of affection for me, for all of their children. They would empty their veins for any one of us. I have never felt alone, never felt abandoned, not once in my life. Even now, Mother or Papa would go in my place if they could, would bear this burden for me; but it’s impossible. They’re both far too recognizable, like Tati. They’re both watched far too closely by our lurking jailers. And their health—collectively, as if they were a single organism—has collapsed since Papa’s abdication. They could not travel without the care of servants. They are phantoms of their former selves.

But I, I…

I am the only Romanov suited for this undertaking, inconspicuous in looks and durable in temperament. The talent that I lack in needlework is made up for several times over in my proclivity for languages; my English is fluent, and nearly without any trace of a Russian accent. And among my siblings, I am Uncle George’s unabashed favorite, the only one he has never been able to refuse during our yearly visits with the British royal family: not when I asked to stay up late with the adults as they sat around smoking and chuckling and telling stories too coarse for children, not when I invited him to dance with me at Christmas balls, not when I begged for riding lessons on his own children’s prized Windsor Grey horses. King George V is known to be a hard man, but he smiles for me. And he alone has the power to free us.

I reach up to take one of Mother’s cool, pale hands, which have come to rest on my shoulders. She’s staring blankly into her own reflection, caught there like a bear with its foot in a trap of iron jaws. “I’ll make you proud, Mama.” She likes when we call her Mama, as if we were still small and unsteady, as if she could still patch all our wounds. “I’ll tell Uncle George how desperate the situation is. I’ll beseech him to let us take asylum there. He doesn’t understand yet, but he will. And then we’ll all be together again.”

“That Welshman is a ghoul,” she whispers bitterly. She means the British prime minister, the man who has somehow convinced Uncle George that taking us in would irrevocably injure his popularity and thus his own monarchy’s stability. And so negotiations between the Russian Provisional Government and the British Empire regarding what to do with us have broken down. “He’s a demon sent straight from hell.”

This is very colorful language for Mother. “It’ll all be over soon, Mama. I promise. We’ll spend Christmas in London with our cousins, singing and dancing and opening presents, and Alexei can eat his weight in that English sticky toffee pudding he loves so much.”

Now Mother’s yellowed reflection smiles tenderly at me, and she bends down to kiss the crown of my head, smoothing my hair with hands gnarled by time and torment. “When you leave, a piece of me will go with you. I look forward to having it back where it belongs again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s an old greenhouse behind the mansion at the end of a cobblestone path that snakes through a rugged, craggy Siberian garden. It’s rather overgrown now and the glass walls are cracked in spots, and there’s a family of Blakiston’s fish owls building a nest in the eaves, but I still like to read there. I throw a wool sweater over my dress and head out in the afternoons once the sun has warmed it a bit, and I sit in the quiet and the green with a book—written in Russian or English or Latin or French or Italian—and a kerosene lantern until it’s time to retreat back inside for dinner. Everyone knows I do this: Papa, Mother, my sisters (none of whom quite grasp the appeal, although I’ve invited them all to join me at one time or another), little Alexei, the servants, the guards. They rarely even send a man out to supervise me anymore, which is much appreciated, because when they do he complains incessantly about how dull it is. And the greenhouse is where Sir Buchanan’s man comes to collect me.

I’m just pulling open the glass door, my eyes skimming the clouds, an English copy of Tarzan of the Apes under my arm, when a hand closes roughly around my wrist and drags me into a grove of Siberian pea-shrubs. Instinctively, I want to shout, to scratch at him; because no one has ever touched me like that, not even the guards, not even Mother or Papa. No one. Then I remember Mother’s words—there is a man coming for you—and I can feel myself flushing, grinning with exhilaration. My grand adventure is about to begin.

“Follow me to the stables,” my rescuer commands in a British accent that is hushed and very, very deep. He’s young, like Mother said he would be, maybe twenty-five. He has prominent, impatient green eyes and high cheekbones and curls of blond hair escaping from beneath his black knit hat. His fair skin is delicate somehow, and ruddy from the wind. My own skin is on fire.

My adventure is beginning! And my rescuer is handsome!! And he’s holding my hand!!!

Well, perhaps more like clutching my hand, but still.

He hauls me through the shrubs as I struggle to keep up, lifting the hem of my dress over roots and stones and thorns, my skull a useless echo chamber of exclamation points. Inside the stables, there is no company that doesn’t have feathers or four legs. Horses stomp and nicker, pleading for apples or sugar cubes. Crows flap their wings up in the rafters. Open on the straw-strewn, stone floor is a large steamer trunk.

“Get in,” my rescuer instructs me. “There are air holes for you. And no matter what you hear, no matter what you feel, do not make a sound. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” I manage, smiling at him.

His eyes flick down to where my left hand is grasping Tarzan of the Apes, my knuckles white. “Why do you still have that?!”

“I’ll need something to read on the journey,” I explain, as if this is obvious.

“Jesus Christ.” He shakes his head. “Just get in the trunk.”

I do, curling up against the bottom with my face near one of the air holes the size of a marble. I can feel the weight of the jewels in the fabric of my dress, diamonds and rubies and sapphires and emeralds not entirely unlike my rescuer’s urgent eyes. I can also feel another weight, a different sort of heaviness: a photograph of my family that I tucked into my bodice this morning, just in case today was the day. I clasp Tarzan of the Apes to my chest, my heart racing. I will see my family again soon, I know, and under much happier circumstances.

And I’ll have so many exciting stories to share with them!

My rescuer tosses some thin blankets on top of me—blotting out my vision—and then what sounds like several handfuls of shuffling papers. Then he closes the trunk. His footsteps recede out of the stables. I wait in the muffled sounds of horses and crows and the forthcoming Siberian autumn: chill wind and rustling leaves, the distant cries of migrating geese and the chopping of wood. Soon, the footsteps return, and there are more of them now. I listen to the clicking of hooves and the squeaking of wooden wheels.

“Careful with it,” my rescuer barks at someone in rather clumsy Russian. “Wait…”

To my horror, I hear him lift open the trunk lid. I hold my breath as he paws through the papers above me, feeling the pressure of his hands through the blankets. Finally, after what seems like forever, he grunts in approval and closes the trunk.

He continues, still in Russian: “Yes, I’ve got everything I need, thank you for waiting. I thought I might have forgotten some of my notes. Load it, please.”

And then I understand. He wants the guards to see he has nothing to hide, so that in a day or two when they realize I’m missing no one will say ‘hm, you know what, that handsome blond underling of Sir Buchanan left with a trunk just large enough to smuggle someone out in.’

The trunk rocks as it is lifted off the ground and loaded into the back of what I assume is a carriage. I brace myself against the sides of the trunk with the palms of my hands, gritting my teeth, biting back yelps like a tiny dog’s. Now I know how Anastasia’s Russian Toy feels when she yanks him around like she does, stroking his sable fur and nuzzling his floppy ears and kissing him ceaselessly.

Well, what’s an adventure without some discomfort? I mentally catalogue every detail to tell my family about later, perhaps around a roaring fireplace while sipping mugs of hot chocolate.

Soon the carriage is on the move, bumping along as we leave the mansion property and follow the dirt road that leads out into the wilderness. We travel for quite a while this way, for hours I suspect. Eventually, my rescuer begins whistling a tune I don’t recognize. It must be an English song. Even as the time lurches by uncertainly as I lay in the darkness of the trunk, I never become bored. I’m too busy envisioning all the fun we’re going to share together: sneaking through the countryside, outwitting the agents of the Provisional Government, exchanging stories and songs and the games of our respective childhoods, finally sailing triumphantly up the River Thames to Buckingham Palace. It feels like I could entertain myself forever with the promises of the coming weeks.

At last, the carriage comes to a halt. I hear my rescuer leap down onto the ground and the swishing as his boots displace crisp fallen leaves. He opens the trunk, lifts away the papers and blankets, and offers me his hand. It’s strong, I note, and latticed on top with faint lines like cross-stitching. I take it, beaming, my head swimming, and climb out of the trunk.

Once I’m on the ground—which is a patch of dirt off the road and concealed by rows of Scots pines—I see that we have been travelling not in a roomy carriage with velvet seats and a graceful arc of a roof, but rather a rickety open cart. Secured to the front is an ancient, scruffy-looking mule. I gawk in disbelief. “What is that?”

My rescuer waves to the mule. “That’s Kroshka. She’s excellent company.”

“…Where is the carriage?!”

He glances at the cart, then back at me, puzzled. “You’re looking at it.”

“No, see, this is not a carriage.” I speak very slowly, because my rescuer doesn’t seem all that bright. “This is a cart pulled by a mule. And not even a particularly attractive mule.”

Kroshka flattens her long, droopy ears and huffs. “She didn’t mean that,” Ben coos to the mule, scratching her forelock. “You are a lovely mule. Who’s a lovely mule? That’s right, you are. Yes you are.”

“I need to travel in a carriage,” I inform him, crossing my arms. Mother hates when we do this, but the occasion calls for it.

He laughs at me, and not politely either. He cackles in loud, hysterical peals. “You thought…you thought we were going to sneak you to the railroad station in a…a…a carriage? Like, a royal carriage?! Why don’t you just paint a sign to hang around your neck? ‘Princess on the run, busy committing espionage, please don’t interfere.’ Bloody hell!”

“I’m not a princess.” The thrashing heat in my cheeks is no longer elation. It’s annoyance, it’s indignation. “I’m a grand duchess. I’m ranked higher than the princesses of any other kingdom.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Ben.” He extends his hand, and I take it with a frown. It’s an awkward gesture; I’ve never shaken hands before, only watched from a distance as men did. “Benjamin Hardy.”

I give him my name in return, still frowning. He releases my hand and I re-cross my arms over my chest.

“Well, we definitely can’t call you that,” Ben says. He pulls a hand-rolled cigarette out of his coat pocket, clamps it between his front teeth, and lights it. He exhales a mouthful of smoke into the cold twilight air. “You need a new name.”

“Oh, oh! A new identity, how exciting! Can it be something whimsical? Please? Something elegant and romantic? Maybe…Katerina? Or Valentina? Or Alexandra, like Mother?”

Ben appraises me, taking meditative drags off his cigarette. “Lana,” he decides.

“Lana?!” I’m crushed. “No, absolutely not, I hate that name. It’s so pedestrian. It’s uninspired. It doesn’t even sound like a real name, it sounds like a nickname. It’s not a name for grand adventures. And we had a goat named Lana growing up and she was awful, she ate three of my hats.”

Ben grins. “Lana it is.”

“Can it at least be Svetlana? That’s a real name.”

“No.” He begins unloading the cart: feed for the mule, canteens of water, a small tent to be assembled. He flings a loaf of crusty bread at me and I almost drop it. “Go on, eat.”

“What, for a meal?!”

“Yeah. You’ve had bread before, haven’t you, Your Majesty?”

It’s actually Your Imperial Highness, but I don’t correct him. “No meat? No cheese?” I peer into the trees. “Can’t you chop some wood and build a fire and cook something for us? Some stew? Maybe some rabbit?”

Ben stops setting up camp and stares at me. “What do you think this is, the Waldorf Hotel?”

“The what?”

He points to the bread. “Just eat. We’re not building a fire tonight. We’re still too close to Tobolsk. We aren’t going to advertise our location. We are going to exercise an abundance of caution.”

“Do you think they’ll come after us when they discover I’m missing?” That’s a scary thought, but it’s terribly thrilling too. My heart leaps in my chest. An adventure! What an adventure!

“I don’t think they will,” Ben says. He struggles with the tent. “Someone, probably one of your sisters, is going to go out tomorrow and toss a kerosene lantern into the greenhouse. Then they’ll tell the guards you were inside and must have had an accident while reading and perished in the fire.”

“Oh!” I gasp, stunned. “How grisly.” I picture my family steeped in feigned mourning for me, drifting through the mansion halls in black, dabbing at imaginary tears. How strange. “But I suppose that will give us some advantage.”

“Yes.”

“What is our route, exactly?”

He recites it as the tent begins to take shape: “Tobolsk to the Trans-Siberian Railroad. The railroad to Moscow. Another railroad from Moscow to Saint Petersburg. And then a ship from Saint Petersburg out to the Baltic and south to London.”

I consider Ben as he labors. Perhaps I have judged him (and the mule) too harshly. After all, he is still my rescuer. “I would like to formally thank you for your service, Mr. Benjamin Hardy. For the great personal risk you have assumed in order to extend Christian goodwill to us in our hour of need. On behalf of the entire Romanov family, I thank you.”

He snorts a laugh. This one is incredulous, bitter even. “I’m not doing this for your family.”

Everything sinks in me, like a stone through water. “…You’re not?”

“No.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Because Sir Buchanan asked me to,” he says. “Because he’s in poor health and retiring soon, so this will likely be my last chance to repay him for all that he has done for me. And because when I deliver you to King George, I expect to receive a substantial monetary reward. Then I’ll cross the Atlantic, secure employment with the New York Times, and publish an internationally acclaimed article about my experience smuggling the former tsar’s daughter out of wartime Russia. And I’ll live happily ever after.”

“Oh,” I reply softly. It’s all I can think to say. This adventure is not unfolding quite as I had planned.

“There, the tent is ready.” Ben shows me, opening the front flaps.

“Surely we’re not going to sleep in there together!” It’s a small tent. A very small tent.

“Indeed we are. And you’ll be thankful for that when you see how cold it gets out here at night. Sleeping together will keep us warm.”

“It’s indecent,” I say firmly.

Ben stands and rests his hands on his waist. “Look, I’m not going to touch you. That’s my whole job, to get you to London safe and…how would your people put it? Undefiled. You have to still be tradeable stock in the royal marriage market, right? So that’s what I’m going to do. I have no desire nor intention to make any advances upon you. God’s honest truth.”

I glower at him, mistrustful and unsure and suddenly very, very tired. The rush of today’s excitement has bled out and left me empty, drained down to the bones.

Ben adds: “Also, you’ll catch your death out here if you don’t sleep in the tent. And then I definitely won’t get paid.”

“I suppose there’s no use fighting it, in that case.” I plop down on a felled tree trunk and gnaw at my bread morosely, studying the dirt between my shoes as Ben bustles around the campsite: feeding and watering the mule, brushing her down, covering her with a blanket, devouring his own loaf of bread, consulting a map and compass, all the while humming songs I couldn’t name.

I wash myself as best I can with water from a canteen, change into one of the heavy cotton nightgowns that Ben brought for me, and stow my dress safely in the trunk where the jewels and photograph won’t be found. Then I crawl into the tent, hugging the north side while Ben clings to the south. He has a flashlight and is sprawled on his stomach, scribbling down what I presume are the events of the day in a leather-bound notebook. He’s true to his word, because he doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t even look at me.

I squeeze my eyes shut and shiver beneath thin blankets and wish for my mother’s hands, chasing dreams of home as Ben’s pen scratches rivers of black ink into his notebook.

[birdbrain90]

Raindrops on Roses - A Sylki Fanfic

@swinging-stars-from-satellites (DAMMIT I told you it would make me write Sylki fic xD . This is what I came up with. I didn't do that "I end up in your bed" prompt correctly at ALL, but creative liberties are a thing. This is what I tell myself. It's not TERRIBLE for a 24 hour fic, at any rate. LOL) BASED ON THIS TROPE/PROMPT - "there were two beds but in the middle of the night, you still slip into mine and i don’t complain because you’re sick with a cold/fever because we were running away from the authorities last night and it was pouring rain, and i wake up the next morning and we’re not cuddling or anything, although i wish we were, but we’re facing each other and oh my god, you’re still asleep and i can see every strand of disheveled hair, every freckle, every eyelash, every single detail of your face, illuminated by the 6 am sunrise from the molding motel window behind you, is this love?" The rain hadn't ceased all day, and they wondered if it ever would. Loki and Sylvie had been running all morning and afternoon, trying to cover as much ground as possible before their next jump. They had taken to apocalypse hopping, because two Lokis, separate entities fulfilling the same cosmic role, could not exist together on the timeline. Neither of them found themselves satisfied with that answer, so they ran, and ran, and ran some more.

This time though, neither was alone. It had become fun for both of them, ducking and dodging order while chaos ensued around them. It wasn't much of a permanent life, but it fit somehow.

Finally they came upon a motel. It didn't take long for Sylvie to enchant the receptionist, procuring a room for the night.

"Some day you will have to teach me how to do it." Muttered Loki as he peeled his sopping wet jacket off.

"It's freezing. This weather is absolute shit." Looking like a drowned rat indeed, Loki smiled and waved his wrist, conjuring sleeping clothes for both of them. "Thanks. I'm going to take a shower."

There was an odd pause before she left. She wanted to ask if he wanted to join, and he wanted to ask if she wanted company. Neither had the courage, so the moment was lost on both.

When Sylvie emerged from the shower, her cheeks were blazing red. She flopped down on her bed, looking over at Loki who laid on his bed reading a book.

"My turn?" He muttered, not looking up from the pages. Eventually he got up and headed to do the same thing. When he also emerged clean and dry, he spied Sylvie asleep on her bed. Smiling, he raised his hands, grunting a little as a green glow lit his hands, and an unseen force lifted her into the air, while the same force prepared her bed, tucking her gently into it. "Goodnight, Sylvie darling." He smiled, secretly terrified that she might hear that last part.

Sylvie awoke some time later, shivering so hard her teeth were chattering. She was...cold? That was unusual enough on its own. Every movement seemed to make her colder. She sat up and looked over at Loki, sound asleep in the bed next to hers. He didn't seem to be in any sort of distress. There was no way someone as sturdy as her would fall ill, but that's certainly how she felt. Maybe it was from being soaking wet all day…

Sylvie continued shivering in bed, debating going and taking another shower when something disrupted her thoughts.

"Sylvie…" came a whisper from the bed next to her. She rolled over and stood, throwing her shivering legs over the side of the bed.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I can’t sleep.” When she received no response, she stood and padded over to his bed. He was very clearly still sleeping. Why was he whispering her name in his sleep? “Loki…?” She called.

“Hmm?” Came his groggy reply. His eyes didn’t open, and she honestly wondered whether the oaf was even conscious or not.

“Loki I’m freezing. I can’t sleep. I dunno what’s wrong.” She shivered, immediately missing her blankets.

Loki said nothing, and his eyes still did not open. He took a sharp breath in through his nose, and clumsily peeled back the blanket, wordlessly inviting her into his bed. Sylvie faltered, not knowing what to think, but also not wanting to wait long enough for him to actually wake up and see her embarrassment if he was indeed still sleeping. Slowly, she climbed into the bed next to him and pulled the covers back up over herself. Immediately she was greeted with the smell of his skin. Sweet and spicy all at once. She was frustrated by how intoxicating it all was.

They’d grown close over the time they’d been running, but they were both too cripplingly shy to make any sort of advance. Sylvie didn’t understand it at all. She was no stranger to seducing in order to get what she wanted. Information, a drink or ten, relief from needs, it all came easily to her. Yet somehow here, in front of this beautiful man who had stolen her heart, it was way too real, and she felt reduced to a stuttering teenager. She huffed, rolling away from him in an attempt to forget his sleeping face. She had also completely forgotten the fact that she had been shivering from head to toe just minutes prior. Her quaking had ceased, in favor of warm, restful sleep.

The word “cozy” wasn’t a word Loki normally included in his vocabulary. He’d grown up surrounded by princely comforts, with more brought to him if only he asked. But cozy? That was a new one, and when he awoke the following morning it was certainly at the forefront of his mind. He hummed, stretching lazily and extending his arm. His entire body stiffened in fear when his arm rested on top of something soft and curvy. His breath halted in his throat, and he feared he might choke on it as his eyelids flew open to reveal Sylvie sleeping peacefully next to him. His eyes darted under the blanket, relieved and somehow disappointed at the same time when he saw they were both still clothed. When had she moved into his bed? He certainly remembered falling asleep separately last night. Having to consciously breathe in and out, he tried to relieve himself of some of the rigidity in his body, save for the painfully obvious spot.

Shaking his head, he steeled his nerves. He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d been reduced to a terrified teenager. He looked over at the woman lying near him, his mouth falling open in quiet reverence when a sunbeam poked through the window and illuminated her face. Every gentle crease in her face, the swell of her lips, the long lashes that concealed the eyes he found himself staring into for way too long, it was all too much. He gasped, averting his eyes for fear his heart would leap right out of his chest. He stiffened again when he felt her shift, inching barely closer to him. He wanted to reach out and caress her face, the fear of waking her and ruining this moment overpowering his desires in that moment.

Loki wasn’t sure how long he had laid there, attempting to commit her sleeping face to memory. Her face while she was awake was its own kind of beautiful. He loved the way her nose would scrunch up at certain jokes, the way she would roll her eyes at him throughout the day. When they would get into trouble, her almost inhuman snarl set his blood aflame. He felt he could do anything while the heat of her battle rage encompassed him. Sleeping, though, she was completely different. Her face was peaceful, something he suspected she hadn’t had much of while she was awake. That thought, combined with the tranquility of the moment brought tears to his eyes. He wanted to give her a life of peace. Of stability. But he feared they might never get that chance.

Sniffling quietly, he decided to damn the consequences, and he reached out and brought a hand to her cheek. She did not move under his ghostly touch. He drew his thumb down the bridge of her nose, gliding it under her eyes, memorizing every hill and valley on her face. Moving a bit closer to her, he continued, his desire for her to know how he felt only increasing with physical contact. He removed his hand from her face, sliding it down her arm and eventually resting on her hip. Loki would never be able to explain where his sudden hubris came from, but he decided he would risk the angry palm that would surely fly at his face before too long. Butterfly kisses. Feather light touches of his lips that he was sure would wake her when she felt his quivering breaths on her face. He began at her forehead, kissing as much of her face as he could cover, before finally resting on her lips. He lingered there a bit longer, savoring the feeling. They had kissed before, in the citadel, and hadn’t seemed to find time for it since. He had been able to sneak a kiss on her cheek, or her knuckles every so often, but they hadn’t been able to find time to lay together and explore each other properly.

His heart bounced into his throat when he saw her eyelids bunch up, and finally flutter open. As soon as they did, she gasped and lurched backward.

“Loki! I-I… Uh….”

“Shh…” He crooned, stretching his hand out. “It’s okay. It’s only me, after all.”

“I-I… I was really cold last night. You pulled back the blanket so I… I just…”

“I have no memory of that.” He chuckled, before his face dissolved into concern. “But you? Cold? Are you okay?” He reached out a hand, pressing the back of it to her forehead. He shrugged, feeling no difference in her normal temperature. “You feel okay now. Likely from being out in the rain all day.

“Yeah…” She laid back down, still facing him. Loki followed suit, letting his head hit the pillow once more. They stared awkwardly for a while, fumbling around in their own heads and letting their cheeks darken several shades before someone spoke again. It was Sylvie who spoke first, looking down and counting the wrinkles in the sheets. Anything but meeting his eyes. “Loki…?”

“Yes?”

“We’re in a bed.” Oh that was dumb. Of all the things she’d ever said in her life, that had to be the dumbest.

“Okay? Yes. Yes we are.” She heard him chuckle, ending with a snort that made her want to reach out and smack him. “Brilliant observation, darling.” That word slipped out, and she saw fear creep into his eyes for a brief moment. What he didn’t know is how that one word flipped her stomach and filled it with butterflies.

“Idiot. That’s not what I mean. I mean…” What did she mean? She had no idea. “I want…”

“Yes…?”

“I want it to be like this. Just like this. Default. You and me.” The shit eating grin had not left his face, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to jump on him and strangle it off, or kiss it off. Maybe both. She wondered if he’d be into both.

“Of course. Next time, enchant the receptionist into giving us a key to a room with only one bed.” He laughed, grunting as she finally decided to reach out and shove his chest. He did notice, however, that after she was done shoving him, her hand lingered. He took the opportunity to place his hand over hers, urging her to feel the heart that beat only for her. “I’m teasing you. No need to get violent.” He smiled, his face melting into lovesickness. “I would love nothing more than to wake up with you in my arms every morning, wherever we are, at the end of a thousand worlds I only want to feel your skin and your heart entwined with mine. I lo-....” He froze, the phrase that threatened to leave his lips and the possibility that she might reject it cooled the flame in his gut. “Wh-what I mean to say is I…Um….Y-you see, I’ve thought about this quite a bit... I-I lov-...” He sighed, frustrated. “Can I just kiss you instead? Words are hard when they’re all for you.”

