#anyway . the sky closed its eyes!!!!! no one is looking!!!!!!!! its over scar!!!!

[hoolyelina]

starless night

[k4vehrtz]

⸻ YOU'RE A CRISIS OF MY FAITH

. ✦ . starring — dom!top! t. fushiguro / m! reader

warnings — porn with some plot, sacrilege, a copious amount of religious themes, priest! reader, virgin reader ergo loss of virginity, allusion to homophobia / internalised homophobia, unprotected sex, blowjob (r receiving), deepthroating, fingering, riding, creampie, toji lowkey has a corruption kink, use of the nickname 'angel', toji refers to the reader as father once but that is entirely in a religious sense . ✦ . wc — 2.1k . ✦ . notes — we'll all pretend that didn't just happen!! anyway!! i'm so so normal about toji...and !! i don't know what exactly falls under dark content but seeing as this contains sacrilege you've been warned nevertheless. not proof read bc t**blr stressed me out

“what does —” he stops himself mid-sentence to motion upwards, “the big man upstairs think about homosexuality?”

you swallow hard, your adam’s apple bobbing. you hadn’t expected the question, naturally. especially from the likes of toji fushiguro of all people. but you answer anyway. “well,” you murmur, averting your gaze so that you’d stare out the window as the first signs of winter begin to settle in for its extended stay instead of being forced to meet toji’s pointed gaze. “we all are subject to desires that may or may not reflect god’s light, but these desires aren’t sinful unless you act or encourage others to act on them.”

he nods almost absentmindedly in response before following up with: “…even you, i imagine, as a man of god, could fall victim to such desires?”

and you pause for a beat, your jaw tightening as an image escapes the dark recesses of your mind; the neat box you’ve forced what you deemed unpleasant thoughts into.

the man in your mind didn’t look quite like anyone you knew at first. he was just a man without a name or a face — similarly to the world before god’s divine intervention, he too was without form. but then, by chance, you met toji fushiguro and his teenage son. then the man who’d haunt your thoughts began to change.

he was older, weathered by life experiences and parenting, and taller, maybe 6’2, with messy black hair that fell over his brows. his hair reminded you of the cloudless, starless night sky. then there was that scar on the corner of his right lip. you’d imagined yourself on more than one occasion leaning toward him, pressing your lips against it before he’d open his mouth and let you explore the wet cavern.

though you shake your head as if that would dismiss your thoughts, fingers curling defensively around the window’s ledge. “everyone encounters temptation in their day-to-day, but, like god’s son, we must resist.” you counter eventually. “you’re not one for idle chatter.”

“i’m not,” he agrees, his voice smooth, something akin to the feeling of silk against your skin. it gives you goosebumps and makes the hairs stand up. he puts his hands up in mock surrender, his gaze intent. you can feel him burning holes into the back of your head. “you know, i think i’m long overdue for a confession.”

“as you wish.”

“our heavenly father has declared the following in the book of james, chapter five, verse sixteen: ‘therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. the prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective’. now, in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit, amen.”

silence — and then toji sucks in a breath, his voice thick with an emotion you can’t quite grasp but has you shifting in your seat on the other side of the confessional booth anyway. you’re, on some level, disgusted by your behaviour. it’s unprofessional at best, or perhaps the beginning of your unravelling at worst. you fear it’s the latter.

“bless me, father, for i have sinned,” the words slide off his tongue with ease, “it has been two months since my last confession.” and your eyes flutter closed, or maybe you forced them closed because you feel no better than a pervert by the way you ache at every sound that comes out of his mouth.

either way, you don’t notice the way the door creaks as toji lets himself out of his side of the confessional booth and opens the door to yours until he’s kneeling in front of you, the pads of his fingers digging into your sides. the skin of his fingers is rough, worn out from the different tasks he takes on to keep himself and megumi afloat, you think. he’s become something of a handyman around town.

“to be honest, father,” he says, now directly addressing you. “i came here fer’ your guidance…you see, i’ve been havin’ thoughts lately that i don’t think align with what god wants.” and you find yourself at a loss, your eyes still closed, though your adam’s apple bobs again as you swallow your suppressed thoughts. “my guidance?” you repeat quietly, “confess your…thoughts…then, and seek forgiveness. it’s not a sin unless you act on those thoughts.”

he lets out a pleased hum at that, leaning forward so that his face is practically buried in your clothed crotch. “so,” he counters, “if my understanding is correct, would it be a sin if i told you to spread your legs f’me?”

you don’t trust yourself to speak right now — not when your thoughts are all muddled. so, you simply nod and toji clicks his tongue. “but sin or not, you’re going to anyway because you and i both know how we feel about each other, right? c’mon, use your big boy words and tell me.”

the smart thing—no, the right thing to do here would be to say no. adamantly deny the lingering touches and glances that the two of you had come to share. affection between two men could only go so far. but then again, you’ve gone so much farther in the safety of your bedroom long after the sun has set. how much longer could you shamelessly show your face to the other members of the church and listen to them confess their deepest secrets to you? you’re parading as a righteous man when you’re anything but.

if it turns out to be as bad of a sin as they say, god will strike you down.

turns out it’s not as bad of a sin as they say — or maybe it is and you’ve yet to receive divine punishment.

“god works in mysterious ways,” you say under your breath but toji hears it anyway. how could he not when you’re in such proximity to each other? you hadn’t meant to say it out loud but it doesn’t matter. and toji (ever the charmer) takes it upon himself to respond, “maybe he brought us together for a reason…or maybe i’m one of lucifer’s lackeys sent to seduce you.”

you make the conscious decision to ignore that which seems to entertain toji even more. he’s ridiculous in ways you can’t fathom. like…the way he’s got your legs spread, back pressed firmly against the wood of the confessional, your thighs trembling as he clicks his tongue, “spread yer’ legs a little wider f’me angel, s’not enough f’me to suck that pretty cock.”

he… he knows what he’s doing. whereas you were clumsy and inexperienced. but, to be fair, you had taken a vow of celibacy when you were twelve.

now, though, you’re experiencing true pleasure for the first time — and with a man, no less. you tilt your head back in what little space the confessional affords you as toji gives your balls tentative touches, maybe light squeezes, as he aligns the head of your leaking cock with his mouth. you’re embarrassed, warmth flooding your cheeks, but you can’t look away. not when this is all you’ve ever wanted.

there’s pre-cum on his lips; your pre-cum. it’s there, as clear as day, and he’s entirely unbothered. all of his attention is on your cock. your cock that’s throbbing as he sucks on it. pre-cum and saliva mixing. it’s all so new to you.

as for him…well isn’t this cute? you’re trying your hardest to stifle those needy moans of yours, he can tell. but no matter how much you bite down on your lower lip or how you press your hands against your mouth those pretty sounds you make always find a way of escaping. part of him, somewhere deep down, feels guilty for corrupting you like this. but perhaps he doesn’t feel guilty enough.

he continues to work on your cock, sucking on it whilst simultaneously fondling with your balls. you’re quivering, rutting your hips forward now and then. occasionally you go too far and it scares you at first — you didn’t mean to push your cock all the way to the back of his throat! ever the unbothered, though, he welcomes it until you’re spurting your load down his throat. and he swallows, utterly content.

then he coos at you, bringing a thumb up to your face, and tracing the outline of your jaw. “don’t worry about me, angel, you’re not going to hurt me. what you’re going to do f’me is let me reposition us so i can see your pretty boy hole, m’kay? my boy can do that f’me, right?”

my boy. the idea of being his. after so long…it only feels right. so, you allow him to readjust your position so that you’re straddling his lap and somewhere in the process you both disregard your clothes.

“you’ve been thinking about my cock? that’s why yer’ hole is winking f’me? all ready to take my cock like a big boy?” he asks and you nod your head eagerly. every word that comes out of his mouth is dirty but your reactions are the icing on the cake. you’re not the quiet, unassuming priest he met by chance all those months back. and to think that he’s the reason why.

well, he doesn’t linger on the thought. you’re impatient, squirming on his thighs in search of friction. but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t get him going and he may be many things but he would not force himself into you without properly preparing you to take him.

so as much as you whine about it, he ultimately takes his time with you. the nearest lubricant happened to be some sort of oil, but he made sure that it was safe to use before coating his fingers in a generous amount. then he oh so carefully drags his finger across your hole. it makes you shudder, but after a few minutes of this, you find yourself unprepared for the stretch of fitting a singular digit in. it hurts and the moment you so much as whimper toji’s pressing his lips against yours. the same lips that were around your cock only moments ago. his lips are gentle, soothing, even.

and he keeps it like that — his lips against yours as he slowly introduces more fingers into your ass. it takes a while but your pained whimpers soon morph into more desperate, filthy little noises as he drags his fingers in and out of your hole before curling them, tips grazing your prostate.

you want it, you decide. his cock, that is. you want his cock in your ass beyond a reasonable doubt. it’s all you need. bouncing on his fingers feels good but you just know that his cock would feel so much better.

“this is a sin, we’re both sinning,” you announce, your words strong but your delivery coming in between laboured gasps as his fingers continue to graze your prostate. “so i expect you to fuck me like you mean it.”

and he doesn’t need to be told twice. with a scoff — one that sounds more amused than annoyed — he pulls his fingers out of you. shaking his head as you whimper at the loss. but it’s soon replaced by something bigger and much thicker. it’s his cock, covered in the same oil, and you almost can’t believe it when he’s aligning it with your entrance, pushing past the tight ring of muscle.

you have to take a few breaks before you fully sink on him with a low groan. he makes you feel so full and he hasn’t even moved yet. and when you take it upon yourself to ride him you revert to the softheaded boy he makes you out to be.

your movements are clumsy — mediocre, you’re sure of it. but toji doesn’t intervene. he simply leans back, big, warm hands on your hips, while you figure out your rhythm. and after a few failed attempts you find one that works for both of you. it feels good, it feels great even. his hard cock filling you to the brim while you all but mindlessly bounce on his cock, your walls clenching around his throbbing length.

you’re going to cum soon, you’re sure of it. and when you do eventually watch through teary eyes as your cock spurts ropes of cum onto his stomach you’re not surprised whatsoever. toji, however, takes a lot longer to cum. you’ve probably cum at least two more times by the time toji takes control, his grip on your hips tightening as he angles you just the right way to hit your prostate with each thrust of his hips upwards. your toes curl, eyes half-lidded, and you just barely acknowledge the warmth of his semen in your ass.

all you can think of, and just barely manage to stutter out is: “you’ve fucked me,” and he stares up at you with a smug smile, chest heaving as he copes with his orgasm that has been a long time coming, “yeah, i’ve fucked yer’ pretty boy hole.”

[snovyda]

Fanfic Plagiarism alert!

Attention, especially for the people in the following fandoms: Mission: Impossible (specifically Benthan) and Top Gun Maverick.

It brings me no joy to say that we have a big problem in these fandoms - a shameless serial plagiarist who copies other people's fanfics from other fandoms, changes character names and sometimes a few desciptions of the settings or adds a few sentences or paragraphs when they feel generous, and posts them as their own. It is literally Ctrl+C / Ctrl+V type of thing.

My friends and I have reported this person repeatedly on ao3, but we still have not received any response from the staff.

Seeing posts from fellow Benthan fans who are excited about the fact that we are getting close to having 1000 Benthan fics on ao3 makes me sad because of this, because I know quite a few of them are just not legit, and, since ao3 has not responded in months, I guess I have to do a good old public call-out.

This person is known on ao3 by the pen name rosexpetals. If they are reading this, I can only recommend them to delete the stolen works (not just the ones listed in this post, if more are stolen, they can be found later anyway) and take a long look at themselves and reflect on their actions. I wish for them to discover the actual joys of writing something of their own, of expressing their own feelings instead of hijacking other people's.

Below the cut are the links to the works and their sources that I and a couple of friends were able to find using just a simple quick Google search. Out of their 96 published fics, at least 29 are provably stolen (and those are just the ones we were able to find via simple searches), which gives off a strong feeling that none of their work is really original. Some of them were copied from the same source twice. 9 more fics are copies of each other, but in different fandoms (very likely just copied from the same sources). As you will see below, sometimes they didn't even bother to change the title of the original fic they were stealing from or its summary:

Fandom: Mission: Impossible (Benthan)

Fic: where's the trophy? (he just comes running over to me) Plagiarized from: where's the trophy? (he just comes running over to me) (by riceenthusiast)

Fic: and i'll hold onto you Plagiarized from: Tender Loving Care (by as_with_a_sunbeam)

Fic: bedroom eyes like a remedy Plagiarized from: Keep Me Afloat (by Atalia_Gold)

Fic: i'm sinking, our fingers entwined Plagiarized from: Kisses to Make it Better (by steviewashere)

Fic: the way you hold me (is actually what's holy) Plagiarized from: scars. (by letthesongtakeflight)

Fic: call it what you want to Plagiarized from: care & feeding (by glim)

Fic: my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand Plagiarized from: Their Fingers Run With Blood (by FoundInTheStars)

Fic: cause saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts Plagiarized from: Shrill Wails That Steal The Air (by Metalbvcky)

Fic: wherever you stray, i follow Plagiarized from: the fate of a con (by shrewritesall)

Fic: fall into me and i'll catch you, darlin' Plagiarized from: Safety II (by zozofia)

Fic: i hear the sound of my own voice, asking you to stay Plagiarized from: ['til you sizzle, what a lovely way to burn] (by tacos_are_tasty)

Fic: all's well that ends well to end up with you Plagiarized from: would it be enough if i could never give you peace? (by playthetyrants)

Fic: this most assuredly counts Plagiarized from: Must've Done Something Right (by fides_rationem)

Fic: something to rely on Plagiarized from: Unguarded (by trufflemores)

Fic: your string of lights is still bright to me Plagiarized from: your string of lights is still bright to me (by blueberriesandcream)

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Fic: bigger than the whole sky Plagiarized from: Bigger Than The Whole Sky (by catrasredemption)

Fic: look at this godforsaken mess that you made me Plagiarized from: for you i would ruin myself (by mraudersmoon)

Fic: i love you, i adore you (i lay my life before you) Plagiarized from: All That I've Been Yearning For (by Sokkas_First_Fangirl)

Fic: starry eyes sparkin' up my darkest night Plagiarized from: Of Speeches and Sofas (by as_with_a_sunbeam)

Fic: i don't wanna lose you (that's the kinda heartbreak time can never mend) Plagiarized from: would it be enough if i could never give you peace? (by playthetyrants) - yes, same fic copied again

Fic: you can see it with the lights out Plagiarized from: Tender Loving Care (by as_with_a_sunbeam) - yes, AGAIN

Fic: and i'll forget you (but i'll never forgive) Plagiarized from: Hold Me Closer (by sweet_symphony0)

Fic: you can hear it in the silence (you can feel it on the way home) Plagiarized from: I'd search you in all of my lives (by sunflwrs)

Fic: and my destination (makes it worth the while) Plagiarized from: Pushing Through The Darkness (Still Another Mile) (by Sokkas_First_Fangirl)

Fic: give up on you, my dear (i will never) Plagiarized from: I Lay My Life Before You (by Sokkas_First_Fangirl)

Fic: as if you were a mythical thing Plagiarized from: The Ghost in the Attic (by as_with_a_sunbeam)

Fic: you drew stars (around my scars) Plagiarized from: Value (by trufflemores)

Fic: in my life (i love you more) Plagiarized from: Whistle, I'll Be There (by lovetheblazer)

Fandom: The Beatles RPF

Fic: can't ignore the rest of the world; can you stay and make me feel better? Plagiarized from: love me, always (by darkdisrepair)

Self-copied fics posted by the same person in different fandoms (possibly copied from the same sources)

Benthan fandom: sit with you in the trenches Top Gun fandom: you're all i want, i'll never let you go

Benthan fandom: i vowed i would always be yours Top Gun fandom: standing at the crossroads, no desire to run

Benthan fandom: can we always be this close? Top Gun fandom: in all your pain (i will carry you, always)

Benthan fandom: i know you're scared (and your pain is imperfect) Glee fandom: i'll never let you go The Beatles fandom: my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

[iamthemain-character]

To Fall

xaden riorson x fem!reader

CW: Canonical violence, brief suggestive language

A/N: I'm currently reading Iron Flame so this is just based off Fourth Wing knowledge! Don't come for me lol

Song: I, Carrion (Icarian) by Hozier

I feel lighter than I have in so much time

I've crossed the border line of weightless

One deep breath out from the sky

I've reached a rarer height now that I can confirm

All our weight is just a burden offered to us by the world

The first sensation you notice when you stir from your rest is the weight of your lover’s arm around your waist. You can feel the way his hand rests just under your breast, gentle compared to its touch just a few hours ago. You keep your eyes closed, savoring the peaceful intimacy of this moment. Your hand lifts from the mattress, trailing your fingers over the lines of his forearms, not needing sight to trace the familiar scars. You’ve gazed at these arms long enough, felt their strength, that you know each muscle as if it is your own.

“Good morning, beautiful.” The husky morning voice of Xaden curls around your ear, the sound traveling straight down to your heart. You feel his hard chest press against your shoulder blades as he pulls you in closer, his warmth permeating your skin, heating you up from the inside out. You could feel the bridge of his nose as he pressed his face into your hair, lips finding the bits of skin through the curtain of hair that fell over your shoulders. His hand pressed a little firmer against your ribs, as if he could meld you into his body through sheer strength. Not that you would have minded; you never felt as complete as you did when you were right against Xaden.

It was difficult to say what moments with Xaden were your favorite. He was an all consuming sort of lover, always giving his most in every second he spent in your presence. Yet the soft mornings, when the sun had not yet dared to cast her gaze over the earth, you perhaps cherished most. Xaden was entirely yours in those moments; not a Wingleader, not the leader of a rebellion, but just the man who loved you. And the man you loved fiercely in return. The bond between the two of you felt as fierce as dragons’, a desperate need to be near one another, to share in every part of your being.

Unlike dragons, however, the world tore the two of you apart. Your assignment to the front lines brought a chill into your bed, one that not even all of Xaden’s affection could brush away. You longed to give into his touches, the kisses that made you feel as if you were high above the world, but the knowledge that every minute brought you closer to your departure forced you to be sensible.

“You’re thinking.” Xaden murmurs, the plush of his lips ghosting over the curve of your ear.

“Always.” You sigh in return, turning your head to look into his eyes. There’s a shine in his Onyx irises, a light that you proudly note you bring to his life. You reach up your hand, trailing it over the path of stubble that covers his jawline. He makes a sound of contentment, one that you feel rumble in his chest, and he presses his head further into your touch.

“You’re going to need to write down all of those pretty thoughts for me.” He murmurs, brushing his lips against your palm, following the map of its creases.

“Most of them are going to be about you anyways.” You give a soft breath of laughter, knowing you would willingly write down every word for him if he asked.

“Even better.” He insists, moving his kisses to the pulsepoint at your wrist, as if he could kiss your very heart. “That means they’ll match mine.”

