#but man. i just Can't. not under that much overhead at least

[godhex]

mom keeps saying i’d be really good at the data confirmation / tracking job she does now & that if i did it along with her, we’d get in ~100k a year which is great! i’m sure i would be good at it since i already enjoy combing thru spreadsheets and organizing data and tracking things but like.

doing a 9 to 5 job that’s Just That, monitored by people across the globe, where i can’t even enjoy music while i work? i had music at my greenhouse job and [outside of the constant heat stroke], that was still MISERABLE for me. unmedicated hellbrain would not allow for me to mesh into a standard job, i’m sorry. i could do the actual Work itself just fine, but not under its current system of rigorous non-distraction. i know i would just feel constant frustration and fall back into more destructive stims than i already do w my current work [art commissions].

[babybluebex]

needs and wants | eric aqpdo x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in the direct aftermath of the apocalypse, you meet a man who's worse for wear in just about every regard. even though you can't do too much to heal his injuries, it's possible that you can heal his heart. wc 10.6k (she's a doozy) 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: eric (a quiet place: day one, 2024) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: SPOILERS FOR AQPDO, DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU DON'T WANT THE FILM SPOILED!, mentions of death/general apocalypse things, panic attacks, mentions of suicidal thoughts/actions (if you know eric's backstory that ended up cut from the film, he talks ab it), far too much intimacy for what this is, smut (minors dni): p in v, tit sucking, condom use 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: umm... i have no excuse for this... other than i need eric on a carnal level lol. hope you enjoy!!

It was funny how your whole world could change in a single day. And it was supposed to be a good day too; you had racked up enough PTO to allow yourself a full day off of work, and you had plans. You were going to brunch with your girlies that you hadn’t seen since nursing school, you were going to rent a movie at home, watch rom-coms in your underwear— you looked forward to sleeping in, taking a bubble bath, going to sleep early. You only achieved one part of that: you hadn’t even received the mimosa pitcher you had ordered when you heard the noise outside, as loud as a rocket taking off on the street just outside the hip brunch place, and you had hardly turned to look out the window when your world fell apart. 

Silence became your norm. Fear overtook you at every turn, giving your hands a perpetual shake that you weren’t certain would ever wear off. You didn’t know too much psychological or neurological stuff— you were a trauma nurse, emergency room and ICU type stuff, you were more concerned with stopping the blood flow and stabilizing vitals than ever caring about the after-effects of shit— but you wondered if the shaking of your hands was forever part of you now. You were good under pressure, never scared, but whatever the fuck those creatures were out there had changed the makeup of your being in a single second. 

When the helicopters buzzed overhead, drawing the monsters toward them and away from the city, and they announced that boats were departing from a nearby dock, you knew you had to go. More than saving yourself, you knew some very hurt and very sick people would gather there. You were sure that FEMA people would be swarming the boats to take care of the sick and injured, but you didn’t know what else to do. Your brain went on a sort-of autopilot, and you did the only thing you could think to do: you followed the crowd out to the docks. 

You had never gone that long without talking. Your throat was so dry from debris and dust anyway that you weren’t even sure that you could talk. Your clothes were torn, various small injuries that weren’t anything some disinfectant and a Band-Aid couldn’t fix, along with a gash on your calf that you had determined would be fine for now but could definitely use some tending-to once on the boat, plus your shaky hands, but otherwise you were fine. When the windows shattered and the monsters invaded, your table had overturned from the force of the sonic blast, and your animal instincts kicked in, throwing yourself behind the table and barricading there. You were one of the lucky ones— you lived. Sure, glass cut up your knees and palms, and you couldn’t even breathe without worrying that your breaths would alert the monsters, but you had lived. That was more than some could say. 

You felt packed out like sardines on the boat. Standing room only, except for the few exceptions of the people who were hurt or passed out. You had meager belongings in your pockets, although you weren’t sure how helpful your dead cell phone or essentially-useless credit cards would be in a time like this, but at least you had your work badge in your purse when you went to brunch. You found someone who looked like they were in charge, dressed in all-grey, not a military uniform but not civilian clothes either, and you silently showed them your badge, declaring yourself as a trauma nurse at a hospital in Brooklyn, and you gestured around, trying to ask if there was anything you could do to help. The woman shook her head, but folded her hands in a sort of ‘thank-you’ gesture.

You managed to stand towards the back of the ship, against the railing, next to the ladder, and you flinched at the loud chug of the boat casting off from the dock. Surely the monsters heard that. Everybody around you seemed to hold a deep breath, anticipatory, awaiting the worst to come at your final moments of salvation, but thankfully the monsters weren’t concerned with you all— maybe you were too far out in the water and, if the announcements from the helicopters were to be believed, the monsters couldn’t swim, so they didn’t care too much about the boat. Or maybe, the sudden sound of glass shattering from the shore, followed by shrill car alarms, captured their attention better. 

You watched, horrified, as you spotted a woman racing down the street, hardly noticeable from the distance, but the sun glinted off of a silver metal pipe in her hand as she raised it in the air, and she smashed the window of the car next to her as she raced away. 

“Hell’s she doing…?” The man next to you mumbled, and you instinctively put your hand on his shoulder to silence him, even though there was no need. The world had changed in a day, habits had formed in 24 hours, and you wondered how long it would take to shake the new habits. You watched the woman flit between cars, trying to outpace the monsters as she smashed windows, but then something else caught your attention. On the dock, there was a man. Wearing a yellow sweater, carrying something that you couldn’t identify, running like his life depended on it towards the edge of the dock. And maybe it did; a few straggling monsters had started after him instead of the woman, and he had to have known as well as you did that the water was safe. 

Your heart rammed up into your throat as he ran, faster and faster, white sneakers hitting the metal dock, and he looked over his shoulder for a moment at the monster that was meters, feet, away from him, before he righted himself forward and hurtled himself off the edge of the dock. Everyone on the boat was watching now as he flew for a brief moment, suspended in the air as time stood still, and then plummeted into the water below. The monsters skidded to a halt at the edge of the dock, one curled claw extended out, a scrap of yellow cardigan stuck on its talon. 

By now, everyone had come to the same conclusion, and started to gather at the ladder onboarding right next to you— the man would need help coming aboard. You all watched anxiously as he surfaced from the water, frantically looking around and gulping air as he tried to keep his head above water and orient himself. Finally, he looked towards the boat, and you could have sworn that he looked at you instead of anybody else. He gained his senses quickly, starting to swim out towards the boat, and you caught sight of the little white whatever-it-was he was holding: a cat. The cat seemed safe and unharmed, definitely soggy but no worse for wear, and you crouched down, extending your arm down the ladder to meet him. 

You didn’t have the strength to help pull him aboard, but the man who had spoken next to you gently moved you, and he grasped the wet man’s arm and pulled him up the last few rungs of the ladder. He heaved breaths, his eyes all big and round as he took in his surroundings. Then, if you were unsure whether he was looking at you before or not, he extinguished any doubts you had this time around, because his eyeline landed on you. He was startled, hurt, traumatized— those wet eyes had seen some things, worse than you had seen. 

You helped him move away from the ladder and back towards a more secluded part of the boat, and the FEMA woman you had “talked” to before came to your side, a first aid kit in one hand and a heavy wool blanket in the other. 

“Sir?” you croaked. Jesus Christ, speaking really was a challenge. You cleared your throat, hoping that would improve things, and you said, “Sir, are you hurt?” 

He shook his head quickly, clutching the cat in his arms, and you spotted the gash on his shin. The leg of his pants was torn and shredded, and you could bet that the wound was pretty fresh. “You can speak,” you told him gently. “We’re safe here.” 

He looked at you, tears streaming down his face, and in a hushed voice, said, “How can you be so sure?” 

They said the boat ride would last through the day and you would arrive by nightfall, but FEMA assured you that the destination would be worth it. A little island, they said, off the northern coast of the state, that used to house a summer camp but was abandoned however long ago. The buildings there, houses, old camp cabins, would take some sprucing up, they told you, but it was safe, and it could turn into home. As night fell, factions were made, and people divided as best as possible— the vulnerable ones, the hurt ones, the kids, went to the inside part of the boat, and the healthy stayed outside, huddled under the wool blankets and trying to forget the cold November ocean air berating their faces. 

The yellow-cardiganed man was moved inside, and you moved through the small crowd in there, doing what you could to help. Passing out crackers and water bottles, winding gauze around bloody injuries, squeezing hands and offering small words of encouragement. It wasn’t a lot, but it felt good to help. 

Eventually, you couldn’t ignore your fatigue anymore, and you sat down on the floor against the back wall with a sigh. It was a low din inside there, so you felt relatively safe making a little bit of noise, and you sniffled and zipped open the inside pocket of your coat. The stuff you had stashed from your purse was in there, and you frowned down at your brick of a cell phone, the screen shattered. You cast it aside, then pulled out your wallet, rifling through it to see what went missing. Thankfully, your license was still there, so if anybody needed identification at any point, you had that covered; an old fast food gift card that you were sure still had money on it but was useless now; and an old paper movie ticket that you had saved with the intention of putting it in a scrapbook. Your heart panged with hurt, and you checked every other section of your wallet, but it was empty. 

Your house keys were certainly back on the floor of the restaurant, and you thought about the key to your mother’s house that lived on the ring. You hadn’t been able to contact her since the monsters came— the last thing you said to her was a text the morning of brunch, telling her to have a good day, and she had sent the classic mom :-) emoticon to you. Was she still alive? Had she managed to escape the monsters? Even though she didn’t live in the city, you wondered how far the monsters had traveled. Her neighbors were a family, with a high-school age son who played basketball and mowed your mother’s lawn; for your sanity, you chose to believe that they had taken her in (along with her prized African violets). 