She nodded. His heart sang at her quiet acceptance as he joined his lips with hers. Eventually as their clothing began to fall away piece by piece, the drab motel around them became a luminous place of worship. The world could have ended around them and neither would have cared. This was enough, it was glorious, and it was all their own. Whatever came their way, they’d figure it out somehow, and they’d figure it out together. (This will be cross posted on my Archive of our Own account, Wonderchild90. So if you happen to see it there, that's me! It's not stolen. Oh but also if you enjoy sickening fanfics for these two dumb demigods, come have a look! Shameless self plugging. LOL.)

[san-shui]

Araleyn Vampire AU

happy pride month!🏳️‍🌈

Alright, i don’t know British history and i don’t know vampire stuff, so here’s what my friend’s call “creative liberty.” Welcome to the extremely rough and horribly long outline of a fic that won’t see the light of day! Also sorry if it might get a little confusing, I’ve tried to keep it as clarified as possible. Feel free to send asks about it or anything!

Thanks @judging-seahorse and @djts-arts for helping me with this and listening to my frustration over it lol. Love y’all!

Vampire Facts

[this is heavily inspired by both European folklore and The Originals - along with some other stuff]

Abilities

Appearance: two fangs on the top row teeth (retractable), pointy ears (shape shift), red eyes (human blood) or red/gold-ish eyes (animal blood), and cold skin

Savage mode appearance: eyes darken, fangs and pointy ears show, and veins pop out along the body and face - the vampire will also lose some of their sanity in search for blood

Can appear human

Can transform into a bat (normal size)

Immortal at the age they were bit

Immune to all sickness

Nocturnal

Super strength

Super speed

Super agility

Quick healing; able to regrow limbs

Hypnosis (control minds)

Weakness

Only killed by decapitation, burned at the stake (fire), or a wooden stake throw the heart

Becomes weak and in pain the more they last without a drink of blood

Gets burns from sunlight if exposed and in it for too long

Doesn’t attack anyone wearing a cross (like a necklace or on a crown) – a symbol of religion which protects from evil

“Vampire Creation” (turning someone into a vampire)

Can only transform someone into a vampire if they drain most of the blood from the person and replace it with their own

Both the vampire and person will feel weak for 24 hours

After 24 hours, the person becomes a vampire

New vampire will immediately want blood and will go savage for it

Storyline

TW: blood, death, injury, abuse (mentioned)

1523-1525

Anne Boleyn, who’s been working as a lady-in-waiting under Queen Catherine for a few years, leaves court bc of her affair w/ Henry Percy – the last of the vampires

Percy turns Anne into a vampire to no one’s knowledge

Anne deals w/ it for about 2 years

Percy gets called to go to the palace only to be beheaded on the orders of King Henry VIII bc of some accusation [idk]

Anne doesn’t know why Percy died nor who killed him

Henry Tudor meets Anne and writes her letters then persuades her to come back to court

1525

Anne comes to court and greets the King and Queen in the throne room then leaves w/ Maria de Salinas to be a LIW again

Catherine acts cold towards Anne since she’s Mary Boleyn’s sister, but also suspicious of Anne’s different appearance and behavior from the last time she’s seen her - Catherine and Anne barely interacted then

Mary Tudor doesn’t like Anne from the start and gets scary vibes from her, so Mary stays away from Anne yet mean when face to face - will occasionally spy on Anne from afar

Mary tells her mother that Anne seems like a monster or something not human, which Catherine kinda agrees but mostly brushes it aside -> Mary’s determined to prove her wrong

~~~

At court, Anne acts loyal towards Catherine but will tease and make snarky remarks -> causes them to banter to the Queen’s annoyance yet amusement

Anne and Catherine argue one night -> Anne leaves the building and turns into a bat and flies around, then ends up spying on Henry and Catherine arguing and watches in shock of how abusive Henry is towards Catherine

Catherine takes the hits and verbally fights back -> Henry leaves then Catherine cries alone in her room

Anne feels sympathetic and decides to be more respectful towards Catherine (but will continue the teasing)

During then, Anne’s feelings for Catherine arise but doesn’t know what it means or what to do w/ them (she does hide it though, or at least tries - the blushing can be obvious)

Catherine notices Anne’s changed behavior but doesn’t address it, refusing to believe it’s real - does get flustered from the kindness and the teasing

Anne attempts to kill Henry but seeing a cross on him (either on a crown or some other jewel), she can’t, so she leaves him alone

1526

February – Henry courts Anne -> making things a bit more complicated between Catherine and Anne than it already was

Catherine takes a midnight stroll and comes across a hooded figure over a dead deer and calls for her guards

The hooded figure (Anne in savage mode) looks at Catherine, scaring her, before rushing into the deeper parts of the woods

The guards come to ask what’s wrong, and Catherine lies saying that she thought she saw someone but it’s just a dead deer

A guard inspects the deer -> confused and worried at the sights of teeth marks on it’s neck -> tells Catherine to return inside then goes to tell Henry

For the next couple of weeks - Anne keeps her distance from Catherine in fear that Catherine knows and if she’ll accidentally hurt Catherine

Catherine notices and is sadden by the change and wants to ask Anne to be close again (to her own confusion) but doesn’t -> Catherine’s feelings start to arise

Meanwhile (to Catherine’s annoyance) Anne and Henry are spending more time together -> Henry falls more in love w/ Anne every day

~~~

One night, Mary can’t sleep and sneaks out to see her mother but spotted Anne turning a corner that leads to a dead end w/ an open window -> Mary follows her outside into the woods

Mary loses sight of Anne and gets ambushed by a hunter -> Mary screams and runs but gets captured, resulting in a few scrapes

Anne kills the hunter from behind by snapping his neck, which scares Mary even more looking at Anne’s vampire appearance

Mary watches Anne drink the hunter’s blood then the two walk back to the palace and have an interesting chat (like what’s Anne’s abilities, how long as she been a vampire, and who she kills/takes blood from)

Mary asks if Anne will hurt her or her mother, and Anne rethinks her goal and for once feels bad about who’ll be involved

Anne vows to Mary that she will never hurt them

Mary asks if Anne will hurt her father -> Anne hesitates but says that she wouldn’t unless provoked

Before heading inside, Anne forces Mary to swear to keep quiet -> Mary does and makes it clear that she still doesn’t like Anne but will offer some help if needed

Mary also mentions that Catherine misses Anne’s company, to Anne’s shock and blushes

~~~

Over the next week or so, Anne and Catherine’s mutualness returns and turns into a friendship (to Catherine’s surprise but welcomes it)

Things are little awkward bc: 1) Anne’s remarks aren’t as mean as before, causing Catherine’s replies to be weak as well. 2) the longer they are w/ each other, the stronger their feelings for another becomes which scares them and makes them act weird around the other. 3) Catherine notices how at ease Mary is around Anne and gets suspicious whenever Mary asks Catherine about Anne

After seeing how kind and playful Anne is w/ Mary, Catherine pulls Anne aside one day and requests that if anything happened to Catherine that Anne would protect Mary -> Anne promises

~~~

Winter season makes life harder for Anne to hide as a bat (since they hibernate this time) and to hunt animals due to people hunting animals more - she still takes human blood, but that’s also getting harder to kill someone due to everyone being in groups indoors

After weeks of no blood - Anne feels weak and in pain but hides it for a couple of days until it becomes unbearable and she feels herself slipping into savage mode -> she locks herself in her room and calls herself in as sick

At midnight - Anne escapes out of her window -> LIW and Catherine finds out

Catherine gets a horse and a sword and three guards and search for Anne in the woods

Guards get killed -> Catherine fights Anne, who’s in savage mode

Anne sees a cross necklace on Catherine and stops fighting -> Catherine knocks her out

Catherine carries Anne bridal style back to the palace and to the Queen’s chambers

Catherine half lies to the palace that when she found Anne, she and her men were attacked by a beast but managed to escape it

Catherine tells everyone to leave Anne alone and that no one is allowed in except for her and possibly a doctor (again unless)

~~~

The next day - Anne awakens, and she and Catherine talk about the yesterday and such

Anne feels horrible guilt for hurting Catherine, who brushes it aside and doesn’t blame her

Catherine vows to not tell anyone and Anne confesses her secret and tell her about her past w/ Percy

Catherine offers herself as a source for Anne, which she refuses immediately

Catherine makes another that she’ll get her animal blood instead (since human blood is harder to get) -> Anne agrees

They spend more time together = stronger friendship

Catherine reveals her Spanish name to Anne, who is the only one allowed to call her by Catalina/Lina (in private)

The more Anne is w/ Catherine the more conflicted she is w/ her feelings and desires

1527-1534

Catherine and Anne become awkward gay panics

Mary notices and tries to set up a date but fails

Mary and Anne also become good acquaintances

One night - Anne half jokes that she wishes she could kill Henry and have Catherine rule England, or better yet, both of them

Catherine asks why hasn’t she, and Anne explains the symbol of the cross

Anne tries to convince her what good that would do, but Catherine argues that it’s not normal for two queens to rule and that Mary still needs a father, despite how awful he is

Anne disappointedly gives in but swears that if Henry hurts Catherine or Mary, she’ll kill him

~~~

June 22, 1527 – Henry proclaims his love for Anne and will marry her once he’s divorced from Catherine -> Anne is more heartbroken than thrilled but fakes it

Anne is the first to inform Catherine -> doesn’t handle the news well and accuses Anne for faking a friendship w/ her and that Anne didn’t care for her

Argues for several minutes until Anne yells/confesses that she did want the crown but now only wants Catherine

Both in shock of what Anne said, then Anne turns into a bat and flies out the window - leaving Catherine alone waiting anxiously for her to return

Anne returns the next day and avoids her job

Henry talks to Catherine about separating (putting her in another building away from him) until he gets the church to divorce them -> they argue -> Catherine is frustrated for the rest of the day

Catherine summons Anne the next night to talk

Anne notices Catherine’s odd/sad behavior and tries to comfort her

Catherine tells her what Henry told her then asks if Anne meant her words that night

Anne confirms -> Catherine confesses her love for her -> Anne’s shocked but happy

Catherine and Anne secret relationship forms -> they hold hands under the table, flirts + winks, gazes/sneaks glances at each other, sneaks around and steals kisses at night, Anne (in bat form) cuddles w/ Catherine (who pets her head), etc {ya know all that fluff}

Mary catches them one night -> confused then celebrates and teases them (mainly Anne) that it’s about time

Anne tells Mary that Catherine also knows her secret -> Mary says to Catherine “i told you so”

Henry proposes to Anne, who sadly accepts bc it’s futile refuse him

January 1533 - Henry and Anne secretly marry

September 7, 1533 – Elizabeth I is born

Anne tells Catherine about the marriage and warns her of Henry’s plans that are almost achieved

1534 – Act of Supremacy: Henry becomes head of the Church of England -> public marriage between Anne and Henry

Henry divorces Catherine and banishes her from court -> Araleyn mad

Catherine begs Henry to not divorce her -> fails and is told to pack her things immediately -> Anne watches in remorse

One week later - Anne convinces Henry to keep Catherine in the palace (still divorced) so she can see Mary (and Anne)

1535

Araleyn struggles to be together more and more bc of Henry wanting to be w/ Anne every day

Henry catches glimpses of Araleyn but doesn’t think much of it

Ever since Anne became Queen, whispers and talk of hate of Anne goes around England -> tempting Anne to go on a killer spree -> Catherine opposes that (obviously)

Occasionally, Anne can’t help it and sneaks out and kills some of the haters while Catherine’s unaware

Since of the haters were in court, Henry (furious) becomes more on edge and suspects a murderer -> somewhat worrying Anne, but she sees it as a game and doubts he would discover the truth

Catherine finds out and scorns Anne, who tries to justify herself but feels a little guilty disappointing Catherine

Anne promises to stop killing the haters (specifically anyone “close” to Henry) in hopes to lessen the tension (between both Catherine and Henry)

Noticing the sudden pause on deaths, Henry (more suspicious than ever) decides to send spies all around the kingdom and the palace

1536

Catherine falls horribly ill and close to death

Henry, Mary, and Anne are devastated, but Anne thinks she can save Catherine via “vampire creation”

Anne suggests it to Catherine, who thinks it’s both absurd yet possible, but counters w/ the obstacle that is Henry

Anne suggests killing him -> Catherine considers it but disagrees (again), to Anne’s annoyance

Unknown to Araleyn, a spy overhears their conversation through the door and goes to report it to Henry

Araleyn compromises -> Catherine agrees to get turned that night

That night - Anne flies into the room and greets Catherine, but guards burst through the door to arrest her and Catherine

Anne escapes but sees that Catherine’s too weak to run away -> returns to get arrested with Catherine

Anne tries to erase Henry’s memory of them and this but fails -> angers him more

Henry charges Araleyn w/ treason and witchcraft -> punishment: beheading

Anne takes the blame and pleads to spare Catherine

Henry accepts but instead let’s Catherine die alone in a cell, and holds Anne in another cell until the beheading

Anne mourns at the news of Catherine’s death

Ending 1

1536

On Anne’s death day - the guards come to collect Anne, but she escapes the moment the chains are off -> turns into a bat and flies out the door

Henry is furious and sends search parties for her, but never finds her

Later that day, Henry lies and declares Anne dead by decapitation

Anne watches over Mary and Elizabeth from afar -> only visits them once (both at night)

Anne visits Elizabeth in her room -> hugs and forehead kisses her then tells Elizabeth how much she loves her (along w/ other sentimental words)

Mary is shocked to see Anne then becomes hateful and blames her for not saving her mother -> threatens Anne to stay away from her or else she’ll call the guards

Mournfully, Anne accepts and gives one request before leaving: look after Elizabeth and each other

Anne stays in London (observing everything) until her daughter’s reign ends then decides to travel the world

[immortality is a bitch XD]

2017

Anne has learned to adapt throughout the centuries -> currently living in an apartment in London

On Catherine’s death day, Anne goes to visit her grave (a yearly thing) and comes across a woman (Catalina) staring at the tomb

Catalina: “Catherine, Queen of England.” Was she a good queen?

Anne: The best one I knew

Catalina: *stares at Anne in confusion* Knew?

Anne: *realizes mistake* Oh! Um, k-know, I meant know. Yeah, uh, based off on . . . research

Catalina: *analyzes Anne* You . . . look familiar

Anne: Is that good or bad?

Catalina: *chuckles* Good, I suppose. Sorry, you just remind me of someone I once knew

Anne: Who?

Catalina: *sighs* This might sound strange but . . . Anne Boleyn

Anne: *baffled* Wait . . . *makes direct eye contact and gapes* Lina?

Catalina: *shocked* Anne?

The two hug and kiss then have a long talk on how Catalina is alive (not much info on that tho - she just woke up there one day hence reincarnated) and how Anne’s been handling life (not great but not horrible either)

Anne takes Catalina back to her apartment and they go on from there

[bunch of fluff, talking (sad and happy), and basically deals w/ life together and gives their relationship a restart]

Eventually Anne turns Catalina into a vampire and they live happily ever after

They’ll probably find the other queens and turn them into vampires too ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Ending 2

1536

The guards come and take Anne, who’s given up on living (life w/o Catherine is pointless to her), to the scaffold

Anne gets beheaded

2017

(Reincarnated) the six queens wake up in a house -> awkwardness ensues

No longer a vampire, Anne struggles to adjust being human -> distant from everyone but especially Catalina

Anne blames herself for Catalina’s death

Anne has insomnia (not used to sleep and has nightmares when she tries)

Catalina wants and tries to talk to Anne but fails every time – also doesn’t know that Anne is human

The others notice the tension between the two and wants to help, but Catalina says not to interfere

One night - Anne’s tired of the nightmares and stress in general and goes for a walk -> Catalina sees and follows

Anne notices and asks what’s Catalina doing up -> Catalina retorts the same question and asks to join her -> Anne agrees -> quiet and slightly awkward stroll

Several minutes later - Catalina asks what’s wrong, and Anne relents and tells her everything -> heart to heart convo + some yelling

Anne says that she doesn’t blame Catalina hating her bc she’s the reason they got caught and killed, and that she understood why Catalina fell out of love for her

Catalina: *bewildered then cups Anne’s face* Querida, I’ve said this once, and I’ll say it again. Vampire, human, whatever, I will always love you no matter what or who you are. I’ve fallen for you, Anne Boleyn, not bc you’re a vampire, but because you’re you. And maybe a little irresistible . . . Do you still love me?

Anne: I do, and I will for whatever or how many lifetimes we live in

They smile and kiss!

Anne and Catalina continues their relationship -> the others immediately notice and support them

Six gets along w/ each other and learn how to live in the new era – Anne relearns how to be human

Fin

Thanks for reading this! Ik it’s long so props to u lol. So sorry for the wait and that it’s not a fic but oh well. Anyway, hope you liked it! Lmk which ending was ur favorite!

[word-scribbless]

Oh Baby part 5

(As a teacher who took many child development courses, I know I made Amelia talk more than a normal one year old but I’m taking some creative liberties haha 😂. Just assume she’s a baby genius!)

Series masterlist

—————

It was the night before Amelia’s first birthday, and the day they would sign the paperwork for Gibbs to officially adopt her. Gibbs and Y/N stood over their daughters crib, leaning against each other, after tucking her in.

“You ready to legally become this little girls daddy tomorrow?” Y/N said as she leaned over Amelia’s crib to stroke the sleeping girl’s cheek.

“Been ready” he smiled and kissed Y/N’s head.

“She’ll officially be Amelia Gibbs!” She whispered as they walk from the nursery to their room, hand in hand.

“You ever think about being a Gibbs too?” He asked as they sat down on the edge of their bed.

Y/N froze slightly and turned to him.

“All the time” she answered truthfully, reaching to touch his face. “but” she continued and looked at him a little sad.

“J you know that with or with out an us, you’ll still be Amelia’s dad right?” She asked him. She knew he loved her, but never wanted to force him to take another step with her because he felt like he had to or because of Amelia.

“Do ya not wanna marry me?” He asked.

“No! I do!” She corrected quickly and he smiled lightly. “God of course I do! Being your wife would mean so much to me! But I don’t want you to feel like you have to marry me because I’m legally Amelia’s mom.”

“That’s not the reason I brought it up” he stated matter of factly and cupped her face.

“You said you’d never get married again” she reminded.

“Then I fell in love with you.” He said with a smirk. He knew she was just trying to make sure he was comfortable moving forward, and he loved her for that.

“J” she smiled. He loved that she never questioned his love for her, she took him for his word and he would never lie to her because of that.

“I bought this a week before you told me about Amelia.” He said, pulling out a beautiful simple engagement ring from his night stand.

“You- you had this ring all that time!” She gasped and ran a finger gently over the band while the other hand cupped his hands. He nodded and smiled at her reaction.

“You bought a ring and I dumped you!” She said and looked so hurt at the idea that she hurt him like that. He quickly shook his head, moving a hand to her cheek to sooth her worried look.

“When I found out why, I knew I loved you even more. I know I’m not great at marriages” he chuckled “but, with you and Amelia i don’t want to run. I want us.” He smiled and reached into the drawer again.

“Bought these the week after we got back together.” He said pulling out 2 wedding bands that had all 3 of their initials carved on the inside.

“I love you!” She said through tears “and I love how sweet you are, but I’ll keep it a secret.” She smiled. She loved how loving and gentle he was, and that only her and Amelia got to see it.

“I love you!” He answered as he pulled her into his lap and kissed her.

“Did you just ask me to marry you?” She asked against his lips.

“Not yet” he laughed

“You gonna?” She asked and he smirked at her before nodding and taking the engagement ring from the box.

Gibbs took her hand and kissed her ring finger.

“Y/N y/l/n I love you, I love our family. You and Amelia make me a better man” he got choked up and she wiped a tear from his cheek. “I don’t ever want it any other way. So, will you do me the honor of being a Gibbs too? Will you marry me?”

“Yes! Yes of course!” She said as he slid the ring in her finger and kissed her.she wrapped him in a hug and tucked her head into his neck. “That was so well worded for a functional mute.” She giggled into his neck and heard him huff a laugh before she kissed the skin there.

“You should keep these out too!” She said sitting back up and taking the wedding bands from him.

He raised an eye brow to ask why.

“tomorrow! I- I want to get married tomorrow!”

She said grabbing something from her drawer.

“Wasn’t sure if I was going to bring it up or not but... I looked into what we need to do to make us official tomorrow too.”

“Tomorrow?”

She nodded with a shy smile and took his hand.

“We can wait but” she started and he stopped her saying.

“No! Tomorrow is good.”

“I wasn’t expecting the rings or the proposal but, I want this and I don’t want to wait!” She smiled and kissed her.

“Me either! I’ll keep these with Amelia’s ring for now.” He said and turned back to his bed side table.

“What?” She asked.

“Made her one too”

“You! You did?”

“Yeah it’s wooden, figured she could wear it as a necklace once it doesn’t fit anymore and right now just for pictures but.”

“I love you!” She said cutting him off with a kiss.

“I love you! Ready to be a Gibbs tomorrow?” He asked, kissing her back.

“I’m ready right now! But I’ll settle for tomorrow!” She said pulling him down into the bed with her.

They next morning Y/N woke up to Amelia’s calls for them both and the bed gently shifting as he got up to get her.

“Guess our little girl is excited for her big day!” She said, moving to follow her soon to be husband.

“Come on mrs gibbs let’s go see our girl” He said as he reached his hand out for her.

“I love the sound of that!”

They walked into Amelias room to her clapping, excited to see them there.

“Well hi there our big one year old!” Gibbs cooed as he scooped Amelia from her crib.

“You’re a whole year old today! And officially becoming a Gibbs!” Y/N smiled, what a big day for you bug!” She said and Amelia giggled moved in gibbs arms to hold her mom’s.

“Thank you y/N. Gibbs smiled and kissed Amelia’s head and then Y/N’s. He may not have said for what, but she knew.

“You’ve always been her daddy Jethro! Thank you for wanting this.” She answered and tucked into his side.

After eating breakfast they walked back to Amelia’s room to get ready for the day.

“What do you say Ami! Ready to become Gibbses!” She said tickling her side

Amelia let out a happy squeal and babbled yeah yeah yeah!”

“Me too little one!”

Gibbs smiled as Y/N scooped Amelia from his arms and started to change her diaper. He went to get the little dress they’d picked out and the bow head band.

“Let’s get you ready little miss!” He smiled as he moved to put the dress over her head. “Mommy and Daddy are getting married today so let’s let momma go get all fancy too huh?” He said to the little girl, causing Y/N to smile and move to let Gibbs finish getting their daughter ready.

She stopped right before she pulled her dress on and panicky rushed back to Gibbs.

“A witness!”

“I think mommy’s going coocoo Miss meali” he laughed.

“No Jethro! I didn’t get a witness to be there so we can get married!”

“I’ve got it covered!” He said scooping up a fully dressed Amelia. And spinning her around.

“Our 1 year old doesn’t could as a witness Jay!”

He smirked “I’m aware.”

“So you asked someone?”

He nodded

She huffed “okay I see you nodding but I’m actually gonna need words for this one!”

“Ducky is meeting us at noon.”

“Ahh you think of everything! I love you! And you!” She said kissing them both.

“We love you too! No go get ready!” He chuckled and pushed her back to their room.

At the court house the three of them were all smiles as Amelia and then Y/N became official Gibbs girls. Amelia clung to her Poppa the whole time they were going through the adoption process. When everything was official Y/N and Jethro locked eyes, both brimming with happy tears. They laughed as Amelia noticed her daddy’s tears and wiped them with her little hands before saying “Poppa!” To make him smile. Then looking at Y/N and repeating the process.

“We aren’t sad baby! We are so happy to be a family.” Y/N smiled as Gibbs kissed Amelia’s cheek and said “not sad tears princess, they’re I Love You tears.”

She giggle as he tickled her belly and she cooed “uv ouuuu!” To her parents.

Shortly after, ducky arrived and they prepared for the next big event of the day. Gibbs held Amelia in one arm and Y/N’s hand with the other.