Your chest swells, and suddenly it's like your ribs have been cinched in, making your throat close in on itself. Your eyes prick with tears, and you blink rapidly, trying to push them away. You slip your hand to the back of his neck, intertwining your fingers with the messy curls, savoring the silky sensation. “I’m going to miss you.” You whisper, the words only audible for Xaden, as if the walls themselves will hear you and shame your vulnerability. But here, in the bed, with only his ears listening in, you know you can allow yourself the emotions too often denied in the life of a rider.

“As will I.” Xaden replies, his tone low and gentle. “But you will be back soon.” He says the words so easily, voice as calm as the morning itself. But his arms tighten their hold on you, his hands pressing flat against your hip and your stomach, pulling your body as tightly against his as possible without crushing you. There's a desperation in his hold, and you think that he may be clinging to you rather than holding. Every time you leave, there's the unspoken knowledge between the two of you that you may not return. The uncertainty of life comes with the job, and with the warlike state on the front lines, mercy has turned her gaze away from the world.

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.” Your words are soft, but your tone is underlined with a plea. You know all too well how Xaden pushes himself when you are not there, pushing himself beyond his limit in his efforts to fulfill all the roles that fall on his–alebit perfect–shoulders.

“You’re the one we should be worrying about.” Xaden murmurs, his hands turning your body over so you’re facing him. His hand leaves your hip, coming up to stroke back your messy hair. “I hate knowing that I won’t be there to protect you.”

“I can protect myself.” You reassure him, your words truthful. You have more than enough skills to fend for yourself, and years of experience have trained you to be a dangerous opponent.

Xaden’s thick brows furrow, drawing together between his dark eyes. “You shouldn’t have to.” He growls, his fingers on your waist digging in a little, most likely adding a few more bruises to his marks littering your body. “I should be there to protect you, to make sure that you’re safe. I don’t want anyone laying a hand on you.”

The fire in his words burns straight to your heart, making your skin tingle with the warmth. Even though it's not possible to let Xaden defend you at all times, the very knowledge that he would so passionately protect you from all harm makes you fall in love a little more. “You’re needed here. The cadets have so much to learn, and they really can’t protect themselves.” You pause, your voice softening. “Especially yours.”

He nods, and you watch his shoulders tense as he is reminded of all the people he is responsible for. You’ve traced those 107 scars more times than you could count, kissed everyone as a silent promise to help him. So much rode on keeping those boys and girls safe.

“Just promise you’ll come back to me.” He says, his dark voice tinted with need.

“Always.”

And though I burn how could I fall?

When I am lifted by every word you say to me

If anything could fall at all, it's the world

That falls away from me

The hands of smoke are curled around your esophagus, choking out every last clean breath from your lungs. Your entire body ached, encrusted in your flight leathers from the amount of blood that you had been bathed in. Furthermore, it was unclear how much was yours versus the enemy’s, but you kept pushing yourself, knowing there would be no peace until every one of the Poromish fighters backed off, or more tragically, were dead. Your heart hurt even more than your wounded body when you thought of the innocent people who were dying, wondering how Nevarre would twist this battle to be blamed on the Gryphon riders and not the true enemy.

You climbed back onto your dragon, the two of you taking to the skies to evaluate the battlefield. The landscape was a nightmare painted by the cruelest of artists, the dirt turned to reddish mud from the sheer amount of blood spilt. It was a small relief to see the battle finally winding down, though it may only be because there was no one left to fight. You and your dragon flew out to the edge of the wards, continuing to look for anywhere that your aide might be needed.

Suddenly, your stomach turned into a sinkhole, swallowing up any seed of relief that might have been planted. The edge of the wards had moved, evidently from further weakening of the stones, and suddenly you and your dragon were exposed. Your dragon quickly banked left to dive back into the safety of Nevarre, but just a second too late. You felt metal hit your neck, right at the junction of your shoulder, pain shooting out like lightning from the point of impact. Your functionality disappeared with the jolt of pain, as suddenly you felt nothing at all. Except, the world was tilting, and rather than seeing the neck of your dragon, you were looking up at it, watching as it grew smaller and smaller. In the haze that surrounded your brain, you wondered if you were falling.

You wondered if Xaden had eaten that morning.

And then you thought nothing at all as darkness consumed you.

You have me floatin' like a feather on the sea

While you're as heavy as the world

That you hold your hands beneath

Once I had wondered what was holdin' up the ground

But I can see that all along, love, it was you all the way down

You were warm. Your entire body seemed to protest against its existence, but you were warm. And surrounded by softness. You opened your eyes–the action taking more effort than it should–and had to blink away the blearyness that blurred your vision. As you looked at the ceiling, noting the beams of dark wood that arched the ceiling, you couldn’t help but think that this looks like Xaden’s bedroom in Aretia.

Your eyes confirmed your suspicions as they slowly moved over the room, spotting the familiar wardrobe, dresser, and desk. All of which were places that you were familiar for far less than innocent reasons, but knew nonetheless. Hope slipped out of its cocoon, fluttering her new wings in your heart as you looked towards the door, looking for the owner of both the room and your heart. And your hope took flight, soaring through your body as you saw Xaden’s head resting atop his arm, his tall body slumped over the edge of the bed. His other hand grasped yours, a desperate need in his grip even as he slept.

You had seen the way his hands could wield daggers, swords, clubs even–not to mention the dark and powerful shadows that he could conjure with barely any movement at all. But to you, those hands held up your entire world. You knew that his calloused palms could hold you in a way that took away any fear, could convince you of his deepest affections, and could bestow a love within yourself so deep that you forgot to be insecure.

Softly, you ran your thumb over the curve of his knuckles, smiling to yourself as you gazed at your beloved. Despite your stiff muscles, you pushed through the ache to shift downward on the bed, curling up beside his head. At the sensation of the mattress dipping, Xaden’s head shot up, his hand constricting around yours. For a moment, his eyes are dark and wild, as if he’s ready to manifest that darkness around whoever threatens him. But then he focuses on you, and immediately they soften into the gentle depths that you’ve lost yourself in countless times.

“My love…” Xaden’s voice is hoarse, the usual strength gone as water wells in his eyes. His fingers flex as he resists gripping you so tightly, afraid he’ll break you.

“Hi.” Your own voice is soft, scratchy as it begs for water. But what’s more important is having the love of your life closer, and so you open your arms, wanting to feel Xaden fill them. He immediately responds, up from his seat in a flash and letting the mattress take his weight. His own arms envelope you, barely restrained from simply crushing your body to his chest. Your arms feel weak from lack of use, but you grip onto the man as tightly as you can, your fingers finding root in his dark curls.

You press your nose into the little gap between his neck and his uniform, inhaling deeply. An ocean of scent fills your mind, washing your body over with comfort and ease. He smells like the tall pines that surround Aretia, of the dark leather that was molded to his form, and the warm skin that laid underneath. It was the scent of home.

“Don’t you ever do that again.” Xaden’s voice is a growl, but you know him well enough to hear the worry and care in the rough words.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” You whisper softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his stubbled jaw.

Xaden lets out a shaky breath, hands tightening on your nightdress, seemingly unconvinced that you’re not going to suddenly disappear. “I should have been there.”

“There was no way you could have been.” You counter, trying to soothe him.

“I should have been there to protect you.” Xadens voice comes out dangerously low, frustration dripping off his words.

“You have a duty-”

“My duty is to you, dammit.” He takes a deep breath, trying to control his voice. “There is nothing I would prioritize over you. Let them strip my rank from me, let this whole rebellion fall apart again, I will not lose you.” Xaden murmurs the words like they’re an oath, like he needs you to let him dedicate his life to you. “If I need to live and die at your hand, then so be it. You are the only thing that matters. Nothing else.”

For a long moment, your words fail you, Xaden’s passionate vow stealing any protest or promise from your mind. “I love you” simply wasn’t enough to convey the depth of emotion and connection the two of you shared.

You leaned back a little, fingers brushing the curls at the nape of his neck as you gazed into his gleaming onyx eyes. “Then live at my hand.” You softly request, your own voice as insistent. “I don’t want your sacrifice. I want you, here, with me, until we both draw our final breaths.”

Now, it was Xaden’s turn to lack a response, the words weighing heavily on his heart. His whole adult life, he had been prepared to die for his cause, for what he believed in. But to live for something? To live for you? It was something he never considered; but if it was all you wanted, then by the gods he would do it.

“I’ll live for you, my love.” He murmurs, and he brings your empty hand to his lips, lightly kissing the tips of your fingers, then down to the palm, and finally kissing your pulse point. Your wrist throbbed steadily, reminding him of just how precious living was.

Leave it now, I am sky-bound

If you need to, darling, lean your weight to me

We'll float away, but if we fall

I only pray, don't fall away from me

Xaden meant it literally when he said he would live and die at your hand. He did not leave your side unless absolutely necessary, and even then he’d always drag one of his friends in to watch over you, despite your protests that you were fine. Still, it was a little endearing, seeing how much he cared for you.

The healing process was slow, the poison from the arrow having done a lot of damage to your body. But you made steady recovery, taking the medicine you needed to, getting rest as well, though the latter often had to be enforced by Xaden himself. It worked both ways, however, as you would often convince the man of shadows to rest as well by welcoming him into the warm bed.

Walking proved to be the most difficult task during your healing period. Your body had been so violently ill with the poison, as well as the wounds you took during the actual battle, that you had been greatly weakened. That, in addition to you being bed ridden for some time, only added to the issue. When you started to literally get back on your feet, however, Xaden’s arms held you, preventing you from collapsing, encouraging every step. In the moments when you would grow too fatigued, he’d scoop you into those same arms to return to his room.

At first, you were frustrated with your inability to do such a basic thing, feeling like a dead weight on Xaden’s shoulders. But as each day passed, you came to cherish those walks through the halls of his home, his arm around your waist, warm and sure. Xaden himself relaxed more during those times, allowing himself to speak freely and enjoy the borrowed time you two shared.

It was during one of these outings that the two of you wandered down a hallway you had previously not explored. It was quiet, with a few pieces of art or items that had been salvaged from the original house. And then your eyes landed on a portrait; it was vast, spreading across the majority of the wall, showing off the smallest of details the artist put in. There was a man, strong and proud, and a woman beside him, looking gentle and wise. But what drew your eye the most was the depiction of the young boy between them, head held high, dark onyx eyes staring directly at the viewer.

The same onyx eyes that stared at you.

“Thats Mom and Dad.” Xaden’s voice is soft, sounding more vulnerable and childlike than you have ever heard before. You glance at him, seeing the bittersweet smile that ghosts over his features. His strong hand grips at your waist a little tighter, as if he needs a reminder that you’re still here, that he didn’t lose you too.

“You look just like your father.” You remark, your voice as tender as your beating heart for Xaden and his family that you’ll never get to meet. “But your smile is like your mother’s.”

Xaden’s smile grows more real, his eyes looking over you, full of gratitude and hope from your words. “She would have liked you. Both of them, I think.”

“I would hope so.” You muse, studying the people in the portrait. You wonder what it would have been like to actually know them, to be able to note what traits your beloved shared with his parents. Seeing the portrait of his father seemed so different from the traitorous man depicted in all of the history books. “What was he really like?”

Xaden tensed beside you, as if the thought of what you must “know” about his father made him defensive. Yet he just squeezed your waist, perhaps a reminder to himself that you weren’t there to burn his memories too. “He was a good man. Not perfect, but a good man. The kind I wish I could be.”

For a moment you let the weight of his words sink onto the two of you, the air thick with the hopes and fears that formed your very lives. You both knew that you and Xaden would carry the blood on your hands for the rest of your lives; even if you won the war, there would never be a moment you could truly say that you were good. But perhaps Xaden’s father felt the same.

“We’re going to finish what he started.” You say quietly, placing your hand over Xaden’s heart. The motion draws his gaze to you, his eyes seeming to come back from whatever far off place his mind sailed to. “We’re going to make this world the kind he would have wanted.”

Xaden doesn’t say anything, just placing his calloused hand on top of yours, his thumb stroking your cool skin. “He wanted things to be better for me.” He whispers, his voice raspy with choked emotion. “I want things to be better for our kids. I want them to be able to choose who they are.”

The idea of “our kids” doesn’t go unnoticed, making your heart flutter as you are reminded just how much Xaden truly wants a future with you. “We’re making things better for all of us. For our friends, our future kids…” You pause, smiling a little, “For us. And we’ll be able to share the story of just how wonderful your father truly was.’

You could have been an angel from above, the way Xaden gazed at you as you spoke; his eyes were reverent, full of devotion, holy and unholy. “For us.” He echoes, like it's another vow to strengthen his heart. A vow that he seals with a kiss to your lips.

I do not have wings, love, I never will

Soarin' over a world you are carryin'

If these heights should bring my fall

Let me be your own

Icarian carrion

Once you fully recovered, Xaden still wanted to keep you in Aretia. The very idea of you returning to Baisgaith just to possibly be sent away again didn’t settle well with his protective heart. Still, you were determined, and just as stubborn as he was, so he begrudgingly agreed that you would return with him.

Despite your lover’s disgruntled attitude towards your decision, the flight back was gratifying for both of you. Side by side, your dragons never strayed from one another, and neither did the two of you. During the few stops that were made, Xaden was quick to encase you in his arms, often allowing himself to indulge in some kisses that increased the time of your journey. If Xaden had been doting before, the near loss of you had only made him even more devoted to claiming every moment he could.

This only became more apparent once the two of you returned to Baisgaith, reciting your perfected story of your terrible injury and how Xaden had managed to nurse you back to health. Leadership, of course, wanted to take you away so they could get the full report;you could have sworn Xaden was a dragon himself from his barely contained irritation at being forced to leave your side.

It wasn’t until the sun had set that you were finally allowed to return to your quarters, having had the details of your experience laid out and rehashed time and time again. Leadership could not find a flaw in your story, however, and eventually let you go with a welcome back to the citadel. You were a little tired, pent up with frustration at your lying authorities, and ready to be back in Xaden’s arms.

Your feet barely had time to step through the door, however, before shadows consumed you, slamming the door shut, nearly splintering it off the hinges. Immediately, heat rose in your body, Xaden’s desire palpable through the little control he had over his powers.

“Finally.” His voice whispers, low and husky with lust against your neck, his nose pressing into the soft skin. “I was beginning to think I’d have to come get you myself.”

You inhale deeply, the distinctive smell that you know and adore filling your senses as you lean back against his strong body. He’s already shirtless, his heated skin making you wonder how long he was waiting for you, like a predator ready to pounce and claim. “You know how long these things go. Trying to make sure I’m not a traitor.”

“Of course.” He darkly chuckles, pressing warm, open mouth kisses up the curve of your neck, biting softly behind your ear. “Don’t you know I’m filling your head with all kinds of nasty plans?”

“You certainly fill my head with filthy thoughts, my love, but I don’t think it's the kind the government cares about.” You hum in reply, smiling to yourself as you feel his hands wander down your body.

His long fingers find the buckles of your flight leathers, popping them open with practiced ease. “Well well, perhaps it should be my turn to interrogate that pretty little mind of yours.” His voice curls into a coil in your stomach, stirring up your desire. “I would love to know just what I can make you imagine.” His hands continue their work on your pants, continuing the progressive removal of your layers.

Once you’re undressed, he spins you around, his hands ghosting over the shape of your body before settling on your hips. His thumbs press into the hollow below the bone, his fingers splaying over the curve of your ass. It’s not unlike watching your dragons lay claim to their possessions, the way he grips onto you, but his possessive nature only stokes the fire in your belly.

“You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs, dipping his head down to kiss over your collarbone, his warm breath fanning over your skin. “Gods, I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You murmur your honest reply, your skin tingling with the sensation of his touch.

“I mean it.” He murmurs, biting at your collarbone before lifting his gaze to meet yours. “My whole heart, it belongs to you. I am completely, madly, and truly in love with you.”

Xaden is always such a man of action that you’ve never really had to doubt if he loved you. But as the words melt over your body, casting warmth like the early morning sun, you are taken by just how truly loved you are. “I feel the same.” Your words hardly seem equal, but Xaden’s smile reassures you that he is pleased.

“I want you to always be mine.” His voice has dropped, as if he wants only you to hear his words. His dark eyes glimmer in the little light of the room, making your stomach turn with anticipation. “I want to be able to love you for the rest of our lives. I want to have a life with you by my side.”

You watch as Xaden takes your left hand into his, his calloused palms comforting against your own smaller hands. His thumb brushes over your ring finger, sending a thrill through your heart.

“I can’t make you any promises right now.” Xaden murmurs, love radiating off of every single syllable that leaves his lips. “And I want to do this properly when the time comes, with a ring, and a beautiful setting. I want to get down on one knee so you know that I’m serious when I say I want to worship you for the rest of my life.” He looks up, finding your eyes, giving a small, tender smile. “But for now, all I can ask is that you’ll be mine. In whatever comes our way, whether we have one minute together or one hundred years, I want to know that I get to give my time to you. If you’ll have me.”

You blink, your eyes filling with water as you listen to his words. “Xaden…”You whisper, your voice choked with emotion. You swallow your heart, unable to contain the smile on your lips as you cup his jaw, thumbs stroking the stubble there. “No matter how far we go, no matter what we do…I am yours. Truly and irrevocably. Even if we fall, I won’t fall away from you.”

Xaden feels his own eyes smart with unshed tears, and so he gathers you into his arms, burying his face into your neck. You can hear him murmur soft “thank you”s and “I love you”s against your skin, his hands running down your back. You smile at his reaction, and you slip your hand into his hair, lifting his face enough so you can press your lips against his, pouring out your heart to him through your touch. Xaden immediately reciprocates, his heart always hungry for you, and his lips move demandingly, pulling you in deeper.

He lets out a needy huff, and his hands find your thighs, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his hips. “Let me show you how much I love you.” He requests against your lips, sounding like a man desperate for water.

“I’m all yours.”

Xaden holds nothing back as he kisses you again, his tongue demanding its way between your lips, savoring your taste on his lips. He swiftly moves across the room, his bed becoming his altar as he lays you down onto it. He takes a moment, eyes moving over your body, as if he could commit every mark and line to memory. He takes your hands, his own strong and capable, but gentle as they hold you, and he presses kisses over the ridges of your knuckles. “And I, my love..I am all yours.”

If the wind turns, if I hit a squall

Allow the ground to find its brutal way to me

If I should fall, on that day

I only pray, don't fall away from me

“Fen Xander Riorson, be nice to your sister!”

Xaden smiled to himself, hearing your voice carry over the springtime air. The sun was setting over the mountains of Aretia, the new grass soft under his body. As far as his eye could see, he saw the prosperous new settlements, the homes and businesses of his friends and family thriving within the new age. It was a sight he thought would only ever be fantasy at one point.

As he feels your familiar hands smooth over his shoulders, your soft lips pressing against his temple, he is reminded just how real his life is.

“That is your son.” You murmur in his ear, coming to sit beside him on the flowering hill.