A little noise came from in front of you, someone clearing their throat, and you looked up through your welling tears to see him. Damp yellow cardigan, wool blanket loose around his shoulders, curls wet and flat to his forehead. He stood still, watching you for a moment, before he spoke, a little louder than the first time but still a whisper. “Never caught your name,” he said. An accent. Not a native New Yorker. 

You told him with a shrug. Your eyes canvassed his frame, watching him shiver a little in what was probably an adrenaline rush, and your eyes landed on that nasty cut on his shin. It wasn’t actively bleeding, but still very red. It looked maybe a little inflamed, a tiny bit swollen, and you started to reach out for it, but stopped yourself. Your hands were filthy and, if infection was already setting in the way you suspected it was, whatever germs you had probably weren’t good for the wound. You withdrew your hand and settled in your lap, and you cleared your throat. “One of the FEMA people can help with that,” you told him, nodding towards his leg. “Bandages and anti-inflammatories and shit.” 

“Aren’t you a nurse?” the man asked, now his turn to nod at you. You had clipped your badge to the collar of your coat and, even though the plastic flower that had once surrounded the metal clip was shattered and long gone, the clip still served its purpose. 

“I am,” you said. “But I don’t have bandages.” You cracked a loose smile, and you winced at the bottle of water and pile of crackers next to you on the floor. “I’ve got crackers and water.” 

“I’m starving,” he told you, returning the small smile. “May I?” 

You nodded, and he worked himself down to the floor (he seemed to be favoring his left ankle a little, the same leg with the gash). He settled back against the wall, sighing heavily, and he took a pack of crackers into his hands and read the label for a moment. “‘Peanut butter’,” he read. “D’ya like these?” 

“They’re alright,” you said. “I used to buy the same ones, shove ‘em in my work bag to eat between patients. Kinda bland and gross, but they get the job done.” 

He nodded, and he tore the corner of the plastic sleeve and extracted a peanut butter cracker. “I used to like the ones with, erm, cream cheese and chives,” he said. “A quick snack at work. S’never what I wanted to eat, but sometimes I’d be at the office ‘til late, and at that point, take what you can get, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you agreed. “What did you do?” 

“Lawyer,” he said, popping one of the crackers into his mouth. 

“Oh, shit,” you chuckled. “Yeah, you had some long nights… My sister’s husband is a paralegal, he used to tell me all about it.” 

“Cool,” he told you. “And you, Miss Nurse?”

“And me what?” you asked.

“What’s your husband do?” he asked. 

You laughed. You couldn’t help it. “I’d have to have one of those for him to have a job,” you said. “No, being a nurse is very, like… If you’re not married by the time you leave nursing school, all hope is lost. You won’t ever have any free time to go on dates or even think about that sorta stuff.” 

“Same with law school,” he told you. “All my mates were engaged or married when we graduated, and everyone always told me, ‘Oh, Eric, you’ll find the right girl! She’s out there somewhere’, and it’s like… If she’s not in my office building or on the subway home at 2AM, I’m not meeting her.” 

“You went to school around here?” you asked, and he (you assumed his name was Eric, based on his anecdote) nodded, then shrugged. 

“Cornell,” he said. “Then got hired at a firm in the city, and just… Never left.” 

“Well, that’s cool,” you said lightly. “I’m assuming you’re not from around here?”

He shook his head. “Kent,” he said. “About an hour out from London.”

“Wow,” you said softly. “That change must’ve been… A lot.”

Eric shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “It was alright, I suppose. At that time, I was sorta fighting with my dad all the time, really wanting to leave and go somewhere but he didn’t want that…” He trailed off, letting the conclusion form by itself. “Haven’t seen ‘em in-person since then. I always said I was busy, or it was too expensive, or… I was supposed to go back home at Christmas… My sister had a baby and I was supposed to meet him then…” He trailed off, obviously at a loss for what else to say, and you sighed.

“I’m sure they’re okay,” you told him, even though you yourself doubted it. “I mean, maybe the monsters are only here. They don’t like water; if they came from here, they can’t get over there.”

Eric nodded slowly. His eyes scanned the room, looking and listening, and he reached his hand out in front of him, making a small noise with his tongue against his teeth. You followed his gaze and found his cat, all furry with white and black spots, being adored and pet by a little boy sitting on a cot close by, and Eric tutted at the cat again. The cat turned their big dark eyes to their owner, and dutifully trotted over, snuggling in-between Eric’s criss-cross-applesauce legs.

“Who’s this?” you asked.

“Frodo,” Eric said, stroking the cat between his ears. Frodo began to purr, his eyes closing blissfully, and Eric said, “He was my friend’s, but she… She told me to take care of him.”

Your mind brought back the image of the woman running, distracting the monsters away from Eric. “Was that the one who…?” you started, and Eric nodded.

“He was her service animal,” he said. “She had cancer, he sort-of alerted her whenever her pain medication was going out… Also kept her company in hospice. He’s quiet, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Well, none of us have to worry about that,” you said, and Eric took in a breath. “Not anymore. Not with the island.”

“Right,” Eric sighed. “Almost forgot.”

“I’m worried I’ll never go back to normal,” you admitted. “Even just two days of thinking like this… Trauma’s so fucking weird.”

Eric nodded in agreement. You caught him staring at your hands, shaking and shivering as they laid in your lap, and he started to unwind the blanket from around himself to settle over you, but you shook your head. “M’not cold,” you told him. “Just… Nervous. Y’know?”

Eric watched you for a moment, making sure that you weren’t bullshitting him (you were a little; your coat was wet through, and you definitely could do with a dry coat, but you would live), and he said, “I think you need to pet my cat.”

“Do I?” you asked with a chuckle.

“You sure do,” Eric nodded. “He doesn’t bite or scratch— he might nibble your fingers a little, but only ‘cause he’s curious.”

You reached out for Frodo, letting him sniff your hand a little before he shoved his solid little head under your fingers, squinting his eyes as you started to scratch behind his ears. You couldn’t help the smile that overtook your face, and you said, “He’s very sweet.”

“He’s smart too,” Eric said. “He can do maths. Look’it: Frodo, what’s one minus one?”

Frodo, of course, responded in silence, and Eric smiled, cocking his head. “I think that’s impressive,” he said, and you huffed out a laugh.

“Silly,” you mumbled under your breath, moving to scratch Frodo on his chin. “When’s the last time he’s eaten? I can try to find something for him.”

“Last night,” Eric said, his smile faltering. “Sam might’ve given him something earlier this morning, but I didn’t wake up until later.”

That’s how you greeted the island, petting Frodo and sharing light stories about your past lives. Nothing too heavy or sad or emotional, even though it felt like any story about your past life held an air of sadness and mourning. You could try to go back to normal, but normal was long gone. As everyone departed the boat under the dusky stars, there was a large team of FEMA workers to greet you with big, heavy bags and send you to an empty cabin for the night. You and Eric (and Frodo) stuck together, and you received your bags and moved down to a cabin. To your surprise, the lights worked, as did a small space heater in the corner, but you can tell it had been running for some time, because the inside was already warm. Several beds were set up and made with thin, government-issued bedsheets, but it was far better than nothing.

You went about unpacking the bag as Eric moved to the small bathroom and shut the door. There was a change of clothes, sweatshirt and pants and underwear and socks, basic toiletries like a toothbrush and shampoo and a small bar of soap, two bottles of water, a plastic packaged MRE (you had Menu 3, “chicken, egg noodles, and vegetables in sauce”), and some things like Band-Aids and small packages of Advil like what you kept stocked in the ER, along with a sanitary napkin, and, the piece de resistance (courtesy of the American government, you’re very welcome), a condom. You frowned at the last thing and slid it into your toiletries bag underneath the bar of soap to hide it; to be frank, sex was the last thing you wanted or needed. Your brain was still in survival mode, and you didn’t even feel like you could settle down enough to sleep, let alone to fuck. Could anybody here?

You heard the shower squeak on in the bathroom, and the pipes creaked as water rushed through. You stripped off your clothes, exchanging them for the warmer and drier and less dirty option, and you sniffled as your fingers began to warm up, becoming less stiff but considerably more sweaty. The bed creaked under you as you sat down, the springs screaming at you, and you rubbed the paper-thin blanket between your fingers. It reminded you of the quality of the hospital, where you might as well be using copy paper instead of fabric. If you had known that your last night in your bed, with your memory foam pillow and weighted blanket, would truly be your last, you would have savored the experience far more. Would you even be warm enough under those blankets?

You couldn’t ponder it any longer, because Frodo suddenly caught a bee in his bonnet, and he skittered from atop the second bed, where Eric had settled his things before he went to the shower. He careened to the closed bathroom door, and he got up on his hind legs, pawing at the door handle. Wordlessly, he craned his tiny head to look at you, and he made the first cat noise you heard him make, a sort of “mrrow” chirping groan. As you got up and went to grab him (“Eric’s just taking a shower, Fro, he’ll be right back”), Frodo turned back to the door and began to bat at the handle, like he was attempting to turn it.

And then you remembered. Frodo was a service cat. He had been trained to alert for certain things, and Eric had mentioned rising pain levels, but what else could Frodo alert for? Suddenly, your heart jumped into your throat, and you knocked on the door. “Eric? You okay?” you asked, but you received no answer. “Eric? Hey, man, Frodo’s freaking out, are you alright in there?”