The ceremony was short and sweet and very Gibbs like with no fuss. He promised himself that after everything was said and done he’d plan any kind of party or ceremony she’d want , but he loved that just their little family and a close friend was here for this one.

“Jethro, y/n said before she slid his ring on his hand. “thank you, for choosing and loving me and Amelia every single day, and letting us choose and love you. You two are my everything and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She smiled through tears as she slid on his ring.

Jethro cleared his throat and took her hand. “Not much for words, but I’d write a book for you girls. I love you both so much and always will.” He said and Y/N wiped a tear from his cheek and took Amelia so he could get her ring from Ducky and slide it on her finger.

After they were officially husband and wife,

Ducky hugged them all and said “well Gibbs family, I will see you soon. Are you going to tell the team about this?” He said pointing to their rings.

“Let’s test their skill.” Gibbs joked

“My bet is Tony notices first.” Y/N laughed and ducky shook his head

“I say abs” Gibbs countered and looked at Amelia.

“What do you think meali who will notice mommy and daddy’s rings first?” He asked her with a laugh.

“IVA!” She squealed her version of Ziva’s name and ducky laughed.

“I think she’s on to something, I’ll see you three this evening.”

“Hey Duck” Gibbs said jogging after him while Y/N stood talking and giggling with Amelia.

“Thank you for doing this. Glad you were here.” He continued.

“Oh my dear boy” Ducky said patting his back. “Thank you for letting me be here. You take care of them.” He said nodding towards the girls.

“Always” Gibbs smiled.

A few hours later Y/N and Andi had the whole house decorated and ready for Amelia’s birthday party, while Josh and Gibbs entertained the girls in the back yard.

“So you really did it, tied the knot huh?” Josh asked Gibbs as they held the girls hands while they kick balls around the yard.

“Yup” Gibbs answered with a smile.

“Andi said Y/N wasn’t so sure you’d be up for marriage again. Said she didn’t mind either way, but I know that she is thrilled to be your wife.”

“Pretty thrilled to have her as my wife.” He smirked and Josh smiled.

“Poppa!” Amelia squealed from the grass, he kneeled down and scooped her up.

“What’s up little girl?”

She smile and nuzzled her face against his.

“Someone else is thrilled to be your family too.”

Josh smiled and scooped up Riley.

Gibbs just smiled and kissed Amelia’s head.

“I’m a lucky man Josh.” He stated and went to go find his wife.

“Hey!” She said as he found her in the kitchen and pulled her into a family hug.

“Momma!” Amelia giggled and kissed her face.

“What are you two doing?” She smiled and leaned back into her husband.

“Just missed ya!” He said , she smiled and caught his lips with hers before they heard the doorbell ring.

They walked to get it together, wanting Amelia to greet her first guests. She clapped as they opened the door to the whole team. Abby scooped her up out of Gibbs arms (after making sure Gibbs kissed her first so she wouldn’t scream) and carried her off to play.

Gibbs was sitting with ducky and McGee when Tony walked over.

“Boss, for a man who said he wanted to stay single... you got pretty lucky.”

“I sure did DiNozzo.”

He laughed before he heard Ziva yell “NO WAY!” From the kitchen.

He turned around to see Ziva holding y/N’s hand and staring at her rings.

“So very lucky!” Tony said earning a smile from Gibbs. Then he proceeded to make a comment about having 5 wives that quickly earned him a Gibbs slap.

“Guess Amelia won the bet” Y/N said laughing

“What do you mean?”

“We took bets on who would notice first and meals picked you!” She said to Ziva.

“My girl!” Ziva said scooping her up.

“Who said me?” McGee asked, and practically outed when they all looked guilty.

“Sorry Mcoblivious.” Tony laughed and Amelia pouted at him and turned to time.

“We lug ou -I’m -im!” She smiled as she reached for him,

The Gibbs family enjoyed their day with their little found family. Amelia loved her cake and playing with the bows from her presents.

Finally they sat with the last present. It was from Gibbs and y/n was just as out of the loop as everyone else about it. Amelia (with Y/N’s help unwrapped a beautiful jewlrey box.

“Did you make this?” Y/n asked Gibbs with tears in her eyes.

“I did” he nodded.

The box looked exactly like the one Y/N’s grandmother had given her when she was a baby.

“Jethro this is so perfect!”

“Gonna share with the class?” Tony butted in.

“Sorry” y/n laughed “um when I was growing up my grandmother gave me a jewelry box like this and when I turned 18 she gave me our family heirloom locket to go with it.” she touched the locket on her neck. “The jewlrey box was ruined in a flood and this.” She sniffed “this is one Jethro made for Amelia! She can put her ring in there” she said to Gibbs, “and the locket when she turns 18.” She smiled so widely as she watched their daughter run her hand along the carved box.

“Who are you and what have you done with our boss” Tony said to Gibbs and was met by a glare from both Gibbs and his daughter.

“Of all the things she could learn from you she gets the glare!?” Y/N laughed and hugged them both.

What a perfect first official day as a family.

———————-

Next chapter

@drakelover78 @mac99martin @kittenlittle24 @viper-official @ilovemark1951 @theofficialzivadavid @averyhotchner @andreasworlsboring101 @diesinspanishbcimhispanic @hopscotchandlemon @gibbsandpridegirl

[tickle-bugs]

Rumor Has It

Summary: In the process of rediscovering her powers, Allison gets a tad carried away. Thankfully, her siblings are there to keep her in check.

Okay this is so self-indulgent but I’ve been wanting to write a fic about Allison’s powers for forever and I never got around to it. Don’t think too hard about the timeline on this one, I was going to end it with the dinner and then I realized I didn’t want to. Also, Lila is here because I love her. 

SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 AHEAD!!

Allison could confidently say she was the most patient of the Hargreeves siblings. With the boys, there was no contest—they were all volatile loose cannons with something to prove—and even Ben had fallen prey to the excess testosterone. Years of following Klaus around had brought back out Ben’s snarky side, which he had all-but-smothered in his younger years. A wise person would argue Vanya was patient, and their argument would have merit, but Vanya wasn’t so much patient as she was used to being forcibly subdued. She was kind and sweet, but she would never wait for anything again. She simply acted now. Allison could appreciate the sentiment, but that wasn’t how she operated—no matter how badly she wanted to. 

She was always the moderator—the only one who could reign in six other unruly supers without losing a limb. So, when Reginald invited the seven of them to dinner, she had to call upon every ounce of her patience to keep from strangling one or all of them. 

“I still say we kill him.” Diego stabbed a mango in the fruit bowl and pulled it towards himself. He started carefully peeling the skin, leaving the shavings in a little pile next to his plate. 

“That solves nothing.” Allison sighed.

“It saves the president. I’d call that solving something.” Diego didn’t look up at her, but the aggressive way he sliced a huge chunk of skin off of the mango almost felt personal. 

“I agree with Diego. I think it’d be fun.” Lila pulled Diego’s arm towards her so she could take a bite of the mango. He glared at her and she tweaked his nose, taking another large bite just to piss him off. 

“See?” Diego gestured at Lila.

“No one is killing Dad. Let’s hear what he has to say, then we can figure out a plan.” Allison folded her hands on the table, relieved when everyone else seemed to be in agreement.  Klaus handed her a tiki cup and she took a grateful sip. It’d been a while since she’d had a good piña colada.

“Why? This whole thing could be over so quickly!” 

“Yes, it could, but it won’t be.” She gave him one of her patented fake smiles, taking a pointed sip of her colada. 

“Why? Because you’re in charge? Because you’ve got this under control?” Diego scoffed. He offered Lila a piece of his mango before she could steal another bite. 

“Oh boy, here we go.” Luther muttered.

“Do you want a drink? No? Well, I do. I’m gonna go get a drink.” Klaus stood and stumbled over to the bar, taking his second margarita of the night with him. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” She crossed her arms.

“What authority do you really have, Allison?”

“I would say her powers are a pretty good authority. Plus, Allison’s a good leader.” Vanya piped up, smiling softly at her. Allison gave her hand a quick squeeze.

“Team Zero has no leaders. That’s the whole point.” 

“Kinda hard to be Team Zero when you still want to be number one.” Five took an apple from the fruit bowl and took an innocent bite. Diego pushed his chair out, knife in hand, twirling it between his fingers.

“Diego, sit down! Now.” Allison didn’t stand. She wouldn’t sink to his level. Or, rise, rather.

“Make me.” Diego fixed Allison with a withering stare, but it paled in comparison to the one she gave him. In fact, she relished in the way he shivered when he met her eyes. Good. He should remember his place.

“Diego-” Luther tried, but one glare shut him down.

“Shut up. Allison, you want me to sit and behave? Make me.”

“Come on. Don’t do this,” Vanya whispered, trying to grab Diego’s knife hand. He simply flicked the knife behind his back and into his other hand. For a moment, it looked like Vanya’s pleading eyes would work, but Five chuckled and sealed the deal.

“Dinner and a show! Predictable as always.” Five folded his hands beneath his chin and stole a generous sip of Vanya’s cocktail.

“Shut up, twerp!” Diego pointed at him with the knife.

“Or else what? You’ll stab me?” Five was grinning now, goading Diego on purpose. 

“Five!” Allison growled, and he rolled his eyes, falling quiet. At least he knew not to test her.

“Keep talking. Let’s find out.” Diego flipped the knife once, then twice, and each time it stayed in the air just a little too long. 

“I’ve got ten bucks on Diego,” Lila said, kicking her feet up on the table. She took the liberty of finishing his mango for him, peeling away little bits of skin with her messy nails.

“Guys, stop it!” Vanya latched onto Diego’s arm, trying to force him down into his seat. He pulled away and she ended up jabbing his side. He flinched and glared at her, but did not budge. Allison’s lips quirked into a momentary smile.

“Allison,” Vanya said quietly, gesturing at the brewing fight. Allison rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. 

“Okay! Just remember you asked for this!” Allison smirked, and the room suddenly felt a bit colder. She could feel everyone’s attention on her, but she had Diego’s eyes, and that was all she needed.

“I heard a rumor that you started tickling yourself.” Allison’s voice echoed through the room, the sound waves capturing her brother. Just before his eyes turned white, she could see the look of minute panic, that look of ‘oh shit’ that he always made before being put in his place. Allison smiled, curled her tongue against her teeth, and dropped the winning blow.

“Coochie coo, Diego.” She couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out on the end of her sentence. Diego’s hands raised towards his body as if they didn’t belong to him, fingers wiggling in that way that had always ruined him as a kid—slow, methodical, and teasing. Both hands dug into his sides, just below his ribs, and he yelped, quickly consumed by his own high-pitched laughter. The sight was strange—90% of Diego was squirming up a storm trying to escape himself, but his arms and hands kept him pinned exactly where Allison wanted him.

“How does that work?” Lila laughed, unable to hide her snickers when Diego squealed. She fluttered her fingers over his neck and was delighted to find that he couldn’t fight back—what with his hands being so busy, and all.

“Her power shuts off the sense of self-awareness in the brain, I think. You can’t tickle yourself normally because the laughter is a panic response. Your brain knows it’s you, so you can’t make yourself laugh, unless you’re ridiculously ticklish, or something. Allison’s power is making Diego’s brain think his hands aren’t his, even though he knows they are. It’s really interesting, actually.” Vanya beamed, unable to resist poking him in the ribs a few times. He threw his head back in his chair and somehow found it in himself to giggle louder when his rumored hands found a home underneath his arms, drawing unbearable shapes and driving him up the wall. Everyone, excluding Diego, turned to stare at Vanya.

“What? I like science.” She shrugged.

“It is...creative, I’ll say.” Five crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, as if he didn’t trust his own hands.

“Yeah, I haven’t heard him laugh like that since we were kids. He still sounds like a kettle.” Klaus chuckled.

“Shut up, Klaus!” Diego squeaked out, tossing his head side to side. He puffed his cheeks out, trying to rein in his laughter, but it only lasted until his left hand hit that spot just above his top rib that made him fully cackle.

“Aww, this is cute.” Lila ruffled his hair, knowing full well she wouldn’t have gotten away with it had Diego not been testing the range of his vocal chords. Lila shot Allison a look she couldn’t quite read—something akin to a thoughtful expression, as if she was taking a mental note—and smiled. 

“Diego? I think your legs could use some attention.” Allison watched with delight as Diego’s hands dove for his thighs. One hand started squeezing while the other wiggled up and down, and the rate at which he plummeted into desperate belly laughter was almost alarming. He twisted off of the chair and onto the floor, eyes screwed shut.

“Allison, stohop!” Diego squealed, absolutely hysterical. Jesus Christ, no one had ever been this ruthless with him before. Her powers were hitting spots he didn’t even know he had, and each fresh discovery sent him into a wave of overwhelming, giggly panic. Every time he tried to take command of his hands, something blocked him, like the wires in his brain weren’t quite connected. 

“Nope! Not until you apologize for being an asshole. And agree to be nice.” 

“I can’t—noho!” He arched his back and drummed his heels on the floor. Watching his own hands wreak havoc on his worst spot set off all kinds of butterflies in his stomach. His hands kept digging in infuriating patterns, completely overwhelming his nervous system with tickly sparks. 

“Sure you can! It’s very easy.” Allison winked at him and he growled, but it dissolved very quickly into giggles.

“You’re all a bunch of children,” Five sighed.

“Five, why don’t you join him?” Allison asked sweetly, stirring her drink with the straw. Five’s look of confusion melted into a brief flicker of white eyes, and soon his cackles mingled with Diego’s rich laughter. He hit the floor much quicker than his brother, but that might’ve had something to do with his borrowed hands flying straight for his knees. Five squealed and kicked his legs, rolling around on the ground as he tried and failed to escape.

Watching Five and Diego writhe, so tangled in their laughter that they couldn’t threaten her if they wanted to, her heart skipped a few beats. Sure, the power was going to her head a bit, but it’s not like her brothers didn’t have it coming.  She was doing a public service. Speaking of public service, Diego was starting to turn an interesting color.

“If I let you go, are you going to be nice tonight? I will embarrass you in front of dad, I don’t even care.”

“Y-Yes! Lemme goho!” 

“Fine.” She waved a hand and Diego went limp. He lifted his hands to his face to muffle the last few giggles trickling from his lips. With some difficulty, he pulled himself to his feet, stumbling back into his chair with an arm wrapped around his torso. Sparing Diego brought a softness in Allison, and she smiled at Five.

“You can let your knees go. I always liked your giggles more anyway.” He disappeared in a flash of blue and reappeared behind her, arms outstretched and ready to strangle, but Allison sighed. He was so...predictable. A creature of unfortunate habit.

“I heard a rumor that you tickled your ribs silly.” 

“Noho!” He hit the ground in seconds, tripping over his own feet as he went. 

“Really?” She turned and arched a brow at him. 

“I hate yohou!”

“You’re lucky I didn’t mention your hands.” She scoffed, then flinched when Five shrieked. One of his hands started going to town on the other, scratching so gently that Allison almost couldn’t believe how loud he was. He squirmed so violently that she was sure he’d’ve punched her if she’d been close enough.

“Oopsie.” She grimaced, biting her lip. 

“Allison, hey.” Vanya smiled, obviously amused, but tilted her head towards the elevator. The up arrow was glowing red and, yeah, it was probably, regrettably, time to stop. 

“You can stop, Five,” She murmured, and he wheezed, scrubbing his palms against his jacket to erase sensation. The feeling of the fibers sliding against his palms sent him into another flurry of giggles as he clenched his fists.

Some cruel, playful itch at the back of Allison’s mind had been thoroughly scratched—so much so that when Diego still took a jab at her for not using her powers, she made him punch himself instead of embarrassing him.

She liked using her powers. The force with which they held her was sometimes scary, but for harmless instances like this? It was what she had been missing growing up. Everyone else got to mess around with their powers, but she was never really allowed to. Being the responsible and patient one meant being the buzzkill in her siblings’ eyes, and buzzkills didn’t often get roped into the intense, multi-floor, super-tickle-fights that had dominated what few happy memories that the Hargreeves had as children.

She started slow with reintroducing her powers, not wanting to overwhelm or scare anyone. She was still trying to get past the look on Patrick’s face when he’d caught her rumouring Claire. Allison knew her siblings would never look at her like that—in fact, they were the only people who ever wanted her to use her powers. She started with simple things: convincing Five to get some rest after refusing to sleep, ending an argument between Luther and Diego that was quickly spiraling out of control—even on Klaus, who would not stop fighting with Ben during the night. That last one wasn’t truly necessary, but the walls were thin and their rooms shared an unfortunate border.

“What color are you thinking?” Klaus dumped his armful of nail polish bottles onto her bed, just barely catching a few before they clattered to the floor. 

“Yellow?” She gingerly picked one from the pile. 

“I love it.” He beamed and took a seat in front of her, unscrewing the cap. The brightness and warmth of the polish made her smile. It was the color of her favorite dress from the decade they’d left behind—the dress that Raymond had always loved. Klaus took her foot and laid it on his leg, sticking his tongue out to concentrate.

Someone softly cleared their throat and the two of them looked up to see Vanya hovering in the doorway. Allison smiled and waved her in, and she plopped on the ground next to Klaus. Vanya leaned over to watch Klaus work.

“You like the color?” Allison asked. Things between them were still fragile. 

“It’s lovely. Sissy’s favorite, actually.” Vanya smiled softly, fiddling with her shirt sleeves a bit, and Allison knew things were okay, for the time being. 

Three pairs of stomping footsteps echoed down the hall and Allison looked up, catching her brothers lingering in the doorway, though seemingly not on purpose. Luther and Five had cornered a brooding Diego who looked like he was a few seconds away from impaling one or both of them. 

“Diego, quit being such a grouch.” Luther shoved his shoulder lightly.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Diego grumbled, arms crossed.

C’mon man, it’s been days. No one likes when you sulk around. Just lighten up a little.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Diego held a knife up to Luther’s throat.

“Five, a little help here?”

“Oh, I don’t care.” Five stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled.

“Diego. Dude.” Luther shook Diego’s shoulder again and he growled, grabbing Luther’s meaty hand and wrenching it backwards.

“I heard a rumor that Luther and Five tickled you until you admit defeat,” Allison piped up, giggling at the look of absolute betrayal on Diego’s face. Five cackled of his own volition, happy as a clam to have a reason to torment his brother.

“Allison, no!” He bolted, Five and Luther hot on his heels.

“Have fun!” She called after them.

“That was mean.” Klaus chided, wiggling his fingers over her sole. She squeaked and tried to pull away, but his grip was tight on her ankle.

“Klaus! I’m gonna mess up the polish!” She whined around a giggle, hiding her face in her hands.

“No you won’t. Just stay still.” Klaus chuckled, continuing to apply the polish with one hand. With the other, he kept scratching gently 

“Yeah, Allison, just stay still.” Vanya took hold of Allison’s ankle and fluttered along her arch, taking note of which spots made her curl in on herself and paying them extra attention. 

It was then that Allison decided they were no longer exempt from her wrath. Everyone was fair game now. Though, maybe she could show them a little mercy, since they definitely could be a lot meaner.

They only stopped once they made her squeal—Klaus scratched his nail repeatedly over her big toe until she nearly fell on the floor—and even after, they wouldn't stop teasing her about the noise she’d made. She filed away her large-scale revenge plan and settled for tickling them both once Klaus had finished her nails. 

There was a lesson in quitting while you’re ahead, but, pinned to the couch and screaming, Allison was starting to think it had gone over her head.

It had started with Lila throwing a movie night—her way of apologizing for, well, everything without having to say the words. Lila had set up a sort of nest situation with pillows and blankets, allowing the siblings to choose their seats freely. Allison and Vanya snuggled on one end of the couch while Luther claimed the other, and the rest of them piled on one another in front of the couch. Lila laid with her head in Diego’s lap, and Klaus and Five were cozy next to them. They hadn’t existed this way in years. It would’ve been nice, had the tension not been so thick.

All of them were almost afraid to relax, as if they’d all simultaneously remembered how long it’d been since they’d properly been together as a family. Five looked like he would explode if anyone touched him, Diego was far too occupied with his box of Thin Mints, and Klaus’s knee was shaking far too much not to be distracting to everyone present. 

A smile tugged at her lips. If any situation called for an intervention, it was this one. Possibly even more than her previous abuses of power. 

“They need to lighten up, don’t you think?” Allison murmured, stealing a pretzel from the bag Vanya was holding.

“They are a bit..tense.” Vanya chuckled. Allison took the pretzels and set them safely aside before gesturing for her to lean close.

“I heard a rumor that you started messing with Klaus,” Allison whispered, munching on another pretzel. Vanya fixed her with a ‘really?’ face and she shrugged in apology. Vanya started nudging Klaus with her foot, waiting just long enough between gentle shoves that it was annoying. After about the eighth time, Klaus whirled around and grabbed Vanya’s ankle, skittering his fingers up her leg.

“Vanya!” He gasped in mock offense, spidering his nails in random circles. Vanya simply slid down the couch cushion like a pile of jello, the fight already drained from her body. Allison had been hoping for a more explosive reaction, but this would do as a start. She leaned forward and put a hand on Diego’s shoulder. 

“I heard a rumor that you started a proper tickle fight.” She finished the command with a quick flutter at the back of his neck. Diego snatched her hand and yanked her forwards, using the change in momentum to grab her foot and go to town. She snorted and shoved at the back of his head, anything to get him to let go.

“Not with me! Nevermind, I heard a rumor you stole Five’s marshmallows.” She shoved him off of her and grinned when he immediately lunged for them. In that moment, Five was indistinguishable from a feral racoon as he dove for the treats. Lila managed to roll out of the way just before she was crushed.

“Give them back!” He screeched, reaching for the bag just out of his grip. Diego took advantage of his long arms and stretched as far away as possible.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” Diego dropped a marshmallow into his mouth, making direct eye contact as he chewed and swallowed. Five trembled with rage.

“You’re dead.” He pounced onto Diego who yelped before dissolving into frantic giggles, arms flailing about as he tried to dislodge Five. He squirmed right into Klaus, who took hold of his legs and dug in wherever he could reach. Vanya made a game of poking Diego’s stomach as many times as possible while dodging his hands. She could see the moment where her rumor dissolved, the four of them effortlessly carrying on the playfulness without aid.

Allison snuck a glance at Luther. He was still crushed into his corner of the couch, looking unbelievably uncomfortable but at least amused at the struggle going on beneath him. He deserved to smile as much as them.

“I heard a rumor-”

“That you were wildly ticklish, all over,” Lila said from behind her, and holy shit, when did she get there? Lila poked her side and a bright giggle bubbled out from her lips before she could stop it. Dread and anticipation tangled in her stomach. She’d never been that sensitive there before.

Uh oh.

“Lila, we can talk about this.” Allison raised her hands in surrender as Lila vaulted over the couch, straddling her before she could escape.

“That’s the problem, Allison. You’re still talking, not laughing.” Lila kneaded her thumbs into the sides of Allison’s stomach and she squealed, trying her damndest to grab the offending hands. 

This was uncharted territory for her. She was used to teasy hands grabbing her neck or for roughhousing to turn into a mad grab for her feet. She knew exactly what it would feel like every time. This was technically the same, but radically different. Her body just didn’t know what to do. It was like being tickled for the first time ever, before her body knew what was going on. Every single part of her was sending up flares of tickly panic as she squirmed underneath Lila.

When someone—Klaus, judging by the cold shock of a few rings—grabbed hold of her feet, it dawned on her how what she’d put Diego through might’ve been a little mean.

“Lehet goho!” 

“Hey, Allison? I think your legs could use some attention,” Diego said in an annoying mockery of her voice, but she was far too indisposed to reprimand him for it.

“I-” She started to plead, but verbal communication flew out the window entirely when Vanya started tickling lightly under her chin and down the column of her throat. It was so gentle and clearly loving, but the contrast between Vanya and the fiends going to town on the rest of her body only doubled her desperation to get away.

Diego hooked his fingers behind Allison’s knee and she nearly launched Lila across the room with how hard she thrashed. Her nervous system whited out for a minute as she squealed louder, doing everything she could to wrench her feet from Klaus’s grasp so she could kick Diego in the face.

“No! Stohop!” Great, she was snorting now. 