Xaden chuckles softly, reaching out to snake an arm around your waist. “Our son.” He reminds you, nuzzling into your hair, inhaling your scent. Even after all these years and two kids, he still feels the intense need to just have you. “He gets his stubbornness from you.”

You huff, feigning indignation, but your wide smile gives away your true feelings. You lean against Xaden’s side, watching as your son ignores any reprimands and continues to chase his squealing little sister through the field. “He gets his rebellious side from you.”

Xaden lets out a small snort of laughter, his arm tightening around your waist. He doesn’t deny it, knowing that the two children both take after their parents. It was his greatest joy, being able to watch the very humans the two of you had created grow up and discover themselves. You had fulfilled your promise, after all; the world they knew was much kinder to them than it had been to him. His marks and his scars would always remind him of that.

Xaden’s gaze looks over you, the form of his beloved wife, and it only makes his smile grow. Gray hairs are beginning to intermix with your natural color, denoting the time that has passed within your body. You moan and complain about them, but he sees them as a mark that you two not only survived, but lived. Truly lived. And now, the fruits of your labor only grew in abundance every day.

“I love you.” He softly murmurs in your ear,, his hand brushing away the hair so he can press a kiss to your neck.

You smile up at him, a little surprised at the sudden words, but delighted by them nonetheless. “And I love you.” You reply, your words full of truth and affection.

The two of you return to watching the children play, and the sun continues to disappear with the last few moments of day. But now, you and Xaden simply note it as a passing thought, your love no longer on borrowed time. The night will only bring another day, with the promise of letting you cherish every moment, never to be parted again

[desertduality]

Potential for Scar angst this episode was insane so I wrote this in one sitting. Alternate scene for when Grian finds Scar hiding out in his egg house :)

Here it is on Ao3

———

No one talks about it, but the tasks they’re given tend to mess with their head. There’s— There’s a pull, there, to comply. Scar still remembers the way his tongue had tangled on that first day, the way his throat had closed when he’d even thought about calling someone by their real name. He still remembers the sharp, punishing pain behind his eyes when he’d slipped up and said Mumbo’s.

There’s a sort of urgency, once the task has embedded itself into their minds. Scar feels it, that frenzied energy that sends him knocking down torches until he can finally hit the succeed button without doubt. The secrets pull at them, tug at them. Scar is trying not to compare it to an Evoker’s command, but it’s hard when the feeling is so similar. When trying to fight it now hurts the same as it did back then.

He’s been running for a long time when he finally collapses in Grian’s egg house, panting and sweating. The stupid helmet is still on his head, and every time he raises his hands to take it off there’s that same pain shooting through his head. Joel had told him to take it off, everyone had told him to take it off, so no matter how much he wants to he can’t. He can’t do anything that they want him to do.

None of them will want to ally, after this. He’s burned a lot of bridges, and while he’s not against a little arson now and again, he usually likes to have a choice. He values having a choice very much, ever since he and Cub had broken free all those years ago. He wishes Cub was here, now. It’s a cruel thing to hope for.

There’s a loose feather on the ground beside him, and he picks it up with trembling hands, twirling it between his fingers. It probably fell out when Grian was cleaning his wings. Preening, he’d called it, back in the desert. Scar hadn’t heard of it before. His own wings were the wispy gray of the vex, and even at that a pretty poor specimen. No preening required, and with a bit of magic to keep them hidden, it didn’t matter anyway.

The feather is still in his hand when Grian appears in the doorway, and Scar can only hold his breath.

———————————

Grian… did not do well underground. A creature of the sky scuttling around in caves was bound to come with its issues, and so by the time he gets out, he’s near starvation and has just over seven hearts left to his name. His wings feel grimy with dirt and dust, his legs weak and unable to sprint. His only consolation is that he’d had the good fortune to resurface relatively close to his base, and it’s with an unholy mixture of desperation and relief that he drags himself up the stairs to the egg.

He’s already stuffed about a dozen sweet berries into his mouth before he finally registers that Scar is there. He’s sitting in the corner behind the bed, quiet as anything, and alarm bells start sounding in Grian’s head. Scar usually has a presence that can’t be ignored. He seems almost diminished, now. It makes unease twist in his stomach.

“What are you doing in my house?” Grian asks, baffled.

He rounds the bed, and unease twists into full blown worry when he sees the way Scar is shaking, pupils small and breathing shallow, like he’s been running. He looks— hunted. Scared. Grian suddenly doubts he’s here to steal anything or cause trouble. He’s here hiding.

“Scar?” Grian says tentatively, crouching to eye level. “How are you doing, buddy?”

Scar looks even more panicked, if possible, his mouth opening and closing several times as if unsure what he should say — or what he’s allowed to say. Finally, Scar winces, a frustrated furrow between his eyebrows.

“…Neutral,” Scar says, a tired smile tugging at his mouth, not quite looking at him. “I mean— Good. No. Bad.”

Grian raises an eyebrow. “Getting some mixed signals here, Scar.”

Scar sighs, and fidgets with something in his lap. “I’m— All of my allies are mad at me. The whole server is after me,” he says.

“Why?” Grian asks, because usually it takes a little bit longer for Scar to do something bad enough to warrant that type of server-wide behavior. Scar tilts his head forward as he sighs, and Grian realizes something else. “Why do you have a helmet on?”

Scar huffs a laugh that sounds more like a sob, and makes like he’s going to stand up, arms and legs moving in jerky, frantic movements. The feather he’d apparently been holding drifts to the floor, and Grian reaches out to grab Scar’s wrist without thinking.

“Everyone’s so concerned about the helmet,” Scar says, voice strangled and high. “It was an accident.”

“Why don’t you take it off?” Grian asks, genuinely confused, and Scar makes a noise like he’s been hit, dropping down to sit on the edge of the bed, head in his shaking hands.

It’s his task, Grian thinks, dropping Scar’s wrist, brow furrowed. Something to do with his task.

“Never mind,” Grian says, and sits next to him, wings stretching behind them. “It’s fine, Scar, just— Why don’t you just sit down a minute.”

Scar jerks to his feet, stumbling with the force of the movement until he catches himself on the wall, panting. Grian makes a noise in surprise, eyes wide in confusion as he looks at the tense line of Scar’s shoulders.

“I think I feel like standing,” Scar says, hoarse with forced humor.

“…Okay,” Grian says slowly, mind spinning. “You can stand, that’s fine, too.”

Scar sits back down, breathing like he’s run a marathon, annoyance flickering in his eyes like torchlight. Grian just stares.

“Nice bed,” Scar says, like nothing strange has happened. “Very soft.”

“Thanks,” Grian says flatly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Scar just shakes his head and closes his eyes, still breathing much too fast, hands fisted in the blanket they’re sitting on.

“Alright,” Grian says, letting himself relax a little bit, and he lays a hand on Scar’s arm. “Just breathe, Scar. It’s fine.”

A beat passes.

Scar stops breathing.

Grian looks over, questioning, and is met with eyes more panicked than Grian has ever seen before. Scar’s face is pale and his eyes are wide and terrified, a hand now raised up to his throat and starting to claw at the skin there. He is utterly silent, mouth opening and closing as he struggles, and Grian feels his own chest tighten, his own breathing quicken. He reaches for Scar with both hands, grabbing at him desperately as he tries to figure out what’s going on.

“Scar, breathe!” Grian shouts, but Scar only shakes his head violently and grabs right back at him, like he’s searching for support.

His task, what’s his task? Grian dives wildly into his memory for any clues, trying to make sense of the strange behavior from the past few minutes.

All at once, it hits him.

He’d asked Scar to sit, and he had stood. He had told Scar to stand, and he had sat. He had asked Scar to breathe, and he had stopped. It’s almost too obvious, looking back.

“Scar!” Grian shouts, panic forcing his voice louder. He ducks his head to meet Scar’s wet eyes with his own. “Scar, don’t breathe.”

Scar gasps and coughs, collapsing forward into Grian’s shoulder as he takes in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving and stuttering. A low whine of pain builds in Scar’s throat, and Grian just sits there and holds him, one hand on the back of his neck and one on his back. It’s hard to tell which one of them is shaking, but he suspects it’s probably both.

“I’m sorry,” Grian says, quieter now. “I’m sorry, Scar. I didn’t know.”

“…That’s kind of the point,” Scar says roughly, and coughs again. “Secret.”

Grian just sighs, and for a few minutes they sit there and breathe in the waning light.

“They keep telling me to take the helmet off,” Scar says, sounding distant and drained.

Grian feels a stab of sympathy and unwarranted anger. The others didn’t know, either. “Don’t,” Grian says. “Don’t take it off.”

A moment passes, and Scar reaches up with trembling hands to remove the helmet from his head. It makes a dull clanking sound when he drops it to the floor. Grian runs a comforting hand through his sweaty hair, and a bit of weight seems to leave Scar’s shoulders.

Fighting the pull of the tasks is difficult. If Scar had been able to focus enough, maybe he could have fought the impulse to stop breathing. Actively suffocating tended to make concentrating hard, though. He hadn’t had a chance. Not really.

“I’m going to fail this one,” Scar says, resigned.

“Maybe,” Grian allows, and thinks hard about how to word the next thing he wants to say.

“I don’t have any friends,” Grian says eventually, slowly. “I’m in the market.”

There. Nothing that could be construed as a command.

“Oh?” Scar says, muffled into Grian’s shoulder. “Me too.”

Grian hums, wings enclosing around them just a bit more. “How about that,” he says softly.

“How about that,” Scar repeats, tired but lighter.

Outside, the same stars as always hang over them, and they fall asleep without another word.

[snakeeeater]

hey man, nice shot

[dante sparda x gn werewolf!reader] -> prologue

PLEASE READ:

★ This is DMC5 Dante!!

★ This is borderline crack right now but will develop a bit more bear with me fellas

★ That’s all! Enjoy this wacky woohoo garbage

So, you’re fucked.

That’s what you’re thinking when the uglyass pyrobat you’re stalking breaks through the roof of a warehouse on Seventh. The building’s got these hellish glowing red lights pulsating from the cracks forming in its dilapidated state, and suddenly your M1911s and dearly beloved 14 Randall don’t feel sufficient.

You’re thankful for the rain and overcast sky tonight, because it masks your footsteps and softens your shadow’s mark against the ground as you slowly approach the place. The hood of your sweatshirt is soaked through— you thought about putting on your windbreaker earlier to stay dry and warm, but the plastic-y sounds it made when you moved would certainly gain unwanted attention from the demon you were stalking.

You shift one of the straps of your holsters before crouching by the window. Your knees crack. You press your back to the wall for a moment. 

Okay.

Now that you’re this close you can tell that there’s definitely some sort of demonic ritual going on inside from what you hear— voices that sound like sandpaper speak in an overlapping chatter. You strain your ears. There’s the sound of magic sparking and the sound of something… squishy? It sounds like someone being sliced in a horror movie.

You shudder at the implications of that sound, but keep your mouth shut.

When hearing doesn’t yield any more ideas, you turn on your heels. The rubber soles of your combat boots grind the gravel under your feet a little too loudly and you freeze. A fearful eye of yours shoots up to see if the demons heard anything.

A second passes.

Another.

You seem to be safe… for now.

You decide against sticking your head over the windowsill and opt to put an eye to one of the holes in the walls. You squint through the hazy red filling the room.

And your blood runs ice cold.

A cross levitates in the center of the empty warehouse and a naked woman hangs upside down from it, spinning slowly. She’s been brutally ripped open and you’re sure all her blood was used in making the markings on the floor that you’re failing to interpret. Her— oh god, you want to vomit— her organs are organized in messy piles in what you assume are the cardinal directions.

In a fleeting attempt to tear your eyes away from that disgusting scene, you decide take in the demons. 

You see three bowing Hell Caina, a triad of pyrobats circling the ceiling, the shadows of three Death Scissors, three massive Proto Angelo heading Scudo Angelo units of three, and at the center of it all, three goddamn Lusachia which were doing all the raspy chanting you hear.

You turn around, pressing your back to the wall. 

The number three seems to be important to this ritual. You’d have to tell Morrison.

“Shit.” You press the heels of your palms to your eye sockets.

You almost laugh.

If you got back to Morrison from here.

Sure, you weren’t human anymore. Sure, you were legally dead, so it wouldn’t really matter if you were crushed like a grape. And sure, you survived a freak werewolf attack.

But after dying, being buried, transforming during the new moon cycle, and crawling out of the ground, you still weren’t able to bust out the monster hiding underneath your skin at will.

You massaged the scarring bite wounds that had been left behind on your left shoulder. They was no longer tender, but they still looked angry as hell.

“Maybe a life-or-death situation will bring it out.” You whisper so softly you can’t hear it yourself. It worked for most fictional characters, anyway. You’re left with virtually no choice.

You position yourself at the window. 

Feeling like a stereotypical “bad boy” in a straight-to-DVD teen movie sneaking into his girlfriend’s room at night, you enter the warehouse slowly through the window. You’re not quite sure how the quiet rustling goes ignored. Plot armor, maybe.

You crouch in the shadows a stack of crates cast upon the floor and aim down the front sight of your gun, like Morrison taught you. You remember some wise words from… well, every movie you’ve ever seen featuring a person learning how to use a gun: aim where they’re headed, not where they are.

You take in a shaky breath and

BANG!

You’ve fired a shot at a pyrobat. By a miracle, you hit it and it spirals downward gracelessly, whacking itself on a Scudo Angelo’s head and twitching to death. 

The entire hellish garrison turns to face you. If this were a Marvel movie, you’d make a quippy one-liner and kick ass.

In your current situation, however, a Hell Caina shrieks at you and slices a gaping hole in your body with its scythe. You blinked, and it was tearing into your flesh like a rabid dog to a raw turkey on Thanksgiving.

Through the pity-training Morrison put you through, the two of you found out that you can tank hits because of your werewolfish condition.

But it didn’t mean you liked to do it.

“Ow.” Is your response to the Hell Caina. It’s not even a shout, it’s more of a lame, throwaway comment. Some may even smell the stench of predetermined defeat radiating off of your body.

Since you’re close enough to shoot without missing, you point your pistol at its face and use your free hand to press against your wound. When you pull the trigger, it squeals loudly and melts away.

“Too bad I’m not like the other hunters.” You mumble. The tank role in video games was pretty boring. All they did was take damage so their cooler DPS-skilled teammates could do the actual killing. And then you died if you had nobody else with you.

It fits with your general luck.

You shoot a few bullets into the air and miss every shot. You shoot a Proto Angelo. The bullet ricochets off its shield, and you almost start sobbing.

You’re stupid for doing this. You’re no hunter. You’re too old to pick it up efficiently, according to everyone else you’ve talked to about jobs. You’re probably going to die somehow— maybe these demons will overpower your uncanny healing or just send you to Hell.

“This was supposed to be easy.” You laugh because if you’re not laughing, you’d be crying.

Your guns click with the telltale sign that they’re empty now.

“Great.” You growl. You hadn’t counted on wasting so many bullets in such a short amount of time— call it wishful thinking, call it ignorance, call it a total mistake.

A pyrobat spews fire in your direction, which you somersault to the side to avoid. At least you still had that ability.

You sigh as it obviously charges up another shot of fire to spit at you. “I wish I did Krav Maga when I was a kid. Then I’d rip and tear you guys apart.”

The pyrobat is unamused by your reference to Doom, the pyrobat spits fire again. You roll out of the way again. “Or maybe I should’ve been more like a stereotypical American and started learning how to shoot young.”

You’re talking too much for someone about to die. Your head is too light for someone who wants to run away.

The revving sounds of a motorcycle round up by the entrance of the warehouse.

“And that’s probably the police.” you sigh. This was turning out to be a whole mess. Now, you’d have horrible things happen to you and civilians would also be involved.

The doors to the warehouse bust open with a loud BANG. A man with hair the color of undyed silk walks in like he owns the place and every building in a five mile radius. In his hands he carries twin pistols that look like a similar model to yours. And on his back, he carries a sword like a badass.

You immediately envy this man’s swagger. He’s clearly another one of those “I’ve been doing this since I was ten” hunters, here to clean up a mess you couldn’t even get out of unscathed.

The man clicks his tongue at the sight of the mutilated woman. “That’s unfortunate. I guess that means… it’s time to groove!” 

And the man grooves.

With a dramatic twirl of his twin pistols the man transforms into a force of nature so powerful, you swear all over that he could secretly be a demon king down in Hell. His mission? To come up here to crush the dreams and this power-boosting ritual of demon king wannabes.

Or something. Your mind gets a little carried away.

But he really is a whirlwind of carnage, seeming as though he is fused to his sword and ripping through demons like there was no tomorrow.

Correction: there is no tomorrow. Now for these pathetic pieces of Hell scum. He even laughs at one point after vanquishing all of the Death Scissors you’ve been narrowly avoiding. He drives his sword into the helmet of a Proto Angelo and it shatters with the force. He shoots a barrage of bullets into the Lusachia and it they fall dead before any even had the chance to teleport to safety.

And when he tap danced on the body of his final victim while humming a jovial tune, your jaw actually dropped.

He shoots you a look after the spectacle. “You one of them?”

The guy wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

“Uh…” you look down at your body. Nothing about you screams demon. “No. I’m human.”

The man shakes his head, like he knows you’re lying but doesn’t care enough to let you know that he knows. “Call the cops on this place after you leave, alright sweetheart? Wouldn’t want that poor lady to become another face on a milk carton.”

“Yeah.” You nod. He called me sweetheart. You think dumbly.

It’s— made evident by your immediate thoughts— been ages since you’ve been flirted with, let alone talked to someone who wasn’t Morrison.

The man turns and begins walking away. Before his silhouette disappears into the night, he raises a hand. “Ciao.”

You spot the guy with hair as white as snow again at a crosswalk while walking home a couple nights later.

It goes like this:

You were rightfully restless after your warehouse fail. Your pay from Morrison was still in full, so you had enough to splurge a little on the finer things in life, like restocking the dwindling supply of Budweisers you liked to keep handy in your fridge.

You make your way down to the closest 7-11, which happens to be a five minute walk away from your shitty new apartment. 

This area was the type you’d avoid in your old life— sketchy hoodlums loitering in alleyways, the telltale twitches of drug addicts walking by, and the accusing shouts of petty thugs getting into murderous fisticuffs. 

You are by no means a pearl-clutching socialite with a plush and stuffed trust fund, but living here as someone who didn’t have the best means of defending themselves… well, it wasn’t a good idea. The people here weren’t significantly more dangerous, but they were a hell of a lot more jumpy than other people you’d pass on the street.

However, after being bit by one of those mangy dogs of the night, you weren’t so scared of meeting the next Ted Bundy while hunting demons.

(Okay. Attempting to hunt demons.)

As Jason Dean in the cult classic movie Heathers once stated, 7-11 is consistent across all American locations and you’re inclined to agree.

Every chain location you’ve been to has looked like a front for a meth lab. Every time you push a 7-11 door open, it feels like the introductory gas station scene in the Resident Evil 2 Remake is being superimposed over your reality.