It was hard to hear too much over the sound of the running shower, but you heard the unmistakable shaking breath of a gasping sob, and, maybe against your better judgement, you turned the door handle. The door wasn’t locked, and the hinges squeaked as you opened the door. Eric had shed his blanket and cardigan and loosened his tie, but he was backed into the far corner of the bathroom, staring at the porcelain bathtub with eyes as big as dinner plates. The faucet was running, the tub filling up, but Eric was frozen. Quickly, you turned the tap and shut off the water, and you gave him his space as you asked “What’s wrong? Can you tell me what happened?”

Eric shook his head, his mouth contorting into an ugly sob, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Tears leaked out, and he just kept shaking his head over and over. “No, no,” he mumbled. “No!”

“Hey, easy,” you told him gently. “What’s going on? How can I help?”

“Th-The water,” Eric gasped. “I—I—” His knees gave out, and he slumped against the wall with a sob. He began to claw at his shirt, at the topmost button; even though it was undone, he still seemed to want it looser.

You rushed to his aid, pushing his hands aside and starting at his shirt buttons. His eyes were still shut tight, but you needed to see his pupils— if he was in shock, or if something else was happening, the dilation of his pupils could help tell you. “Eric,” you said softly. “Open your eyes, please. Please? I need to see your eyes.”

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and you saw his pupils so big and dark, they almost overtook the brown of his iris. His face was pale, his chest heaving as you undid his buttons, and you pressed your fingers to the side of his neck to check his pulse. Fast, hard, heavy. You had been by his side all night, he hadn’t taken any medication that he could be having a reaction to, and he had been eating the same crackers and water that you had. There weren’t many other conclusions to come to— a panic attack. But at what?

Eric sank down to the floor, sobbing and shaking, and you followed him, putting a gentle but controlling grip on his wrists. You didn’t think he would, but you needed to control him if he started to get violent. “Eric, take a breath,” you told him. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Nothing’s going to hurt you, okay? Everything is alright.”

Eric sucked in a breath and doubled over on himself, and you kept your hands on his wrists as you shifted away— if he got sick, you didn’t want it on your clothes. Although, you were sure you could get different ones somehow. But he didn’t get sick, he just kept crying. You felt awful and tasted bitter in your mouth. Typically, at this point, you would be paging the mental health wing to come by and evaluate him, and you’d move on to the next person waiting in the ER. You didn’t know how to talk someone down from a panic attack. You didn’t even know how to do that for yourself, let alone for Eric.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Okay, it’s okay. What happened? Did something happen?”

Eric’s eyes glazed over you and settled behind your shoulder, and you looked back to see the bathtub. It was hardly half-full, but everything clicked into place. “The water,” you said. “You’re afraid of the water. Is that it?”

Eric sniffled and nodded weakly, and you blinked away tears. “That’s okay,” you whispered. “That’s totally okay. I mean, you had to jump into the water to get away from the monsters, I don’t blame you for being afraid—”

“I was down in the subway,” Eric blurted out. “When the monsters came. I was there, and I couldn’t stop thinking, I just kept thinking, and I… I didn’t have the guts to do it. I wanted to do it, I wanted to! But I was too scared that it would hurt. Was scared I’d looked too fucked up and they wouldn’t be able to tell who I was, and my-my mum, thinking about my mum being told, it would kill her, and I was just thinking… And the water came rushing in. Filled everything up, there was no air… I had to swim, and I can’t swim, I never learned really, but I was swimming and I just thought ‘I don’t actually want to die’. But I started feeling spotty, all lightheaded and fairy, and I think I was starting to drown, but I saw the light and came up…”

You were at a loss for words. If you were understanding him, he had been trying to kill himself before the monsters. It sounded like he was moments away from stepping in front of a train. His saving grace was the flood in the tunnels. You had trouble swallowing as your throat went thick, and you lowered your eyes for a minute before you loosened your grip on his wrists. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “You’re gonna be alright. Do you want to take a shower instead?”

Eric shook his head. “Doesn’t work,” he mumbled. “Only the tub does.”

You sighed heavily. “Do you want me to stay?” you asked. “Or I can wait outside the door?”

Eric seemed edging into a catatonic state, just shivering and blinking, and you frowned. You finished your abandoned job of undoing his shirt buttons, and you loosened his tie until it came off completely, and you gently pushed off his stained and ragged buttoned shirt. His undershirt wasn’t in much better shape, the underarms and neck stained with sweat, and you started to take it off, but paused. “Is this okay?” you asked. He didn’t react to your question, just staring at your neck, and you carefully angled his head up to look you in the face. “Eric. Is it okay if I undress you and put you in the bath? I’ll be right here the whole time, I won’t leave you alone.”

Eric weakly nodded, shifting his arms a little to better help you pull his undershirt over his head, and his hands went down to his pants to finish the job. You quickly considered what the next steps were as Eric fished his belt from his pants loops, and you pushed the sleeves of your sweatshirt up to your elbows to free up your hands. Eric, now only in his boxers, gave you a pathetic look, and you took him by the hand and helped him to his feet. You figured that he had forgone removing his boxers for a reason, so you didn’t push it, and you held him stable as he lifted a shaking foot over the edge of the bathtub. He was silent, but you watched tears run down his cheeks as he settled both feet in the water, his grip on your hand so tight that it almost hurt.

Slowly, he sat down in the tub, and the water splashed your hand. It was warm but not hot enough to hurt, and you sat by the edge of the bathtub, watching Eric as he sniffled. He certainly was dirty after two days in an apocalyptic city, and you were sure that you weren’t any better off, and you started to get up to retrieve the toiletry bag that he had brought in with him, settled by the sink, but his tight grip only became more vice-like as you tried to depart. “Don’t—” he choked out, and you shushed him gently.

“I’m not leaving,” you told him. “Just getting the shampoo and stuff, just by the sink.”

“Can you get in?” Eric asked softly, almost at a whisper. “When you come back?”

“I-In?” you repeated. “Like, in the bath?”

Eric nodded. He was watching you with his big, intense eyes, and a shiver ran down your back.

“Okay,” you told him. “Umm… I don’t know if I can. I don’t have any other clothes, and I can’t get these wet.”

“Please?” Eric whimpered. “Need… Just need help.”

Maybe it was because you felt bad for him, or maybe you were feeling something that you didn’t want to consider yet, but regardless of the reason, you nodded. You got up from the floor and retrieved the bag from the sink counter, and you came back to the tub. The sides of the tub were curved, not allowing for you to settle the stuff on the edge, and you quickly handed the shampoo and soap to him. He held them gingerly, and he averted his eyes down to the water as you put the bag down and started to pull off the sweatshirt. “Eric,” you said softly. “You can look. You’re gonna see everything in the next few minutes anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

Slowly, Eric raised his eyes up, but he still didn’t look staright at you. At least now it wasn’t obvious that he was avoiding looking at you like before, where it felt like he would be burned alive if he looked. You carefully pulled the sweatshirt over your head and set it by your feet, then you pulled down the sweatpants and stepped out of them. Your heart was beating quickly as you lowered yourself into the bathtub, sitting with your back to Eric, and he nudged his legs a little wider to allow you to sit comfortably. The water felt good on your aching muscles, especially your back, and you sighed lightly. You sat for a moment, trying to drum up enough courage to turn to him and start to help, but he beat you to it.

Eric’s hands were warm, his palm a little rough, as he touched your shoulder, sliding his hand down a little to reach your back. His fingers played with the ends of your hair, and he lowered his hand back to the water. He cupped his palm and let water flow in, then he brought it up to you and wet your hair. Was this his definition of help? To help himself, he had to help others? It made sense, but it still took you a little by surprise. You don’t think anybody had ever washed your hair for you, not since you were a kid. But this was different, in just about every way possible. It was intimate in a way that made your breath catch in your throat, and you swallowed thickly as Eric lifted a hand and tilted your head back to lightly pour water over the front of your hair. He was careful in his work, making sure not to get it on your face or in your ears, and you listened to his breathing even out as he diligently did his task.

The shampoo was some cheap, basic crap, didn’t smell like anything and was only good for getting the oil out of your hair, but the way that Eric worked it into your hair made it seem like it was made by the gods. You felt relaxed, the first time in a long time, and your eyes slipped close as his fingertips worked into your scalp. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt that good, especially by someone else’s hands— maybe years, it was hard to say. You knew that, no matter how good it felt, you couldn’t sink too hard into the feeling of it. Eric just needed to help you, and this was his help; nothing more, nothing less.

He gently poured water from his palms over your hair, rinsing it out as best as possible, and you felt that hot streak shoot up your nose. You wanted to cry. You hadn’t cried in… You had no idea. It certainly had been a long time, and you frowned and gulped as you held down the tears. Unluckily for you (or maybe luckily; it was nice to know Eric was so attentive), he noticed your catched breathing, and his hands gently settled on your shoulders. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“Are you?” you answered, almost a knee-jerk reaction. Don’t worry about yourself, worry about your patient, your friend, anybody else. You came last in your mind, everybody else was more important than you.

“That’s not what I asked you,” Eric said firmly. “Are you okay?”