“Uh-oh! Bad spot?” Klaus drawled, scribbling over her feet. Lila wormed her fingers into the crevices of Allison’s ribs, making sure to pinch and prod every so often, just to draw out little squeaks and hiccups. Diego found a spot on the side of her thigh where if he wiggled his fingers, Allison’s giggles would turn wheezy, and he was having far too much fun with it.

“Ihit tihickles!”

“Does it? Are you sure?” Lila vibrated a claw into Allison’s stomach and she threw her head back into the couch with a loud cackle. That was definitely new. Vanya giggled somewhere above her, dragging her fingers over the shells of her ears.

“Yes, oh my god-” She clamped her elbows to her sides when Lila tried to sneak her hands under her arms. Her brain sent out about fifty warning signals, essentially begging her not to let this happen, and while she had no clue where the knowledge had come from, she wasn’t about to question it.

“Alright, I’m sorry!” She tried to curl around Lila’s hands but that only made things worse.

“Damn straight.” Diego scoffed, (surprisingly) the first to let her go. After a few other quick pokes, the others released her, watching as she heaved in sweet oxygen. Every inch of her body was fizzling as she came down from her laughter. She covered her face, hiding her recovery, until two very mean hands darted into her exposed armpits. Allison bucked up hard, loud and bright laughter overcoming her as she thrashed on the couch. A few seconds felt like hours, and when Lila finally did stop, Allison wheezed before mustering the energy to glare.

“Lila!”

“Sorry! I just wanted to see what would happen.” She smiled, sheepish, but not at all apologetic.

“I hope I didn’t ruin movie night,” Allison murmured, looking up and around at her siblings. 

“Au contraire! I think you made movie night. Everyone, grab your snacks. I want to see this kid fuck up some robbers.” Klaus started the movie without waiting for the others, earning groans of annoyance and panicked scrambling as everyone tried to find their seats. Lila stayed on the couch, pulling Allison’s legs across her lap, while Vanya adjusted so Allison’s head would be more comfy. Klaus laid across Diego’s back and Five propped his legs on top of them, popping marshmallows in his mouth like popcorn. 

A success, if ever there was one.

[suca-loca]

it’s been a long year since we last spoke (how’s your halo?)

Read on Ao3

Words: 11.5k 

Tags: Hurt No comfort, Angst, No Happy Ending, No beta we die like Wilbur

Warnings: Body horror, Blood, Death, Suicidal Implications/Thoughts, Mentions Of Torture, Beating/Fighting

Author's Note: I tentatively present you all this fic as my ticket to board the Dream SMP Fandom. I took some creative liberties with this, such as hints of Niki and Wilbur being childhood friends, as well as Niki living near Techno's cabin, and making Niki respawning to restock her hunger bar during her spiraling/villain arc one of her canon deaths. Also, despite Niki wearing a new skin she has stated that her character still wears Wilbur's coat. Just adding that in here so people don't comment that I got her outfit wrong during a certain scene. And finally, even though I feel this is obvious, this is about the characters and not the streamers themselves. With that out of the way, enjoy the fic!

Summary: 

"Time down here is like stars, Niki. We're dead, dead for thousands of years, but to them," he points up, "we still shine. It'll take light years for them to realize they are staring at just a memory."

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry.

or; Niki tries, unwillingly may she add, the whole being dead thing. Oh, and Wilbur is there to "help"

The worst part about it is that Niki's whole life doesn't flash before her eyes. It doesn't happen in slow motion and neither is there some comforting, bright light for her to walk towards. It's simply this: one second she's at Church Prime and the next she's falling into pitch blackness.

Then again, she should have known better than to expect any of that dumb cliche stuff 'cause it's not like she died or anything. Not really. Her communicator may say she did, but she knows the truth. She was teleported.

So why does this feel like dying?

foolish girl breaking at the seams from using the same stitching of a burning flag to put yourself back together again. you think the afterlife cares how you arrive? the entry fee is the same for all

She comes in screaming and doesn't stop even when that's all she is anymore. Her body is unrecognizable to her, turned inside out, muscles stretching and bending and snapping in an attempt to mimic the shape she once was.

(She wishes her muscles luck in regressing back into a memory because oh primes, oh dear primes did she try, try again to be the girl wore a white and blue uniform with pride, but that girl only exists now in dreams and sometimes nightmares)

But they can't, for her organs and bones and flesh do not know what it means to not be confined (but they should know, they really should, because she still finds it hard to breath in small spaces ever since Schlatt caged her between iron bars and dirt and Sapnap left her in a hole in the ground over a fish) and so they shake. Convulsing and spasming until she is just sound, just an echo of shrieks that are happening in the past or the present or the future depending on how fast it travels down this tight, narrowed cave she lands in.

Wait, lands in?

She finds herself laying flat on the ground. She blinks. Then does it again for good measure to make sure she's not imaging having eyelids.

She touches her face. Feels the crook of her nose, the curve of her chin, and her soft round ears.

It's all skin. No muscle, no tissue, just her.

Still her.

(For now)

Her body is back. Not whole though - never whole - for she will always be a walking empty space within a solid object, but for now, her body is right. Her body is here. She closes her eyes in relief.

Someone is staring down at her when she opens them again.

"Hello Niki," Wilbur says. "It's been a while."

(It's Doomsday. His name shows up on your communicator and so you become a lit match. The fire eats you away just like the bark of a tree, like the walls of a bakery, two things you once loved most, and you're watching them both burn with his coat over your shoulders, which doesn't help you ignore who you must look like, who you're acting like, whose footsteps you're following in; and doesn't it hurt to know that what's before you isn't just a friend but a reflection?)

She's already scrambling back before she's even fully sat up.

She doesn't get very far, not with the way her wrists twist and bend before finally buckling under the pressure, and she can't find the strength to stand up and run. So all that's left to do is hyperventilate at the way his eyes land on her face, roaming, analyzing, absorbing, trying to read her like a book, unaware she's ripped out the pages long ago. At the way his shadow covers her and maybe once it felt like a blanket, but that time has passed, now all it is is heavy, suffocating, pinning her down. At the way he wears his Pogtopia outfit, pressed and cleaned when the last she saw of it it was covered in ash and black feathers and red, so much red.

But it never comes. In fact, her lungs don't move at all. Almost as if she doesn't need to breathe. As if she hasn't been breathing since she's been down here.

Is that why it was so easy to keep screaming?

"You're not here," she whispers. "Not really."

Wilbur tilts his head to the left.

(Does it in a way a predator would while observing its prey from afar, waiting for the right moment to strike)

"Oh? Where am I then, Niki?"

"My head," Niki responds, practically blurting it out. "Yeah - yeah, that's right. This is just my head playing tricks on me again. A horrible horrible trick, but that's all it is. I - I know it."

Wilbur hums. He sits down as if this will take a while. As if she won't blink and he'll be gone. "Well, that's a damn shame. I was hoping it'd be a beach. Mexican Dream has been talking a lot about La Jolla lately. Sounds like a nice place."

He smiles, suddenly.

(No, not smiles, more like baring his teeth. His very normal teeth that give off the impression that they should be very sharp and very large and very deep in her throat right now)

"Let's hope I don't blow it up."

(Niki is shouting for Wilbur over the chaos when her communicator pings in her pocket. It gets hard to breathe as she reads what it says, and it isn't because every inhale of smoke and pulverized concrete from the tumbling buildings poison her lungs. There's a ringing in her ears, and it isn't because of the TNT that just detonated in front of her. She feels broken, and it isn't because the force of the explosion knocks her back and she skitters across the field, hitting rocks and choking on dirt until she stops on her stomach, limbs bent at weird angles. Her communicator lands right beside her, the screen shattered and static flashing, but she can still catch glimpses of what is on the screen, as clear as day, like a taunt: WilburSoot was slain by Ph1lza)

Niki scrambles to her feet, presses herself as much as she can against the walls, and maybe, just maybe, she'll glitch and go through it and suffocate in a block.

She immediately throws herself away from it when she realizes what she just thought.

Wilbur stands with her. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he says. "I thought it would lighten up the mood. So, how are you?"

"How am I?" Niki echoes. "I'm imagining my dead best friend even though I thought I was getting better and I could have sworn I was, I was I swear I was, and this place, this place, I don't know where this is but it, it just feels - I don't even know why - so familiar and so - "

She pauses.

She looks around.

She was so busy panicking from Wilbur's presence that she never took in her surroundings. She stares at the smooth stone walls, the occasional hanging vines, the little aquarium in the corner right next to the entrance, and, finally, the stand. The stand with two signs on the front that read -

No. It can't be. It just can't.

She won't believe it until she's seen the whole thing.

She walks further in, each step hesitant.

And she notices the way everything around her seems so devoid of life. Almost colorless. Close to numb. She thinks it's her body shutting down, the stress finally getting to her, but no. This is worse. Something's going on. She doesn't know what it is exactly, but she knows it isn't her that's wrong here.

(This time)

Wilbur follows closely behind and, as if to prove her point, his footsteps sound muffled, distant, apart from him, like in the way you hear something underwater.

Maybe she is underwater because everything is getting blurry and her face feels wet.

(Or maybe the better comparison is like hearing something behind glass. She's been tapping against the window of a caravan for months as men in suits discuss a country she bled for just as much as them, if not more, without her. The tapping turns to banging, but it is not the glass that shatters. Not the glass that breaks)

She stills as she catches sight of the small wheat farm in the back room, dried and frail and unkempt.

(Like a flower shop)

It really is her bakery.

"No," she mumbles. Then, more stern, as if it'll blow this place away, as Wilbur should have done the first time. "No no no no this can't… this can't be true. I, I shouldn't be here I - it doesn't make any sense, how how how - "

She whirls on Wilbur, the tears coming in waves now. "What are you doing to me?"

(It's his fault she's back here. It has to be, he's the reason you wanted to burn the memories why this is all gone why this should be gone why isn't this gone gone gone gone)

foolish girl who has become like the nation she despises, you are a crater, there is a hole inside of you where a soul once was and it was caused by your own hands because the only destruction you're good at is your own. you couldn't even kill a child with a nuke, so what makes you think you can end a small room on the side of some hill?

"What do you see?" Wilbur says, and the voice in her head disappears. She can't remember what it said. She shakes her head as if the words will fall out her ears.

Suddenly she can't remember why she's shaking her head.

Her next words come out frail.

"My… my bakery. But how? This shouldn't be possible I, I destroyed it - I - "

"Limbo is different for everybody," Wilbur interjects. "For me, it's a train station."

"Limbo? What are you talking about? What is going on? I was nowhere near L'manburg I was - " Niki's mind blanks.

(Smooth quartz all around her and she feels safe there, that she remembers because there is no killing here, the one place bloodshed does not haunt her, and then crushing disappointment that turns into actual crushing as her body gets shredded, mangled, undone like a ribbon except it does not look pretty)

Wilbur gives her a slicing smile. It cuts her down. "This is the afterlife, Niki."

She blinks. She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted to the spot. "What?"

"The afterlife," he continues, eyes sparkling. "Hell. The void. Eternal darkness. Whatever you wanna call it. I call it home."

"Home?" She repeats, shakily.

foolish girl with no place, no one to call home because she's an expert at finding comfort in things that don't stay, of course he sees this place as home. Although if he really wanted to surround himself in emptiness so bad then he just needed to wait a few months for you to become just that

"I'm not dead," she mutters. She attempts to laugh, because if she laughs then this will sound like a joke. Wilbur would joke about such a thing. After all, he poked fun at exploding L'manburg just a while ago. So of course this is a joke. It has to be. It is, and she will not allow her breakdown to be the punchline.

At Wilbur's unflinching smile she says it again, with more conviction. "I'm not!"

"How else do you think you're talking to me? How your bakery is still in one piece? Sorry to be your grim reaper Niki, but you're dead. And now you're here, in the afterlife, with me!" He leans in close, close enough that she should feel his breath on her.

There is nothing. He is nothing.

(And maybe, so is she)

"Isn't that great? We're together again! You and me, just like the old days. And look," His eyes glance at what she wears. It's the coat. Specifically, Wilbur's coat, wrapped around her shoulders.

"We're even matching," he coos.

She thinks she might scream.

She throws herself away from him, almost throws the coat too, but into the furnace next to her.

('I gotta burn the memories I need to destroy it I need to destroy it I need to destroy it,' she once screamed to no one but herself. History repeats itself)

How she ever found comfort in this ratty, old coat she'll never know. And she'll never care to find out. Not when Wilbur is acting like this, like before, like a loose city wire, all dangerous and unpredictable, each word an electric spark, and Niki is trying not to get stung. She remembers how that story ended.

But her's will not end. Not yet.

"I can't be dead," she argues. "I don't remember that I would remember something like that so I - I can't be dead, and I have two lives left so, no, no I can't be I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and I'm in bed I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and you're not real, just a nightmare. I'm alive I'm alive I'm - "

"It's really me, Niki," Wilbur says, and the fire from the furnace roars in response as if his words fan the flames. It's the first time something in this wicked place has felt alive. "In the flesh. Or, rather, a close imitation of it. I think my corpse must have liquified by now, swelling up for months before bursting open, leaving nothing but a skeleton behind. What about you? What did you leave for them to find?"

She covers her ears. "Stop! Stop it stop it stop it!"

"Remember it. Remember your last moments."

"Wilbur, please - "

"Feel your wrist," he says. No, orders. And she does. Because she, at her core, is still his soldier.

(She says that she is loyal to him and he responds by saying he wants her to be loyal to L'manburg. She remembers being confused, for she saw them both as the same. Wilbur is L'manburg and L'manburg is Wilbur, one cannot coexist without the other. A few months later, amongst the wreckage of her nation and a father's anguished screams, she'll realize too little too late how true her statement holds)

She doesn't find her heartbeat.

For a second she thinks she made a mistake. That she has her fingers in the wrong place, but no. A soldier knows where to look for life so that they may snuff it out. She can't be making a mistake.

Still, she presses her fingers down, harder this time, nails first, that blood draws, and sobs as she's still met with nothing.

She has no heartbeat.

She is dead.

She chokes. She clutches her chest, not because it hurts to know what she lacks in her chest, but because she remembers. Remembers it so intently, remembers it happening in the snap of a finger, literally, from a smiling God (and maybe it is quite a fitting end, for she goes out the same way she lived, giving second chances to men who don't deserve it) and how the world tilted as the ground slipped away.

But what's worse is the realization that comes after.

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find," she says.

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find because I didn't die," she says again, but weaker. More horrified. "I was teleported. I was on the holy lands when - "

"Teleported?' Wilbur interrupts. His features, just a second ago, eccentric and mad, turn curious. "Wait wait wait, hold on a second, are you telling me you were sent to Hell, Hell, on the fucking Holy Lands? "

Niki weakly nods.

It goes silent.

Suddenly, a snort. A snort that does not sound like it once did, back before the war for independence, before the election, before banishment, before it all, when all there was was a caravan and the worst of their worries was getting Sapnap a vegan hotdog. It's meaner, more shrill, and laced with a madness that seems to roll off his tongue so easily nowadays.

If she weren't watching how hard Wilbur's shoulders shake she'd have never guessed such a sound would come from him.

But there's something else about this snort that chills her to the core. Although she never could have imagined it coming from Wilbur doesn't mean she hasn't heard this kind of laugh before.

It's almost breathless, almost like something left on a stove, steaming, almost like the sound of  -

(Dream and Wilbur worked together, both wanted L'manburg gone, both almost killed a kid, both cut off attachments, both lost trust in others, all things Niki has done too, and if Niki is like Wilbur and Wilbur is like Dream then that means - )

(No. Please, no)

"That is -," Wilbur wheezes, wiping away a tear. "That is horribly ironic."

"DreamXD!" She shouts, head tilted up. "Take me back! Take me back right now!"

Wilbur shakes his head. "Oh, no need to try that. I've been there. The whole shouting for help thing? Yeah, will do you no good. No one can hear you down here."

"DreamXD! I'm here!"

"Scream all you want, prime knows you don't need to breathe down here so nothing's stopping you from doing it for forever, but when your screams are all you hear for eternity… well, it'll drive any person mad."

"DreamXD," she shrieks. And her lungs don't shake, don't even give a small quiver, she knows it. Nothing in her does, for the gears don't need to be turning to keep this machine of a body that's been on autopilot since an explosion knocked her off her feet alive anymore. "Please!"

"You stop talking after a few years of just endless screaming for your voice becomes a reminder of your entrapment. But then the silence itself, after a few years, is unbearable. Yet you don't dare speak or make any noise, so it's just madness of a new kind."

She pushes her way past him and makes her way to the exit of her bakery. "I - I liked the magic trick, DreamXD! I really did! You - you can teleport me back now!"

"Too scared to make a noise, but too scared to keep quiet. So you stand still. Your body deteriorates, muscles numb from lack of use, and all you do is use your nails to scratch marks onto the walls to mark how many years have passed since… since absolutely nothing."

She stills. She slowly turns around.

(L'manburg is surrounded by a wall. A wall so mighty and tall she never thought she'd see the day it'd be torn down, much less by its own inhabitants. But this wall right here, the one between her and this old friend, this is a wall that will never meet the same end as its predecessor)

"Wilbur," she whispers. "What do you mean by years?"

Silence.

Wilbur has a far-away look in his eye.  

(That look was born in a dirt hole on the side of a small hill and Niki doesn't learn that lesson for she builds her bakery in a similar place. Two places, so small, so cramped, started with hope, have become their worst downfalls, their unfinished symphonies. She parallels him in all the wrong ways)

"Time down here is like stars, Niki. We're dead, dead for thousands of years, but to them," he points up, "we still shine. It'll take light years for them to realize they are staring at just a memory."

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry. She was paralyzed before but now, with fear pumping through her veins, she runs. Fear is a more dependent motivator than strength or bravery could ever be, for fear, unlike any other heroic emotion, can't be beaten out of you. Can't be threatened out of you by a friend on your birthday as you try to stop him from pressing a button. Fear only grows, like a weed, you can try to get rid of it all you want, but it multiplies the more you struggle.

She finally gets to the exit, nearly throwing herself at it, only to find a stone wall staring back at her. It's been cemented shut.

She's trapped.

(She is in a cage, a zoo animal for Manburg citizens to point and laugh at. It is cramped, it is humiliating, and it is her home, her everything in wake of becoming nothing to people she once considered friends, Schlatt tells her. Until Quackity frees her. But there is no one to free her now. Except herself)

She pulls up her sleeves and begins mining with her bare hands.

She's been torn apart before, but at least it was quick. This, the way her flesh slowly peels off at each scratch is its own kind of torture. Not because it's painful, but the torture in knowing what you're willing to do to yourself just to see the sky again.

She keeps going.

(She does not throw up at the sight of chunks of flesh dangling where nail once was because she is a soldier and she has seen worse. Seen a child trapped in a box screaming for help and she's unfortunate enough to have a seat in the splash zone. Helped patch up Ponk's wound where his arm should be, afraid she might lose him to blood loss because whoever chopped his arm off didn't cut across the joint to avoid the bone and therefore had to hack again and again and again to get through the bone. Sewed Fundy's head back together from when Schlatt beat him over the scalp with a beer bottle before dying in the caravan; it took a couple of hours to finish because his fur made it hard to spot the bits of glass sticking out his skin. This is not the first or last time she will wash blood off her clothes, she just has to hope it will continue to be someone else's and not her own)

Wilbur comes up beside her. He doesn't even try to stop her, much less flinch at all the red on the wall. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Tommy did."

She snaps her head to him, her clawing ceasing. "Tommy was here?"

He nods. "Arrived a few years ago. I have to admit, when a space opened up here I thought it would be him again, not you. Not that I'm complaining. Don't get me wrong he's a good kid but, well, you know how Tommy gets."

(Everyone you've ever hated, everyone you've ever sworn to end; Schlatt, Tommy, and although you do not hate Wilbur or Jack you're relationship with them is complicated because they remind you of when you spiraled, you lot are all connected now, bound together from sharing the similar experience of death. She can never separate herself from them. Will be rever grouped in with the people she can't stand most)

"How long was Tommy here for?" She asks softly.

Wilbur clicks his tongue. "Two months I think."

She closes her eyes.

(She wanted to look deep into the crater Tubbo's nuke made and confuse Tommy's charcoal, burnt body for obsidian. She wanted to catch Tommy's choked last breaths in a bottle and get drunk on it every night. She wanted to leave spruce wood on his grave as a sort of flag marking her latest conquest. She wanted to stop thinking that if Wilbur was wrong for believing in Tommy then that means he might have been wrong for believing in her)

She doesn't want Tommy dead anymore and although they're still not friends even she wouldn't wish this on him.

"Two months," she says, and it sinks in.

Is that how long she'll have to wait until someone comes looking for her?

That is if someone even cares to look.

(Puffy doesn't respond to any of her messages after their first date. She turns Jack away when he tries to pull her back into the obsession of caving Tommy's head in. Everyone grieving L'manburg remembers her setting L'mantree aflame. Anyone in the Eggpire is too far gone to even care about themselves. She doesn't have a Tubbo. Isn't anyone's disk. She's just Niki, forgotten, ignored Niki, the first ghost of the server before Ghostbur. Why spare a glance at someone transparent? Someone, not all there?)

No one will come for her.

Wilbur cracks his fingers, and Niki winces, for her bones are still on flesh display and slowly repairing. "Well, now that we've played twenty questions let's move on to a new game. You up for some solitaire?"

She rises to her feet and numbly nods. She might as well have something to do to, to try and prevent the inevitable insanity with a card game.

Might as well accept her fate.

Wilbur reaches into his pocket and pulls out the cards. He sits down on the ground. "Sorry," he says. "I'd offer we play on a table but there are no tables in a train station and I doubt your bakery has one either." He hands her half of the deck. "Help me set it up."

But Niki doesn't take them, for she's focused on the word table because -

(There's a table, a weird table, made up of this block she's never seen before. It's sponge-like, with a hole on top decorated by a blueish-green frame, and she's about to ask where they found it when Phil suddenly apologizes for exploding her bakery. At her shocked expression, he explains he'd like to air out all possible tensions before starting their first-ever official Syndicate meeting so that no past grievances keep them from working as an effective team. Techno merely snorts, saying it's not their fault her bakery was on government land, and Phil responds by shooting him a glare fit for his title as Angel of Death. She'd have laughed, she'd have cried because such a look was once how Phil got Wil to eat his vegetables if it weren't for the fact she tells them they have nothing to apologize for. Tells them she left the oven on the day before the attack and by next sunrise, it was already burnt to the ground. Ranboo doesn't blink once from where he sits across from her as she talks. She sees in his eyes that day, how her laughs and her wails blend in with the chaos around her, as if it belongs there, as if she is one with it. And maybe she is, for the fire that consumes her bakery grows and grows and grows but Niki just gets smaller and smaller and smaller as if she has to sacrifice bits of herself to keep the fire going. Perhaps she is, for every monster requires an offering, and her bakery is that. A representative of the old her burning alive to make room for the new, merciless, unhinged her. Good. She looks down at the flint and steel in her hand and in the reflection of the metal she sees a boy with mismatched eyes standing behind her, staring. And then he takes out his book and writes. It feels like Ranboo has placed a noose around her neck. The memory fades and she holds her breath. She waits for him to say something, to call out her lie. This time, Ranboo undoes the knot. He looks away)

Because she needs to tell Ranboo she appreciated his silence that day. Needs to joke about how all this snow reminds her of an ice cream shop and watch Ranboo nervously laugh as she lightheartedly punches him on the shoulder.

Because she needs to know how that story Phil was telling her about his adventures with Techno on another server, something about an Antarctic Empire, ends. Needs to feed the crows with him to make sure he doesn't stare at their wings for too long.

Because she needs to braid Techno's hair one last time while they talk about how pink is clearly the superior hair color. Needs to thank Techno for giving her these becauses, for they wouldn't exist in the first place had he not offered her a place in the Syndicate.

Ironically enough, she always knew she'd die before she could give back all that she owed them. But only because what she owed them was too long a list, too difficult to be expressed in any way that captured what they deserved.