You avoid a shirtless guy who won’t stop coughing onto the chip rack and make your way to the refrigerated drinks section for your Budweiser. You grab a box of fifteen cans for about twenty dollars and make your way to the front. You flash your impeccably-crafted fake driver’s license from Morrison to the underpaid cashier who doesn’t bat an eye at its legitimacy as you slide thirty dollars over the counter. 

You almost tell her: “Keep the change, kid,” but you’re more broke than she is, so you grab the coins she’s pulled from the register.

You step outside the store and walk away from the encampment of cigarette smokers loitering by the entrance so you can place the box on the floor. You wiggle a beer can free, planning on popping it open when you get closer to home and chugging it.

You reach your first crosswalk shortly after this. 

This is where you meet the guy with hair like Danny Phantom again. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him notice you, do a little double take, look ahead again, and then get closer.

“This is probably gonna sound real cheesy,” is his opening line, complete with a suave pause. “But you look familiar.”

“Hi,” You reply, feeling your face start to flush a little at the sight of a good-looking dude. Jesus Christ. You were in need of some normal human interactions. “We were in that warehouse on Seventh a couple of days ago.”

“Ah,” the man nodded. “The one where that poor woman was kinda… turned into spaghetti.”

You nod. “That’s the one.”

“Fancy seeing your face again.” He has a flippant lilt to his voice, which makes you want to bury your face into a pillow and start giggling. Thank god it was dark out and he couldn’t see how you were awkwardly biting your bottom lip and thank god both your hands were occupied.

“So, uh… here.” You say in a genius reply, holding out the sweating can of beer meant for yourself.

The guy looks at it in your hand. “Hunh? What for?”

“Well, you, uh, helped me out with that warehouse situation so I figured…” you shrug, the inside of the can sloshing slightly with the motion. “Y’know, it’s certainly the least I could repay you with.”

“Well, thanks,” He reaches for the can and your fingers brush. He shoots you a crooked smile. “I’d love to stick around but I really gotta bounce. I’ll see you around?”

“See you.” You try to echo his coolness with your words, but it feels artificial.

This marks the moment where white hair guy crosses the street away from where you’re going so you march onward, not bothering to look back at him and thinking quite hard about it.

But when you get home, crack open a beer, and begin to watch T.V through your neighbor’s window across the street, you realize you hadn’t asked his name.

[next]

masterlist

[tanjirosjuliet]

Prettiest Flower

A/n : ahh it's been so long since I uploaded right? It felt so weird opening up my notebook and begin to write. Anyways here's a lil fic I wrote a few days ago. Just a reminder I'm going to post every Wednesday and Sunday now!!!

Warnings - none !

Genre - fluff

Pairing - Tanjiro x reader

Words - 680

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I found myself walking next to my sweetheart, Tanjiro. We had an extremely strenuous mission from which we were returning. Now that the stress of the mission had lifted, it left behind a sense of accomplishment and a longing for the comforts of home. On the way, suddenly, amidst the fading light, was a beautiful flower field stretched out before our eyes, mostly filled with dandelions. I gasped and tugged at Tanjiro's sleeve, "Look! Oh my gosh, a flower field! I've never seen one before it's so pretty!" I said in enthusiasm as Tanjiro marveled at my excited demeanor. Entranced by the flower field's beauty, me and Tanjiro exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between you to explore this unexpected treasure. Different scents from all directions hit Tanjiro's nose. I giggled as I looked at him making faces while trying to adjust. Tanjiro's calloused hands ran over the soft gorgeous flowers around the field, this was something he missed alot, he used to visit a humongous flower field not too far from his house alot in the summers as a kid but this was the first time in a while where he actually visited one again. A wave of sadness and nostalgia washed over him as he his lips turned downwards. I held his hands and caressed them, "Are you okay, m'love?" I asked him sympathetically as we walked through the field, thinking it might make Tanjiro feel better. "Yeah" Tanjiro let out a weak sigh, clearly missing his family. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over the landscape. I watched in awe as the birds soared overhead, their graceful silhouettes dancing against the vibrant canvas above. In the distance, the lights of the village began to flicker to life, a comforting reminder of the civilization amidst the wilderness. Lost in the beauty of the moment, me and Tanjiro found ourselves laughing and playing like children, the weight of our responsibilities momentarily forgotten. Our laughter echoed through the field as we played tag. His laughter and joy was infectious, I don't remember the last time I saw him like this, so carefree and full of energy even after a mission. Laughing and giggling, we collapsed on the grass below us, "Caught you!" Tanjiro said panting and giggling. His hair brushed against my cheek as he scooted closer to me. As we sat in the field, my eyes were focused on the ethereal view ahead. Soft breeze whistled through my ears as I closed my eyes. These were the fleeting moments of pure joy demon slayers wanted amidst the chaos of our lives. Tanjiro, knelt down amidst the dandelions, his nimble fingers plucking the delicate stems with care. With a playful glint in his eyes, I saw him crafting a dandelion clown, his hands working with practiced precision. I watched in admiration, marveling at his creativity and skill. The sun dipped lower below the horizon, painting the sky into pinks, purples and deep blue stretching miles behind us. Tanjiro presented me with his creation—a whimsical dandelion clown, its petals arranged oh so precisely as if he was trying to mirror the way I make him feel. The way he was presenting the flower crown was like a toddler sweetly presenting a flower to his crush. I couldn't help but laugh at the sight, a warm feeling spread through my chest at the thoughtfulness of his gesture, "Aww, love, you really didn't had to do this much" I said, grinning eye to eye as Tanjiro tenderly put the crown on my head with hearts in his eyes, "No, you deserve it" Tanjiro smiled, softly pinching my cheeks. I cupped his and face kissed his forehead scar lovingly and asked, "There are so many pretty flowers here, which one is your favorite?". He thought for a moment, he caressed my hair as he finally spoke, "There are very pretty flowers here, but if I were to choose the prettiest one... I'll always choose you."

MASTERLIST

@tanjirosjuliet ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴅᴏɴᴛ sᴛᴇᴀʟ/ᴄᴏᴘʏ/ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴡɪ���ʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ !

[kenshisfics]

breathe our last

words: 1,038 pairings: roronoa zoro & monkey d luffy tags: loss; hurt/comfort; broken promises; introspection warning(s): major character death

"Zoro?"

He doesn't hear his name at first, doesn't realize the quiet voice is his captain's until Luffy raises a hand, and his thumb gently finds the scar carved into Zoro's cheek.

He draws in a shaky breath. Holds it. "Zoro?" he tries again.

But it isn't right; he doesn't sound like himself. Luffy isn't quiet like this. His voice is never so faint, and when he says it, his name is never a whisper, and the syllables don't leave with soft, rounded edges like something delicate. Fragile.

The thumb gently follows the scar to his eye, fingertips finding his earrings, his jaw.

Luffy's hand waits there. Waits for Zoro to speak.

But something has his jaw wired shut. A persistent chill like ice underneath his skin, resisting the warmth of Luffy's hand where it traces the lines of his face.

But he's waiting—waiting for him—and so he cracks it open anyway. Finds the words resting like ashes on his tongue.

"Yes, Captain?"

Luffy smiles. "Zoro."

His name, again. But even as it comes from his captain's lips, having a bit more strength to it, it still sounds wrong. It should be a shout, a laugh, a command.

Not this.

But Luffy says it with a smile, and that's enough. It should be enough. To have his captain call his name, not to gain his attention, now, but just to say it, to shape it and to have it. Because where Zoro's attention is concerned, Luffy's never really been without. Not since that day.

With the hand not supporting Luffy's head, Zoro runs a thumb under his eye, along that thin, crescent scar. If he didn't know to look for it—hadn't ingrained this face and its many expressions into memory so that he knows them better than the backs of his own hands—he might mistake the small scar for a laugh line, and wouldn't that suit him?

As the rough skin of his hand moves to brush away the hair sticking to his captain's forehead, damp and feverish, Luffy laughs, but the sound isn't bright, isn't loud. It isn't Luffy.

"Do you remember?" Luffy asks, once he catches his breath, finds air enough to carry his words. "Our promise?"

Zoro stills at the question, at the rough, reedy quality of his captain's voice. "Which one?" he asks. He'd made a lot of promises. Not all he'd kept.

Luffy laughs again, a quiet, pained huff, his eyes crinkling. The thin scar follows in a gentle arc. "The first."

Alone, in a dusty courtyard.

Ahead, a tall, brick fence and the blue sky shuttered behind it. At his back, the unrelenting sun. Between them—drawn, stretched—the long shadow of a crucifix extending out from under his feet, as though reaching to climb up and out.

And clambering over the wall, a boy, his face wreathed by an even brighter sun, a rising dawn trimmed with red ribbon.

You're pretty strong, aren't you?

"Yes," he says.

I'm only doing this to accomplish my dream.

"I remember."

He could never forget.

Its straw torn, loose, and tangled, that same sun rests on Luffy's chest; a battered soul shadowing a human heart. Slowly, gently, Luffy threads his fingers through the trembling strands. Reaches for lines of catch stitch—Nami scolding his recklessness even as she pieces their captain's treasure back together, carefully, with fond, red string—and finds only mangled thread.

The ribbon's gone, too. Lost.

He watches as Luffy's lips part, then close. Like a light dimming, his smile falls.

Years ago, when everything had seemed to be splintering apart—keel and crew both—and their heavy gazes had followed their captain's bowed back, Zoro had spelled things out for Luffy in no uncertain terms: It's the captain's duty to be strong for his crew, to allow fear and uncertainty to run off him like water.

But here, it's just the two of them. There's no one else to be strong for.

Luffy struggles to speak. He closes his eyes, shutters a misty sheen behind dark lashes. Opens them, and—

"I tried."

Luffy's voice cracks, and when he hears it, something in him does too. Shatters like a white sword against an unforgiving, black blade.

"I tried really hard," Luffy says, even as each word leaves him increasingly spent. "My half—"

I know.

"My half of our promise—"

Save your breath.

"I tried to keep it, Zoro." A break. Then, a quiet, pained sound. "I really did."

It isn't right.

Luffy's hand draws Zoro's face downwards, brings their gazes together, and the expression he sees isn't like any he's committed to memory, carved into his waking thoughts with hardened hands that—despite their calluses and scars—lingered long on every detail.

Broken.

Luffy shouldn't look this way.

Zoro swallows ash, catches the hand that falls from his face. Places it by his captain's heart, his soul. But what difference is there?

"I broke a promise, too."

Sorry for worrying you…

A promise he'd sworn on his life, on his sword. But what difference is there?

I'll never be defeated again!

"So don't apologize."

A dusty courtyard. A blistering sun. Standing across from the man he'd sworn his life to.

An oath, and after it, a warning.

"After all we've been through," Zoro says, "that's the last thing I would ever ask of you."

The stranger withdraws, chased away by a familiar smile.

It still isn't quite right. Face creased with pain, not laughter. His head bare. His namesake hardly recognizable. But it's Luffy. Those eyes, and that smile.

Undeniably Luffy.

That quiet voice again—his captain's—draws him closer. "The others…" he says, and the fading words reach only as far as the two of them, and no further.

"Yeah. I'll look after them." The weight will be heavy without their captain. But they'll have need of Zoro's back. For them—for crew—he can find it in him to shoulder anything.

A moment passes, and with it the cool slide of air along his cheek.

He watches as Luffy's eyes glide shut. Observes—etches—the way his features smooth out one last time, softening around a gentle, curving mouth.

"Zoro," Luffy breathes.

Thank you.

"Captain."

Goodbye.

[cross-posted on ao3.]

[thevegandarkelf]

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Thirty-Four

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death, PTSD

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, discussion of scars

Word count: 5.9k

Daryl and I had our coffee together, and shared plenty more kisses, before he had to go relieve the overnight person from watch. I tried to return his vest to him, but he insisted on me wearing it for the day. Wanted me to “show these pricks what’s up” and “it looked better on me, so I should be the one wearing it anyway.” After he went and got changed, I met him at the front door, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes and fixing it so it looked a little less crazy.

“Gonna be hard bein’ away from ya all day after that,” Daryl said as he snaked his arms around my waist. I tugged him by the collar of his button-up and pulled him in for another kiss, this one a bit longer than the others.

“Will that hold you over ’til later?” I asked, dropping my eyes to the floor and blushing heavily. With the amount of time I’d spent blushing since I first walked through the front gates months ago, my cheeks might as well have just permanently stayed pink. He gave me another few soft, quick pecks before pulling me close for a hug.

“Now it will,” he replied. I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Try not to miss me too much,” I joked, giving him a flirtatious wink as he went out the door. He should’ve been the one saying that to me. I was already aching to be back in his arms.

There was an extra pep in my step as I bounded upstairs to get dressed. Before my series of very fortunate events, I planned on just wearing a regular pair of shorts and a t-shirt with Daryl’s jacket. But now, especially knowing he had some kind of surprise planned for later, I decided to wear the beautiful sundress he’d gotten me all those weeks ago, back when we hardly knew each other. I put his vest over top of it and looked at myself in the mirror. I was glowing, the smile on my face stretching from ear to ear. I was a giggling mess as I went back downstairs, taking some deep breaths to regain my composure before stepping outside.

The leaves had almost fully changed colors now, beautiful shades of red and orange creating a stunning visual, the branches swaying in the gentle breeze. The sun had almost completely peaked over the horizon, and there were hardly any clouds in the sky. Lights were starting to come on in people’s homes as everyone began to awaken and get ready for the day. Alexandria was like a painting.

I promised Aaron I’d stop by and help him practice walking before spending my day in the infirmary. My plan was to hang out in there all day, and I’d let everyone know to just stop by if they needed anything. And I of course encouraged my friends to come by if they wanted to chat. I softly knocked on the front door, hoping they were awake and I wasn’t disturbing anyone’s sleep. After a few moments, Aaron answered the door, the scent of whatever he or Eric had been cooking wafting out.

“Mornin’,” I greeted in a sing-song voice.

“Well you’re awfully cheery this morning,” Aaron acknowledged, “I’m ready when you are. Figured we could walk circles around the community for a bit if that’s good with you.”

“Actually, could we maybe…go to the infirmary?’ I asked, gesturing to it over my shoulder.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Aaron replied, looking puzzled, “do you need to check something?” I shook my head.

“No. I, umm, I need to talk to you. We can walk after, I promise,” I explained, practically stumbling over my words. My pink cheeks were quickly turning red. His eyes wandered down and grew wide when he realized what I was wearing, and a big, silly smile spread across his face.

“Ok, yeah. Yeah, we can go,” he agreed. He put his shoe on his good foot and came outside, taking my arm to balance as he closed the door behind him.

Once we got to the infirmary, I shut and locked the door. Everyone knew that when the door was locked, it meant I was with someone & to come back later. Y’know, doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.

“So I think I have…an idea as to what you wanna talk about, but what is it?” Aaron asked. I laid down on one of the infirmary tables, my arms folded across my stomach, and Aaron took a seat on the other one.

“It finally happened,” I said, unable to suppress the giggles any longer and gently kicking my feet on the table, “he asked if he could kiss me.” I could see Aaron’s goofy grin in my peripheral.

“And what did you say?” he asked, joy slipping into his voice. He knew damn well what the answer was.

“Dude, what do you think I said?” I responded, biting my lip to prevent myself from squealing with joy.

“Aah, that’s awesome!” he gushed, “I’m so happy for you! How was it?”

“Aaron, it was like a dream,” I said, staring up at the ceiling and smiling big again. I covered my face with my hands, turning blood red as I recollected the events of that morning. “I’ve been waiting for him to ask for weeks. My knees got so weak, I nearly collapsed. God it was…it was amazing. It was electric, it was perfect.”

“So would you say you two are official?” he asked.

“We didn’t talk about that. He’s supposed to be surprising me with something later.” I took my hands off my face and let my arms fall beside me, hanging off the sides of the table. “Maybe he’ll ask me then.”

“You two are joined at the hip,” Aaron said, “you’ve been practically dating for weeks now. He’d be silly not to.”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem like the type that’s into labels,” I sighed.

“Doesn’t matter. If he wants to be exclusive with you, he needs to tell you,” Aaron assured. The brotherly tone he used reminded of talking with my own brothers, and it warmed my heart.

“Yeah, you’re right. Oh my god, wait, I have more!” I exclaimed, throwing myself forward and sitting up on the table, folding my legs to the side. I brushed a hand through my hair to fix the frizzy mess. “So I have these pictures in my notebook. Most of them are of me with my family and friends, except for this one, which is a picture of me from a Renaissance festival in this beautiful blue gown. I look stunning in it, I won’t lie. Anyway, I showed them to Daryl weeks ago, and he dropped them all over the floor before giving them back to me. Well turns out, that was a clever little plan he concocted to steal the photo of me, and he’s been carrying it around in his vest this whole time.” I buried my face in my hands again, and adoration, joy, and giddiness swelled in my chest. It was so cute, it almost made me sick. “He fucking takes a picture of me out on the road with him!”

“Oh he’s in love with you,” Aaron gushed, that big, goofy smile returning to his face, “a hundred percent.”

“I think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves now,” I said, “if he is, I don’t think he’s going to reveal that right away.”

Aaron and I took a few long, slow laps around the community, him using my shoulder or arm to balance himself as he walked. He’d been making great progress in terms of being able to walk on his prosthetic. He was still using the cane a lot of the time but had been practicing walking around his house without it. I was proud of him, both for his determination and the progress he was making.

After I got Aaron home, I spent the day in the infirmary. Rick came by at one point, and while he didn’t make a comment about me wearing Daryl’s vest, I knew he saw it based on the face he made. Other than a few people coming in, I was mostly doing some writing and rummaging through some old stuff I’d found that I somehow missed during my initial deep clean weeks ago. And to my surprise, I found a white coat tucked away in an old bin. It was blank, with no name stitched above the pocket. I was going to have to take it home and customize it. I never received my long white coat, so to find one filled me with an excitement that I couldn’t put into words.

After a long period of my head buried in my notebook, I looked out the window. The sun was starting to go down, and since I told everyone that I would be available until it started to get dark, I started to pack up my backpack. As I slung it over my shoulder, the rusty door creaked open, and Rosita came skipping in.

“Hi,” she greeted, “I don’t need anything. I just wanted to say hey. Are you going home now?”

“Hey girly,” I replied, “yeah, I was going to. If you want to stay and chat for a bit, I’m down.”

“No, it’s ok. I was going to go home anyway. I just wanted to stop by for a moment.” Her eyes wandered down to Daryl’s vest, and she lit up. “Umm, hey Vector…what’s that you’re wearing?” she asked, gesturing to my attire.

“What does it look like I’m wearing?” I sassed, biting the inside of my lower lip to contain my giddiness.

“Do you have an update to share?” she inquired.

“Maybe.” I let out a series of soft giggles and averted my eyes from hers as I started blushing. “This morning, he, umm, asked if he could kiss me,”

“Aah!” Rosita squealed, running over and throwing her arms around me for a hug, “finally! How did he do it? Tell me everything!”