“I…” you started. You wanted to tell him that you were fine, that nothing was wrong. He didn’t need to worry about you, you were tough, you could handle yourself. You watched as water filtered through your own fingers, pooling in your palm but escaping out of every little break and crevice possible, and you pursed your lips as you slowly rubbed your face, trying to wash away to grime and dirt. You shook your head lightly, trying to come up with any words to express yourself, and you wiped off your cheeks as you sniffled. “I don’t know.” You couldn’t come up with any better explanation; you just didn’t know if you were okay or not. Your hands slid down your face and flattened up against your neck, and you sighed. “Are you okay?” you tried again.

“I’ll be okay,” Eric told you. His hands smoothed down your shoulders to your arms, and he squeezed your upper arm for a moment before he went for the soap, starting up a lather between his palms.

“Well, sure, we’ll all be okay eventually,” you replied. “But are you okay right now?”

Eric waited until he was washing your back to answer. His sudsy hands slipped over your skin easily, but he dug his fingertips into your muscles, offering relief. “I’ll be okay,” he repeated. “I don’t know what I am right now, to be honest. Head’s just full of… I don’t know. A whole lot of noise, but not any one thing. It’s all quiet out here, but in there, it’s just…” He sighed, and his hands halted at your sides. He obviously had been on track to move to your front, doing his job on autopilot, and he only thought about what he was doing as he was about to do it.

Silently, you shifted your weight back just a hint, closer to him, trying to tell him that it was alright without saying the words. He quickly caught on to what you were telling him, and his hands slid around your body to your front. To your relief, he avoided where you had expected his hands to go, instead wrapping his arms around your shoulders and hugging himself to you, setting his chin on your shoulder. “You make it quiet up there,” Eric whispered, barely above a breath, like he was afraid of saying it out loud. “I don’t know how, I don’t know why… But you start talking, and it’s like everything else fades away.”

That was your breaking point. Tears started to fall from your eyes, and you sniffled as your hands reached up to your neck and clutched his wrists, looking for anything tangible to hold on to while you cried. And cried you did, your face contorted as you sobbed, your shoulders shaking and chest heaving, and you squeezed Eric’s wrists. He was quick to move impossibly closer, molding his front to your back, and his arms slipped down to your middle, squeezing you tightly as he buried his face in your neck and began to cry as well. He was much quieter than you, not having nearly as much that he held back and needed to get rid of, but it felt good to have someone commiserate with you.

You weren’t sure who moved first— maybe there wasn’t a first to move, maybe you both moved at the same time— but somehow your foreheads came to touch, and your crying pettered down to a sniffle and watery eyes. Your hand came up to touch his cheek, scruffy with a few days’ old beard trying to grow in, and your thumb stroked his cheekbone. He keened into your touch, his eyes fluttering open to look at you. His big brown eyes, so full of every emotion, hidden just so but easy to see if you knew where to look, locked on yours, and your lips fell open in anticipation of his mouth on yours.

Instantly, though, you shifted away and lightly cleared your throat. This wasn’t the time for that. You didn’t know if there would ever be a time for that again. Quietly, you splashed water on your face, and stood up, carefully getting out of the bathtub and going after the towel that sat on the countertop. You scooped your clothes up off the floor as well, and you escaped from the bathroom without a word. You were sure he was confused, maybe even wounded, but you didn’t care. On some level, you did want that— you wanted to feel wanted, to feel adored, cared about, and Eric was a great guy for that, but you didn’t want just that. You wanted a life, you wanted a partner, you wanted love— not just some trauma-borne fuck that you forgot about as soon as it happened.

You dried your body and slipped into your full outfit, pants and sweatshirt and underwear and socks, and you sat on your bed as you dried your hair. You listened as, inside the bathroom, the water sloshed against the side of the tub while Eric moved around, and you watched as Frodo calmly stalked the perimeter of the room, seeming to check every nook and cranny. You put your damp towel to the side and tutted out at the cat, and Frodo looked up at you for a moment before he scampered over to you, hopping up onto the bed and settling himself in your lap. “You’re a good boy, Fro,” you whispered, stroking his back. “Such a good boy.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Eric’s voice floated to you, and you turned to him. He was now all clean as well, his hair soggy and his face free of grime, wearing the sweatpants and sweatshirt. His hair was pushed away from his face, and you could see, even in the dim light, freckles dotting his forehead.

You sighed. “No,” you replied. “I’m just… I don’t know.”

“Did you not want me to…?” Eric began.

“No, no, it’s not that,” you told him quickly. “Not that at all, I did want you to, I just… I don’t know if I can do all that.”

“All what?” Eric asked. “What did you think was going to happen if I kissed you?”

“Well,” you shrugged. “I don’t know, I assumed more would come of it. And I just don’t know if I’m ready for more. Even before the world came crashing down, I wasn’t ready for more. That’s why I didn’t have anyone; not because I didn’t have time, although that was true. I’m just… Scared.”

Eric quietly moved towards you, bypassing his bed and settling at the extreme edge of yours, as far away as possible while still occupying the same space. Frodo looked at him with thin eyes and he slowly blinked at Eric, and his tail flopped in an indignant half-wag. “Scared of what?” Eric asked.

You sighed. “That I won’t be right for anyone,” you said. “Even back when I was on the market, people always… I don’t know. Wanted more, and for whatever reason, I could never give more to them. I was always so afraid of what would happen when I finally gave all of myself to someone that I never did, and by the time I figured out that someone did want all of me, it was too late and I’d already lost them. I can never win— I’m always never enough or I’m too much. I’m never just right.”

Eric thought on your words for a few moments, and he moved closer to you, just an inch. “Yeah,” he said. “But that was back then. Everything has changed. Everything is different now. You don’t need to be afraid of being what’s right, because what used to be right is just… All sorts of fucked up now. Nobody knows anything anymore. I certainly don’t. But I know what I want, more than I ever have before.”

“And let me guess,” you said. “You want me?”

You hoped that calling him out on his cheesy cliché would have him back down. You liked that he wanted you, and you wanted him too, you wanted him so badly that it hurt, but you didn’t want him to mistake wanting you for wanting a connection with someone.

“I want to be okay again,” Eric told you. “But I need you.”

That was the most magical word of all. Need. It punched a hole in your heart and took your breath away, and you watched him as he watched you, just seeing who would dare to break first. Frodo seemed to know something you didn’t, because he jumped up out of your lap and skittered across the room with an uncharacteristic yowl, and you frowned as he sped away, but your frown was quickly wiped off your face as Eric bridged the gap and kissed you.

You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. He held your face as his lips moulded to yours, a perfect fit as you kissed back, and you wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. It felt good to kiss someone, to hold someone and be held by someone. You forgot how much you missed the feeling of another person, and you melted into his body as he claimed your hips in his strong hands. His knuckles were scuffed up, but he held you so gently, and you easily fell back onto the bed. He followed you, settling over you like he had done it a thousand times before, but the way his hands slowly slid up the sides of your shirt to touch your bare skin showed you how much it meant to him. Slow and gentle and sweet, he was everything you had wanted from a partner and a lover for as long as you could remember.

But you could tell, even though he was being sweet, how badly he wanted to have you. His kiss was greedy, shifting away from your mouth to kiss your chin and jaw and neck, almost feral with his need for you, but you welcomed it. Strong emotions like that were flattering, especially here and now, and you didn’t waste much time before sliding your hand past the elastic waistband of the sweatpants nestled around his hips. Your palm found his cock instantly, and you held in your gasp of surprise at his size— he definitely had something to be proud of. His skin was warm through the layer of his underwear, and you paused and widened your eyes at him, a quiet question of how far he wanted you to go.

“You don’t have to be quiet anymore,” Eric whispered. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You shivered underneath him at the sweet name he had bestowed on you, and you quietly asked, “Do you want me to…?”

“God, yes,” he moaned. “Haven’t done this in so long…”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile as you slipped under his briefs, and your fingers wrapped around his thick length. His skin was hot to the touch, his cock rock-hard, and he moaned softly into your neck at the contact. Whether he meant to or not, his hips rolled forward, pushing himself further into your grip, and he quickly whispered, “M’sorry, fuck—”

“Don’t apologize,” you told him. Your free hand went to cradle his cheek, and you shifted his face so that you could kiss his plush lips again. “It’s hot.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eric asked. “It’s hot how…” He paused to kiss you, nipping at your bottom lip with his front teeth, and he continued. “How desperate I am?”

“I am too,” you told him. “I just hide it better.”

Almost as if he was checking if you were lying, his hand skated down from your side and into your pants, letting his fingers mold to your cunt, and he chuckled lightly. “God, you’re wet,” he smiled. “That makes me feel better.”

“Were you worried I wasn’t?” you asked.

“Just a little,” Eric whispered, wrinkling his nose. “But I figured you’d tell me if something wasn’t working for you.”

“I’ll let you know,” you told him. You chased him into another kiss, and his tongue invaded your mouth. It had been so long since you had someone make you feel like that, and you whined softly into his mouth. “Eric, please.”

“What do you want?” he asked. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”

“Anything,” you whimpered. Your legs shifted, coming up to anchor around his waist, and you slowly started to stroke his cock, teasing his soft head, just to see his reaction.

Thankfully, his cheeks went red, and that pretty pink mouth of his opened in a moan, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he mumbled, “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m already too close for you to be doing that.”

“Already?” you asked. You sounded a little more surprised than you meant to, and you quickly added, “That’s really attractive, Eric, I hope you know that.”

“What is?” he chuckled. “That I’ve got a short fuse?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged sheepishly. “I think it is, anyway. How can I help you?”

“Umm,” Eric said, then swallowed thickly. “Can I… Tits?”