(Somewhere, in a snow biome, there is a family. They're different from each other, too different at times, and yet Ranboo and Techno could wear each other crowns, each fitting perfectly on their heads and no one would know of the switch, except for Phil of course. Right now they're probably looking at their comms around the dinner table, confused by the last message. 'Nihachu fell from a high place.' They aren't worried. Not yet. But in a couple of days, months for her, they'll start to pace. Phil will stand at the edge of the roof, ready to step off, only to remember he doesn't have wings, can't look for her high up in the sky like he used to when she was a kid. Ranboo will force himself through experiments, lose sleep, break himself in, trying to learn how to teleport so as to cover ground faster in the search, to do more than just let his powers go to waste when they could be what brings her home. Techno will grab her rainbow sweater and put it to Steve's snout, but the trail will go cold every time until eventually all of Niki's clothes don't smell like her anymore. They'll do this every day. Nothing will change but their hope, dwindling away each day. So will they just stare at that last message, her unintentional goodbye, looking for some sort of explanation? For some secret message? Some coordinates until they go mad? They won't think she's dead until they've found a body. Won't stop looking, won't leave a corner of the server untouched. Won't stop till they have something to bury)

She can't do that to them.

She slaps the cards out of Wilbur's hands.

"No," she growls, trying to sound tough and less like a kid throwing a tantrum. Perhaps slapping the cards away was not the best start. "I am not going to waste my time playing Solitaire when I could be spending it finding a way back home. And I will if it's the last thing I do."

Wilbur frowns. Niki has the inkling suspicion it has more to do with the cards being all scattered about than from her declaration. "There is no 'last thing I do anymore.' You dying was the last thing you'll ever do. All you have now is this. This is your forever. Our forever."

She turns away from him, just for a second. Away from the sight of his furrowed brows and the crinkles in the space between them where her index finger would go to poke as she teased him. Away from the scrunch of his nose she would joke made him and Techno finally look like twins. Because despite everything, despite all the months that have settled into their bones since the last they saw each other and the wars they've fought on land and in their minds, it's still Wilbur's face. But only in the physical sense. After that, he stops being her Wilbur.

This would be so much easier if his face had physically morphed into a stranger, to prove to her how much he's changed, what he's become over the months, is not all in her head.

Somehow, she finds a way to start.

"You know, not too long ago I'd have stayed with you here. I wouldn't have even put up a fight. I'd have just laid down, closed my eyes, and let the vines on these walls grow over my body until I was just moss. I was… I was so tired, Wilbur. A part of me always will be. I understood. I finally got why you acted the way you did. There was a time I was on half a heart and instead of eating I would - "

Her body begins to shake so hard she almost expects to look down and she cracks in the ground from an incoming earthquake. The only cracks see she's are her own.

She can't say it. Not like that. Not yet.

" - I would respawn to restock the hunger bar," Niki chokes out instead.

(She respawns with dried blood on the back of her head and bones still rattling from the fall. Along her jutting spine, in an almost perfectly straight line that could be confused for an unkempt path lost to weeds and drought, are bruises. She doesn't feel them. All she feels is the urge to do it again)

She blinks and her hand is in her hair, looking for the bump. She pulls her hand away as if it's a hot furnace. "But I can't stay. Things have changed. I've changed. This is not the first time something dark has tried to consume me, but I can't let it win this time. I can't let this place turn me numb and unhinged, or worse, content. Not when I have people to go home to. Not when - "

She looks down at her hand, the one that traced her scalp, and sees it has clenched into a fist.

(At the count of three, Niki throws rock. She groans as she notices all the other hands make paper. Ranboo and Techno exhale as if the losing sentence wasn't shoveling the front lawn, but death. Or worse, going shopping with Phil for a refrigerator to put in the Syndicate meeting room. Ranboo lost that one. Niki points at Techno's hooves and says it's cheating since they can't ever tell which shape he chooses. She demands a rematch with the same tone one uses to declare war. A few minutes later, they're shouting, going over the rules of rock, paper, scissors, and they only stop when Phil comes home and pulls out the dad voice. They begrudgingly agree to do a rematch another time, once they've cooled down. That was yesterday)

She holds her fist close to her heart. The hand was never her rock, it was always three men in a snowy cabin, handing her a mug of hot cocoa. "Not when I have a lawn to shovel."

Silence.

Then, Wilbur sighs. "You know," he says. He places his arms behind him and leans back to get a better look at her. Somehow, even on the ground, he looks to hold all the power. "Years ago your determination would have been a sight for sore eyes, but here's a reality check. I've been here for almost a dozen years. Eleven years of letting the passing train rip right through me in the hopes it would send me to another layer of hell or maybe propel, heck, even drag my body to the next station. But every time I'd wake up back in the train station as if nothing had happened. Like my body breaking under the wheels was nothing."

He is an avalanche, growing and picking up speed with each word, and Niki realizes, too little too late, she's about to be buried alive. She tries to step back, but Wilbur is up quick and approaching. "There is no escape. The limbo is our stage and we have our lines, our cues, but we do not have a curtain call. We just keep going and going, an endless loop. You can't not play your part. It won't let you."

"I have to at least try," she says.

"Why? What's the point? They'll never know you tried."

Her fear turns to disgust. "Is that why you think I'll try? For the sole reason that one day they'll know what I've done for them? That's far from the truth."

(People built statues of Tommy, for all he's done, for all the influence he had on this server. Niki knows they will not give her the same treatment. But that's fine, more than fine. All she needs is a grave in the snow, beside a little cabin)

She didn't want to look at Wilbur's face before, but now, glaring at him straight on, all she sees staring back is Phil.

The day they found out Wilbur didn't inherit Phil's immortality was the day Phil looked like he should, centuries-old instead of thirty-three, the age when angels stop physically aging. Niki will never forget how deep the lines on Phil's face ran. They might as well have been cracks. And maybe it was, for Phil was breaking as he held his dying son - not dying now, but for an immortal, every second a mortal breathes is just inevitable death - in his arms.

But what still haunts Niki the most after all these years are his eyes. They carried the weight of the world in them. She could feel it, even now, pressing down on her shoulders. All the wars, the fall of cities, the birth of them, children with big smiles and even bigger graves.

Niki was not a soldier yet. She was just a nine-year-old girl who wanted to sleep over at her best friend's house.

She threw up in their sink and they mistook it as her reaction to the news. She didn't correct them.

The only reason she slept easy that night was from the knowledge she would never see those eyes on Wilbur's face. And yet, lo and behold, here it is, like a punch to the gut.

Except now, Niki has had time to numb herself to it. It's hard to get surprised by such a dead look when it's on the face of your roommate.

(Phil's screech - no, not a screech, a caw, high pitched and grief-stricken - is like an alarm clock. Except, instead of Niki waking up to the rising sun outside her window, it's to moonlight and blinking stars. This is the fifth time this month she's met Ranboo and Techno outside Phil's cabin, armed to the teeth, ready for war. The door creaks open, loudly, but they don't wince, for they know it won't wake him. Nothing really does when he's in this state, except for one thing. Techno holds him down and it's weird, will always be weird, to see Techno use such force, such retaliation, on Phil of all people, and then Phil nearly throws Techno through the wall with just a brush of his fingers, and she remembers it's necessary. This isn't Phil they're dealing with, it's the Angel of Death. It takes a while until Techno can get all of the Angel's limbs down, but even then they know it won't last long, and that's when Niki throws a slowness potion on him. Ranboo, meanwhile, turns around all the photos of Wilbur in the room, a safe distance away. They told him it's best he handles that since he's built like a stick, putting him anywhere near a powerful avian would be an accident waiting to happen. It definitely has nothing to do with them freezing up whenever they see Wilbur's smiling face, all happy, and so very alive. Phil's movements turn sluggish as the potion kicks in and Niki holds his face, murmurs soft words, and Techno gives his own weird, but comforting, comments. Something about how Phil can't afford to lose sleeping beauty to these night terrors, what with his old age. Niki snorts. Phil's eyes open immediately. Phil sucks in a sharp breath, like he's forgotten how to breathe, his fist clenching and unclenching. The eyes are back. Based on Techno's face Niki knows then she's not the only person that has seen them. They look at each other, nod, and hold him as he cries. They don't need to ask. There's only one person that could cause such a look. They force Ranboo, who is awkwardly standing to the side, to join. Eventually, they break apart, and Techno coughs. He says he hates them for making this all emotional and bans such an awkward event from ever happening again. And yet, when Phil keeps waking up with eyes too dark around the corners, Techno is there. And so is she and Ranboo)

She will not be the reason Phil's eyes age another year.

"It's about Phil, Techno, and Ranboo deserving someone who will never stop trying to find their way back to them," she says, with conviction. "I'm sorry you're too twisted to see not all actions stem from reward or acknowledgment."

She expects a laugh, a glimpse at his forked tongue spewing words so sweet she could use them as sugar in her desserts, only to take a bite and realize it was salt all along. But what she gets is silence. The type of silence before a storm.

"Phil?" Wilbur whispers.

Niki closes her eyes.

She should have never said their names.

She also should have never opened her eyes again, because Wilbur is looking more like Phil each second. Not because of the eyes. No, worse. Because she sees a boy, a boy with his arms spread open wide and flapping about in an attempt at mimicking his father's wings, and they're both running around in circles in the backyard as he tells her how she'll never have to walk anywhere ever again. He'll carry her when she's tired, when she's not tired, whenever she wants wherever she wants. They stop running around in circles flapping their arms when too much time has passed and his wings still haven't grown in, but the acceptance that it never would did.

She blinks and the memory is gone. Slipping through her fingers like sand.

"How is he?" Wilbur says. His voice wavers a bit. He hides it quickly with a cough, but Niki catches it. Niki thought she always would.

(But then a button was pressed and she realized just how untrue that was)

Niki hesitates. She thinks about the night terrors again. She almost mentions them but falters as she remembers Ranboo telling her how it was Phil who gave him a place to stay after L'manburg was blown up for the last time. How as Technoblade hibernates there's a blanket over his shoulders that wasn't there before and a stick missing from the fireplace. How he always places Niki's plate of breakfast down before the others, as if he knows of her first canon death.

He is a kind man, but that is not why he does these things.

"He misses being a father," she settles on.

Wilbur's shoulders slump. Somewhere, in a different life, Niki's hand is there, squeezing comfortingly. "Is he… is he mad at me?"

"No." She answers quickly. "He's just tired, Wilbur. We all are."

Wilbur laughs. It sounds defeated. Mournful. "Understatement of the fucking year."

He slumps against the wall and Niki is sure it's the only thing keeping Wilbur on his feet. His head hits the smooth stone when he suddenly throws his head back and laughs. Niki doesn't know if she winces from the loud crack the impact makes or from the shrill, unhinged laugh.

"I told him to kill me," Wilbur chuckles. His eyes are blinking rapidly. "I told him to fucking kill me."

(The diamond sword has collected dust. Sometimes, everyone jokes, Phil looks like he has to. Playful teasing about how he's a walking antique that should be displayed in a museum. Phil always laughs them off. But it's moments when he stands too still, alone in his thoughts for too long, that Niki wants to put him behind glass with signs that say 'do not touch,' because all it takes is one gust of wind for an artifact to shatter. But that is no way to live and Phil is not so easily breakable. Worn down a bit, rusted from the loss throughout the eons, yes -  who hasn't on this forsaken server? -  but not breakable)

Niki thinks she might throw up. "I know."

Wilbur looks at her. His eyes are red, but there are no tears. "You said you understood me. You get why I had to ask him to do it."

"Wilbur - "

" - And so you also understand why you have to stay here."

"What?"

"We've changed Niki," Wilbur starts. "For the worse. Don't you feel it? How that server has destroyed every cell in our body? A slow painful death eating us from the inside out until we've just withered away into someone new, someone unrecognizable?"

(Niki feels she's in a never-ending house of mirrors. Constantly encircled by reflections that are her and not her staring back, each representing different points in her life. Some are unrecognizable, stretched, or squished beyond identification, like a fuzzy memory of a girl carrying a backpack, skipping down a path she was told by a best friend would lead to a nation with yellow and black walls. Some are too terrifying, demonizing her features, giving her slits for eyes and claws for nails holding flint and steel over TNT. All of them she wants to smash)

Wilbur either ignores the horrified expression on her face or doesn't see it. "We killed our old selves as a sacrifice, an offering, to the monster we saw lurking in the edges of our mind. And once you let the monster in there's no going back. All we know from then on is to destroy, to rip apart all we once held dear with no remorse until there's just ash and dust. We thrive, no, revel in it."

(Nemesis, she names herself. Goddess of divine retribution and revenge. Maybe that's who Niki sacrifices herself to. Why she felt such an attachment to the name. A remorseless Goddess said to have led Narcissus to a pool, knowing full well he'd be too captivated to leave his reflection for food or warmth. He died there. It's no coincidence a few weeks before she lived the story herself, leading Tommy to his death in the form of a hot blast of air at the speed of light and seeing it as justice)

"I'm not having this conversation with you," she says, voice shaking. She whirls around, nearly tripping over her feet, fully willing to ignore him as she looks for an exit.

But his next words make her go still.

"Phil didn't know what I'd become. That's why he had to be the one to do it."

She winces. "Don't."

"He didn't even pull out the sword, his arms were too busy holding me, holding me, as if the shape of me still fit against his chest even though I felt so hollow, so much thinner - "

"Wilbur - "

" - he stroked my hair too. Even though it was dirty and unkempt and a mess like everything else about me and I'm pretty sure his fingers got stuck a few times he just wouldn't stop untangling each knot with such care and precision that I remembered my last thought being - "

"Wilbur - "

" - could he have brushed away all the knots and twists in my soul like this? Cleaned me up on the inside like he's doing on the outside? I thought I went crying, Niki. Maybe I did. I'll never know because all I felt was his tears ricocheting on my face - "  

"Stop - "

" - he tries to wipe them off. He's cursing at himself, apologizing profusely through hiccuping sobs and, and I don't understand why he's so sorry when it feels like, like when he'd lick his fingers and scrub the grimes of our faces after we played outside too long. Do you remember that Niki - "

"I don't wanna - "

" - because I do. We'd screech so loud, saying it was disgusting and unsanitary as we slapped his hand away and ran, but he'd always catch us a second later because of his wings. I don't wanna run away this time. I'm relishing it, craving every stroke because I'm starting to go cold - "

"Please - "

" - and I wish you weren't teleported here. I wish you had died instead - "  

"Wil - "

" - so you would know, so we could relate to what it feels like for the limbo to claim you. To mark you. It's like, it's like being mutilated over and over again. A mallet to your bones, a hole in your brain, everything from your skin to your tendons unraveling before you - "

"Wil listen - "

" - spilling out and about like confetti, and you, you are confetti! You're shredded pieces, everywhere and nowhere all at once, and just as the mangling begins it stops, replaced by the limbo trying to put you, no, force you back together again. It's the same sensation, but in reverse, almost a loop, a tunnel with no light at the end, and all you can do is scream  - "

"WILBUR SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!"

Something shatters

Wilbur falls silent.

Niki looks down. There is a puddle, slowly growing at her feet. She looks to her left. Her hand has punched through the aquarium. Blood trickles down her hand, some get over the glass. She doesn't pull her hand away.

"You never listen," she mumbles, but it seems so loud to her ears. "No one does. No one wants to. I talk and I talk and I talk and yet no response. Not even from the wind. I am a voice box stuck on rewind, repeating myself as life moves on without me."

Niki can hear her voice ring down the bakery, bouncing around with nowhere to settle. Until it does, in Niki's chest, rattling, crackling like a fuse has been lit, and perhaps it has, for her anger feels sizzling. "You used to always say how words were powerful. How they could stop wars, how they could build nations." She lets out a laugh. It burns her throat. "But what would I know?! You and everyone else never gave me a chance to use my voice! Always talking over me whatever chance you could. Even before Pogtopia you walked all over me! Even when I was screaming at top of my lungs you'd - "  

She gasps. The glass presses deeper into her skin as her hand trembles. She does not feel it. "Oh primes, oh primes Wil, didn't you hear my screams? I came here screaming, Wil. I, I do know what it feels like for the void to take you. I still feel it, even now, why, why do I still feel it - "

Wilbur staggers to his feet, so quick he promptly falls. He catches himself halfway on Niki's wrist.

His hand scratches on the glass. He doesn't even flinch. Their blood mixes.

(They are one)

He doesn't even grip too tight, and yet it hurts. Stings. "You do understand," he grins. Wide, too wide for his face, that she almost expects his nose and eyes to sink into his skin to make more room. "You do, you do oh thank primes. I'm not alone in this. I've been alone for so long but now, now you're here and you understand! Oh, Niki, I'm so happy you're here."

"You're… happy, I'm here?" She mutters. "You're happy I'm dead?"

He nods frantically. "It's more than that Niki," he says. "DreamXD, whoever that man is, he's my hero for sending you here."

(Parallels between Wilbur and Dream and her and now Wilbur and Dream and DreamXD no no no she can't be them she can't she can't she won't she won't - )

"You don't mean it," she cries. "You don't mean that Wil. Say you don't mean it."

The grin, somehow, becomes wider. She realizes then his eyes don't have to disappear. They're already gone. Replaced by a black hole, too dark in the corners and its gravitational pull making it hard to look away even though she knows staring at it too long will get her sucked into an endless void.

He leans in close like he's sharing a secret. "I only wish he had sent you here sooner."

(Wilbur's life, Niki is realizing, is like a house of mirrors too. Except Wilbur has smashed every mirror. No, actually, not true. Niki sees, if she squints, that Wilbur has abandoned the sledgehammer and is observing a still intact mirror. He didn't keep the mirror depicting a little boy sitting on the steps of a home, their home, trying to play a song and failing because the guitar is too big for his body, but he refuses to buy a smaller one because "this is my Dad's guitar Niki! So, therefore, it's by default the best guitar in the world". Or the one of a father panting heavily on a couch, cursing his human legs while Niki is doubled over laughing because there is a baby fox is running on all fours around the house at 45 miles per hour who doesn't want to be put to bed. Nor the one of a leader, handing out purpose and meaning in the form of a blue and white uniform with a soft smile. No, it's the one of a man who's just pressed a button. Who long before L'manburg's destruction, always felt like he was breathing in smoke, but now kept warm by the ash and dust of his nation flying up to the red sky, it feels - for the first time in a long time - easier to breathe. Niki can't believe he didn't destroy it. He's… preserving it. Why is he preserving this version of himself of all things?)

foolish girl with dreams for a better nation, better server, better future, too much better somethings, you've ruined reality for no one but yourself. think for once about what is and not what was or could have been. he is different. changed for the worse. he's preserving it because he doesn't care about you. can't you see how happy he is over your death? how there's light in his eyes for the first time over yours being snuffed out? how he shows no sympathy in your entrapment here, forever away from Techno, Phil, and Ranboo because it benefits him. so give in and fight fight fight fight

She sees red.

Her fist collides with Wilbur's nose.

She doesn't even wait to hear the crack before she's already reeling back her arm for the next hit.

This time she aims for the jaw. She feels something split. It could be Wilbur's lip or bone. Maybe her mind. She doesn't know and she doesn't care.

What she does know is how familiar this is, having something break under her knuckles. It's easy, familiar even, throwing punch after punch, like some sort of autopilot response. Perhaps it is, for every punch is instinctive, out of body almost. No longer is there a before in the blows, only an after.

Except, that's not true. Not entirely. Because Niki is realizing why there is no before. Because before each blow there is always a struggle from your opponent. Flailing limbs trying to make contact with something, choked wheezes, an attempt to curl into a ball, and, sometimes, begging.

Wilbur does none of that. He's silent the whole time.

It's almost like he takes it willingly.

clever girl with hands too bruised, too scarred, too violent to ever be held so gently. a finger trained to pull the trigger is not meant to bear a promise ring. who's fault do you think that is? you've held back for so long, don't stop now. so give in and get revenge revenge revenge revenge

A swing at his eye. A swift kick to the ribs. A fistful of his hair so tight she could yank his scalp off if she twisted her wrist just so.

It's all a flurry of movements really, too fast for even her own eyes to catch. Half of the time she's lost on where the hits land, totally dependent on wherever the blood leaks the most and the bruises that weren't there a second ago to tell her. Eventually, the damage starts to blur, too much of his face has swelled up to spot any new marks and too many limbs bend at weird angles to differentiate what is and isn't broken, so she stops trying to guess.

Which is why she doesn't know which strike finally gets Wilbur to fall, all she knows is that he does. He doesn't even sway. One second he's on his feet and the next he's on his back.

It's kinda pathetic really, that this was her general.

For a second he's still, too still, and then he spits out a tooth. He licks his gums with a grimace, looking for the gap before finally speaking.

"I see Technoblade's been training you. Do you feel better now?"

clever girl who's seen her fair share of men with livewire tongues, spitting rogue sparks at your skin in the form of harsh words to quiet you down. do not be silenced once more. you let him speak before and it cost you a nation. this time silence him, and I will secure you a limbo without him. so give in and maim maim maim maim

She screams. She thinks she does. It's hard to tell over the deep reverberated banging of Wilbur's head against the stone floor.

The first slam simply causes blood to trickle down his forehead.

The second one caves in the front of his scalp.

The third one he's unrecognizable.

The fourth one there's nothing left to bash.

She keeps going anyway.

"Shut up," she pants between each crack and occasional splat. "Shut up shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP."

Wilbur tries to say something. All that comes out is a gurgle, wet and sharp and loud. So very loud. And it keeps going, stringing along and along and along longer than the large chunks of skin and brain on the pavement. It shouldn't be possible, his mouth, along with everything else, is practically gone. Nothing but a small pit inside a bigger pit.

Yet it continues, getting increasingly louder in pitch.

And then she gets it.

He's scared.

clever girl of never-ending war zones, jumping from one horror to the next. this is the last one. and I know that's been said before but you can trust me. just end it and you can finally rest. wouldn't that be nice? so give in and kill kill kill kill kill

She smiles. It hurts her face.

She picks his head up from the ground one last time. She's humming, like a lullaby. Maybe it is. She's putting the baby to sleep. She knows he can't die again, but wherever he goes after this, if the limbo keeps its promise, it can't be pretty.

"I said," she laughs. "Shut up."

She brings his head down.

She blinks.

Her empty hand meets black stone slabs.

"Niki?"

She looks up and immediately regrets it. Everything is too bright, scorching, a burning gaze on every inch of her skin, but what really hurts are her eyes. She thinks they're sizzling, like actually sizzling, because her sclera feels as if it's bubbling and her iris is definitely melting into her brain and there are so many spots dancing behind her eyelids.

And then the voice, soft and familiar, speak's again.

"Do you have your stuff?"

It takes a while, and a lot of blinking, but her eyes eventually readjust.

She gasps.

The first thing she processes isn't that George and DreamXD stand just a few feet away or that it was George speaking. No, it was how absurdly colorful, everything was.

Here there was life. Life. It was like she poked her head through a kaleidoscope, what with how the specks of a rainbow illuminated itself in the clear blue water of the fountain and the sight of shimmering white quartz glistening under the sunbeams that poured through the purple-tinted windows. No longer was everything dulled around the corners and drained at the center like anything in her dreadful, cramped space of a bakery she shared with -

Oh primes.

Her bakery.

This isn't her bakery. This is Church Prime.

"She's back," DreamXD exclaims. He turns to George, bouncing on his heels excitedly as if expecting some sort of reward, but George pays him no mind/ He's too busy looking at Niki, or, more so, through her.

"What happened?" He asks.

She opens her mouth, then slams it shut.

She's alive. Dear primes, she's alive and she's back and she should be happy, cheering, jumping up and down to feel the livelihood ache in her bones but…

She looks back down at the floor. The floor should be covered in blood. Wilbur's blood, and his bits of flesh and tissue and muscle and -

Oh primes. What has she done?

Or better yet, what didn't she do?

"George," she whimpers. "I don't know what's going on. I, I don't know what's going on here."

She hopes it was her imagination. It had to have been. Otherwise, she hosted Wilbur's head up by the splits of his hair, pushed down as hard as she could and -

She wouldn't. She couldn't, not anymore at least. She left that side of herself in a gate full of slaughtered chickens as Jack demanded they try and kill Tommy again. That side of her is as dead as those chickens.

Right?

She prays so, for this is a church after all, and that means prayers have to be answered here. They have to come true. They have to.

There's a smile in DreamXD's voice when he speaks again as if he knows how much this torments her. "I sent her to hell and then I brought her back."

No.