In order for the context of the kiss to make sense, I had to explain the question I initially asked Daryl, and that would require explaining what happened a few days ago, which I didn’t want to get into. “He just asked me this morning. I got up before him, I was drinking coffee downstairs, he came down, and he asked. And holy shit, it was fucking magical.”

“Took him long enough,” she said, “I’m happy for you, dude. That’s so exciting!”

“Thanks.” I bounced my leg anxiously and looked past her to the door for a moment before looking back at her. “Could you do me a favor? Can you go see if Daryl’s home?” I requested, “he told me to not get home before he did.”

“Why’d he say that?”

“He has a surprise of some kind. Told me not to get home before him so I wouldn’t ruin it.”

“Like a…like a bedroom surprise?” she teased. It was like she was more excited for me to sleep with Daryl than I was. Rosita wasn’t aware of my history, so I couldn’t blame her for assuming that was the direction tonight could be going in. But I knew it wasn’t, and that’s exactly how I wanted it.

“Rosita, please,” I sighed, “could you just go check?”

“Ok ok, fine,” she said, holding her hands in the air as she walked over to and out the door.

I tapped my foot on the ground anxiously. The minutes she was gone felt like hours. She threw the door open when she returned, causing it to slam into the wall and startle me.

“He’s back,” she explained, and I let out a sigh that was both one of relief and nervous energy.

“Alright, I guess I’ll go home now,” I sighed, grabbing my bag once again and slinging it over my shoulders, taking the white coat I’d found and doing the same.

“You’ll have to tell me what happens,” she requested as she led us to the infirmary door and opened it for me.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” I said, discreetly scratching at the side of my thumb with my index finger. Rosita stopped me and stood in front of me, putting her hands on my shoulders.

“You’re gonna be fine,” she reassured, giving me another hug, “you got this.”

“Thanks. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

I rubbed my arms as I walked back home, the cool October air nipping at my skin as the sun continued to set. Porch lights were coming on, and people were gathering in their homes for dinner. The door was unlocked, as it usually was, and I kicked my boots off and set my bag on the ground next to me.

“Hey Daryl, come look what I found,” I called out, taking his vest off and resting it on top of my backpack. I slipped the white coat on, the familiar feeling of that cotton-polyester blend on my skin soothing my anxiety like a blanket of comfort. It was a bit big on me, but not too bad. Better than it being too small, I suppose. The sleeves were a little long, and it hugged my body just a hair, which I was happy with. Happy tears welled in my eyes as I started to get emotional. Since the world had fallen before I completed my residency, I didn’t think I would see the day I got my long white coat. I just wished my family had been there to see me. Daryl came out from around the corner upstairs, probably from in his room.

“Well, look at that.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and picked me up, bringing me to eye-level and kissing me like it had been months since we’d seen each other, “ya became a princess after all."

It took a moment for me to understand what he was talking about, but then it clicked. The story about what made me first want to become a doctor, with the lady in the floral dress and the white coat who saved my brother’s life, who little 3-year-old me asked if she was a princess, and she said yes…I’d become the princess little me had dreamed of being.

“Well hello to you too,” I greeted, blushing and kicking my feet.

“How was ya day, sunshine?” he asked, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

“Not bad. Helped Aaron with his walking, saw some people,” I explained. I ran my fingers up the back of his neck and into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “How was yours?”

“Borin’ as hell, which I guess is good. Coulda been worse. Been thinkin’ ‘bout ya all day. Was excited to get back.”

“Likewise.”

“Now c’mon, got something to show ya,” Daryl said as he set me back down, “g’on out back. I’ll be there in a sec.”

I took off my white coat and tossed it onto my backpack. I couldn’t be bothered to put my boots back on. I skipped out the front door and around the side of the house, the soft grass tickling my ankles. In all my time here, I’d never actually spent any time in the backyard. I preferred to be around Daryl or my friends, but when I did have alone time, I liked to stay in bed. After not having a bed for a year and a half, I wasn’t taking the one that I finally got for granted.

The backyard didn’t have anything in it, just a stretch of grass that led to some small trees. My blanket was laid out on the ground, and there was something small in the center. As I approached it, I realized that the small item was a glass mason jar filled with daisies.

I for sure thought my heart was going to explode.

I sat down on the blanket and took the jar in my hand, tapping my fingers on the glass. I caressed the soft petals with my fingers, careful not to tug on them so I didn’t pull them off on accident. I brought the jar to my nose and breathed in deeply, taking in the comforting scent the little flowers emitted. The scent of daisies was one of my favorites. A few minutes later, Daryl came around the side of the house and joined me on the blanket.

“Ya like ‘em?” he asked as he sat down next to me, scooting closer to close the space between us.

“Are you kidding? I love them,” I gushed, “this is so sweet of you.”

“Got somethin’ else for ya too,” he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out some pieces of cloth, “put ya hands out.”

I looked at him, confused, but did as he instructed, setting the jar down and putting my hands out in front of me. He took one of the pieces and slipped it over my hand onto my wrist, then did the same with the other. They were little wristbands, made out of one of Daryl’s old bandanas that I often saw him use when he would work on his bike.

“Had Carol make ‘em,” he explained as he adjusted the one on my right wrist, “now ya don’t gotta look at ‘em all the time.”

He had wristbands made for me, out of one of his own bandanas, so that I wouldn’t have to look at my scars all day. That had to be the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me. In an instant, I was overcome with emotion, and I buried my face in my hands and started crying.

“Hey, are ya ok? Didn’t mean to make ya cry,” he soothed. He snaked an arm around my back and rested his hand on my hip, kissing me on the cheek.

“They’re happy tears,” I assured, taking off my glasses and rubbing my eyes with my fists, “it’s just so sweet, I’m so overwhelmed, but with happy feelings. Thank you. I love them. Seriously Daryl, you're incredible.” I wiped my cheeks with my hands, the tears still flowing freely, laughing softly. “God, I’m such a crybaby.”

“Just got a lotta emotions,” Daryl said as he used his sleeve to wipe tears from my cheek, “ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”

A lightbulb flickered on in my head, and I had an idea. “I actually have something for you too,” I said before slipping my glasses back on. I gave him a kiss on the cheek before skipping back inside, grabbing my notebook and coming back to join him on the blanket.

“A few weeks ago, you asked if you could read something of mine. Well, this is why I never let you read anything,” I explained as I flipped through to find the page I was looking for, “practically everything before I arrived here is about…what happened. Everything from the last couple of months…is mostly about you.” It had gotten dark at this point, and while I hoped the lights inside would be enough for him to see, I hoped it was dark enough to conceal my flushed cheeks.

“Ya write ‘bout me that much?” he wondered.

“I’ve been writing about you since the day I got here. If I showed you how much there actually is about you in here, you might laugh at me,” I replied, continuing to rifle through the pages to find the exact one I was looking for. If I had thought of it ahead of time, I would’ve bookmarked it for easier access. But allowing Daryl to read a piece of my work about him was more of a last-minute decision.

“Nah, it’s cute,” he admired. I could see him watching me in my peripheral, meticulously eyeing every move I made.

“Here,” I said, holding it out to him, “I picked something for you to read.” He took my notebook, brushing his hand against mine as he did. “It’s a bit of a long one, but I think you’ll like it.”

I don’t think he’d ever say it, but I knew based on the look on his face that he was excited to finally be getting a peek at this notebook I spent so much of my time buried in. I watched his eyes scan over every word, the anxiety in the pit of my stomach beginning to make its way up the further he got.

Hi everyone,

So I made it to this community called Alexandria, and I met this guy. His name is Daryl, and I like him. A lot. Here's why I know you all would like him too.

Mom: He makes me happy, Mom. Like really happy. Like the way I imagine Dad made you feel. You would see him, lean over to me, and tell me you can see the sunshine radiating off him. You'd welcome him into the family with open arms. You'd be impressed with his knowledge of the local flora and show him your garden. You always loved showing people your garden. You'd offer to make him a few day's worth of food, and despite his protests, you'd do it anyway. "Everyone deserves a good home-cooked meal," you'd always say. You never let anyone leave the house without food.

Dad: Daryl is everything you taught my brothers a man should be--a protector, a confidant, a friend, a lover, and a good example. He's kind, compassionate, and sticks up for the little guy. He's a shoulder to cry on when you need one. Daryl's respectful, caring, loyal, and such a sweet soul. He claims not to have a way with words, but that doesn't matter because his actions speak for him. He doesn't care about things like what you look like or who you love. He just cares about whether or not you're a good person. He's truly one of the most stand-up people I've ever met. I hope you're out there Dad. I want you to meet him.

Preston: Being the oldest and the most protective of me, I know you'd have your reservations at first, but those would fade quickly. After your big-brother interrogation, you'd fall in love with him too. Sure, you'd let him know that if he ever hurt me, he'd have to deal with your wrath, but that's not something you'd have to worry about, and you'd know that. You'd see how happy he makes me and how well he treats me, and you would know I was safe. You always trusted my judge of character, so you'd know if I was bringing him around you, he'd have to be a good one.

Jay: Oh Jay, you and Daryl would be the best of friends. You'd bond over outdoor activities, maybe even go camping together. You'd have a drink together and take hunting trips and talk while you gutted your kills. Maybe get a little too drunk and share things you'd otherwise not. You had a habit of oversharing when you were drunk. Like Preston, you'd have to interrogate him a little, but you'd be nothing short of impressed. His sense of humor is very similar to yours, and I know you'd love that. You admired strong morals, and while the world has gone to shit, his moral compass hasn't. If you're out there Jay, maybe you'll get to meet him.

Eli: I know it would take you longer to warm up, being the shy one between the four of us. Once you did, you'd adore Daryl. You'd look up to him, see him like a brother. You were always about getting to know people on a deeper level, you sensitive soul, so you'd wanna get to know him and his interests. You'd show him your music and ask him to be your concert buddy when I couldn't go. Your favorite thing, though, would be his loyalty to his family and the people he cares about. You always admired that in people.

Kathryn: Oh bestie, I think this might be the one. Daryl's a gem, a true diamond in the rough. He's every woman's dream man--attentive, romantic (in his own way), an absolute sweetheart, loyal to death, the list goes on. He's the type that, in a normal world, would run out and get me tampons at 3am if I needed them. Not to mention, he's incredibly handsome. He's so hot, dude. Like I almost don't know what to do with myself. He's a bit shy with a hard exterior, but once you crack that wide open, that's when he really shines. You were such an extrovert, so you'd enjoy watching Daryl come out of his shell as you got to know him. But most of all, you'd love how happy I am with him. He makes me really happy, Kathryn. And he makes this scary world a little less scary to be in.

When he was finished, he ran his fingers over the edges of the paper, tapping it lightly. I tilted my head to get a better look at his face. He looked like he was trying to suppress a big, goofy smile, but a little bit of it broke through. The look on his face indicated positive feelings, but his lack of response worried me. What if he hated it and was trying to figure out how to tell me? Or what if he was laughing at it because it was stupid? I didn’t know which was worse.

“So…what do you think?” I asked. The nerves and anxiety were obvious in the shakiness of my voice.

Rather than responding with words, he set my notebook on the ground in front of him. He looked at me with a longing and adoration I’d never seen before, and he lightly bit his bottom lip. Daryl interlocked his fingers on the nape of my neck, careful not to tug on my hair, and brought his lips to mine. It was fucking electric, the sparks dancing between us causing my lips to tingle. He tenderly massaged the area behind my ears, and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling like an idiot into our kiss. He rested his nose and forehead on mine as he pulled away.

“Does that answer ya question?” he asked.

Sure, we were tucked away in a dark backyard, most of the community in their homes minding their own business, but for Daryl to show this type of affection in a semi-public setting was…riveting.

“Yeah,” I giggled.

“I love it,” he beamed as he continued to massage the sensitive area behind my ears, “thanks for sharin’. Could…could I maybe keep it? Or could ya write one for me?”

“I had a feeling you might ask me that.” I leaned past him to grab my notebook from its spot on the blanket. I tore along the edge, removing the paper from its spiral binding and handing it to him. “Yes, you can keep it.”

“Add it to the collection,” he joked as he folded it up and slipped it into his pocket.

I took my notebook and started to flip back several pages. “Do you wanna hear the very first thing I ever wrote about you?”

“Hell yeah.” He put one arm around my back, the other under my legs, and scooped me up into his lap, crossing his legs. He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his head on my shoulder. I went back too far and flipped forward a few pages before finding my first entry since arriving at Alexandria. My first entry about Daryl.

“Well, I did it. I finally found Alexandria. No sign of Jay though. Hopefully that means he traveled south to Florida to find Dad. But there’s someone else here. When I showed up at the gates with the man whose foot I’d hacked off on my shoulder, I was knocked out and woke up in a little cell. There was a man with a crossbow aimed at me, but that wasn’t the first thing I noticed about him. The first thing I noticed was his voice. It’s—“ I paused, chuckling and blushing a little as I read ahead. “God, did I really write that? Anyway, it’s nice and gravely, and I like it. A lot. The way he called me sunshine gave me butterflies. Then I noticed how handsome he was. Surely someone that gorgeous had to be off the market, but I guess he’s a free man. His name’s Daryl, and we’re sharing a house. I don’t think he likes me all that much. Hopefully, he’ll eventually be able to at least tolerate me.”

“Definitely more than just toleratin’ ya now.” He was drawing small shapes up and down my spine with his fingers, switching between circles and swirls and shapes that I was now certain were hearts. “When ya got here, definitely thought ya’s married.”

“Why’d you think that?” I asked, confusion lacing my voice, “I never had a ring on or anything.”

“Have ya looked at yourself? Any man’d be crazy not to wife ya up.”

“Said the same thing about you,” I echoed, holding my notebook up and flashing the entry I’d just read him before tossing it on the blanket next to me. “What did you want to show me?”

“Look up,” Daryl said as he craned his head to the sky. I mimicked him, tilting my head up as well.

It was almost pitch black now, the only light coming from the ones on in our house and the ones next to us, and there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, giving the stars a chance to, for lack of a better phrasing, really shine. The sky was decorated with them, each one twinkling like glitter. Growing up in a small town, I spent lots of nights in our backyard, staring up at a cloudless sky filled with stars. After moving to a big city for medical school, those nights became few and far between, and they were an experience I savored when I visited my hometown. After the world fell, my sole focus, like everyone else’s, was survival, so I never bothered to take a moment to appreciate the scenery of wherever I was. But now, I was in a walled-in community, and it was safe enough to kick back and look at the stars.

“Whoa.” It came out as a soft, breathy whisper. I was in complete awe, hardly able to speak. Funny to see ya speechless since ya talk so damn much, Daryl would probably say.

“North star’s up there,” he explained, pointing up to a particularly bright little star, “little dipper comes off it. Follow it down—“ he drew an invisible line with his finger as he pointed from one star to another “—and ya get the big dipper.”

“It’s like us.” I was smiling big, and despite not looking at Daryl’s face, I knew he was looking at me with a confused expression on it. “Y’know, like big spoon, little spoon. One of these nights, I’m gonna treat you to being the little spoon. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

There was silence between us for a bit as we admired the stunning sight above. It was like someone had taken fairy dust and sprinkled it across the sky, each little flicker of a twinkling star causing my eyes to dart around to keep up. I was in awe.

Of course, I couldn’t look up at a night sky full of stars without thinking about my dad. It comforted me to know that, if he was alive, whether that was up in space or down here on Earth, we were looking at the same view. Daryl’s beautiful voice pulled me from my dissociation.

“Hey Lydia?” My name sounded so sweet when it dripped off his lips like that. “As much as I like watchin’ ya get all excited ‘bout the stars, ain’t the only reason I brought ya out here. There’s somethin’ I wanna ask ya.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” I wondered. Like I didn’t know exactly what he was about to ask me.

He shifted a bit, putting his hands on the ground behind him to lean back and balance himself. It was difficult to make out his facial features with how dark it was, but it looked like he was biting his lip anxiously. If he was going to ask what I thought he was going to ask, he had nothing to be anxious about. I’d never heard Daryl’s voice shake when he talked, unless it was shaking in anger, but he was nervous, and it was obvious in his voice. “Was wonderin’ how ya’d feel if I…if I started callin’ ya my woman.”

I was over the goddamn moon.

“Daryl, my sweet, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He shifted more, and the anxiety radiating off of him was palpable. “Guess I am.”

Every ounce of joy, excitement, giddiness, enthusiasm, and happiness my body was capable of experiencing flowed through my veins, replacing every drop of blood, all of which was gathering in my cheeks. My heart rate skyrocketed, and I could practically feel my pupils dilating. I was grinning ear-to-ear so hard that my jaw was already beginning to ache. Every square inch of my skin was tingling in the most magical way.

I leaned into Daryl, our lips colliding before I could even close my eyes. My hands wandered up the back of his neck and into his hair, delicately twirling those dark chocolate locks around in my fingers. My big, silly smile broke through, causing me to laugh into our kiss and elicit a little smile from him in return.

Every kiss with Daryl was nothing short of absolute magic.

“Does that answer your question?” I replied, tickling the tip of his nose with mine.

The excitement and happiness were quickly overshadowed by anxiety, the butterflies in my stomach being swallowed whole by intense feelings of guilt. All I could think about was the one thing I might not be able to do for him, or if I could, not for a long time. I bit the inside of my lower lip and looked down, hanging my head in shame as my arms fell around his neck. “I, umm, I just have some…concerns. Regarding…uh…”

My voice trailed off, and I couldn’t even form the words. Sex, Lydia, just say it, I thought, you’re a doctor, just say it. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry for long, as Daryl seemed to know the exact direction I was going in.

“Hey.” He had the softest, most reassuring tone to his voice. He took my face in his hand, stroking my cheekbone with his thumb and doing that thing with his eyes again, where he looked deep into my soul, past all of the trauma and the bullshit. It made me weak in the knees in the best way. “Take all the time ya need. Ain’t goin’ nowhere just ‘cause of that.”

Not that I thought he would, but it was nice to be reassured anyway. And coming from someone as honest as Daryl, I knew it was true.

“Remember the other night when we were talkin’ ‘bout rememberin’ things the other person said?” he asked, and I nodded, “I remember when ya’s pukin’ after drinkin’ too much and said ya could kiss me at that moment.” It may have been dark, but I was blushing so hard, I was confident my cheeks were glowing & he could see it.

“Damn,” I sighed, “was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”

“The first time ya talked ‘bout wantin’ to kiss me? Ain’t never forgettin’ that,” he cooed, pulling me in for another long, tender smooch.

Taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley

[waywardsou2]

Whumptober 2024 - Shared trauma

Summary: HYDRA had sunk its claws into every price of the new world Bucky was growing accustomed too. Even into the lives of his new family.