You smiled at him, and you laid a gentle kiss on his lips before he shifted away, letting you pull up your sweatshirt. Your little survival packs hadn’t provided you with a bra of any kind, and you watched Eric’s already-wide eyes flare out at the sight of your chest. He didn’t say a word before he moved down your body and started to kiss everywhere he could reach, taking time and care on your tits. Your hand fell out of his pants at the angle shift, and you settled your fingers to twist in his damp curls as his own hand replaced yours, jerking himself off as he gently licked at your hardening nipple.

“S’that okay?” he whispered, casting his doe eyes up at you, and you nodded quickly. “’Cause if it’s not, I can stop—”

“I promise it’s okay,” you whispered. “I swear.”

Eric smiled. “She swears,” he whispered under his breath, and you giggled. “She swears she likes when I suck her tits. Aren’t I a lucky guy?”

You could hardly ignore the hot pressure between your legs, and you snaked your hand in-between your bodies and started to push down your sweatpants, but Eric noticed what you were up to, and he tugged his hand out of his own pants to capture the waistband of your sweatpants in his grasp. “Please,” he said. “Allow me.” You could tell that he intended to be funny, but his flushed face and fucked-out pupils made it seem a lot more pathetic than you’re sure he meant to be, but that just made a rush of heat strike your core, and your head fell back in bliss as you felt your hot skin slowly exposed to the air.

When you lifted your head back up to look at him, you watched as he shed his own clothes, finally matching you, and you bit your lip as his heavy cock rose to lay against his tummy. He had the thinnest trail of hair coming from down his belly button, smatterings of hair on his chest, a nicely-groomed bush of hair at the base of his cock; he clearly cared about the way he looked, and you loved that. You wondered if the Eric you knew was anything like the Eric before the monsters came, and you watched as he leaned back and began to gently place kisses down the length of your body. He was soft and gentle with you, although you were nearly certain he wanted to take you then and there, and you wiggled a little under his lips. “Can we…” you started. “Do that later?”

“Do what?” Eric asked.

“The whole ‘sweet and kissy’ thing,” you said. “Not to sound, like, sex-starved or anything, but I am, and I think my heart’s gonna explode if you’re not inside me soon.”

Eric chuckled, obviously not expecting that level of honesty out of you, and he pushed his damp curls off of his forehead. “Whatever you’d like, sweetheart,” he told you. “As long as you promise to let me eat your cunt eventually. I can only go so long seeing you like this and be expected to not put my mouth on you.”

“Sure,” you replied, secretly excited that he was expecting a second time.

Eric swiped a quick kiss on your mouth, and then he furrowed his eyebrows. “Umm…” he began. “I— Do you… Are you on any birth control or anything?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “No,” you sighed. “I was, but all that’s back in my apartment in Brooklyn. Haven’t taken my pill since, like, three nights ago, so I’m basically fucked for the whole month.”

“Fuck,” Eric whispered, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. “I guess, are you alright with this, then? We can figure something else out—”

“There’s, umm,” you winced. “A condom, in the bag with the shampoo and everything. There’s one in mine, and I bet there’s a second one in yours too.”

“Oh, shit, really?” Eric laughed. “That’s… That’s pretty funny.”

“Apparently, FEMA knows what people do in times of crisis,” you smiled.

“So, what I’m hearing,” Eric started, moving himself off the bed and going to your toiletries bag on the floor. His back turned to you, and you felt your eyes widen in shock at the state of his ass. Jesus Christ, this guy had a great ass, smooth and plump and perfectly rounded; you almost wanted to reach out and bite it. “Is that we can fuck twice, and then we’ll need to figure something else out.”

“Is that so?” you asked, and Eric came back to the bed, deftly tearing open the condom wrapper. You leaned up on your elbows to watch as he got back up on his knees, caging you between his thick thighs, and he made quick work of rolling the condom down his thick length, making a quiet grunt as he got it situated the way he wanted. “What makes you think there’ll be a third time? Or a second, for that matter?”

“Won’t there?” Eric asked. “You seem pretty into it right now. Or least your cunt is; look at how wet she is for me.”

“Well, yeah, now,” you teased him, biting the tip of your tongue, trying to will your thundering heart to go back to normal. “But what if, when everything is said and done, you’re actually a terrible fuck and I don’t want anything else to do with you?”

He laughed deep in his chest, and he took your thighs in his strong hands and opened your legs, smoothly settling himself so he could rub his hard cock against your weeping cunt. You felt blood thrumming under your skin, making every inch of you pulse and surge, and you whined high in your throat when the head of his cock caught at your hole, threatening to slip in with ease. “I doubt that, sweetheart,” he told you. “I’ve been told I’m a fantastic fuck.”

“Are you sure they weren’t trying to keep your ego intact?” you asked, and Eric tilted his head curiously at you.

“Well, they weren’t telling me much of anything,” he said. “Usually, by the end, they’re so fucked-out and brainless that they can hardly string a sentence together.”

Then, without a word of warning, he gripped your hips and slid himself inside of you, and you gasped. It had been so long that you had almost forgotten what sex felt like, but this was something entirely new and different. You could feel every ridge and vein on his cock, even through the condom, and he gave a delicious throb as you tightened your thighs around his hips. “Fuck!” you yelped, and a shade of worry passed over his face for just a moment. “I-I’m okay,” you told him quickly. “Just… Fuck, Eric, you’re so big.”

“You flatter me,” he chuckled. Slowly, he began to rock his hips into you, moving shallowly at first, just letting you get used to his size, and his dull fingernails buried into the flesh of your hip. You couldn’t help all the little noises he caused you to make— you could feel every inch of him, burying deep within you, stretching you and filling you like he was made for you, and he leaned down and ghosted against your lips with his. “Feel good?” he whispered, and you nodded quickly.

“Do I?” you asked softly. Your arms went around him, holding him close to you, and you pressed your fingers into his shoulders. He felt like a lifeline, his warm skin keeping you grounded, and you didn’t even care if you sounded pathetic or insecure. He made you feel good and safe, and that’s all that you cared about.

“Fuck, so good,” he grunted out. He was picking up speed, gaining a good rhythm that made you wonder how prolific he had been before his career got in the way, and you listened to the bed squeak under you as he mumbled, “So warm… So wet… You feel like a dream… Remember that short fuse I talked about?”

“Really?” you smiled. “Already?”

“Listen, woman,” Eric started, and you dragged him into a messy kiss. You loved him talking like that, and it made you realize just how close you were as well. He tugged away from the kiss to take a deep breath, and he went in to kiss you again, hungry and wanting you. He was going fast now, pumping in and out of you, leaving pleasure and sparks in his wake, and your legs twitched and tightened as the knot in your belly twisted closer and closer to its end. “I haven’t had sex in years,” Eric continued, finally tearing himself away from your lips. “And my right hand can only do so much after a while. So excuse me for being a little quick to the draw tonight.”

“How many years?” you asked.

Eric sighed. “I dunno,” he said. “At least since I graduated law school, so… Five years, maybe?”

“God,” you chuckled. “That’s… A while.”

“No, wait,” Eric said. “Three years. My birthday a few years ago, my mates took me out to a bar, and I met a girl, I spent the night at her place… And she never answered my texts after that.”

“Ouch,” you hissed. “That must’ve hurt that ego of yours.”

“Not gonna lie, it did,” Eric laughed. “But it’s for the best. I didn’t have time for a girlfriend anyway, I would’ve been an awful boyfriend to her. Or to anyone, not just her… What about you?”

“Umm…” you started. “Sex… Yes, I know what that is. Definitely a thing I’ve had before now.”

“Don’t play with me like that,” Eric started, jokingly wide-eyed and startled, and you laughed.

“About the same, I guess,” you said. “Three-ish years… It was back a few years ago, I was feeling bad about getting older and having a career but no partner, so I… I went on a dating app, found a guy, and we talked for a little bit and hooked up, but I got a bad vibe from him, so I broke it off.”

“I’m sorry,” Eric said. “Did you like him?”

“Not really,” you sighed. “And he wasn’t even that great in bed.”

“So, I’ve got him beat in every category, right?” Eric asked.

You kissed him again, cupping your hand across the back of his neck, and he smoothed his hands up your body lovingly. “You’ve got everyone beat, baby,” you told him.

“I think you’re an angel, actually,” Eric told you, and you shyly shook your head. “No, no, I think so. I don’t care if you don’t agree, that’s what I think.”

“Whatever you say,” you told him. “Can you, umm… Maybe a little faster?”

Eric obliged, pistoning his hips quicker to fuck you to your liking, and his hand floated to your pussy, his thumb gently rubbing at your throbbing little clit. You whined and scratched at his back, tightening your legs and digging your heel into that ass he had, and the electric shocks that ran up your toes and into the rest of your body started to become too good, too much. “Eric!” you gasped. “Eric, fuck!”

“I’ve got you, angel,” Eric whispered in your ear. “I’ve got you. Let me see that pretty face when you cum, yeah? Wanna feel your cunt squeeze me, fuck, I need it.”

You looked down at yourself, watching as his hard cock plunged in and out of your hole, leaving a creamy ring at the base of his cock, and your whining and whimpering almost had the wet squelch of your bodies together beat. Then, almost against your will, your whole body relaxed, every muscle feeling like it went slack, and you sobbed out your final moan, your head falling back as your nails went hard into his freckled shoulders. You felt your wet cover your inner thighs, and you panted as Eric chased his own end. You didn’t have to wait too long before you heard him choke back a moan, and he spilled himself inside the condom. You felt the warmth of his spend inside you, and he slowly pulled out of you with a hiss at the sensation on his sensitive, softening cock.