She sobs. She looks down at her hands. Their bear and yet they feel so heavy. As if the ghost of Wilbur's blood and gore is still there, a new thick-coated layer of skin.

She tortured him. Broke him brick by brick again and again and again even as he tried to beg. Her best friend, her general, her family, begging at her feet, and she kept going, would have kept going too, with an ear-splitting grin, like it was some sort of game.

And it had felt so good to finally get a checkmate.

Wilbur is not a demon. He's just seen too much in too little time. Too much pressure on too little shoulders. Too tired to be all there. It's not an excuse for all the pain he's caused, far from it, but it shows his actions didn't come from a place of malice, but rather a cry for help. Niki knows this, she gets it, and she'll say it time and time again. But all she could think about at that moment, before the final strike, was how happy Wilbur was about her death. He deserved a piece of her mind, but not like that. Never like that.  

What is wrong with her?

No, no it wasn't her. It was that place, that voice. It was a parasite, burrowing deep within her brain and planting itself in the center, telling her what to do and what to say. Telling her to slaughter left and right. It was so loud, rattling around in her head and echoing like war drums. She couldn't just ignore it, it was too much. So, no, she is free of guilt, free of responsibility, hands all clean.

But she knows that at the end of the day the host still needs to be somewhat conscious for the parasite to thrive.

Oh primes. Is this what Techno deals with every day?

Then, she jumps to her feet.

Techno, Phil, and Ranboo.

It's coming back now, that memory of fury in her eyes, that fire in her voice as she told Wil she had people to go back to. How she was willing to claw her fingers down to bone to make an exit. But that voice, that stupid stupid voice, it told her she could rest, could get revenge, and against her better judgment she listened. It caught her at a moment of weakness, Wilbur's words of memory lane, of Phil, of everything that came before and after his death, she was at a low point. And like a moth to a flame, she was there one moment and gone the next. Back to the old her.

She thought she had left that version of herself behind when she joined the Syndicate. She was so sure she was getting better with Techno, Phil, and Ranboo around.

But all it took was one voice to ruin all her progress. 

Her chest constricts and her head feels heavy. 

She needs to find them. She needs to tell them what she saw. She needs to tell Phil. She needs… she needs…

She just needs them.

"What did you see?" George says, snapping her out of her thoughts.

This time, her mouth has no problem moving. "George," she starts, voice trembling. "I have seen things. I... I... I have seen things. I don't know what's going on here but I don't know if I should - "  

Niki gulps. It's getting so hard to breathe. She should feel thankful that she can breathe in the first place, but every inhale stings as her lungs try to remember to do a motion so foreign to her.

How long has she been down there?

She doesn't want to know.

She just wants to go home.

She walks away, backward, from the two, eyes fixated tightly on them and barely blinking. She remembers the last time she let her guard down around DreamXD. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry George. Good luck with him but I - "

She doesn't finish, because she's already out the door. She wants to run, but she's so sure her lungs would explode at the first push forward of her heel. So she walks.

And walks.

The world walks with her, with each rotation. As if they’re friends taking a stroll. As if it hadn’t cracked open and swallowed her whole, chewed up everything good in her and spat her out when she turned bitter. Returned her back to a world that didn’t change one bit while she was gone, despite her herself changing so much. 

It’s like what happened to her didn’t happen at all. 

And then she realizes a horrible thing. 

Everyone on this server is going to see today as a normal day. 

Is it bad that a part of Niki wishes something like the Green Festival could happen right now, so that they could all feel the monstrosity of today?

She stands still. Stationary, like this Earth wants her to be. She thinks she could do it, stay like this forever. She feels numb enough. 

Somewhere above, a crow caws. 

She burst into tears.

[artemis-entreri]

[[  Sculptor: MD Dragons

Post-bake touched up version:

Another commission by Maga of MD Dragons! For the previous and first commission I got from her, visit here. That older post also includes more information about the artist and the process of commissioning her. Since I don’t have anything to say that wasn’t said before, please refer to that post for those details.

I really wanted another piece by Maga (and of course, more Artemis). This is also, as far as I’m aware, the first of her mounted character sculptures, so I really didn’t know what to expect. She’d done characters sitting in chairs before, but for this concept, the Nightmare was more of an entity than an object/prop, so the commission was treated as a two characters project. Maga was as wonderful as ever and discussed ideas with me before starting, I originally wanted another Artemis and Jarlaxle piece with both of them mounted on their respective Nightmares, but that concept wasn’t viable because as a singular piece, it would be too crowded. I could always commission a companion piece to this one of mounted Jarlaxle, but I don’t think that I will since I’m not as invested in his character.

Since I’d already given Maga all the various art references for the first commission, I left the design of this one entirely to her artistic liberty. She still ran some details through me to approve first, such as her idea for the background, but otherwise, the pose, expressions, and all the details were entirely her creativity. I did ask her to darken his skin after she showed me the original finished images (the first bunch). Even though she’d used the same clay for his skin as she did for my first commission, apparently clay colors can differ quite a bit from batch to batch despite being marketed as the same color. I was a bit worried about how the post-bake darkening would look, but it came out really well and I like it more than a straight up uniform color. The manual coloration adds a sense of texture and shade differentials as would be seen in real skin, so I’m quite happy with it.

As with the first commissions, there are so many wonderful little details, even in areas that aren’t readily visible, which really adds to the quality and sense of life of Maga’s creation. Observe the texturing on the saddle in the below image, with a belt strapping it to the Nightmare, the braided reins and cords, and the suggestion of additional supplies tucked beneath it on the Nightmare’s rear. Note also the details on Artemis’ boot: the belt, the kneepad, and higher up, the belts on his thighs. There’s also the end of a belt, knotted realistically, and the bone hilt of Charon’s Claw unforgotten despite the blade being sheathed.

The above picture was taken with normal ambient light and shows how harmonious the color is. Under camera flash, we can see all that there’s quite the range of hue. It’s also really cool that the Nightmare is a very dark midnight blue rather than pitch black. It also has an iridescent quality to it, similar to Jarlaxle’s skin in the previous sculpture.

In the below image, although mostly hidden away by other parts of the sculpture, is Artemis’ jeweled dagger, with its green gem. Beneath the sheathed dagger we can see the twin belts over his other thigh, and while the flash from the camera garishly makes everything too bright, it enables us to see that in all of these seeming shades of darkness, there’s actually a lot of different tones, with none of them being a pure black. You can also see the texturing on the tiny scabbard.

The next photo shows the details of an area that isn’t visible unless you’re looking straight down into the sculpture. You also need to be pretty close to it to see these details. Yet, despite this, Maga did not cut any corners. 

Here is one of the differences in Artemis’ armor from the previous sculpture: two belts emanating out of his cloak clasp insignia instead of one. I’d commented in my post about the first sculpture that this is how I prefer Artemis to be depicted since that is how he appears in Lockwood’s paintings, so I wonder if Maga saw my previous review? It’s pretty amazing either way. In any case, note the other details in this shot: the shoulderpads, the elbowpad and the cuirass. Each piece has been carefully and attentively worked.

Another shot from the same angle, tipping the camera further in. Note Artemis’ twin leg belts on both thighs. The buckles of the left ones are visible from the side, but the belt loop on his inner thigh isn’t, yet it’s still fully formed. The twin belts on his right thigh aren’t really visible from the outside, but they’re fully formed as well. Remarkable.

With the “Summer of Drizzt” announced, I wonder if some of the merch will be of Artemis and/or Jarlaxle. I had these, as well as many other items, done because there wasn’t any official merch, and honestly, I think that they’ll still be centerpieces in my collection even if official merch of Artemis is released. 

Again, here’s Maga’s site: https://mddragons.com/en/

I can’t recommend her enough. ]]

[peach-the-owl]

I think you not going to like this,74 and 87. But hear me out. child cries realize that it old group of the child after seeing the remain of child's old group. saying child fault after leaving the old group behind. But for Nein, they tell child the old group give their life to let child live. A burial for old child group, telling old group real goal, is see child a better future with new family they found. Yeah my English not good, but hope you like this. Try Destiny 2 Journey vocal 2 for this

It is done! So, I think I get idea, but I also decided to add in some creative liberties of my own, so to speak, because it’s the spooky season and who doesn’t love trauma! May have overdone it a little, idk but it was a fun ride. I hope it was worth the wait 😁

WARNING: This is gonna get a little graphic

Carry On

Mighty Nein & Child!Reader

74- Why are you crying? 87- It's my fault this happened.

You met the Mighty Nein several months ago when you were but a lone wanderer, concerned for a lost child they took you in hoping to help find your family. You told them that while you were traveling your family had been attacked by a strange looking group of gnolls, at least that’s what you could remember anyways. As you journeyed along you recognized the route you were taking, this was the same road you’d last saw your family and an eerie sense of being watched crept into you.

"We should be careful around here." You say huddling closer to Jester in the cart, she puts an arm around you and gives you a kind smile.

"Hey don’t worry about it, we’re always super careful." You wanted to believe her, but you’ve been with them long enough to know that wasn’t always true. The sound of rustling foliage catches everyone’s attention as these creatures that looked like gnolls jumped out and attacked.

It was like déjà vu, the long track down the road, assurance that things would be just fine, the rustling leaves that lead to an ambush it was exactly like what happened last time. Everyone sprang into action, while you were left in the cart trying to calm yourself, you look over and notice one of these gnolls was staring at you like it knew you somehow. You duck away from view and grab your weapon to defend yourself, the cart shakes as the gnoll jumps onto it and lets loose a cackle, something sounded off from the usual laughs gnolls normally made though. Even stranger is that it doesn’t attack you right away either, instead it grabs ahold of you before you can take a swing at it and covers your mouth to stop you from calling for help, it then proceedes to carry you deeper into the forested area. You can hear the shouts and sounds of battle grow fainter the farther in you go, you struggle and manage to wriggle free of this things grip and book it in the direction you could only assume you came from. Not looking where you’re going you trip on a tree root jutting out of the ground and stumble into a clearing, the area smelled rancid and upon looking around you could tell why. Bodies littered the area some more decayed then others, all of them twisted and mangled into strange positions, you could feel bile raising to your throat and had to physically stop yourself from vomiting.

"Isn’t it a beautiful sight? Such wonderful art." That voice, you knew that voice. Turning your head you see the "gnoll" remove its headpiece revealing a man underneath.

"Mr. Roland? You did this?" It was shocking, horrifying even to think that someone your family had once trusted would do something like this.

"Now don’t fret child, instead why not marvel at my latest masterpiece." He gestures towards something, you fearfully look over eyes widening and body trembling at the sight. Bloody bodies twisted beyond their limits with bones jutting out every which way, dried organs draped around arms and legs like they were fancy decorations, some of their faces were pinned up to look like they were smiling while others still held looks of agony. These people, this "masterpiece" was your family or what remained of them anyways.

"We… we trusted you." The words came out so fast and shaky making you wonder if you even spoke them at all.

"And it was a wonderful choice, just look at how amazing they turned out, in fact I should be thanking you." You give him a confused look. "You see if it wasn’t for your family doing everything they could to help make your escape I wouldn’t have this masterpiece at all. Perhaps I should let you flee again, after all you’ve brought me more people to work with and what a colourful bunch they are too." Your breathing hitched, this was because of you? They were like this because of you, and now the Nein were next… all because of you. Tears streamed down your face, vision blurring as the weight of the situation pressed down on you.

"Oh dear child, why are you crying?" He sounded as though he was mocking you now and as much as you wanted to look away or run you find your body having become unresponsive to your thoughts. When he speaks again his voice sounds as though it’s circling around you from all directions. "Could it be you feel left out? Well if that’s the case… I’ll be happy to have you join them!" You were too distracted to focus on his words or hear the loud thud along with a grunt of pain from behind you.

"Come on kid we gotta go!" Whoever was talking now you couldn't place their voice, still stuck on the horrific imagery that was now burned into your brain, it wasn’t until you felt hands on your shoulders did you finally react with a flinch. The sight of crimson eyes and lavender skin help readjust your focus. "Hey, hey, hey! Look at me kid, there’s no time for that we gotta go, now!" Legs shaking you slowly get up, only to stumble when you try to walk. With a swift motion Molly picks you up and dashes away from the clearing, your breathing was heavy and your head still felt a little hazy after what you just saw but you were still able to focus enough to see Roland give chase after you, a large slash wound across his chest and abdomen. Even with the nasty wound he still managed to gain on you, panic filling every part of your body the closer he got.

"B-be-behind you!" You managed to give a warning and with another swift motion your placed on the ground, hearing the sound of metal clashing before turning to see Molly blocking Roland's attack. You were able to see the road from where you stood but still found it hard to get your body to do what you wanted, feeling as though you frozen in place, so you did the only natural thing left that you could do…

You screamed.

Curling yourself into a ball, squeezing your eyes shut and covering your ears you let out an ear piercing shriek, soon gentle arms pick you up making you once again flinch on reaction but the calming voice that follows eases your worries a bit.

"It’s alright (y/n), you’re going to be okay." Fjord brings you out of the tree line and sets you down into the cart. "Wait here, I’ll be right back." You reach for him as he disappears back into the forest, slowly you lower your arms once again curling up into a ball for any sort of self-comfort, letting tears cascade down your face as the situation fully sinks in.

"It’s my fault this happened. They all died because of me, now I’m gonna lose two families." You sob to yourself thinking only of the worst outcome, so wrapped up in your own world you weren’t sure how much time passed, maybe a minute, maybe an hour you didn’t know anymore. The feeling of something soft and fluffy nudging against you pulls you from those negative thoughts, slowly uncurling yourself to see Frumpkin butting his head against your hand asking for attention. You place the cat onto your lap brushing your hands through his soft fur, looking around your eyes land on Caleb standing a few feet from the cart giving you a empathetic look, had he heard you? It’s not long after the rest of the group emerges from the forest, some of them looking more roughed up then others, most notable being Yasha and Beau.

"So anyone know about that creepy ass clearing?" Beau blurts out, getting a few glares from the party as she realizes her slip of the tongue. "Umm… sorry, the question still stands though."

"M-mr. Roland called it his art." You say it quietly, but still loud enough for them to hear.

"Who’s Mr. Roland?" Jester questions, with a curious tilt of her head. You explain to everyone how he was supposedly a friend to your family, helping with jobs and looking after you and your siblings when your parents couldn’t, and finally how when your family had been attacked several months ago you had thought he was aiding you in the fight.

"No one survived, except for me… they all died because of me." You hug Frumpkin closer to you as fresh tears streamed down your face.

"That’s not true-"

"How do you know!" You shout at Fjord, cutting him off and immediately feeling guilty for doing so, you still continue but softer. "He said it himself that they all died while I was running away."

"They died because you ran away or to help you run away?" You snivel as you think about it again, but it was still hard to focus on your own thoughts. There was, however, one thing on your mind that kept taking priority over all else you just weren’t sure if they’d all agree, better to ask now then never though.

"Can-can I ask you all to do something for me? It’s ok if you don’t wanna, but I was wondering if we could maybe… go back and give them a funeral, or something." As you spoke your words fade to a soft whisper, feeling embarrassed by the request, resorting to hiding your face in the fur of the cat still trapped in your arms. The party talks amongst themselves while you try distracting yourself by playing with Frumpkin's paws.

"Hey." Looking up you see Veth in front of you offering her hand for you to take, so readjusting Frumpkin you take it as she leads you off the cart again and back towards the tree line. While your walking she keeps her hand firmly in yours. "I know this must hard for you, are you really sure you want to go back and see the… aftermath?" Was it not for the situation you’d find it almost funny how despite being about the same height she still acts very motherly to you, or maybe it wasn’t that funny at all, either way you knew what you wanted to be done.

"I’m sure, I don’t want them to be left here as a crazy mans 'art project' they don’t deserve that and I…" You pause, the words catching in your throat. Veth gives you a few gentle squeezes for reassurance to continue, after a minute you find your words again. "I want say goodbye properly. Is that dumb, does that sound dumb?"

"No no, it’s not dumb at all, in fact that’s very brave of you. Some grownups don’t even have the nerve to say goodbye, so just know I’m proud of you for that." You give her a small but genuine smile. By now you had made it back to the clearing, and with some deep breaths you step into it see the rest of the Nein having already dug some holes in the ground to act as graves. The bodies of your family and other poor victims who fell prey to Roland already being placed in some, Caduceus being the one instructing everyone on the proper procedures. It took a few hours so by the time they finished burying the bodies the sky had turned to dusk.

"Is there anything you’d like to say?" Caduceus asks you softly, as if his words could shatter you if he wasn’t careful. You open your mouth but find it to be a struggle to think of something to say now, having been put on the spot in front of everyone trying to force any sort of sound out to no luck. Your face slowly turns red at the feeling of embarrassment that washes over you.

"I have something to say to them if that is alright with you." Caleb says, looking to you as if to ask permission, you tilt your head a little in confusion but nod. He steps forward and clears his throat. "I may not have known them, but if (y/n) is an example of their kindness and acceptance of others, then I can understand why they would do anything to keep them alive." He turns and gives you a gentle smile, you faintly return it.

"It always hurts to lose someone you love, but if I can learn not to let that chain me down and accept love from others again then you can too." Yasha surprised you with her sweet words but there was something uplifting about them that you couldn’t help but raise your smile at.

"My turn! Ok… may the Traveler bless your souls for sending us this sweet little child to call our own, ummm… that’s all I got." Jester pipes in, bringing a sort of joy to cut down the lingering tension, it almost makes you giggle.

"As a mother, I know I’d happily give my life again to protect Luc knowing that he’s still alive and will carry on my legacy." Veth says, almost reminestantly. It made you slowly realize that maybe your family did the same so you could carry on their legacy too, if that’s the case then you’d accept it.

"I do believe the kid's made things more lively since they joined and I for one wouldn’t want to trade that for the world." Maybe not as heartfelt of a speech as the others, but you honestly expected nothing less from Molly, he even struts over to you and ruffles your hair earning a small laugh from you.

"Wait, are we taking turns? Uhh… it’s been nice having someone to look out for and teach the ways of the world to, it always feels like we have a purpose even when we feel useless." Fjord stumbled over his words a little, not fully expecting everyone to contribute but found his grounding at the end, his and everyone’s words so far having helped raise you spirits more and more.

"Ummm… look I’m not really good at this emotional stuff but I’m glad your here with us." Like Molly, Beau's little speech wasn’t all that heartfelt but her words were genuine and that’s all you could ask for.

"You all did amazing, I’m proud." Caduceus says, he then gently places his hands on the ground and casts Decompose while muttering a prayer of safe passage for the deceased to the Wildmother. The area quickly sprouting various fungus’ and some (favourite flower/s) the clearing becoming a beautiful patch of nature once again from the horror show that it once was. You are then brought into a group hug, a warm feeling of true belonging coming over you.

"I’m really happy I found you." Tears slide down your cheeks, but no longer ones of sorrow, these were tears of joy.

"We’re glad we found you too."

[drawlfoy]

The Wonders of Ohio P.6

masterlist (catch up on parts 1-5 here!!)

request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: my original idea :))

summary: y/n’s senior year was going to be great, but her British exchange student is a little weird. this is NOT a non-magic AU. draco’s still a wizard in this fsjifkszfjkd

warnings: language, fainting, bad driving, mentions of drinking and drug use

a/n: eeee this is such a fun bit to write. thank you all so much for being there for me. this is definitely one of my favorite fics i’ve written since it gives me so much creative liberty and the fact that i get feedback and readers for it...just warms my heart. if you’re reading this: thank you so, so much for sticking around. i might come around with more oneshots soon. anyways i hope you enjoy the initial descent into the real real plot. also fluff will be coming soon i promise but i wasn’t lying when i said this was slowburn

tags tags tags @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @icintliviinyiniilsiji @erisdogwood @loveissupernatural

word count: 3.4k

song recs:

a pearl -- mitski

movement -- hozier

revival -- deerhunter

Draco was crying.

Or, at least, someone was. The gasps coming from just a wall away were apparent, but Y/N could hear a voice that didn’t quite sound like Draco--which had to be a trick of the mind, because there could be no one in there but him.

She rapped on the door against her better judgement to be met with a flurry of movement--fabric rustling,  and a soft pop that echoed through the air.

“Draco? Are you alright in there?”

Y/N found herself wishing that he wouldn’t open the door. After the Homecoming ask, the last thing she wanted was to see his stupid pretty face again, but she was a good host sister. Emphasis on sister.

To her shock, the door swung open. Just a few inches, just enough for her to see the pile of black shredded paper in the middle of his room and a drained looking Draco glaring back at her.

“Can I help you?” His once pristine white shirt was gray in some places, like he had rubbed ashes on it. 

“I just thought--did you burn something?”

“No. What is it?”

She looked at him a bit closer. His eyes didn’t look red rimmed with the dead giveaway of a crying session, but they looked close. The furrow in his brow was from worry instead of his usual sternness and he kept nervously pulling down at his left sleeve. 

Draco wasn’t crying, but he was about to.

“I…” There was something deeply unsettling about seeing Draco so uncollected and fidgety--almost like seeing a fish out of water or an American conservative with an adequate understanding of class struggles.The air was charged with something yet again, so much so that Y/N could feel the hair on her arms stand up. She decided to avoid damaging his masculinity any further. “Nothing. It just smelled a little like smoke. I wanted to make sure you weren’t burning a candle or anything. You know how my mom is about that.”

He continued to stare at her.

“Would you like me to leave you alone?”

“Please.” 

Well, that was embarrassing thought Y/N as she made her way back down the hall and to her backpack. I get rejected twice in one day. Smooth.

The days following were profoundly more uncomfortable. Breakfasts became uncomfortably akin to the Silent Game and Draco stopped coming out for tea in the evenings. The drives to and from school were decorated only by occasional bits of small talks or grumbles of exams. In short, Y/N knew that she had overstepped a boundary and Draco was pulling back.

School had finally become crazy. Y/N’s life became so entrenched with letters of recommendation and 200 word supplements that the Draco shaped hole in her life was bearable. After all, she was fine before he came, and she was fine now. She’d been silly, allowing herself to fantasize about a kid with some serious trauma and family issues that clearly had personal things that handle before he thought about getting all cozy with someone who was not in the slightest compatible with him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

oOo

If someone turned a glass of whole milk into a human, that person would be Chad. He was the poster child of an “American” boy--tall, warm blonde hair, slightly tanned skin, and cornflower blue eyes. 

But his personality? Not so much. 

“My beloved husband!” Y/N called out as she saw him speaking to her mother in the foyer while Draco glowered in the corner. She bounded down the stairs in record time, leaping into his arms as her strappy heels swung from her hands. He smelled of cotton and laundry detergent. 

“Hey nerd,” he said, swinging her around in a circle before setting her down. “Did you finish the Econ homework? I was hoping I could take a picture before I leave…”

Y/N drew back to smack him on the shoulder. “You disgust me.”

“You abuse me.”

“And I’ll do it again,” said Y/N. She had forgotten how funny he was. 

“Oh, you two,” Mrs. Y/L/N cut in, stepping between the two and pressing the boutonnière into Y/N’s hands. “Always bickering like a married couple.”

Lizzy snorted from the top of the stairs where she was struggling to stuff a light jacket into her purse. “Hot take.”

“Hold still,” commanded Y/N, holding the pin and attempting to attach it to his lapel. “I’m literally going to accidentally stab you. Cut it out.”

He made a face down at her. “Do it. You won’t.”

“Oh? I won’t?”

“Y/N,” Mrs. Y/L/N’s exasperated voice warned.

“I’ll refrain, but only because the rug we’re standing on was my Grandmother’s,” Y/N said to him, her voice dripping with sweetness. “Consider yourself lucky that you’re not on the tile.”

“I’ve never been more thankful that my late grandmother-in-law had such impeccable taste.” 

“Suck up.”

“Oh, because you’re such a rebel.”

“It’s called motivation!”

“Honey, I want a divor-”

“For Christ’s sake, stop flirting or I’m going to puke,” a cool voice cut in. The group turned to see Sylvia standing in the doorway, clad in a flowing black dress that just barely ghosted over the top of the floor. 

“You look radiant, darling,” Mrs. Y/L/N said.

“And we weren’t flirting,” said Y/N.