Word Count: 705

Tags: shared trauma, wholesome, fluffy, less whump more fluffy, nightmares

It was nights like these where Bucky would wake up sweating. Water running off his back and dripping from his brow onto his lashes. The way tears would stain his face and his bottom lip would tremble. The way his hand would shake. Just his flesh one. His metal one wasn't made for such weakness.

His blankets would be torn. He would have to ask Tony for a new set.

And he wouldn't be able to sleep again. He didn't want to.

He didn't want to face what was there every time he closed his eyes.

So he got up, grabbed whatever was closest and threw it on before heading to the roof for some fresh air and privacy.

Except instead he found the red headed ex secret agent. Natasha Romanoff. He had met her before. He remembered her.

He felt like turning around and leaving. She seemed comfortable in the silence and he still wasn't sure if he was welcome. Having almost killed her. Twice.

But she saw him, she passed for a moment and he froze. His hands in his pockets as they started at each other in the dark.

Until she beckoned him over. Moving her hand in a forward motion before patting it on the concrete next to her. She was sitting with her knees tucked to her chest and he head resting a top them.

He sat down. Laying his legs over the edge of the building and leaning back on his hands.

He didn't look at her, simply at the forest Stark owned and the twinkling stars littering the horizon above the tree line.

The cold air was tough in his lungs but he reveled in the freshness of it. The cold of nature and night time. Not lab chambers and frozen metallic air.

"You get the dreams too Barnes?" Natasha said breaking the silence.

"Yeah" he admited

"They don't ever go away do they? Not matter how many wrongs you right. Doesn't take away what you did"

He breathed deeply listening to her calm voice. Though what she was saying was true. Her somber and soft voice drowned out the bad thoughts creeping their black tendrils of dread into his mind.

"It's all in the past. But that past is too recent. Too real. Too memorable" she continued

"Like a life you could never have imagined living but had to live anyway" he finished for her

"Like a bad dream you couldn't wake up from"

She hummed in agreeance.

And the two sat there. Staring at the night sky until day break. Basking in the dim glow of the stars and the pleasantness if each other's company

"I'm sorry for trying to kill you" Bucky says bluntly

"I'm sorry for not sticking by you against Stark. He's a douchbag"

"No hard feelings then"

She shook her head. A small smile on her lips. Her teeth just peeking out

"You aren't so bad Barnes. I get what Steve sees in you"

Now it was Bucky's turn to smile. If not for Steve he never woild have make it here. He would never have left HYDRAs clutches and he would have never been given to the Wakandan's so they could help him.

He would have still be trapped

And he believe Natasha might have been too

Even years after the wars HYDRAs still had its filthy hands in every organisation over the world. They had ruined more lived. Even if Steve and all the history books told him they'd one the war.

The scars from every battle said other wise.

And even thought Natasha never lived to see the war. He could tell she had seen a great deal of battles

And the compassion she still had through all of it was commendable. He respected her.

And Natasha revered Bucky. Knowing it took more than just being a soldier to survive all he had. To learn to live again after feeling like you were nothing but a husk for so long. She couldn't help but admire his strength.

Silent the two of them marveled at the strength and bravery of the other as they waited for the sun to rise and their new families to start wondering where they are.

Part of head canon AU for a domestic and peaceful Avengers. More coming soon.

[witchysquirrel]

Epiphany

Chapter Five

By the time Ravenna had concluded her walk, Rhys, Azriel, and Celeste had gone, and she found Cassian fast asleep in bed once again. She took a seat in the chair at his bedside, leaning back and rubbing her eyes a little. She reached over, grabbing the novel she’d picked up from the library that morning; it was a mystery romance novel she’d decided to try. Ravenna read while Cassian slept, taking a trip into her own head for a time. She had a sandwich for dinner and continued reading as the sun lowered in the sky and was replaced by stars.

It must’ve been close to midnight when all of a sudden, a low growl filled the room. Ravenna looked up from her book just as Cassian shot up in bed, eyes wild, panicked. His chest heaved, eyes searching frantically around the dim room until they found Ravenna. He looked at her wide-eyed, catching his breath as he rested back onto his knees, hands on his thighs, face ashen.

“Cass,” she said, just above a whisper. “You’re safe.”

His eyes searched her face again. “It was a nightmare,” he croaked out, sniffing and running a hand through his hair as he looked around the dark room once more.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, concern evident on her face.

“There were…. people I loved,” he said, his gruff voice quiet, soft around the edges. “About to be killed. I couldn’t get to them. My wings wouldn’t work,” he continued. “The pain,” he started, but he couldn’t finish, his face scrunching into a grimace. Ravenna turned to get him another dose of pain medication, pouring the liquid into a small glass with her back to him.

She puzzled over her next words for a moment. “I have nightmares too,” she said, quietly. Ravenna opened her mouth to say more, but nothing came out. She turned around anyway, handing him the glass of blue liquid. He was looking at her, trying to read her eyes.

“I guess its hard not to be fucked in the head after centuries of this,” he said, taking the glass from her hand and throwing it back, a distant look on his face.

“I guess so,” Ravenna replied, taking the empty glass back to the shelf.

“What are yours about?”

She swallowed, hard. She hadn’t told anyone that she was even having nightmares, let alone their typical contents. The plots of her dreams were so laced with self-hatred and fear and regret that she didn’t think she could say the details out loud even if she wanted to.

“Events that I’ve already lived,” she replied finally. “Bad ones.”

“I’m sorry,” Cassian said. “So goes the mind of a healer who’s seen it all.”

“I’m sorry too, then, General,” she answered, sadly. “You should try to get some more sleep.”

Cassian nodded, but his eyes remained glazed as he laid back down. “Do you ever get scared to go to sleep?”

Ravenna nodded, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders. “Sometimes I prefer not to fall asleep at all.” She was shocked at her own words, wondering where the vulnerability had come from.

“I get that. Like maybe if your eyes never close then the images won’t be there,” he said, turning over, wincing as he readjusted his scarring wings.

“Goodnight Cassian,” she whispered, then turned off the light once more.

-

Epiphany Masterlist

[frozenjokes]

Signing Back In, Apparently - 13

Prev/Next

Given his track record of completely crumbling at any sort of emotional encounter, Mumbo was doing surprisingly well. His body was falling apart a little, sure, but that could all be fixed with a little care and attention, and he had all the time in the world! Obviously, he couldn’t reach the more concerning cracks on his back, but for the splintering that had spread through his arms and legs, it was just a matter of smoothing things out. Running his hands over the divots, massaging them, squeezing if needed- why, by the time he was done, he looked like a new man! He felt like a new man!

The sky showed its first signs of darkness by the time Mumbo found a ghost that could lead him back to the group. He was happy to see them, excited even, despite the dark undercurrent lapping at his mask. They were all gathered in what the other ghost had called the minigame district, fumbling in a small arena catching sticks(?) falling from the sky. Impulse saw him first.

“Mumbo!” The other ghost stopped immediately, hopping the small rail that separated the arena from the grass, “We were a bit worried- no one could find you for hours! What were you up to?”

“Oh, just-“

Impulse gasped, cutting him off, “Your back! What happened? Did-did-“

“No,” Mumbo didn’t want to hear Scar’s name, not now. He didn’t want anyone to be upset or angry either, not when they could be having fun. He could be having fun, doing whatever it is they were doing. “I got stuck. I just ended up exploring for a while.. hours I think, and I ended up looking at this dead tree? A weird thing, it was all curved so I could stand under it. Well, crouch. Probably not even Grian could have stood at full height-“ Mumbo talked too much when he lied, he always had. Wrap it up. “It fell.”

“You got CRUSHED by a TREE??” Grian shrieked and stumbled to his side, followed closely by Pearl. A sort of baffled look crossed her face, but she didn’t press, and Grian clearly wasn’t concerned about the logistics.

“I’m fine now, really, just a bit wiped. These should clear up on their own,” Mumbo gestured vaguely. He turned his back away, but his translucence made it so the breaks were still quite visible.

“Well, maybe we should go back now?” Impulse suggested, looking to the others for approval.

Mumbo, threw up his hands, alarmed, “No! Don’t on my account!”

“No, no, I think that’s a good idea. Some of us sleep , and this was exhausting. Gotta get out of here before sundown when the monsters come out anyway,” Cleo said, waving a hand in Mumbo’s direction.

“We’ll be back.” Grian’s voice was firm. Determined. Mumbo noticed him look specifically at Pearl, who didn’t look nearly as convinced.

“Of course,” Impulse added, patting her back, “Scar can’t keep us away forever. We’ll wear him down.” Mumbo wasn’t so sure. But at the same time, he was finding it hard to care very much.

The group of five waved their goodbyes to the present ghosts, half of whom Mumbo didn’t recognize, and started the walk back. Out of the corner of his eye, Mumbo noticed Pearl fall back and slip a rock the size of her hand into her pocket. Maybe at another time, that action would have sparked anxiety, but now, his only worry was having to watch. He slowed his pace, catching her eye. Clearly she hadn’t meant for him to see, but when she stared back, there was no concern.

“I respect Cleo enough to wait.”

Answer enough, he supposed. But as they reached their destination and began their journey home, Mumbo heard the thump of stone on the deck, and watched with apathy as a rock bounced and rolled, falling off the edge and into the water. Pearl’s expression was all he needed to understand. It had fallen through her, no longer part of the island that made it physical. Ah, so it wasn’t meant to be for either of them tonight. Impulse and Grian didn’t notice Pearl’s moment of strangled desperation, didn’t notice the look she and Mumbo shared. It was then, he understood her. He understood, because they were the same. Shackled by impossibilities, forced to watch over and over as the things they longed for slipped elegantly through their fingers. Mumbo swore he saw a glint of recognition in her eyes in return, before they slid back into a soft indifference. Is that how he had looked, turning up at the minigame district? Did Pearl believe his story about the tree?

At the very least, Scar was mercifully quiet.

And so, the next week was decreed their Scarcation. ‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ Grian had said, but Mumbo was having quite the difficult time regardless. Now, it wasn’t that their self imposed vacation wasn’t fun. The visit to The Haunted Island had given them all a few ideas despite their limitations, and they managed to make a few of their own games in the time they spent together. It was lovely. Truly.

But the longer he spent away from Scar- the more fun- the more comfortable Mumbo got, the more afraid he was. Impulse and Grian especially loved to talk about their futures; hopeful things where they lived at least part time on that dream of a place, reveling in their own creativity and freedom. An existence that was functionally without Scar. But Mumbo didn’t- well it’s not that he didn’t want that- well- it was complicated . It was wishful thinking, maybe. Or maybe he was just afraid of being left behind. All he did know was that the pressure to get what he needed from Scar was mounting, and the cracks in his back weren’t healing. God, the ‘what’ in that equation was getting blurrier every day.

Pearl wasn’t doing well either. She put on a brave face, just like Mumbo, but even a mention of Scar’s name was enough to make her shoulders tense. Grian and Impulse knew too, it was hard not to see, but Mumbo noticed it all. Every twitch, every strangled inhale, every creased brow. Pearl saw it all over him as well; they caught each other’s eye more often than not lately. It was comforting, maybe, that they could endure it together. Mumbo really knew she had his back when she had caught him staring at Scar’s sleeping form, and didn’t say a word. Somehow, he knew she wouldn’t. In turn, he said nothing when he spotted her the next day, stalking Scar like a predator as he chatted up another pirate. Maybe that’s why it was so frightening; forgetting Scar and turning to greener pastures. Mumbo couldn’t move on. He couldn’t let it go.

It was the early afternoon on day six of their Scarcation when Mumbo broke. He had to ask, he had to know , and then this could all be over and he could believe in a better future. While the ghosts spent most of their time together now, it wasn’t unusual for anyone to slip away for a break or some alone time, so Mumbo took his leave after finishing up their latest version of the Faction Isles flight course. His stomach roiled so violently, he was certain his body would split apart and give him away, but he managed to remain intact. Off to Scar’s room. He tended to sleep late, so Mumbo was certain he’d still be there, and with any luck, he’d be in and out in minutes. No one had to know, and he could finally just relax.

It was a blessing to find Scar awake, writing in some sort of journal Mumbo hadn’t seen before. The ethereal sewn-on wings flapped lazily at his back, as if having a mind of their own. Based on Mumbo’s limited contact with Scar this week, he was pretty sure they did. While Scar was clothed now, Mumbo had seen from previous nights his back was healing quickly. Honestly, a little too quickly. The places around the sutures had seemed to be losing color as well, like the death that had been stitched there was draining his life away. Did Scar know? What was he writing about? Mumbo forgot Scar could see him as he leaned over his shoulder, startling at Scar’s own frightened reaction. Even in his surprise, it did not escape Mumbo’s notice that Scar slammed his journal closed.

“Couldn’t stay away huh? Cleo mentioned your guys’ Scarcation, and I don’t think the week is over,” Scar leaned back in his chair to feign ease (poorly), but Mumbo still couldn’t figure out what Scar was trying to mask. Was he pleased to see him? Angry? Probably not angry. It didn’t matter , he didn’t have time for this.

Mumbo pointed to the ouija board. Scar eyed the shelf with careful consideration, suspicion sliding over his gaze.

“Something to say, huh? I don’t suppose you’re here to kiss and make up.” Scar got to his feet, missing Mumbo’s pointed glare. “Well, curiosity might kill this cat, but that’s alright.”

Mumbo relaxed as Scar went to his shelf, pulling the ouija board from the top, but tensed up once more when it was set on the ground. He couldn’t mess this up. Be quick. Be cold. Get out. Scar sat down, annoyingly, resting his hands almost completely over the planchette. Mumbo kept his own hands on the very edge, his and Scar’s fingers just barely brushing. Even then, the supernatural warmth threatened his concentration. The edge of Scar’s mouth twitched into a small frown, but he didn’t move.

“Alright Mumbo, what do you want?”

Mumbo felt color rise to his face. He moved the planchette.

“Wait- no, no, you’re not serious with this are you? Come on, just talk to me. I won’t be able to swing this without a pencil and paper, even then-“

Mumbo faltered, unable to continue without being asked a question. He glared. Scar huffed, probably equally as annoyed with him as Mumbo was. When it was clear Scar wasn’t winning this fight, he got up and tore a page from his journal, grumbling as he went. Once they were back in position, Mumbo started over.

Why do you smile?

Scar stared at the message, a look of baffled irritation crossing his face, “What kind of question is this? Seriously Mumbo, I thought you had limited time here. Explain. With your words, maybe?”

Mask.

Scar’s brow furrowed, and Mumbo was starting to genuinely worry Scar would never understand. Was it not obvious? How could you live your entire life under a facade, and not think about it constantly. Not have a reason for it. In his own fantasy retellings of this moment, the wording of the question had not been an issue. In his mental replays, Scar also didn’t look nearly as exasperated.

“Is- is this seriously what’s been bothering you all this time? You know, I’ve been told this smile could win awards. Can a man not just smile because he’s happy?”

No.

“Geez, so is this what set you off before? Christ man, and you still look like shit. You know, usually I understand why people want me dead, but this seems like a bit of an overreaction. You won’t even talk to me! Why do I smile, ugh. It’s none of your business why I do anything I do. I smile because I want to. Happy?”

No.

“Well then, I’m glad we both agree this is a waste of time. Now, I’ve got lunch with Cleo soon, so I’m gonna do us both a favor and-“

Mumbo lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of Scar’s shirt in one hand and his wrist in the other, pulling down onto the planchette. Scar gasped as he fell forward, head colliding with Mumbo’s own as he struggled against his grip, but there was no escape. Scar had given up his power the second he let his guard down, and now he was trapped, only growing weaker as his skin cooled. Mumbo had known Scar could trade his warmth, but he now learned he could just take it. Scar’s struggle was manic, pulling and scratching as his strength dwindled. At the height of his panic, he even tried biting at Mumbo’s face, only to be yanked down by his shirt.

“Pay attention, I don’t have all day.” Somehow, Mumbo knew Scar would be able to hear him. Ah, but that meant he’d need to start asking questions. That was fine. “Why do you hide yourself from the world? Why are you pretending? Who are you? ”

“I can’t help but feel like these are loaded questions. Care to loosen your grip?” Through his nerves, Scar flashed a smile. How he didn’t think that was a bad idea at this point, Mumbo didn’t know. He jerked Scar upwards so they could speak face to face, digging his nails into Scar’s wrist. Mumbo felt him shudder as more of his warmth was stolen away. Mumbo breathed it all in, letting it envelop him, make him stronger. Scar was left shivering.

“I thought you had lunch plans? Don’t want to miss them, do you?”

“Not particularly, but I think we’ll be here all day regardless if you want to unpack all those questions.”

“How about we start with the gist then?”

“I don’t know what you want from me. I’m not going to spill my heart out to strangers.”

“You’ve been here for months , Scar, the Kestrels aren’t strangers anymore. We weren’t strangers. You didn’t see it that way, did you?” Mumbo struggled to keep his voice level, the thought dizzying.

Scar scoffed, turning away as much as he could manage, “I don’t need anyone thinking I owe them anything. I’m here for a good time, that’s all. Are we done with the interrogation?”

“I don’t believe you! Did the crew of The Flying Jellie mean nothing to you? Did we even know you? We gave you everything! How many years did we travel together, with you just pretending you loved us?”

“Here we go,” Scar rolled his eyes, putting his spare hand on his hip like this was the most trivial question in the world. The effect was lessened by how weak Scar was beginning to look.

“Answer me!”

Scar spoke, but Mumbo couldn’t hear the words, not that they were anything significant. Scar wouldn’t even look at him, why would he do anything but dodge his questions? But even now at the height of his frustration, Scar was beginning to deflate, his body curving into fits of uncontrollable shivering. His hand suddenly felt frail under Mumbo’s own. Was this killing him? After the night spent together, Mumbo was certain the ouija board interactions wouldn’t, but then again, he had never felt this warm. It was almost hot now, bordering on unpleasant. Maybe the extra heat stemmed from his anger? Mumbo sighed, loosening his grip. This wasn’t going to work, not with Scar so defensive. He’d have to switch gears. Even as some warmth returned to Scar, without Mumbo holding him up, he fell forward over the ouija board. Mumbo jumped, pushing him back into a sitting position. Since when had he gotten so weak?

“Scar, I need you to listen. Can you hear me?” He wished the gentleness of his tone didn’t come so easily. He wished he wasn’t so concerned.

“You’re hurting me.”

“Can you hear me, Scar?”

“Yes. Yes, I can hear you,” Scar slouched, and Mumbo thought for a moment he might topple back over. When Scar looked back up, beads of sweat were running fast down his face.

“I don’t want to care about you. About the things you did, about the person I never got to know. I don’t want to, but I do, and I won’t be able to move on unless you answer my questions. We- all of the ghosts- we are trying to move past this. Past you. Find a better life that isn’t just misery all the time. But I’m not ready, and I can’t be ready until I get some closure . Work with me here. You don’t want your back hurting for the rest of your life, do you?”

Scar laughed, the effort shaking his entire body, “You want closure, huh?”

“Yes. That’s all I want.”