He was quick to take care of the condom, and he came back to the bed and settled in the small, empty space beside you. His red chest was heaving, his cheeks flooded with pink color, and he wrapped his arm around you and tugged you close to him. You melted into his warmth, mashing your cheek against his hard chest, and he let out a breathy laugh. “Fuck,” he gasped. “I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t eaten real food all day or what, but I’m exhausted.”

“Me too,” you giggled. “I think you were just that good.”

“Once again, angel,” Eric whispered, settling a soft kiss on your head. “You flatter me.”

You fell into a comfortable silence then, listening to each other’s breathing even out, and Eric cleared his throat after a while. “Typically, at this point,” he started. “I’d be smoking a cigarette.”

“Oh my God, Eric, no,” you groaned. “Don’t you know how unhealthy that is?”

“Oh, right,” Eric chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Miss Nurse. So concerned for my health.”

“Right,” you told him. “I care about you, and I don’t want you to have breathing complications or worse early in life from smoking.”

“I think I’ll manage,” Eric told you. “I think I need another shower after that, though.”

“You do sorta stink,” you giggled, and Eric rolled his eyes. “If you shower, I can be making food.”

“Food?” Eric asked. “There’s food?”

“Yeah, an MRE,” you told him, and you grunted as you got out of bed, going in search of the plastic-packaged meal. “Chicken and noodles. I didn’t see what yours was.”

“Fuck,” he laughed. “I’ve got a sexy woman making dinner for me? I might keep you around after all.”

“You have to keep me around,” you told him. “Who else is supposed to help you raise your cat?”

Frodo seemed to know his cue, because he revealed himself from behind a bookshelf, batting a bit of cobweb on his nose, and Eric smiled. “I suppose you’re right,” Eric said. “Just don’t feed him too much; he’ll get fat. He’ll also try to attack your hand if you pet his belly, so don’t do that either.”

“Noted,” you told him. “Go shower, handsome, this should be done by then.”

Eric took a moment to wrap his arms around you and press a kiss to your temple, and he softly said, “I wish we could have met any other way. But, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here now.”

“Me too,” you told him, turning in his arms to give him a real, genuine kiss. “I’m so glad you found me.”

[yandere-yearnings]

Contract-Bound Death (Yandere!Actor x GN!Reader)

feat. Viorel Dalca

♡ pt.0, approx. 1k words | next.

♡ post-specific warnings: (off-screen) murder, mentions of murder, mentions of blood, the entertainment industry, dark themes, implied use of contracts as a threat | series warnings: yandere themes, the entertainment industry, reader has a guilt complex

♡ a/n: we're pretending it's still 'around the end of october' so i'm not a liar. this is purely a work of fiction. yandere behaviour in real life is a cause of concern. unedited, not proofread.

♡♡♡

It’s the middle of the night, and the floors are still stained with blood when you arrive. Thin smears across marble, flaking up when the wheels of your suitcase roll over them. You'd convince yourself it was just rust that had formed over time, but the lie would die too easy for you to try. After all, now you were working for the devil — and who would he be without murder to his name?

You see him for the first time under the low lights, chandeliers casting dim orange overhead. The Vio before you looks so very different from the one you'd watched from the other side of your screen. Lacking his trademark blue, blonde to the roots and rolling over, wearing white as blank as the look he shot you, brow raised into a pinched arch. You tell yourself that his disdain is only so palpable because he's been through these exact motions a million times before. You tell yourself that it's only natural. 

His attention shifts quickly, back to his script and the lines highlighted in electric teal. It's at this point you realise he isn't going to give you the time of day, that he won't even consider it. All the training leading up to this moment has whittled away your hopes, and finally, they've diminished. Wiping away cold sweat for the promise of six figures lying somewhere in your future, praying that if you didn't last the week, you'd at least be fired instead of killed. 

Unlike the last man in your shoes.

The lump in your throat is firm where it lodges itself; you swallow once, twice and give up. Dry lips parting so you can speak, hoarsely. “Hey.” Already, the nerves have made formality slip your mind. “I'll be working with you from now on. Your new manager.”

Vio scoffs and flicks a page. you think you notice him glare. “Hey,” he mimics, “it’s been a minute and I already can't stand you.”

Wincing at the harshness and deciding that now isn’t the time — that there would likely never be one since the rumours about him had proven to hold — you steal away. Thankfully, Vio doesn’t give you a harder time for it. You suppose he wanted you out of sight, so he wouldn’t.

At least you had your room to look forward to. Back in the winding hallways that this job forced home to you, all your life packed up in the little fabric box that trundled on behind. These white walls made everything seem like they stretched on forever, made you feel awfully alone. A wide world you’d stepped foot on, it was funny how you had been so ready only to get lost so soon.

Tomorrow’s schedule was an early start, high rise at the break of dawn so the light felt more natural on camera. Vio was shooting a solo scene. He’d be the only actor on set. Somehow that did nothing to calm your nerves. Somehow it made them worse. Up velvet steps, your footprints pressed their marks. The choice of colour made you remember something that a producer had said to you before this: that scarlet covered scarlet well. Your stomach churned.

On the ceiling of the top-most storey, there was a brown door nestled in the far corner. You stopped and stared at it for a long while, at the string that dangled down, worn and frayed and used time and time again by different hands. Yours would be the next to pull it, and maybe you didn’t want to anymore. Over your shoulder, there was the winding staircase that you’d just traveled, leading back down to the entrance. The sight drew a sigh from you, it was choked and wet because no matter how much you were beginning to regret this all — you’d signed your life away. That entryway could never be an exit to you.

So you turned your back to it.

Pulling down and unfolding the steps didn’t take much effort, yet the hinges seemed strong. You hauled your luggage up first before you followed, just to stall a second more. Surprisingly, the attic was unlike the rest of the mansion. A largely wooden interior gave it character, and strung fairy lights around potted plants made it feel warm. For a single moment, you found your breath taken in a better way than it had been all week, and then it filled back into your lungs entirely cold because there was something you’d almost forgotten. A dead man had lived here before you.

The way the image kept haunting you, you were starting to convince yourself that it must’ve been your hands that wrapped around his throat and strangled the glimmer from his eyes. They never did, though. It was Vio who took his life. You’d watched it happen from a ways away, but it had still been in front of you. You’re not sure what you had been expecting after that, things were too late; before you could even breathe a word there were papers being held to your neck like knives and they all had your name on them. 

As you shut yourself in and sat there, in the glow you’d been greeted by and that had started to flicker, you finally broke. Your tears were hot but that didn’t make them any comfort. You were scared. Everywhere you turned you were met with the dead looks of people who had seen it all again and again and again. Unable to understand how you were the outlier in this normality. Terrified that Vio didn’t seem even the slightest bit remorseful. Terrified that you’d get used to it. 

World spinning, all a blur on your heavy bones. Fatigue settled and inside you knot after knot tied. You felt heavy, like you’d been flooded entirely in water. No matter how much you cried, the sensation did not ebb. Perhaps your guilt remained to save you. Perhaps it endured, on your mind as the last thing, so that you were still human when you woke up come morning.

[persphonesorchid]

Tasting Jealousy - KSJ

Summary: Seokjin is more than happy to accompany you to your company's New Year's Eve party, he's not happy however, that your co-worker is trying to flirt with you. The presence of this man brings up feelings Seokjin thought he left behind him.

Word Count: 3.2k

Genre: COH!au, Cupid!Seokjin x F!Reader, fluff, smut...angst 😀

Warnings: Jealous jinnie, smut (Protected sex bcus Seokjin ain't looking to be a daddy for the new year. Soft Dom jinnie, fingering, kitty spanking - you'll see what I mean lmao.) Jin gets very sad at one point and it gave me flashbacks of a universe in which he left 🤡

Masterlist - HERE

Notes: Happy New year my darlings!! I hope this year brings you lots of joy, love and peace!! Be good to yourselves!!

Now, I love this couple so much and I just can't get away from them ajsjhsha so here you go, my last fic for the year! And guess what? You guys will finally get to know who sent MC the flower arrangements. I know a lot of you were wondering lmao. I hope to write more drabbles for these two...even though is can't be considered a drabble because it got way out of hand 😭 but! I'm not complaining! I hope you guys enjoy!!

this follows Cupid's on Holiday's What If drabble Picking Peonies

“Ranunculus.” The word is a hissed breath between Seokjin’s teeth, eyes narrowing into slits. There’s a muscle twitching just under his eye, and he should be careful. If he grips the champagne flute any tighter the fine glass will shatter.

You pause in the middle of your sentence, fingers brushing his as you take the glass he offers, head turning and tilting back a little to look up at him.

The chatter of the party populous and the soft crackle of Christmas jingles fades into background noise against the rising ring in his ears.

The man who stands across from you both must’ve been raised without manners, that or at least a little common sense. He stands tall, a inch or so shorter than Seokjin if he were to guess. They’re unintentionally matching, both wearing black turtleneck sweaters. Though, Seokjin’s coat is tweed and brushes his knees, the man’s is dark grey and stops where his hands are tucked into the pockets of his black slacks.

Its been about a minute since Seokjin went off to get you both something to drink. A minute since he spotted this man through the crowd and just knew.