Sylvia sent her a little wink before walking to sit down on the couch across from Draco, who was currently perched cross legged and looking profoundly uncomfortable. 

Sylvia, Lizzy, and their dates all opted to take Lizzy’s car to the city while Chad, Y/N, and Draco took Chad’s. The plan was to drop Draco off at the school with ample time to prepare him for the uniquely traumatic experience that was ASB sanctioned after school events, and to the plan they stuck.

“Yeah, go ahead and treat me like your chauffeur, “ scoffed Chad as Y/N slid into the backseat next to Draco. The sports car was surprisingly narrow with hardly any space between them. If she wanted to, she could easily rest her thigh against his.

“It’s called being polite, dear,” said Y/N, flicking the back of his head before turning to face Draco. “You’re really gonna commit to this? Major props, but, like...you really don’t have to go to this if you don’t want to. You can even stay home. I know how to sneak you back in.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m here for the American experience, right?”

“Hate to break it to you, but there is no uniform American experience. It’s all personalized, and I don’t know if you want yours to be seasoned with 14 year olds T-posing in a circle to...I don’t even know. Chad, what kind of music do they play at those places?”

“Fuck if I know. I don’t go to them either.”

“It’s fine. I told Heather I’d be there.”

“Ooookay, whatever you say,” Y/N said. 

They rode in silence for a few more beats. The wind outside was uncharacteristically strong for an early October day, and it looked like a storm was brewing. In their rush to get to the dance on time, they had neglected to take precaution against the wind and ran outside to Chad’s car without a second thought. Draco’s suit, while posh and put together, had clearly bore the brunt of this choice. His tie had become slightly rumpled and his hair mussed, a look that was all types of wrong on him.

“Draco?” she asked. He snapped to attention. “Your tie is all undone. Can I…?” Y/N motioned to his neck.

Wide-eyed and frozen, he met her with, “er...sure.” 

Y/N leaned forward, trying to think past how her thighs were just barely touching his. Her corsage (a tasteful red, thank you very much) bumped against his chest, flattening a bit. She wasn’t very familiar with ties--she’d never had to be in her past experiences--but whatever his was made of, it was expensive. The fabric felt silky and impossibly smooth in her hand as she carefully untied it.

Chad took a sharp turn into the school drop off lot, prompting Y/N to nearly topple into Draco’s chest. His arms shot out to steady her and retracted so quickly that she was left wondering if she imagined the whole ordeal. 

“So it’s true,” said Chad from the front. “Nerds do have bad upper body strength.”

“Shut up,” she responded. Her cheeks felt unbearably hot as she tried her best to focus on tightening Draco’s tie and ignore the fact that she was close enough to smell his cologne--a soft pine, she observed--and feel the shadow of his breath on her face. His hands were clasped together lap, tight enough to turn the knuckles white. 

It was an odd feeling, getting butterflies in her stomach while she was touching a boy that wasn’t her date as Chad careened towards a parking spot and pulled in so violently that Y/N almost went sprawling into Draco again. She looked up at him, getting ready to crack a joke about the absurdity of the situation or the questionable driving; instead, she found herself staring up into his eyes. 

His normally pale eyes looked darker than usual--his pupils were insanely dilated--but that was because it was dark in the car. Obviously. Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N could see his chest rising and falling with an urgency that she hadn’t noticed before.

“Do you want me to uh..fix your...your hair, too?” Y/N said, mentally cringing at how she stumbled over the sentence. To be fair, his hair was ruffled and out of place. It wasn’t like she was making an excuse to touch it or anything.

To that, Draco jerked away from her, his back brushing up against the opposite car door. “No. No, it’s ok. I’ll fix it myself.”

Y/N was sure that her face was tomato red.

“Alright buckaroo,” Chad said from the front, his nonchalant demeanor never more appreciated. “Your hot date is here. Get out of my car. We have a busy day of antiquing ahead.”

Any semblance of casualness left Draco’s body as his eyes widened. “Antiquing?”

“Yeah, remember the place I took you to right after you came here?” asked Y/N.

“Er...don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Excuse me?” She sat up straight so quickly that she felt her hair come slightly undone at the nape of her neck. “That’s rich, coming from the kid going to a school dance as a senior.” 

“It’s probably not going to even be open. It’ll be late by the time dinner’s over,” he said. 

“Since when do you care? Honestly, quit acting weird,” Y/N responded, scootching away from him as he made no effort to get out of the car. 

“I’m not--it’s--erm, nevermind, forget about it.” He cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and brushed off his lapels. “Heather must be waiting for me. Goodbye.”

After a little struggle, Draco managed to best the slightly confusing door handle of Chad’s car and was out the door. Y/N slid across the seat and out with him, shutting the door and grabbing the handle for the passenger side. 

“Y/N?” Draco’s voice called before she had the chance to fully get in and tell Chad to book it. 

“What’s up?”

He took a few steps forward, pausing just a couple feet away from her. His eyes were cast to the rain puddle ridden cement. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“I should be telling you that, king,” Y/N quipped. “Your first real American dance. If you go to any after parties, make sure to watch your drink. Don’t take any substances from strangers--or, anyone, really--”

“Y/N, he’s not a chick.” Chad, his hands still perched on the steering wheel, turned to peer out at her. “He’ll be fine. I think they have beer in Britain.”

“Well, whatever. Have Heather text me if I need to pick you up anywhere. And don’t get in any cars with someone who’s been drinking!”

“Y/N!”

“Ok, ok, I’m coming.” She slid into the car, turning one last time to say bye. Draco was already gone. “Only if I drive.”

oOo

“So Heather and Draco, huh?” 

Y/N scowled at Lizzy as she speared a piece of her salad particularly viciously. “I don’t know if it’s like that. I think he’s just being polite, or whatever. I think British people are just like that.”

“Why are we even talking about that boy?” Chad asked. “He’s got that whole Timothée Chalamet dying Victorian toddler aesthetic if Timothée was blonde and had a perpetual stick up his ass.”

“In a hot way, though,” said Lizzy, her eyebrows wiggling. Jonathan scowled at her side. “Oh, don’t be so jealous. As if I’d ever go for a kid who doesn’t even know what Snapchat is.”

“I don’t understand what Heather sees in him,” Chad continued, his fettuccine plate long forgotten. “He’s got the personality of a wet rag, and she’s so bubbly and...I don’t even know. Do you guys get what I mean?”

“Draco’s got personality,” said Y/N. 

“Not like Heather.”

“It’s not his fault he’s reserved. He’s actually really funny.”

“And that’s what I like to call rose-tinted glasses,” Chad said, gently poking her cheek. 

“Hey! I’m the one who lives with him.”

“Whatever. Let’s just call for the bill. I’m not hungry anymore.” Chad folded up his napkin, placing it on top of the tablecloth and ignoring Y/N’s protest as he got out his wallet and placed a credit card on the table. “It’s on me, guys. You know how my parents are. They’re just happy that we’re all getting together again instead of holing up in our rooms.”

“Thank god junior year is over,” Sylvia added. “That’s really kind of you. At least let me get the tip?”

As the group bickered over the payment options and flagged down the waiter, Y/N noticed her phone lighting up with a notification.

Heather, 6.48pm: Hey girly! Sorry to bug you on your night but Draco wanted to check in and ask where you guys are/what you’re planning on doing tonight.

“Who’s that?” Chad asked, looking down at the little paragraph in the gray message bubble.

“Just Heather. Draco wants to know what we’re doing. Probably because he’s realizing how sucky dances really are and is about to beg us to come pick him up.”

He snorted. “Yeah. Poor kid.”

Y/N typed out a quick “we just finished dinner and are heading to the antique place now. lmk if i need to pick him up earlier” and tucked her phone away in her purse. As much as she resented it, she couldn’t help but wish that Draco wanted to join them instead.

“Are you guys ready to beat it and hit up that antique place?” Marvin, Sylvia’s date, asked. She rolled her eyes and sent him a lazy smile.

“You sound like a dad.” 

“Off like a herd of turtles, baby,” Y/N offered, gathering her things as they made their way out the restaurant door. “Not gonna lie, this place doesn’t show up on Google Maps or anything. I think I know how to get there but none of you guys are allowed to make fun of me if I take too many wrong turns.”

“No promises,” said Chad, winking down at her and giving her shoulder a little squeeze. 

 As they walked, it became profoundly obvious that Chad and Y/N were the only two who weren’t officially an item. Lizzy and Jonathon were walking hand in hand while Sylvia and Marvin whispered in each others’ ears when they had to wait for crosswalk signals. While she had great chemistry with Chad, nothing ever felt real with him. It always felt like an act.

Perhaps the tension between them was because of that one time they kissed and never talked about it again in freshman year after a particularly nerve wracking competitive math round before she quit--something that she wasn’t exactly going to shout off the rooftops for the masses to hear. Or maybe because he pushed her away right after and said it was a mistake. 

Whatever it was, Y/N and Chad were decidedly not romantically involved. She had been shocked when he’d even bothered asking her for the night. Granted, they were always pals and it shouldn’t have been awkward, but drawing the comparisons between her and the other girls was making the evening very uncomfy. Y/N couldn’t help but pray that Chad was going to be the one to break the ice.

“Where the fuck is this place?” he finally said, much to Y/N’s glee. His grace and manners were absolutely unparalleled. “It’s cold and I’m sure it’s going to start raining again.”

“It should be just a few more blocks and then to the right,” she responded. “Sorry. It’s cool as fuck, though. I promise it’s worth it.”

“This is just her ploy to lure us all away from civilization to off us,” Sylvia said, turning around from a few feet in front of them to raise her eyebrows at Y/N. “Eliminate the competition before college apps even begin. I’m impressed, honestly.”

“Now you’ve gone and ruined it all,” she fired back. “Thanks, Vy.”

She was relieved to see that the antique store couldn’t be missed, even if she tried. The sign, a worn and friendly gold, was illuminated by large lights. The words “My Grandfather’s Attic” had never looked more welcoming as Sylvia gripped the door and ushered them inside.

The moment Y/N stepped inside, something felt...different, kind of like the hair-raising feeling she got when she was around Draco. The electricity in the air she felt with him could easily be explained away by the fact that he was, for lack of a better term, the most stunning person she’d ever seen, but perhaps she was slowly getting over him. Perhaps…

She turned to see Chad, his honey blonde hair spilling over his forehead as he focused on a basket of vintage buttons that seemed to glimmer in the light. The furrow in his brow--the same one that she’d been so familiar with after seeing him solve countless math problems--appeared as he examined the basket, turning a red button around in his fingers, soft and and sprinkled with writing calluses. 

Maybe it had been Chad all along. Maybe Draco was just a detour. 

Before she did anything she regretted, Y/N turned and made her way back into the store. The set up was the same as she remembered--interesting and foreign objects hanging from the walls, ceilings, and congregating in baskets and overflowing shelves. She didn’t even realize that she had migrated over to the opposite side of the room until she felt the solid, cool wood of the black box from her dreams pressed into her hand as she turned it over and traced the strange white sign that was etched into the front. 

“Y/N!” 

The sound snapped her out of her trance to see...Heather and Draco? He was jogging towards her despite the fact that he was wearing a full suit. Y/N made an absent note to make fun of him later. 

“Why are you--”

“Put that down!” He stopped a few paces away, his eyes darting around the store at a frantic pace. “We need to leave.”

“Why? Honestly, if you wanted me to pick you up, all you had to do was…” She had to take a breath to steady herself. Her body felt like it was filled with static. “All you had to do was ask.”

“That’s not...ok, just put it down,” he commanded. “Please. Just put the box down. We need to go home.”

“No! This is my last homecoming. I’m sorry your experience wasn’t great, but I don’t...I don’t, uh, appreciate…” The lightheadedness hit, so suddenly that she almost fell. 

“Fuck, are you okay?” Draco was right in front of her in an instant, his eyes scanning her face.

“I feel...” She took a shaky breath. “I feel...starry?”

The last thing she remembered was Draco trying to tug the box out of her grip, his other hand warm on her shoulder.

And then everything went black.

final a/n: so draco got a howler and some wack stuff happened, huh? tell me what you think. 

[extremelyblackandwhite]

the unseen one - 22

Pairing: Hades!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: smut

A/N: i’m so sorry this took so long to come out, i got very confused and blocked in my own writing? idk, big writer block with this one so i decided to go watch some mythology documentaries and read some books to get the creative vibes flowing and this is what came out of it. 

Next Chapter >>

To say that Bucky was mad at her was the understatement of the year. No, the understatement of the century and it was driving Y/N crazy. She hated to see Bucky mad because he simply never looked it, he never exploded or screamed at her, he’d just excuse himself and be away from her with the look of utter disappointment.However, in normal circumstances, he’d return to her side and only discuss out how he was feeling. Today was not one of those days. 

She had arrived from the Elysium with Psyche around sunset, and he wasn’t home or in his office. No candles were light, and there was no smell of smoke either which suggested he hadn’t been home in a long time and despite Psyche offering up to help her look for Bucky feeling guilty over it, Y/N just sent her home back to her husband. 

Hours passed, and she was sat in the living room expecting his arrival, but after he didn’t come home, Y/N decided to go to bed. What a terrible, terrible decision as once she laid down, every single thing came rushing to her. She felt awful for maybe not discussing it with him about going to the dinner, but at the same time, she didn’t want Psyche to get any more impossible labours at the hand of Aphrodite. After turning around at least a couple hundred thousand times, she raised her torso, magically expecting him to be back so she could apologise. He, however, wasn’t, and for the very first time, she found it more soothing not to be in bed. 

Carefully, she tiptoed to the kitchen, turning the kettle on and resting her chin against her hands as she heard the water boil. After stem filled the room, she placed a tea bag on one of James’ pristine white cups and added some water, opening the windows of the kitchen to hear the sound of restless sounds which sounded way better than the sound of her overthinking mind. What she wasn’t expecting was to see James sat by the river Styx’s shores, smoke coming from around his figure. Intending to fix whatever she had done, she stepped out of the house, ignoring how cold the meadows were during the pure black night and walked up to Bucky. He was smoking, something she didn’t know he did and in normal circumstances, she would complain about it, but since he was immortal, she guessed it couldn’t kill him.

 - Thought you’d be sleeping by now. - he took the liberty of speaking first as she sat on the shore by his side. - A bit late for you to be up. 

- I was worried about you. - Y/N tapped her fingers against the ground, slowly reaching towards his to test him. When he didn’t push her finger again, she wrapped her pinky around his. - I’m sorry that I said yes to Psyche, I didn’t know you’d be so against it. I just, I just wanted to help her. Don’t be mad at me. 

- I’m not mad at you, sunflower. - he puffed out the smoke that had been in his lungs for longer than it should’ve had, putting the bud off. - I just had a particularly lousy conversation with Hecate. Not feeling particularly useful about it. 

- I’m sorry. - Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder, the rest of her fingers interlacing it with his. - Penny for your thoughts? Maybe it can make you feel better? 

- I don’t think even you can fix it, sunflower. I’m afraid this time Hecate has a relatively stable point. 

- Tell me. - she looked at him with the warmest look someone could’ve ever given. He guessed that one way or another she was going to find out, she was a smart girl, and word travelled fast in the Olympus. 

- You don’t need to, and I just thought that maybe ... - It’s complicated, but I guess I can start by answering who the man next to me in the photo by the dining room is. - he sighed. - His name is Steve Rogers. 

The name rang a bell on her head. Where had she heard that name? Y/N was sure she had heard that name until it hit her. She knew him, well, at least she knew who he was. He had seen his picture in the Smithsonian museum; he was Captain America. Why was Bucky friends with Captain America? Did Captain America roll with the god of the Underworld for fun because if so, it made sense why he was so skilled at avoiding death. 

- You’re friends with Captain America, and you never mentioned it to me? - she chuckled, expecting him to do so, but instead, he kept his worried face. - Is that it? 

- Steve’s dead, he’s here, and he doesn’t remember me. I had to approve it when he entered the Elysium, sometimes I see him, and he doesn’t know me. I thought there was nothing worse than that, but then Hecate pointed out that’s the same that’s going to happen to you. They’re not going to allow you into the Elysium, you’ll be here in the Meadows, restless, and you won’t know who I am. 

- James. - she cupped his face, leaning her forehead against his. - You told me we’d figure it out, so let’s just stick by that. Besides, what does Hecate know about mortals? 

- You’re too lovely, Y/N. - Bucky kissed the top of her nose. - Even though you’ve cursed us to dinner with the Pantheon’s couples. 

- It can’t be that bad. - she raised from her sitting position, hands still holding his. - We should go to bed. James. It can’t possibly be right for you to stay up all day and night. 

- It’s cute you think anything could cause me any harm. - he followed her, hand still connected to hers feeling that constant warmth that always seemed to irradiate from her palm, hair messy from getting up from the bed and a robe wrapped around her. 

- There’s gotta be something that can harm even a god, James. No one is safe from harm. - she argued, entering their shared residence, the cup of tea cold and now laying on the dark marble of his kitchen counter. He raised his eyebrow at her statement, eyes moving from her calm yet argumentative complexion to her hand connected to his. 

She was right, there was indeed something that could bring any harm to him, preferably someone who could bring any damage to the god of the Dead and that someone was holding his hand, the same hand who’d killed many before and the same hand that had signed off the death of more. She quickly seemed not to care, or maybe be slightly unimpressed by his job. 

- You have to stop staring at me like that. - Maybe stop looking like that and then I’ll stop staring at you. - he let go of her hands to place both his palms on her waist, slowly but surely pushing her against his chest. 

- I’ll try not to disappear as much, sunflower. 

- I’ll try not to say yes to everything in return. - she relished into him, head tucked comfortably into his chest whose cold nature never seemed to bother her. - We should go to bed. 

- Maybe we should. - his head leaned onto her uncovered shoulder, leaving a series of kisses where her bra strap mark was. James took her head in his large calloused hands, cupping her cheeks and moving her slowly into their bedroom upstairs, which felt more like stepping into clouds and gradually ascending to the heavens. 

His tongue is velvet, warm and somewhat sharp, and it slips in between her lips with ease. His kiss is sickening sweet, almost like kissing someone who had just drank a can of soda. It’s so filthy, so inexplicably right and yet wrong what they were doing and even wronger still was the way he held her throat and chin. A firm hand wrapped around gently around her gentle neck, the tips of his calloused, scarred fingers brushing against it while his thumb held her chin up, just under it, holding it up for better access with a grip only the god of the Death could possess. Y/N fluttered her eyes open to stare at him, finding his narrowed and half-closed blue eyes staring down at her, dirty with lust and desire. 

- When I said we should go to bed, I meant we should go and sleep. - she whispered against his mouth, making him chuckle. James stopped kissing her, choosing to peck her skin instead while his hands slid down to her robes to pull them away from her body. 

- I thought this would be more up to your liking. - he took her earlobe in his mouth while he quickly slipped his hands to her chest, kneading and caressing her soft breasts in his cold hands, earning a moan from her.

 The difference in skin temperature complimented each other so well. She could feel the roughness of his hands against her soft and silky skin making her moan just with the contact of their skins together and as if by a blessing from the Gods themselves, she felt his tongue and lips drift from her neck to her chest as he grabbed her thighs and propelled her up to wrap her legs tightly around his waist to be closer to him. Y/N could feel his large manhood pressed tightly against his underwear, and the mere feeling of his cock pressed up to the middle of her legs so tightly and warm made her wet. 

She hadn’t realised how needy she was, the friction in between her legs not being able to compensate for the stimulation he was giving her. His lips and tongue worked wonders on her skin, sucking and nibbling and kissing every inch of beautiful silky skin he could put his mouth on and, once he was finished, she was marked so beautifully by him. Not that Bucky minded that a whole lot, maybe he wanted her to be marked by him at that stupid dinner. 

- I can’t wait to feel you throbbing around me, sunflower. I can’t wait to feel you tighten around my thick cock as you scream from the top of your lungs, crying loudly and begging me to make you cum. It’s been so long, sunflower. So long. 

She could feel her clit aching, thighs trembling and folds drenched so desperate to be taken by him, legs spread as wide as she could ready to let him use her like he wanted to and enjoyed to. He laid her down in their bed and lodged himself in the middle of her legs, hands on either side of her hips, slowly grinding against her. 

- Stop teasing. - she whined. He hummed, undressing in front of her until he’s completely naked like so many times that she had seen him so but, this time, it felt better and right. Y/N felt like this was even better than the previous time they had had been intimate, and when she feels the tip of his shaft slowly enter her, her back rose from the mattress as if she had been possessed. 

Somehow, it felt better to do it in no man’s land.

tag list: @philogrobizedvee​​​​​​  @keithseabrook27​​​​​ @inlovewith3​​​​19 @nwbstan

[robbyrobinson]

OWL HOUSE X CTHULHU MYTHOS FIC: THE GODS AWAKEN (PT. XIV)

“Lord Belos, the Owl Lady and her acquaintances have arrived.”  

The entrance to Belos’ throne room opened widely. The Owl Spy came in first accompanied by Eda, Lilith, and King. They wore heavy shackles on their ankles (but it proved to be more cumbersome for King due to his tiny body), and cuffs were fixed on their wrists. To add salt to the injury, Eda and Lilith’s fingers had additional bindings so they would not attempt to draw circles in the air.  

Emperor Belos was slouched in his throne, his right hand holding up his forehead. The Titan’s heart once again was beating, but now it was a more noticeable tremor to it. Belos exhaled sharply and then deeply exhaled the air from his lungs. It had become a very circulated fact that Belos had seen better days. Somewhere in his fifty-year reign of the Boiling Isles, his health declined. With no heirs known either legitimately or otherwise, Death may as well knock on his door one of these days. Belos clutched at his chest from the sudden sensation of a deathly cough violently scratch its way up his airbags. The most powerful witch of the Boiling Isles wheezed a squeaking tune. His chest convulsed a few times. The Owl Spy and the guards carrying the prisoners stood in place pondering if he would cough up a lung or two.

Kikimora stood at the left side of Belos’ throne. She was informed of her lord’s coughing fits earlier and never took her eyes off him. When she heard the spy say that the Owl Lady had been captured, that was the one time that she did direct her attention from Belos. There Eda was: rather than being cursed into her monstrous, owl-like form, Eda was back to her normal appearance from her grayish-wild hairstyle to her clothes. Kikimora was conflicted: she never denounced Belos as a liar or for being incorrect. But here was the Owl Lady back as her own treacherous self. Seeing her this way for the first time made Kikimora start to ponder her master’s claims of being the Titan’s representative. But even humoring the idea that Belos was a fraud filled her with a sudden dread that Belos could be reading her thoughts at that moment. Oh, Titan, what would he do to her for her lack of belief? There were many ways for witches and demons to die in different, creative ways.  

Belos lifted his head sluggishly in a sideways glance at the prisoners. His exposed blue eye stared at them to study them. “It is such a pleasure being in the presence of you, Owl Lady.”  

Eda scoffed. “That makes one of us.”  

Belos ignored her snark and inspected Lilith again. “The Prodigal Child returns as well?”  

“Enough with your flimsy peppering of words, what do you want from us?” Lilith demanded.

Belos sighed. “You know that only the most qualified of witches can join my coven?”  

Lilith nodded. True, twenty odd years ago, joining the Emperor’s Coven was Lilith’s ambition for a long, long time. A dream that she shared with her younger sister, at least until that awful, terrible, reprehensible day she decided to curse her sister to give herself a better chance at narrowing her way to victory. A curse that was supposed to last for a day instead made Eda’s existence miserable, and ostracized her from witch society. Lilith’s bottom lip quivered from the acknowledgment Lilith placed such a heavy load on her sister’s shoulders all for a meaningless position due to Belos lying to her. From the deepest, darkest pits, a fire was raging.  

“I made my decision to defect, Lord Belos,” Lilith announced with conviction.  

Belos was speechless at first likely to digest the words his former servant was spieling out. “And I am sure you know what becomes of witches bereft of a coven?”  

Like he alluded to her back when she captured her sister the first time, Belos lifted his staff and directed it towards the murals comprised of painted, stained glass. While Lilith anticipated this the moment she betrayed the Emperor, the thought of being on the receiving end of the most cruel and unusual of punishments in accordance to the Isles did make her step back on her confidence for a smidge.  

“If it means atoning for all the horrible things you made me do in your name, I will accept that. But please, spare Edalyn and her dog’s lives. As well as Luz’s.”  