“Closure,” Scar hummed, his eyes drifting elsewhere, his mind far away, “I guess I owe you one, don’t I. Well maybe if you’re right, I’ll get a hell of a deal out of this.” Scar closed his eyes, presumably imagining a life without the crew of The Flying Jellie, ever present and ever disruptive. Ever painful. “Alright, Mumbo. But if this makes things worse, try not to make it my problem. Shake on it?”

Mumbo narrowed his eyes at Scar’s outstretched hand, the other still trapped firmly under his grip. Make things worse? Seriously? No, things couldn't be worse than they already were. The answers would sting, Mumbo was sure of it, but the pain would fade. Knowing the answers to questions he had obsessed over for months would make it all worth it. Anything was better than laying on the floor of Scar’s room as he slept, wondering if the pain of his betrayal would ever cease. Still, sitting across from Scar and having this moment framed as a ‘deal,’ he couldn’t help but feel like he was getting conned. Mumbo shook his head. It didn’t matter. He reached out his free hand, meeting Scar’s in a firm shake.

[kittysamzkewlz19]

Medusa Ex Makina

Chapter 8: Reconsider the Follower

Rated M for Mature

Warnings: Canon typical misogyny, period accurate misogyny, slapstick violence

Author’s Note: This is it, the finale of Arc 2! Will Makina and Chester ever be on good terms again?! This is a really long chapter. -w-;;

The colors of the dream grew dim as Nathan looked on from the ocean’s bar, if he went closer into the dunes of the beach, he wouldn’t be able to breathe and his voice would be hoarse again. There had to be a way to have his voice reach her. Makina walked closer to the cave by the coast, there. Maybe there was water inside the cave? Nathan swam closer towards the high rock near the entrance and saw a tide pool. It was the perfect entrance point. However it seems the sea had a mind of its own as the faint sound of a piano began to play. Its notes sounded slow and oddly familiar to Nathan, but they seemed out of order; C, D, D#, G, low G, low G#, low A#, and repeat. Suddenly the tides began rolling out, beaching Nathan on shore. His breathing became coarse and stiff, it was happening again. Makina was closing in on the cave, Nathan desperately reached out to her and grabbed onto her ankle. He was so happy, he finally reached her. Or so he thought… Nathan looked up to see that the woman who he thought was Makina, wasn’t her at all. Her eyes were deep red with a large scar over her left, she had an upside down pentagram in her it and long flowing wavy black hair tied into low twin tails. “You shouldn’t be here, traitor.” The woman said. “Now be gone with the tides.” Just as she said, the waves rolled high and grabbed Nathan away from the cave, pulling him back into the sea. “NO!!” Nathan shouted as the ocean reeled him back further away. “MAKINA!!!” Makina turned her head as if she heard her name being called, there was no one there. It must have been the wind. She then faced towards the cave to see the woman Nathan had seen. She was wearing the same tattered red dress as her, only now Makina can clearly see the symbol for the gears clearly on her chest. “My sweet egg, my kin.” the woman sweetly replied, she leaned into her ear. “Your time to hatch is nigh.” 

Makina awoke with a sweat, the pounding of her heart thumping irregularly making her breathing uneven. The raven haired rookie looked up at her bedside clock, 1 AM, she sighed. Chester was working poor Makina to the bone for the past 2 weeks. Rewriting lyrics, rejecting ideas left and right, and worst of all were the many conference calls with the label head, Damien Cornickleson about their contractual arrangement. The thought of him made her shudder. It was no use getting back to bed now, she was far too awake. Makina rolled over to her bedside lamp to turn it on. Rubbing her eyes, she carefully got out of bed and walked towards her desk. She quietly put on her hoodie and some baby blue character slippers and walked out of her room door. ‘Maybe some tea would help calm my nerves. Yeah, lavender tea.’ Makina had thought to herself. As she walked past Nathan’s room, she heard a creaking sound. The young singer turned to see Nathan’s door opening and him in a fluffy black and red bathrobe and slippers. “Nathan, what are you doing up?” Makina whispered. Nathan turned to see Makina and scanned her up and down. “Bad dream… sorry do those slippers have my face on them?” The raven haired rookie looked down at her feet and blushed a deep red. “Just pretend you didn’t see them. I uh… misplaced my other ones.” Makina lied through her teeth. “Right… anyway, let’s go to the rec room.” Nathan said, inviting Makina on his midnight snack run. The singer nodded and followed her mentor.

The moonlight’s gentle glow shone high in the sky as Nathan asked a klokateer for some chips, a throw blanket, and tea for Makina. The two sat next to each other on the couch, a relaxing silence filled the air. “Did you have a bad dream too?” The larger man asked as Makina put her feet on the couch to hug her knees, she silently nodded. “What was yours about?” Makina asked as the klokateer put down the requested items, including the throw blanket, placing it in the middle of the two vocalists. Nathan looked off to the side, he never told anyone about the strange dreams with the whale prophet. He should lie or… “Why don’t you tell me yours first.” Nathan requested, he began to unfold the blanket and put it onto his legs. Makina grabbed her tea and sipped it. “I’ve been having the same dream for the last 3 years now. It’s a beach with a wide open ocean, a piano plays a weird song in a cave, and I wake up whenever I walk closer to it.” Makina looked down at her cup with woe, “And then recently, I’ve been hearing voices. Raspy ones and whispers calling my name. There was even a freaky lady but I didn’t recognize who she was. And those kinds of dreams have been happening since I got here.” Makina replied somberly, she put her tea down and curled up into herself once more. Nathan’s facial expression grew weary as he placed another chip into his mouth. He quietly placed a hand on her shoulder and opened up the blanket. Makina began to huddle underneath, she reached out for his hand and held it tightly. 

“What about your bad dream?” Makina asked cautiously. The hulking man paused for a moment, grabbing another chip from the bag and chowing down. The dream he woke from sounded exactly like hers, but from an opposite perspective. Nathan didn’t want to be too blunt, that would probably freak her out. Just a little lie wouldn’t hurt right? “It was about a beach too,” Nathan began, “except there were freaky monsters and stuff. Like zombie mermaids and the ocean was filled with uh… blood and guts. And they were singing about eating my balls or some shit.”

“Damn, that makes my nightmare sound like a cake walk in comparison.” Makina winced. Nathan sighed, “Yeah, way scarier than an empty beach.” He rubbed Makina’s arm, she felt safe in her mentor’s company, all of the insanity of the night terrors and issues before they met seemed to melt away. “Nathan?”

“Yeah kid?”

“Would I get in trouble if I punched Barker in the nards if he pissed me off again?” Makina asked with conviction. Nathan chuckled at his protoge’s violent thought, “Only if it’s for a really good reason, then you can. Otherwise don’t be a dumbass.” Makina smiled, her eyes half closed and her body started to get far too relaxed. Nathan scooped the raven haired singer up into his arms and began carrying her towards her room like a child sleepy from a car ride. He gingerly laid her down. “Rest up Medusa.” Nathan whispered as he tucked Makina into bed. The brutal man silently hoped no one saw him be soft towards his protege.

XxxX

The early afternoon came and Makina went straight to work, having to skip breakfast for sleeping in so late. Chester was more than annoyed at Makina’s lack of gusto and willingness to work. They were down to the last thing on their to do list for the day, recording a new demo for a single. Makina hadn’t had the inspiration to write since Chester’s new schedule had been throwing her off her creative juices. “Really Medusa? Nowt to show for the label?” 

“Well I would have fucking time to write, if someone wasn’t taking up all of it.” she sneered. “Then perhaps Dethklok should give some back, eh?!” Chester retorted. “I was talking about the gazillion meetings you put on me, seriously why do I have to sit in with that CEO jackoff?” Makina hissed. “That ‘jackoff’ is doing all they can to kick off your bloody solo career!” Chester replied, Makina crossed her arms, “Successful my ass, all they want is a bottle blonde babe to sing trashy pop songs.” she mumbled under her breath. 

Chester opened the door to find Murderface sitting on the sofa in a strange blue jumpsuit, goggles, and dish gloves. He was holding a vacuum cleaner hose attached to an oxygen tank and a trash bag. “Murderface, why are you cosplaying a sewage plumber?” questioned Makina with an eyebrow raised, “It’s not a costume, it’s protection over your ghost thing. I don’t wanna get chained up like Charles- I mean, Chester over here. Sorry ‘bout the name mix up, we had a guy with a similar name to yours and… I’ll shut up now.” Murderface sat back down. Just then Pickles walked into the room, “Hey, mind if I watch- …Murderface, you look stupid.”

“Well don’t come crying to me if you get chained up by Makina’s ghost powers!” Murderface shouted. Soon Nathan and Skwisgaar entered the studio, “Alrights Medusas, lets sees some- oh… what kinds of fashions criminals amst you?”

“Fuck off Skwisgaar, it’s ghost protection!” Murderface shouted. “You look like a mechanic that has no clue what the fuck their doing.” Nathan commented, Makina tried to stifle her laughter. “Ja, yous looks likes a confuseds scubas divers who amst a cleanings a hostels.” added Skwisgaar. “No wait, he’s an astronaut that came to wash moon rocks.” Pickles chortled. “Guys, stop making fun of him.” Makina butted in. “Thank you Medusa.” Murderface replied. “He’s obviously dressed as if Micheal Myers was a high school janitor.” Makina stated with a smirk. Murderface placed the goggles over his eyes and pushed his back further into the sofa. “Fuck you guys, if a ghost pops out and posesses Medusa don’t say I told you so.” the bassist pouted.

“Mother’s meeting over? Yes? Good. Come on Medusa, get in the booth.” Chester snapped his fingers in Makina’s face. “Fuck, alright! Sheesh, snippy ass producer manager.” Makina got herself situated in the recording booth and put on a set of headphones. “Quiet in the stands. That means you Murderface.” adjured Chester. Murderface gave an exasperated shocked expression before silently flipping the bird behind Chester’s back. Makina covered her mouth, holding back more of her laughter. The welshman pushed a button on the mixtable and began instructing Makina to begin whenever she’s ready. The vocalist took a deep breath in and signaled that he could play the instrumental. Chester pressed another button and a track began to play. The hum of a choir and gothic sounding bells began to ring through, and the bass line began to play along with a gentle piano in E Minor. Makina began to sing the first verse, really feeling the vibe of the song. Soon the lights began to flicker, the track became louder, as if she was singing in an amphitheater with a crowd of a thousand people. Out came the chains by the chorus and they swiftly latched themselves onto Makina and Chester, forming the muzzle and shackle again. Murderface tried to reach for the on button to his vacuum, but before he could make a move with his makeshift ghost gear, Nathan pushed Murderface’s chest back into the couch. Something was wrong with the ghost aura. 

The aura kept flickering like a faded neon light until it completely dissipated. Makina raised her hand up to signal to her producer to stop the track, Chester tapped the pause button. “Medusa, we can’t afford to have a break right now.”

“I don’t want a break, I’m done for today. The song sucks and you need to remix it. I can’t stand that weird synthetic choir and you edited my lyrics without my knowledge!” she squeaked. “Oh fuck.” Nathan said under his breath. If there was one thing that Nathan knew as a lyricist that a vocalist’s words were their own thoughts and feelings flowing through a melody. Makina aggressively took her headphones off. “I’m clocking the fuck out. Fix the fucking track and use my original lyrics.” she demanded as she began to storm out of the recording studio. “Come on, you’re seriously packing it in?” Chester jeered, “Well then, why not just throw your only solo career chance in the shitter! It’s obvious you were never up for it in the first place.” 

Makina gripped the door handle, fueled with rage she swiftly turned around, sped right to Chester, and punched him square in the balls. “Throw my CHANCE!? I am not throwing in the towel because I’m a stubborn motherfucker that doesn’t know when to quit. But you know who did? You did! I can forgive Syd and Gerard, because at least they were able to explain themselves and communicate to me their ilks. I did everything to reach you. But you ignored my calls, texts, and emails. So what does that tell me? You gave up on Lycan RIOT. You left Lycan RIOT the minute we were backstage of Doom-opolis. I know it’s not about me, it never is. But you left me, you broke your promise that we’d be in this together. And now you come crawling back into my life, to berate me on a dream you gave up on?! You’re a fucking coward Barker, you have no bite! Eat shit and good fucking day!” Makina slammed the door behind her and walked off with frustration in her eyes. The other members of Dethklok looked at Chester’s look of concentrated frustration. “Ooh, she chewed you the fuck out.” Pickles commented. “She’s lost her bloody marbles! How the hell am I the one getting bashed over it?!” the producer complained, Chester put a hand to his temple and began drawing circles into it with his fingertips. “Honestly, what got her fucking knickers in a twist?”

“Didn’t you hear a single fucking word she said?” Nathan answered back, questioning the manager, “I don’t think I have to spell it out for you.” The frontman sighed.  “Oh, please do by all means! That cunt clearly can’t!” cried Chester. “Hey, don’t call her a cunt. I only get that privilege!” Murderface yelled back, Pickles side eyed the bassist. “Whys evens bothers withs hers if you ams goings to calls hers nastiness?” Skwisgaar irritatingly asked as he fidgeted with his guitar. 

There was a silent pause, a moment of realization. It had dawned on him like a caveman learning how to invent the wheel. These googolplexian famous douchebags had a fucking point, why even bother with Makina at all if this was how they were going to be working with one another for the rest of their lives? Has his own academic ego and goal oriented ambitions blinded him from the most important friendship in his life? He never considered how much Makina had meant to him. She wasn’t his lover or a close companion by any means… what were they?

XxxX

It was the new millennium, the year 2000 at Existrace high school, and 4 students sat in a classroom that used to be the music room. “Alright, let’s see here…” A teacher began, he pushed his glasses up to see the ledger more clearly. “Sydney Perseus, you kicked our star quarterback in the groin out of aggression during a food fight. First offense, don’t do it again. Chester Barker, another first offender. And from long time school ditcher, Gerard Desdemona. For starting said food fight, this isn’t “animal house” you dolts. And Miss… Mickey na Gordon…”

“It’s ‘Mah-kina Gorgon’ sir.”

“Whatever, you’re very close to being in the ISS young lady. You better behave yourselves. Now I need to step out to grab something. I expect you all not to get into too much trouble.” The teacher warned as he got up to leave the room. A small click was heard as he locked the door from the outside and walked away. Gerard leaned back in his chair staring up at the ceiling, high as a kite. Chester placed his head in his hands as he bent forward in his seat. The one called Sydney brushed through their half red and black hair vigorously. It was frizzing up with the heat inside the room. “I shouldn’t even be here!” they complained, “I was totally innocent!”

“Pssh, yeah right.” Makina replied, as she took out the red scrunchy from her hair. Her long raven locks fell comfortably to her bum and she began bunching it back up to remake her high ponytail. “It’s true, I was just defending myself! He threatened to throw me through the goal post.” Sydney retorted. “And he was pissing about with you because…?” Chester questioned as he slowly lifted his head up. “He wasn’t, Jordan Thompson was pushing around a classmate of mine from 5th period. You know that guy with the Abyssal Oblivion lunchbox?”

“I think I know him.” chimed Gerard, “Benny Oxford, the one with the mole on the side of his neck. I slide him Faygos in exchange for those expensive as fuck fruit snacks.”

“Yeah, anyway I told that meathead to back off. He threatened me and I kicked him in the dick.”

Makina couldn’t help but snicker at her peers. “Are you snickering? I ain’t done owt wrong.” protested Chester. The punkish girl cleared her throat, “Sorry but that’s not self defense. That’s the ‘talk shit get hit’ method. I should fucking know, it’s my specialty.”

“Oh, so we’re moving on to cockfighting then?” asked the young welsh. Makina shook her head, “‘Cockfighting’ is for petty people. I was in what they call ‘a sophisticated romp of fisticuffs’. In other words, beating her ass to a pulp for talking shit about Dethklok.” The others looked at her as if she had grown 3 heads, eyes widened in bewilderment. “…I beg your pardon?” Chester stated as the others were still slack jawed. “You’re a Dethklok fan?! Get the fuck out!” 

“Nuh-uh, I know every song off of their first gig mix at the Depths of Humanity! And I can prove it!” Makina said in a sharp tone. Gerard sat up straight in his chair while Sydney scooched thier’s closer. Chester crossed his arms and leaned up against the wall behind Makina’s seat.  “Alright, what’s the ditty of the herring cannery called?” Chester quizzed. “Easy, that’s the 4th track and it’s called ‘Caught in a Sawfish’.” she replied in confidence. The dirty blonde haired boy raised an eyebrow, “Beginner’s luck. Alright, here’s one; Skwisgaar Skwigelf is from which country?”

“Sweden. Come on, this is child’s play!” Makina scoffed as she smirked at her peers. “Fine. Here’s a spicy one for yer then. Who came before Toki Wartooth, and what kind of guitar did he play?” The other teens eagerly leaned in to hear her answer, Makina crossed her arms thinking hard and then slyly smirked. “Magnus Hammersmith and he played a Gibson Les Paul with a custom glossy ebony fingerboard.” 

“Bullshit, how the ‘eck do you know that?!” Chester shouted. “I’m not a fucking poser that’s how.” the rebellious girl responded, crossing her legs smugly. Chester fell back in his seat stunned, unable to make a single retort back at her.

“Shit… You really know your stuff uh, Makina right?” Gerard asked, extending a hand. “Maybe we should call you Medusa, ‘cause you seem to have turned that British boy to stone.” Sydney said playfully sticking out their tongue.  “I’m Welsh you pricks, look at a map once in a while.” Chester pouted. Makina put her hand under her chin, “Medusa… that’s a badass nickname. Thanks-”

“Syd, just call me Syd.”

“Syd, got it! Wonder when that teacher’s coming back?” Makina asked as she leaned to look at the clock. It was 12:30 pm, way past the time they were supposed to be let out. “Shit, only 20 minutes till the new Dethklok show starts!” Chester exclaimed. “Wait, that’s today?!” Gerard shouted. “Oh fuck, I forgot to set the channel at my place!” 

“Crazy idea, what if we went to my place to watch the premiere.” Makina suggested. “Are you sure your parents wouldn’t mind?” Syd asked cautiously. “I never met my mom and my dad’s dead.” Makina stated, an awkward silence filled the air as she stood up to walk towards the window on the other side of the classroom. “Chillax, my pseudo-dad’s alive and he’s out till 5. Anyway, you fellas wanna break out of this joint?” Makina asked as she went to pick the lock of the window. “Pseudo-dad?” Chester questioned, raising an eyebrow. “God stop asking so many fucking questions. Do you wanna break out of detention or not!?” Makina yelled, extending a hand to him. Chester quietly nodded and followed Syd and Gerard out the window, escaping the confines of the stuffy classroom.

“Woo, freedom at last!” Gerard shouted as he went to slap Chester on the back. The dirty blonde swallowed the wrong way and cleared his throat. “Nice work ‘Dusa!” Syd said gleefully, Makina hi-fived them. The 4 teens began their short journey towards Makina’s place. “Sooner or later, you’ll want them in the band.” Chester uttered sarcastically as he rolled his eyes. “Barker, that’s a great idea!” Gerard exclaimed, Syd and Makina looked at him confused. “A band you say?” Syd asked, tilting their head with curiosity. “Like Dethklok?”