It’s been about a minute since he’s walked over here, weaved his way through the crowd with a wide boxy smile and a wave in your direction. A minute of his eyes trailing over your form, lingering over the way the peach fabric accentuates your waist and flutters at your feet in soft waves. A minute since he’d leaned in with a smile and kissed both your cheeks.

A minute of him pretending Seokjin isn’t standing right here, like your arm isn’t linked with his.

Six minutes. Not like Seokjin is counting or anything.

Something burns hot in the back of Seokjin’s mind when you giggle around the syllables that make up this man’s name. You’re smiling at something he said a second ago, but Seokjin is so far in his head he didn’t hear. It’s the kind of smile you give him when he brings you your favourite treat; your cheeks puffing up and squishing your eyes. He doesn’t know if the guy’s actually funny or if you’re only smiling at him to not seem rude.

“This is Seokjin.” You say, and briefly, you look up at him, smile unmoving. There’s a pinch to your brow, probably still wondering what the meaning behind his word earlier was. A bit of pride blooms in his chest with the way you wonder; you’ve long forgotten where his distaste stems.

Seokjin dips his head in greeting when, the man – Taehyung – finally looks over at him. He extends a hand, overhead lights of the venue catching on the face of his watch that Seokjin knows is expensive. He knows because it matches his.

Seokjin shakes his hand firmly, even as Taehyung’s eyes meet yours again with a smile that seems a little more strained and a lot less boxy.

“Strong grip you’ve got there.” Taehyung's chuckle is deep as his hand falls back to his side and Seokjin only hums. “Friend of yours?”

There’s nothing in his tone that gives reason for the feeling that floods Seokjin’s chest. It rises quickly from his feet and burns the back of his neck and ears and he bristles.

“Partner, actually.” There’s an edge to his voice that he knows you’ve caught; you squeeze his arm a little.

“Ah, partner... That’s nice, I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

There’s no way he couldn’t have known.

He’s not in your department, Seokjin knows. This encounter would’ve happened a whole lot sooner had he been. Seokjin had been about your work place many times over this year alone, sometimes for no particular reason. Everyone in your department knows him by now.

Office gossip spreads like a flame in a dry grass field, so it isn’t that he hadn’t known, the man just chose to blatantly ignore it.

Something about that sets Seokjin’s teeth on edge.

“Ah, well, I’m pretty private so that’s fine.” You wave your other hand, the motion careful as not to spill the champagne that sits in it.

You and Taehyung make small talk, and Seokjin drowns in the feeling that’s swimming around his head. You ask him about how his birthday went and Taehyung says it could’ve been better. And there’s a twinkle in his eyes that Seokjin doesn’t like when he says it.

Taehyung smiles, after a while of Seokjin just staring him down. “Well...all my best for the new year.” He says, the curls of his dark hair sways on his forehead when he looks to Seokjin again. “Nice meeting you.”

And like that, he was gone, back through the crowd to linger when he’d came from.

Seokjin feels you shift, and when he looks at you, you’re already watching him.

“What was that about?” you ask, a brow raised.

“What?” Seokjin raises a brow back and you sigh, tapping at his arm with hand that was looped around it.

“Jin...” You say nothing more and Seokjin busies himself with draining the rest of the champagne in his glass. He sets it down on a nearby table and you do the same, unlinking your arm from his to stand in front of him.

“Do you want to leave?” you ask softly.

“We’ve only been here two hours.” Seokjin replies, shaking his head.

“You didn’t answer my question. And besides it wouldn’t be any fun if you’re gonna be like...that for the rest of the night.”

“I’m not being like anything.” His voice is a little harsh, and Seokjin isn’t sure if it’s because he’s being called out. He sighs, brows pinching. “It’s fine. It wouldn’t be fair to you if we leave now.”

“I don’t mind, that’s why I asked. If you don’t want to stay that’s okay.”

“Why’re you so stubborn? Stop pushing it.”

You step away from him, eyes rolling as you step past.

“Where are you going?” Seokjin calls, turning as you walk, following the motion of your body with his.

“The bathroom.” You snap and Seokjin stares until you disappear into the throng of people.

There’s a low whistle behind him and Seokjin slowly turns, hackles raised again.

Taehyung is back. Barely seems to be paying him mind as he fills a plate with finger food and snacks. The long rectangular table is tucked into a corner, laden with different types of foods. He’s a bit away, but Seokjin’s certain he heard the exchange if the little smile he donned was anything to go by.

“Trouble in paradise?” He nods with his chin in the direction you stomped off to, picking a mini sandwich off his plate.

“Just a small fire. Containable. Although, I don’t see how that’s any business of yours.” If Seokjin’s eyes could narrow any further, he’d close them.

Taehyung lifts his shoulder in a shrug, “Just worrying, she’s my friend after all. Would hate to see her not have a good time.”

“Right.” Seokjin says, and then takes a breath. He doesn’t have to entertain this. He turns on his heel, walking through the crowd towards the bathrooms.

He finds you just coming out, pulling the lace of your sleeves back down to your wrists. He takes your hand, “We’re leaving.”

“Okay.”

You follow without complaint or question. Once outside, Seokjin gives you his coat because he doesn’t need it, a hand on the small of your back as he leads you to where he parked. Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for you and waits until you’re situated before going around and getting in.

He turns the heat on, and the drive is silent.

After a moment of your eyes burning into the side of his head, you finally speak: “Are you okay?”

“M’fine.” Seokjin tries to keep the edge out his tone because there’s no reason to snap at you.

You still catch it, and Seokjin sighs when you go quiet. His teeth aches when he clenches his jaw, grip tight on the steering wheel. It wasn’t long before he’s pulling into the parking lot of the apartment and you’re out the car first.

The way up to your apartment is silent, and it continues until you’re both inside, taking your shoes off at the door.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong now?”

Seokjin feels guilt knot his stomach as you stare at him, a patient look on your face.

“I’m sorry. It’s just...”

There was still a lot of things Seokjin was getting used to. It’s been a year since he decided to break every rule set for him and stay with you. There are times when he’s blissfully unaware of it. When he’s tucked it into the far reaches of his mind in a box under lock and key and it doesn’t bother him. Sometimes though, like now, it rattles along the inside of his head, bouncing off corners.

Taehyung is the one who sent you that horrid floral arrangement on valentines day. It had long stopped irritating him whenever thought about it. The initial jealousy had come and crested like a wave and was gone then. Now it crashes in like a tsunami.

It’s not just jealousy he feels, but a strange sense of being lost. Like he’s walking through a fog with a blindfold. He’s aware of what he did, when he decided to turn his back on his duty and be selfish. He knows well there are some things he can’t ever give you.

A normal, happy life is one of them.

He can give you whatever you ask for, anything you want it’s yours without question. But what happens later? Years down the road and you’re married to him and he can’t give you the one thing you’ll want then.

The person meant for you could give that to you.

He’s being selfish. You’ve never complained, but Seokjin knows you must’ve wondered about it by now. The what if. Maybe...perhaps it would've been better if he'd followed through with leaving then...

“Jin?” you call softly, ducking your head a bit to meet his gaze, “Talk to me, what is it?”

“Do you regret it?” His voice is just as soft, looking down at his feet. He looks up, somewhere above your head, sighing, “Do you know that he’s the one who sent you those flowers?”

You seem confused for a moment, and then recollection lights in your eyes. “Oh! Oh...Jin.” you chuckle a bit and step closer.

“Don’t laugh, it’s not funny.” Seokjin groans, and meets you halfway when you reach for him. Your fingers dance at the nape of his neck and Seokjin pulls you closer by the waist.

“Is that what was bothering you?”

He can only hum, and you chuckle again. The warmth of your hand rubs circles against his back and he feels that warmth seep into his bones and settle there.

“I don’t regret anything. None of it.” You murmur against his neck, and Seokjin pulls away, cupping your cheek with a hand. His thumb gently caresses, and he meets your eyes for the first time in a while and calls your name softly.

“There are things that I can’t give you.”

“So?”

There’s a fierce look in your eyes that makes Seokjin wrap his next set of words up neatly and swallow them.

“None of that matters. You’re more than enough.”

Seokjin closes the gap between you both, pressing his lips firmly to yours. The arm at your waist pulls you close and the hand that sits at the side of your neck tails into your hair to tug at the many pins that you’d secured it with.

He spins you with practiced ease, pressing your back against the wall of the entryway and crowding your space.

He places a kiss at the corner of your mouth just to tease, and chuckles when you chase. His kisses trail along your jaw, stopping just below your ear, and he takes the lobe between his teeth.

The little sound you make shoots down his spine, and he feels your fingers curl into the fabric of his sweater. He taps at your waist, his hand trailing over the curve of your ass and he gives you a moment to settle your arms securely around his neck before he lifts.

He doesn’t need to see where he’s going to find his way to your bedroom, and he busies himself with kissing and marking the skin he could reach. The fingers of his other hand finding the zipper at the back of your dress to tug down.

He sets you on your feet, pulling back just enough to help you out of your dress, his eyes still closed as he trails his lips over your collarbone, pushing the fabric off your body until it pools at your feet. Your skin is warm where he touches, he ghosts his fingers along your sides and revels the way you visibly shiver.

The bralette you chose for the night is lace and hides nothing from his hooded gaze, your nipples taut from the chill and his caress. He thumbs at the peaks, and when you tug on the hem of his sweater, he tuts at your impatience.

His hand slides up your back, unclasping the bralette and pushing you gently back until you hit the bed. The straps slide down your arms and he tugs it off, palming at a breast with a groan trapped behind his teeth.