As she spoke, two imperial guards came in holding the unconscious bodies of the two girls. The girls were being carried the guard’s stout shoulders. The girls’ arms loosely swayed back and forth behind the backs of the guards. They were placed on the ground with minimal gentleness. Belos stood from his throne and knelt down to further inspect the girls. With his staff, he tapped the limbs of the girls and then their backs. He pressed his index finger and thumb on the chin of his mask inquisitively.  

“By the Titan, these two girls actually managed to do it.”  

Eda smirked. She did have some shred of doubt that Luz may have failed and that the likelihood of her becoming braindead as a result of the brew did concern her, but she also knew that Luz could pull it off. It gave her all the more reason to be proud that she was Luz’s mentor.  

“Yeah, that’s right Belos,” she bragged, “and when she gets the book, we will do everything in our power to keep you from getting your grubby hands on that book!”  

“Ho, oh!” Emperor Belos retorted “a most charming dream, but tis be the nature.”  

Belos slammed his staff on the ground and returned to his throne. There was a side door behind the mighty throne of Belos which creaked itself open. Out from it walked Odalia Blight holding the staff she was entrusted with by Nyarlathotep. It was made of the same breed of tree most witches of the Boiling Isles own, but instead of a palisman adorned on the top, there was a gem which glittered in the light. A large, ruby gemstone accompanied with a low murmuring sound. Befitting of her social status, Odalia had a haughty grin from ear to ear. Odalia stepped aside to allow a few more of the imperial guards to exit.

“Well, what have we here? Enemies, traitors, and lowly demons.”  

Eda tilted her head. “You...one of the Blights I assume?”  

“Of course, darling,” Odalia bragged, her hand squarely on her breast. “One of the most esteemed, exquisite, and powerful of the Boiling Isles.”  

She brags a lot about her bloodline, Eda thought to herself. Sure, Eda would tend to think of herself in high regard, but Odalia was taking it leagues above. She sensed a small bit of tension in the air: the Owl Spy had disappeared from the room the instant that Odalia strolled her way in acting top class.  

“Yeah, yeah, go suck a griffin egg,” Eda groaned, “I still remember all the bragging you did back at Hexside.”  

Odalia smirked. “At the least I didn’t become a criminal.”  

Odalia tilted her head back and laughed like a noblewoman. For whatever reason, Eda felt the growing urge to punch the lady over and over until she was an unidentifiable pulp. One that not even the dark arts could ever hope to revitalize.  

“Wait, you are a part of the coven now?” Lilith asked.  

“Indeed, I am,” Odalia boasted.

“How? I could have sworn that you lost the competition of joining the coven years ago. As much as I hate the Emperor, at the least he always remained consistent on the qualifications to join the coven. I mean, that is the very reason we have the coven system.”  

“I am very aware of my lack of qualifications, but I was granted audience with Lord Belos, and he entrusted me with acting on his will.”  

Odalia towered above her daughter’s body. From the way she was fixed, Eda was unable to read any emotion on her face. Odalia then turned away from her daughter, returning her accusatory glare at the Owl Lady. “Is this the nature of being on the run; scouting people into your ranks?”  

“Amity chose of her own volition to help Luz acquire the book,” Eda clarified, “maybe you do not understand your daughter as much as you’d like to think?”  

“You and your human pest have been nothing but a thorn in the side of my family,” Odalia yelled, “perverted thoughts spreading rampant, disrupting the bloodline.”  

“That is absurd; Amity was a girl who was always tired of the way that you were restricting her freedoms. Instead, what do you want her to do? Study. Work hard. Study some more. You try to control every aspect of her life including those that she hanged out with. And yet once you get off your high horse, you do not understand why your daughter is having her rebel stage now? It’s because you are trying to mold her into being just like you. You keep on going on and on about bloodline this, bloodline that...maybe you can take one second to think about what your daughter actually wants instead of making decisions for her?”  

Odalia held the staff firmly between her eyes and loudly ground her teeth. “She is not my daughter; she made up her own mind to follow an inferior ape, so I now acknowledge that I have two older children who will listen to every word I say and continue down the right path of making our family name immortal.”  

Odalia clapped her hands and brought Edric out. The Owl House residents almost fainted from what they had seen: Edric was emaciated and skinnier than usual. His skin was now paper-thin and very suspect to bruising easily. Edric’s eyes became small, golden pupils because of their sunken position. Odalia took the liberty of dressing her son for the day in his casual clothing, but the clothes were slipping off him because of his sudden thinness. Edric’s legs lacked enough muscle to protect the bones from snapping like a pair of chopsticks. New waves of pain washed over the young witch with every step he took.  

“What have you done to him?” Eda asked horrified.

“The staff that I was given requires magic to fuel it...an excessive amount if you so please.”  

Odalia held the staff in front of Edric and activated it. A swirling cloud appeared in the gemstone and began to draw once more on Edric’s magic. Edric howled in excruciating agony the sort of pain that could rip a person inside out. Green vapor filtered through his body orifices and collected inside the gemstone. Edric dropped on his knees the surge of affliction still flowing through his veins. He looked up at his mother before a whooping cough manifested. At certain intervals, Eda and the others could catch glimpses of his stomach and chest during his fits; his rib cage was poking against the flaps of skin.

Lilith clenched her teeth. “Can’t you see that you are putting your own son in such pain and for what cost?”  

“He is making the Blight family proud immortal,” Odalia simply said with a cold flair in her explanation, “small sacrifices need to be made, and my son is more than worthy of the title.”  

“From the looks of it, your son is barely hanging on by a thread,” Eda interjected, “what if you kill him?”  

“My son will provide the way of the Blight family name becoming renowned and feared by all of creation; the powers that be – the Titan, or perhaps one of the greater gods – will greatly reward him.”  

Two guards came into the throne room and each individually held the thrashing arms of Emira Blight. She reared herself up to take a swinging kick at her kidnappers, but it was no use. Her struggles subsided upon catching sight of her twin brother. “Edric!?”  

The guards let her go at that moment. Without much prompt, Emira raced towards her brother and clutched his head in her hand. “Speak to me, please!”  

Edric weakly opened his eyes to see tears running down his twin sister’s face. She tried to fight back the treacherous tears with all her might, but her throat was growing larger from her increasing despair. “Mom, can’t you see that you are sucking him dry?!”  

The gemstone’s inherent ability of stealing magic was greater than that of the basilisk that infiltrated Hexside months ago and nearly drained all the students of their magic. Emira held her face over Edric’s her tears now falling on his. He stared into the matching eyes of his sister for a long time likely to say whatever was at the top of his head, but the agonizing pain was preventing him from performing what amounted to a simple task.  

Eda and Lilith attempted to wiggle their fingers out of their restraints. “Odalia, you have gone too far, you have to be stopped!” Lilith proclaimed.  

Odalia ignored them and looked at the staff again. It murmured the same low drone it always did. Before the prisoners, Odalia conducted a conversation with the staff. There were a few nods implicating a mutual understanding and deal-making. She studied Emira and took a few glances at the magic staff. “The staff is still unsatisfied.”  

Odalia pointed to Emira. “Once your brother had served his use, you shall be the next one that the staff consumes.”  

Emira shook violently. “Mom, you’ve become insane!!”  

Odalia flicked her hand to the guards. “Keep Emira imprisoned here; once I lead the army on the Earth realm, I will return to offer more sacrifices to it for Belos’ victory.”  

The imperial guards surrounded the green-haired teenage girl. At any time, Emira would be more than willing to administer a thorough beat down on her enemies, but she was sorely outnumbered. They came down on her in a frenzy and stole away the girl. They disappeared behind the second door her screams fading away the further they ran. Belos stood up and raised his arms.  

“Now with that settled, Miss Blight, you have the honors of enacting the Day of Unity!”  

Odalia obeyed and went to walk back to the other room. She momentarily stopped to glance at Edric, again what she was really feeling in that moment being uncertain, and exited the throne room. Eda, Lilith, and King were forcibly grabbed as well and were being walked out.  

“So, you are going to execute us?” King asked.  

“My furry friend, no, this is not the Titan’s will. After all, how else will you enjoy the experience of the Day of Unity?”  

Lilith shook her cuffs. “For years, you have told us without fail of this Day of Unity, but you never told us what it entailed. So, before you condemn me, please enlighten me.”  

“That’s the old Lilith I remember,” Belos said in a disconcerting tone.  

“Yeah, and why do you have such interest in the Earth?” Eda asked “you could have visited as many times that you wanted now that you have the portal door in your possession.”  

While Belos’ true face was always concealed behind a mask, it was relatively easy to imagine that he was smiling malevolently.

“I have a score to settle with someone that you may or may not know,” he stated, “I will leave it as a surprise.”  

Eda, Lilith, and King were marched out of the throne room to the dungeon of the coven. Alone with his thoughts, Belos cackled in ecstasy despite his wheezing cough.  

“The Day of Unity is finally upon us! Go, go my servants into the human realm! Go and slaughter all in your path!! Reduce their cities to rubble! Leave not one stone unturned! Darken their skies and poison their lands!! Reduce their world to ashes and blow those ashes into the farthest reaches of space! By the name of the Titan, the Earth will be laid to waste, never to be remembered or missed.”  

[linkysmommy]

The Time That Came Between

PART I

Part II link here

Fandom: It Lives in the Woods

Pairing: Noah Marshall x fem MC

Words: 3,057

Summary: What happened to Noah after Jazmyn Park sacrificed herself and he fled Westchester?

Warnings: Some minor swearing, topics of drug use and addiction

Author’s note: This is basically my imagination of what happened to Noah after he left Westchester and before he realized that MC was still somewhat cognizant as the shadow monster. I definitely have some creative liberties and my own thoughts on the dark path Noah went on after everything went down. It shouldn’t be too long, but I’m splitting it into parts. It’ll probably be between 5-6 parts when all is finished.

The first thing he noticed was the overwhelming stench of sour, rotting garbage.

Then came the God-awful pain.

It felt like there was a bonfire burning in Noah’s back. The muscles in his body screamed and throbbed, and his body shook violently. He weakly opened his eyes, and could barely see because they were so watery. It was like this every morning when he woke up. But somehow, that didn’t make it any better.

He managed to push himself into a sitting position as he tried to put together where the hell he was. He rubbed the film away from his eyes and glanced around himself. He was sitting in an apartment parking lot, his back pushed up against a huge dumpster bin. A trail of gooey water dripped from the trash can and trickled down the cement pavement. The morning sun shone in colorful rays through the filth, and he could hear the morning hum of cars and commuters as the responsible population began their days. A street cat hissed and rustled through the trash, and one of the windows in the building across from him burst open as yells from the people inside drifted out into the morning.

Noah sighed and leaned his head against the metal trash bin. He didn’t even care that his shirt was soaked with trash water, or that the side of his face was still covered with gravel from the ground. All he could focus on was the pain and discomfort. His burning back, his aching muscles, his runny nose, the wave of nausea that crashed over him.

He should get up, go to his apartment, take a shower, get dressed. He should get to work on time and save some money so he’d be able to go far away and leave forever. But no. Instead, he woke up in front of a dumpster and the first thing he did was reach for his phone. He hated everything about himself as he turned on the screen and dialed the person he simultaneously hated most and needed most in this entire world.

But he was too weak. So he called Reynold anyway.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Terror seized through him and his hand began to shake uncontrollably. What if Reynold didn’t pick up? What if—

Before Noah could think much, a very unhappy voice on the other line answered.

“The hell you want? It’s 7:00 in the morning.”

“I need some,” Noah said. “Where can I meet you?”

The voice on the other end scoffed. “Are you serious? You already blew through what I sold you two days ago?”

“It’s been… a rough couple of days.”

Reynold fell silent, which pissed Noah off. He was the one funding this guy, yet Reynold acted like he was the nuisance. Finally, Reynold let out a long sigh. “I’m busy today Malcolm. I don’t have time to—”

“I’ll pay you double. Hell, I’ll pay you triple. Just tell me where to meet you and when.”

Reynold grumbled something under his breath, but then he agreed. Soon, Noah had the place and information typed into his old, cracked phone. Now all he had to do was survive six more hours until they met up. Even that long seemed like more torture than he could stand.

Noah didn’t know how long he sat there, feeling like complete and utter shit. It could’ve been minutes, or it could’ve been hours. All he knew was that when two middle school girls crossed in front of him to head to their bus stop, chattering excitedly about some TV show, the expression on their faces when they saw him was enough to make him want to kill himself.

There was fear in their faces. Fear that the dirty, grimy man sitting by the dumpster would hurt them. Noah lowered his gaze and they hurried past. And he wished, for what must have been the thousandth time in the past twenty-four hours, that his life had never been so goddamn awful that he felt the only way he could survive was through losing himself to heroin. 

He wished that it had been him who took Redfield’s place, and not Jaz.

Never Jaz.

***

The bell jingled as Noah stepped into the gas station where he worked. A handful of customers browsed the shelves, and crouched in one of the aisles was his supervisor, Russ, probably doing inventory.

The door clattered shut behind Noah and he tried to sneak past Russ. But, like some freaking bloodhound, he looked up the moment Noah took a step. Russ’s eyes narrowed and his face flushed with anger. He stood, the item scanner hanging loosely from one hand.

“You’re late again, Johnson.” Russ glanced pointedly at the clock, then back at Noah. “Twenty-two minutes late, to be exact.”

“I’m aware of that,.” Noah said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “I ran into some… stuff.”

Russ did roll his eyes. “That’s not an excuse. Not when it happens every day.”

“Yeah, well. I’m here now so let me get to work.” Noah shouldered past Russ to the employees only area. It wasn’t much, but there was a wall with hooks where he could hang his jacket, and shelves and shelves full of supplies. 

Noah hung his jacket and took a deep, calming breath. He hated this job. He hated how Russ thought he was worse than dirt, and he hated how much he resented that. After what he’d done, he didn’t deserve to be treated well by anyone. He deserved every ounce of hatred every single person had to spare.

He brushed his fingers over the scarred skin on the inside of his elbow. It was rough, and still tingled with his most recent dose. He was a coward for trying to find something to ease the pain, to make him forget. It was only fair that the drug no longer made him feel anything other than normal. Where it once had left him feeling powerful and nearly happy, now all it did was make him need it when he wasn’t using, and when he was using he just felt normal.

And normal… wasn’t exactly what he wanted.

The one good thing about Jaz sacrificing herself for him was that at least she didn’t have to live to see him like this. This pathetic shell of a man she thought was worth enough that she decided to die for him.

Noah squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hand into his forehead. Forget about this. Don’t think. Just get out and do your job, go home, shoot up, go to sleep, repeat. Keep going. Just survive. 

He took one last calming breath, took a moment to steel himself… and then stepped back into the front.

As he approached the counter to take his position for the day., the girl standing behind it glared at him.

“Finally. You made me stay late, you jerk. I’ve been here since 12 AM!”

“Yeah… sorry Diane,” Noah said sheepishly, fumbling awkwardly with the edge of his beanie. “I’m here now though, so you can leave.”

Diane peered up at him from behind the counter and her scowl melted away into a grin. “I’m just teasing, Malcolm! No need to be so serious. Of course I’m not mad at you.”

“Oh! Right. Of course.” Noah forced a laugh and sidled behind the counter. 

Ever since the cops found Jaz’s broken body last September and Noah had become the prime suspect, he’d been on the run, never staying anywhere for too long. He spent time in Montana, Idaho, Utah, and Nevada. He never finished high school, and instead took to getting himself fake IDs and socials just to find work wherever he could get it. But now, he was back in Oregon, a mere three hours away from where it all started: Westchester.

Noah had only been working at this convenience store for two months, but no one in any of his other jobs paid attention to him like Diane did. She knew nothing real about him—she thought his name was Malcolm Johnson and that he moved from Missouri to live with his aunt—but she always invited him out, always found ways to tease him, always tried to make him smile.

And she was cute and pretty and sweet, but she was no Jaz. No one could ever even begin to compare to Jazmyn Park.

“Well now that somebody’s here, I’m gonna go get changed and get the hell out of here,” Diane said with a smirk, nudging Noah as she sashayed out from behind the counter.

“I said I was sorry,” Noah called after her. She just waved and disappeared into the employee area.

Noah let out a sigh and leaned his elbows against the countertop. The store wasn’t very busy right now, so he’d just get to stand there for hours, doing nothing. Doing nothing was hard because when you were doing nothing, there wasn’t anything to distract you from the terrible things you didn’t want to think about. He much preferred busy days to slow days.

The door jingled and Noah heard footsteps as people entered the store. He couldn’t see the door from where he stood. He hoped it was a munchy druggy or a parent with kids. Those people always bought the most stuff, which meant more time to be occupied.

“…Been a whole year now,” a familiar voice drifted over to where Noah stood. “And nobody knows where he is.”

Noah’s eyebrows shot up and he glanced furtively around the store. The newcomers to the store stepped out from behind a row of shelves and then, standing across the room with his back to Noah was a man with a flannel shirt and shoulder-length blond hair. A man Noah recognized all to well. Connor Green.

“Shit,” Noah muttered. His heart pounded in his chest and his mouth felt dry. “Shit shit shit sh—” 

Connor started turning, so Noah did the only thing he could think of. He dropped to his hands and knees behind the desk, disappearing from view.  Diane exited out of the employees-only area just as he did, and he saw confusion flit across her face.

“I miss Jaz,” Connor said. “She was really… somethin’ else. I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

A very unjustified but burning hatred for that man flared up inside Noah. He remembered being at the hardware store, shopping for supplies to go up against Mr. Red—Jane. He remembered how Connor flirted with Jaz and how she flirted right back. And he remembered the day Andy asked them if they wanted to go to homecoming. Noah had said, “Seems kinda pointless to go without a date. And I’m… not really in a good place for that. Dating, I mean.” Then he asked Jaz who she wanted to go with and she turned around and went straight to Connor.

He knew he had no right to be angry about it. He’d told Jaz that he wasn’t in a place for dating, and he probably would’ve said no if she’d asked him. But when she decided to ask Connor and Noah responded with “Good luck,” he really had just wanted to clock Connor in the face.

“Do you think they’ll ever catch Noah?” another voice—a woman this time—asked. Noah’s heart nearly froze at the mention of his own name and he frantically tried to place the voice. Then he realized—it was Stacy Green, of course.

Another pair of hands and knees fell onto the ground beside Noah and he started, jumping back and nearly slamming against the back wall.

Diane watched him with an amused expression. Her short black pixie cut was messily styled and her dark makeup made her features stand out against pale skin. “What’re we doing down here, Johnson?” she asked.

“Uh…” His mind raced frantically, trying to come up with some sort of explanation. Some sort of truth and lie mixture that could get him out of this mess. “I know those people from high school. And, uh, they were snobby assholes who hated me. So, I just don’t  want them to know I work here, okay?”

The amusement faded from Diane’s eyes and she nodded solemnly. “I understand. I know I already clocked out, but… I can cover for you until they leave.”

“Really?” Noah couldn’t hide the relieved smile that stole onto his face. 

“Oh yeah,” Diane said. “But you owe me.”

“Okay yeah, that’s fair. What do you want? I can cover your hours or—“

“A date,” Diane said with a smug smile, and before he could protest she bounced to her feet and pasted a winning smile onto her face.

“Hiiii,” she greeted. Noah wondered if she was talking to Connor and Stacy. All he could see was the gross tile, front counter, and Diane’s legs. “Can I help you with something?”

“Hey,” Connor’s voice said. “Cute shirt, by the way.”

Noah wanted to barf. Flirting with random strangers was so Connor.

“We just wanted to buy a few things and ask a few questions, if that’s all right?” Stacy said. Noah could practically hear the smile in her voice.

“Okay, shoot!” Diane said.

Noah heard the sound of items being dropped on the counter, and then the register creaking like it did whenever anyone leaned on it. He could imagine Connor leaning against it now, looking at Diane with the stupid flirtatious smirk he always used on Jaz.

“We were wondering—” it was Connor again “—have you heard of anyone… suspicious running through these parts?”

Diane let out a sharp laugh. “Is that all you’ve got to go off of? I’m sorry, sweetie, but if I told you all the suspicious people I’ve seen around here I’d be listing names ‘til midnight.”

Noah snorted silently. Leave it to Diane to handle a situation like this so perfectly.

He heard Stacy sign in aggravation. “Connor, maybe I should handle this.” There were shuffling footsteps, rustling of the contents of a purse, and something being slapped onto the countertop. “Have you seen anyone who looks like this man? About this tall, almost always wears a beanie? His name is Noah but he probably goes by something else?”

All traces of a smile evaporated from Noah’s face. His heart started to race with panic. He chanced a look up at Diane’s face, and her eyes were narrowed, her mouth tugged into a frown.

Silence. No sound besides a ticking clock and Russ shuffling around the aisles. Diane stared at the counter, at what Noah was sure was a picture of him. He held his breath, waiting for her to jump aside and say, “Oh you’re looking for this guy? Here he is, take him!”

But instead, she shook her head. Her voice was tight. “Nope, never heard of a ‘Noah.’ Also never seen this guy. Sorry.”

Relief flooded through Noah, almost as satisfying a feeling as a heroin high. Diane wasn’t giving him up. At least not yet.

Connor sighed loudly. “Do you have any idea who might know something? This is important. We got a tip that he moved to this area recently but so far, we’ve found nothing.”

“I don’t know,” Diane said. “Why’re you looking for him? Maybe if I knew I could point you to the right people.” 

Noah frantically grabbed her foot, trying to somehow signal to her to not ask these questions. But she shook him off and kept staring straight forward.

“It’s kind of… a personal thing,” Stacy said.

“Well I can’t help if you don’t tell me anything,” Diane countered.

“Look,” Connor interceded. “The police are after him for something he actually didn’t do. We think we might be able to help him, but he’s dodging us.”

Diane glanced down at Noah for a fraction of a second. Then she shrugged. “A person on the run? I’d look for them in Lensgate Park. Or maybe check out the baseball field on eleventh. Tons of shady people hang out there. They might know something.”

“Lensgate Park…” Stacy repeated slowly, probably entering it into her phone. “Okay. And you said eleventh?”

“Yup,” Diane said dryly. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Nope,” Connor said. “You’ve been great. I hope you have a great shift.”

Finally, finally, the footsteps sounded once again, the bell rang as it was opened, and then the door slammed shut. Noah barely had time to reorient himself before Diane reached down and pulled him roughly to his feet.

“Malcolm, what the hell was that about? Who were those people? They weren’t high school bullies, this was something else entirely. And Noah? The cops? What. The. HELL.”

“Diane, Diane,” Noah said, grabbing her by the arms. “Look, those people are from where I grew up, and they… they can’t be trusted.” His mind scrambled to come up with some sort of excuse, but all he could see was Jaz, over and over again. Her terror when she realized he tricked them, her body, broken in his arms… “Um, they, want to frame me—”

Diane scoffed and glared into his honey brown eyes. “Do you expect me to believe that? Are you just one big lie?”

Noah fell back a step, the color draining from his face. “I—”

“Save it, Malcolm. If that’s even your real name.” Diane skirted around the counter and headed for the door. “I backed you up because I liked you, but whatever you’re involved in, I don’t want any part in it. You can forget about the date.”

Noah’s eyebrows knit together as he watched her head out the front door, never looking back. Russ came out from one of the aisles, glancing between Noah and Diane.

“What happened with you two?” Russ asked.

Noah skirted around the counter, removing the name badge he wore on his shirt. “Sorry, Russ, but consider this my resignation.”

He dropped the badge on the counter and shouldered past a shocked Russ.

“Wh—what?” Russ sputtered, chasing after Noah. “Johnson, if you leave it’s just me and Tom. I need the coverage, at least wait until tomorrow—”

“Stuff came up,” Noah said, pushing the glass door open with his shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Russ.”

Russ watched helplessly from the sidewalk as Noah slid into his old beat-up car. He turned the radio on high as he backed out of the parking lot.

He was going to Lensgate Park, or maybe the baseball field on Eleventh.

He was going to figure out what Stacy and Connor knew.

***

Post-note: I wrote this a while ago and wasn’t going to finish but that fic by @isometimesplaychoices inspired me to continue and finish this fic, ily friend!!