“No no it’s more uh… ‘punk’.” Chester stated with air quotes. “I thought we agreed that we’d try the more emo approach?” Gerard interjected. “Well I’ve considered it.” Chester replied. “What about instruments, who plays what?” Makina asked as the 4 of them stopped near a crosswalk. “Barker plays drums and I do… everything else.” Gerard replied.

“What are you trying to recreate, the White Stripes? You can’t be working poor Gerard to the bone!”

“It’s no biggie Medusa, really.” Gerard said, scratching the back of his head. “Besides we can’t fit more than our equipment and 2 people in my garage.” 

The clouds in the sky began blocking the afternoon sun as the delinquent teens inched closer to Makina’s home. “Well if you let me in your band I can lend you a space.”

“Ooh, and I can help with mixing!” Syd interjected. Chester face palmed himself, “Syd can join, they’re alright. But not you, ‘Dusy.” 

“Oh ho, shortening the nickname huh. You must be catching feelings aren’t you?” Makina teased, Chester sneered at her, blushing with embarrassment. They stopped in front of a hard rock bar that had a closed sign, Makina dug into her pocket to look for something. Chester immediately grabbed the raven haired rebel’s shoulder. “Are we wantin’ to break into a fuckin’ pub ‘ere?!”

“I live here chucklenuts, my pseudo-dad’s the owner.” Makina replied as she found what she was looking for, a small rose gold key. She unlocked the door letting the others in, turned on the lights, and then locked the door behind her. In front of them was a small stage, lights, and a shoddy little microphone setup. Along the wall was a bar to the left of the room, to the right was a set of tables and chairs stacked up. There were photographs on the wall with posters of all sorts of bands that had visited the small bar. Makina hopped onto the stage and walked to a door that read ‘Employees Only’. The teens followed her into a small 2 bedroom apartment. There was a bay window seat, a couch, a small kitchenette, and large stacks of vinyl records and a boombox with lots of CDs. “TV’s in my room, just don’t track any mud, and if my pseudo-dad comes home you best be running out through the fire escape.” 

Chester’s heart sank, a bit of him felt bad that she lived in such a small place, on top of that her parents were gone. But on the other hand… “Tell yer wot Makina, you can join if Mr. ‘pseudo-dad’ lets us use the bar space for practice.” Makina’s eyes lit up as she accidentally bent the antenna on her TV in the wrong direction. “Really?!”

“Yeah, I mean, what can you do?”

“I’m a vocalist, I’ve always wanted to be one like my old man!”

“Who is your dead dad Makina?” Syd asked as they sat on the foot of Makina’s bed. Makina pointed at a framed poster in her bedroom. It was partially ripped in half leaving only 2 band members present. “Your dad was in The Abyssal Oblivion?!” Gerard shouted as he pushed his shaggy hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, but you better keep that to yourselves. Ah here we go, it’s starting!” Makina exclaimed, the 4 teens huddled in front of the tv to watch the Dethklok Minute premiere. 

XxxX

Maybe that’s all she ever was to him… a pitiful means to an end. Chester recalled many of the private moments she had shared with her. The way she kissed him, the way she made him laugh, the way she felt in his arms. Since the day they met all he caused her was grief, never telling her why. “I’ll go talk to her.” He answered firmly. The welshman swiftly walked out of the room to search for his vocalist. Knowing Makina, there was one other place she could have gone in this entire death metal castle. And wouldn’t you know it, he was right on the money. Gingerly opening her bedroom door, Chester sat on Makina’s bed. There was a large lump underneath the covers and small whimpers. “‘Dusy?”

“Fuck off.” she answered with a sharp whine.  “‘Dusy, a quick chin wag?”

“Oh now you wanna talk?” Makina sniffled, “What took you so long?” Chester looked down at Makina’s blanket cocoon, her makeup looked smeared and she was cuddling her Skwisgaar plush under the covers. The look of her saddened face was just like how they were long ago. “Makina,” Chester said solemnly. Makina’s ears perked up, this was the first time in the history of their lives did he ever utter her name, her real name. “Makina… I’m… I’m sorry. For, y’know, all the bullcrap I put yer through.” Makina sat up, attempting to wipe her eyes. “I shouldn’t have kept you in the dark like I did. We both know you were just as important to Lycan RIOT as you were to me.” Chester reached for her hand and hesitantly, she held it. He took a deep breath. “I know we can’t change the past. And I know I’m the dick for breaking our promise. So… I hope we can have a chance to start over?” Makina didn’t hesitate and hugged her manager tightly. Chester was surprised and hugged her back, the feeling was warm and nostalgic. “I’m sorry for being an asshat to you, I know you’re just doing your job and shit. But I-”

“Yeah I know.” the producer said as Makina was embraced again in another tight hug. 

Chester placed his forehead onto hers, “Starting now, I swear to be more open like a good book.”

“Good, because now I wanna know something.” Makina moving away from Chester as she slowly got out from under the covers to put the Skwisgaar doll away. “How’s your wife Tanja?” Chester hesitated for a response, but he kept his word and spoke the truth. “She’s pregnant, 7 months along.” Makina slammed her closet door in surprise and ran to his side. “YOU MEAN YOU-”

“Yep. So now we should-”

“BEANPOLE FINALLY GOT SOMEONE TO-”

“MEDUSA!” Chester shouted, the raven haired rookie backed away. “Sorry… Do you know what she’s gonna have?” Chester shook his head,  “We discussed names, she really doesn’t like Lynne much.”“Well what about Renee, it’s pretty neutral.” Makina said with a smile, Chester patted her back. “S’pose so. Anyway, perhaps we should get back to the studio and take another crack at it.” Makina shook her head, “Redo the mix and we record tomorrow.” Chester smiled, “Alright then, boss.”

[bookwormscififan]

Reflected Refractions, Chapter 3

Midnight Meetings

Read on AO3!

Chapter 1, 2

A/N: Some more Demon AU. Got some world building here, and a little bit of a confession~

--

“Phantom is going to be watching you,” Night stated as he walked down the corridor, the twins following close behind. “He’s experienced with multiple weapons types, and can protect you if the demons try to get close.”

“I promise I’m fine, Night,” Mare protested, ducking his head when the leader glared back at him, triangular scar prominent around his right eye.

“It is still better to have protection,” Night replied, ignoring the snicker from Phantom. “I thought I was fine when I fought the demons years ago, but then they gave me this scar. That’s why I had this campus turned into a compound. Nobody is ever ‘fine’, not until the demons are taken care of.”

“I’ll keep a blade in my back pocket at all times,” Phantom piped up, giving Mare a smirk when his twin glared at him. “The second that demon comes back, I’ll have killed it before anyone can blink.”

Mare bit his lip, taking a deep breath as his stomach dropped and twisted into knots. He followed Night and Phantom down the hall to the conference room, frown deepening when he saw the other hunters standing in their bedclothes waiting for explanations.

“Mare met a demon tonight,” Night began, leaning against the table as he looked at the hunters. “Specifically, he met Mad, the most powerful demon. I need groups working on lighting the blind spots around the compound while others ensure no reflective surfaces face the outside. And Mare will be under guard for the foreseeable future.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard,” Mare grumbled before leaving the room, ignoring Night’s calls for him to come back.

----

One of Mare’s favourite places in the compound was the courtyard. Old white stone paved the area, finishing in the centre with a stone planter holding one willow tree, which grew tall and proud while its boughs drooped to form a canopy over the benches the planter made.

When Mare and Phantom had first arrived at the compound, they would hide under the branches whenever they got overwhelmed with training. While Phantom got over his fears and became the best armoury officer and barman, Mare stayed timid, choosing books instead of weapons.

Sitting under the tree now, Mare watched the moon move lazily across the sky before shuffling back so he was leaning against the trunk, humming quietly to himself. His stress gave way to drowsiness, and his eyes were closing before he could stop them.

“You sure you don’t need a bodyguard?” The teasing voice woke him with a start, turning his head to see Mad climbing out of the one shadow cast by the tree’s branches. “I don’t think it’s the safest idea to fall asleep alone out here. I could kill you.” He snapped his fingers to add to his point, smiling awkwardly at Mare’s gasp of fear.

“Y-You wouldn’t kill me,” he mumbled, reaching behind him for the buried dagger he knew was there anyway. “If you did, you would have killed me earlier, or in my mirror.” He bit his lip, trying not to let his confusion show when he couldn’t feel the dagger behind him.

“Your curiosity appeals me,” Mad’s replied, using the shadows to shift him until he was sitting beside Mare, inspecting the dagger he’d been looking for. “Most just try to kill me… or run screaming. Not you, though. You want to learn more.” He set the dagger down, looking at Mare with an expression one could only define as lost. “Why?”

“The truth?” Mare asked, waiting for Mad to nod before continuing. “I’m head scientist here, researching all the ways the demons have weaknesses or can be defeated. My instinct is to learn everything possible to take you down… but I just want to take you to dinner.”

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

@iamvegorott @brokentimewatch @dungeon-dragons-dragons @rattyboyisemo

[ghostmaldo]

Merlin X GN!Fae!Reader Modern AU

I wrote this purely out of my own suffering in my heart. Gooosh I miss the show so much ;-; Reader can be a good friend of love interest. Left it up to the reader. I think about Merlin wondering around the earth waiting for Arthur much more then I’d like to admit. Anyway. Enjoy!

Little sad, fluffy ending. Merlin misses Arthur.

Slight warning: Mentions of death, spoilers??? If you haven’t ever finished watching BBC Merlin ^^

Playlist listened to during the writing process: https://youtu.be/_DMo7B7oAVo?si=WVMp4ZYLMGiIDdaQ

~Maldo

Merlin sat quietly under the gray thundering clouds. Nothing but the company of an old park bench and the creaking of its old wood underneath his legs. Pellets of water graced the young man's shoulder as the sky weeped upon him. Well… prehapes… young wasn’t the right word… Not anymore at least. Truthfully he was… millennia upon millennia years old. He only appeared young… bright eyes and high cheekbones. The weight of carrying such heavy misery waved from the corners of his eyes with a little sorcery still brightly dancing in his veins. Magic had long died in this world, yet not in him. Clinging on to thin threads from a promise made to him long, long ago.

The once and future king will rise again.

Creeaak. The interruption made Merlin nearly jump out of his whole skin. His eyes immediately looked to the source of the sound. Where he found an old friend. A fae with many secrets… yet still a comforting presence. A small smile crept onto his lips, his eyes crinkling slightly. ”Come to keep my company in the rain, (Y/N)?” They promptly returned his smile. The rain seemed to lighten with them here beside him. They had that sort of effect on the world . “Someone has to, otherwise you might just let the rain consume you.”

“You might be right about that.” He shot back with a low chuckle. In all of his years of being alive. (Y/N) was still the only one in eons to bring amusement back into his tear stained heart. He took a deep breath, basking in the rain's chill icy touch. He closed his eyes briefly and simply let humanity’s silence rush over him in waves. What was he doing here…? Truly? Still waiting for Arthur? Merlin’s memories of him were still freshly cut in his mind. The pair running through the castle halls like fools and the iron still strong in his mouth from the battles they faced… The scars he kept when Arthur died in his arms…

”Merlin…?” He flinched when he sensed (Y/N) wrap their delicate fingers around his arm. Though he quickly relaxed, the warmth of their head on his shoulder chasing away some of those unruly demons. “Your doing it again.” They spoke softly, always so courteous to his feelings…

“Sorry… I can’t help it sometimes… I was suppose to protect him-“

“It wasn’t your fault Merlin.” (Y/N) cut him off before he blumitted to far into his guilt. Merlin let out a long sigh, he certainly didn’t agree with them… but he knew better than to argue.

”What was he like?” Merlin fixated his eyes on them again, brows raised above his head. The question had taken him aback for a second. Unsure if he’d heard it correctly. “Arthur?” He confirmed watching them nod. They hummed, peering up at him with those wide curious eyes he’d come to cherish in his years of immortality. Their cheek a little smooshed up against his shoulder. He couldn’t help the wide grin spamming across his face.

“Well, first off he was a complete ass-“ A fit of giggles erupted from (Y/N) mouth at the comment, followed up with his own series of laughter. The rain didn’t feel so cold along his shoulder anymore…

Merlin went into all the details of his adventures with the young king of Camelot. Their adventures, conversations, the friends they’d made and the memories they’d forged together. His mood lifted with each word, recounting each step he’d taken next with his best friend. The one he missed so dearly…

“He was an idiot sometimes… but he was a good man with a good heart. He always wanted to do what was right.” As soon as he’d spoken the words, he sensed (Y/N) curl tighter around his arm. Their loving touch melding with his own. He was so grateful they were here with him. His body moved on its own, clasping one of their hands with his and pulling them closer. Resting his head on top of theirs. The motion brought a harsh burning lump into his throat. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes.

“It’s okay to cry Merlin. To mourn something you’ve lost even after all this time.”

That’s all it took. Large tears welded in his eyes and cascaded over his pale cheeks. Becoming lost in the sea of droplets still raining down from the sky. He stayed this way for several minutes. Clinging and sobbing into (Y/N) arms. Their gentle fingers circling soothing circles onto his arms. Everything he’d kept bottled up inside of him for so long ruptured violently and without apology. He didn’t need one. Not with them.

Over some time, the tears did run dry. He snuffled a few times as he wiped away the excess unflattering snot leaking from his nose with shaking hands. It was as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from him. Feeling so light he might fly off into the heavens to find Arthur himself.

“Better?” (Y/N) voice sweetly questioned. He smiled toward them through his tear filled lashes. “Better, thank you. I needed that.”

[ladyday93]

The salt-laced wind whipped through Harry's hair, the roar of the sea a counterpoint to the storm raging within him. Luna, nestled in his arms, was in this moment, a fragile bird against the wind.

He'd thought he was protecting her, shoving her away in a clumsy, desperate attempt to shield her from the darkness he knew he had to face. But the darkness had found her anyway, twisted its tendrils around her heart, leaving wounds that ran deeper than any physical scar.

His own grief, the weight of loss and sacrifice, had seemed like a mountain to climb. But now, holding Luna, feeling her trembling frame, the mountain crumbled to dust, replaced by a vast, echoing emptiness. He was the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, but he couldn't even save the girl he loved.

Luna's hair, the color of spun moonlight, tickled Harry’s cheek as he held her close. Tears he'd bottled up for months finally spilled over, soaking her worn jumper. Each shuddering sob felt like an accusation, a whispered betrayal against the backdrop of the crashing waves.

"I'm so sorry," he choked out, the words hollow against the weight of her pain. "I should have been there. I should have protected you."

She pulled back, her eyes, usually brimming with ethereal wonder, now clouded with a sorrow that mirrored his. "No, Harry," she said, her voice a whisper against the wind. "It wasn't your fault. You had to… you had to do what you had to do."

But the logic, the harsh necessity of it all, did little to soothe the rawness in my chest. The knowledge that even though he'd pushed her away, hoping to keep her safe, the darkness had still found her, had twisted its tendrils around her fragile spirit, was a burden he couldn't outrun.

"It's not your fault," Luna whispered again, her voice thick with unshed tears.

But the words were hollow, a mantra he couldn't quite believe. He was the lightning rod, the magnet for misfortune, and everyone around him paid the price.

Harry and Luna stood in silence for a long time, the wind whispering through the tall grass, the sea a relentless rhythm against the shore. In that quiet space, the weight of the world, the scars of war, settled upon us like a shroud.

He remembered the way she looked when they reunited at Malfoy Manor, her once vibrant eyes dull, her smile replaced by a haunted flicker. The whispers of the Cruciatus Curse, the ghosts of unspeakable acts, clung to her like a second skin. And yet, even then, even amidst the wreckage, she'd found a way to offer comfort, to mend the broken pieces of our shattered world.

"We'll get through this," I rasped, more a promise to myself than to her. "Together."

Luna smiled, a fragile bloom against the storm clouds of her sorrow. "Together," she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

But even as the words left her lips, a shadow flickered across her eyes. The harsh reality of the new world we faced, the draconian laws and suffocating fear, whispered its unwelcome truth. Ginny and Luna, along with the other Hogwarts students, had to return to school, navigate the minefield of Snape's regime, carry the weight of their rebellion in the face of a hostile world.

Now, as they stood on the precipice of a new beginning, a fear gnawed at his insides. How could I move on, how could I even think of the future, when Luna, the girl I love and who loved me, who saw beauty in odd things and taught me to find solace in the stars, was still battling the demons? Demons she gained because of him?

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, a cruel beauty mirroring the turmoil within him. He had to let her go. He had to finish what he started, hunt down the remaining Horcruxes, sever Voldemort's hold on the world, even if it meant leaving her behind again. The burden of the prophecy, the weight of countless lives, pressed down on him, a constant reminder of the path Harry had to walk, the choices he had to make.

Harry pulled back. He cupped her face, gently tracing her face with his thumb, his touch feather-light against her skin as he traces the soft lines that had etched themselves deeper in the past year. The war had aged them both, stealing their innocence, leaving behind the hardened scars of battles fought and loved ones lost. Her eyes, usually pools of otherworldly and starry wisdom, were red-rimmed and dull with pain. Pain he'd caused, pain he couldn't erase. But beneath the sorrow, a flicker of her familiar spark remained, a testament to her unyielding spirit.

"I love you, Luna," he whispered, his voice hoarse with unshed tears. "More than words can say. And I'll come back to you. I promise."

Her smile, fragile and fleeting, was a beacon in the gathering darkness. "I know you will, Harry," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "And I'll be waiting, counting the stars until then."

He held her close one last time, the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body, a bittersweet memory branded on his soul. Then, with a final, lingering kiss, he turned and walked away, the weight of her love and his promise a heavy burden on his shoulders.

But as he held Luna close, Harry knew this was no longer a solitary journey. They were bound by the invisible threads of love and loss, scars etched onto their souls by a war that had taken so much, yet somehow, had also given them, each other.

Then reluctantly, Harry released Luna, their hearts heavy with unspoken goodbyes. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with danger and despair, but in the depths of Luna’s sorrow, Harry had found a flicker of hope, a shard of light that refused to be extinguished. For Luna, and for the world they dreamt of rebuilding, he would walk into the darkness, carrying the weight of their wounds, the scars of their battles, and the unwavering love that had become their anchor in the storm.

He didn't look back. He couldn't. The path ahead was shrouded in mist, the fight far from over. But he carried Luna's love within him, a flickering torch in the darkness, a promise whispered on the wind, guiding him towards a future he desperately hoped they could share.

He was the Boy Who Lived, but he was also the boy who loved, the boy who carried the weight of wounds and sorrows not his own. And he would carry them, every step of the way, until he could finally, truly bring the light back into Luna's eyes, and into his own battered heart.