“Jin..” you sigh his name and Seokjin hums, tilting his head at you.

He leans into you and you fall back. Seokjin holds his weight on his hands just above tour shoulders, and his knees trapping your thighs between them. He watches you blink up at him with some confusion as he simply stares.

“Let me ask you something.” He says, and then he shift, getting onto the bed and sitting with his back against the headboard. He curls his fingers at you, and with a bit of uncertainty tinting your form you follow. He settles you between his spread legs, pressing a kiss to the junction where your neck meets your shoulder as he traces patterns against the skin of your thighs.

He spreads you legs with a gentle hand, bringing his legs up a bit so that the back of your knees hooks against his thigh. Seokjin brings his hand down quickly, the lace of your underwear does nothing to shield you from it and he chuckles when your surprised whine meets his ears. He feels you trying to snap your legs shut as the sting of his hand runs through you, the way your back arches away from his chest.

“Tell me, sweet girl.” Seokjin coos, and he decides to be nice, rubbing soothing circles against your lace covered pussy. He could feel just how wet you are, your panties slide against your slick skin with his movements, damp against his hand. “Do you think you’re deserving of my touch right now?”

Your exhale rattles against his chest, and he waits patiently for your answer. He allows you a moment to think, and he knows it’s hard, as his fingers tease at the seam of your underwear, slipping underneath to find the wetness there.

“I am.” You finally say.

“Oh, are you?” Seokjin chuckles, dipping a finger into the warmth of you just to hear your gasping moan. He presses the finger against your clit, circling once, twice, and then he stops. “Do you want me to tell you why you’re not?”

Seokjin kisses your jaw, and the slight shift of your hips doesn’t go unnoticed. “You let that man get near you. Allowed him to act like I wasn’t there. Ignored the way he was looking at you.”

“Jin, it wasn’t...”

“Shh,” Seokjin shushes you gently, fingers resuming the slow, torturous grind against your clit. “I should make you cum until you cry.”

The whimper you let out makes his slacks feel constricting. He sinks two fingers, knuckle deep into you and kisses your neck when your head lulls back against his shoulder. He watches the way his hand moves under your panties, curling his fingers against the spot that makes your toes curl.

He presses the heel of his palm against your clit, and runs his tongue along the shell of your ear when your pussy clenches and your moans go up in pitch.

“Close already?” Seokjin coos mockingly, a chuckle on his exhale. The fingers of his other hand pinching lightly at your nipples, and then he stops, “That’s too bad, then.”

Your groan holds frustration and Seokjin unhooks your legs from his. He stands to rid himself of his clothes, his cock hard and weeping when it slaps lightly against his stomach. The reaction you invoke in him has never changed, a shiver slithers down his spine and watches at your tongue darts out to moisten your lips. You reach a hand out to him and Seokjin takes it, bending a little at his waist to press kisses against your fingers.

He fishes a condom from your nightstand – ever mindful – and then crawls between your legs, taking a moment to slide your panties down them.

“Okay?” He asks to make sure that you’re okay to continue, that he’s not driving you too hard.

You nod, and you lift your hips, pressing his cock between your wet heat and his stomach. Seokjin groans against your lips, tightening his grip against your thigh.

He moves his hips, pulling back and then pushing into you with slow, languid strokes. He kisses you tenderly, his tongue exploring your mouth. When his fingers brush against your clit, the way your core tightens around his cock has him seeing stars. His thrusts gets faster, and he knows just how quickly you’re hurdling towards your end, he watches every minute expression. The way your eyes squeeze shut and how your lips curl around his name, the scratching of your nails down his back.

Just as you reach the peak, Seokjin moves his hand away and slows his thrusts, leaving you trembling and whining. He smiles against your lips, and whispers, “Let’s take this slow.” He kisses you again, his thrusts becoming slower and gentler.

He continues to move in and out of you at a slow, steady pace, taking his time to bring you to the edge of pleasure again and again. Eventually, he begins to speed up, and he moves his hand back to your clit, sending you over the edge into a powerful orgasm.

“Fuck.” Seokjin groans, following not long after, his forehead against your collarbone. There’s a ringing in ears when he comes down, and he presses a kiss to your sternum before pulling away.

After you were both cleaned up and the sheets were changed, Seokjin holds you close as you both watch the couple of minutes tick by until midnight.

“Do you have any resolutions?” Your head is against his chest, a leg over his hip.

He traces patterns against your thigh, thinking quietly. This is another one of those human things that he wouldn’t ever grasp. You rang in the last new year with Yoongi and Hoseok while he was busy with his duties with the other Cupids in the area, so you must’ve had this question for a while.

Seokjin hums softly, “Loving you. That’s it.” He smiles when you giggle and when the fireworks start up at the stroke of midnight you both watch them light up the night sky through your open window.

“Happy New Year, Jinnie.”

Seokjin turns, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss and he whispers the words back to you.

You both lay there for a moment, quiet, and then Seokjin speaks: “You know, I could make him fall in love with his office chair or something.”

“Jin.”

tagging: @xpeachesncream @bangtansmauyeondan @taestefully-in-luv @blog-name-idk @madbutgloriouspond @euphoricfilter @luaspersona @mssukeyna @allhobbitstoisengard @eoieopda @minmin2022 @liveyun

[teejaystumbles]

Idea/Ask for Mermay?

I love the line: "A bird may love a fish but where would they live?" With mermaid/dreamling twist?

Thanks! :)

this made me go feral over the idea of harpy!Dream and merman Hob! I wrote this in about two-three hours and it's not edited or anything but I hope you like it even if the question where they would live is not answered 😅

I may write more for them/expand on this scene or draw them, but it won't be today.

Anyway Happy Mermay everybody! Let's gooooooo!

Dream sees the glint of scales under the waves and veers in its direction. With a smirk he drops down, claws outstretched-

When he realises his mistake it is too late. He cannot break his descent without risking dropping into the sea. His claws glance off the coppery scales, leaving long sharp scratches behind. A long copper coloured fishtail rises from the water and slaps at him, missing Dream's right wing only by a few centimetres. He hastily pulls himself up into the air again with a heavy flap of his wings and stares down in disbelief.

A dark-haired man's head rises from the waves and yells at him, "Oi, mate, watch it! I'm not a fucking sturgeon!"

A merman! Dream has heard of such creatures before but he has never seen one in his life. Admittedly, he has not been around these shores for long. He cocks his head, curious. The merman frowns and shouts, "Hey, I've never seen you around here before. Aren't harpies usually living in the South? Where it's warmer?"

Dream scoffs and flaps his wings again to stay in the air.

"If you want to interrogate me, perhaps you can accompany me to a place where I can rest my wings. I'm not a seagull, I can't just land on the water."

The merman stares at him open-mouthed, a perplexed look on his face. Dream frowns. Has he not used the correct language? But then the merman nods and flaps his tail. There's a blush on his cheeks and he pulls at the fin on the side of his head where an ear would be.

"Yeah, sorry, 'course. Follow me. It's not far, there's a rock close by."

Dream had seen the rock earlier and nods before steering towards it. The merman ducks back into the water and with a flash of his brown-golden fin he is off, faster than Dream expected. He follows, pondering his decision. What is he doing, seeking conversation with this being? He is not usually one for social interaction. He came here to be alone.

--

Hob notices the shadow above and thinks it’s just a gull flying overhead. He doesn’t look up, there’s no flying predator large enough for a merman to worry about. When suddenly a sharp line of pain is scored into his flesh he thrashes his tail on instinct, trying to knock the attacker down. What the fuck?

He surfaces quickly and looks up. There’s a giant bird flying above him, flapping its black wings to gain some height and distance from Hob’s fin. Except it’s not a bird. It’s a man with bird wings! A harpy, his memory supplies.

Angry and shocked, he shouts the first thing that comes to mind: "Oi, mate, watch it! I'm not a fucking sturgeon!"

He feels stupid straight afterwards, talking to a stranger like that, what if the harpy can’t even understand him?

Hob has heard about harpies. They don’t live in these colder climates, though, or at least that’s what he’s been told. They stick to the Mediterranean, being sensitive to cold. Shows how much there is to learn still. Hob loves to learn new things. 

The bird man cocks his head as if considering Hob’s words. He shouts again, testing if the creature can understand him, "Hey, I've never seen you around here before. Aren't harpies usually living in the South? Where it's warmer?"

The harpy scoffs, a very human sound and says, "If you want to interrogate me, perhaps you can accompany me to a place where I can rest my wings. I'm not a seagull, I can't just land on the water."

Hob gapes at the man. So he can understand him! The harpy’s voice is deep and carries far without being raised. Hob stares at the harpy’s sharp face, his plush lips pouting at him. He narrows his piercing blue eyes at Hob and Hob hastily jerks himself out of his stupor. Embarrassed, he pulls his ear fin.

"Yeah, sorry, 'course. Follow me. It's not far, there's a rock close by."

The creature nods and Hob dives, swimming towards the rocks a few hundred metres away. They are close to the shore and there are plenty of cliffs and rocks nearby.

Hob reaches the rock first and watches the harpy approach. The being lands gracefully, its sharp black claws gripping the rock for support. It has black wings instead of arms and the feathers shimmer purple and blue in the sunlight. Its legs are also densely feathered, plumage covering its body up to the hips. The man’s torso is white, his face human and beautiful with a shock of unruly black hair framing his sharp cheeks and falling over his brows. Hob knows he’s staring but the harpy is the most stunning thing he has ever seen. Dangerous and beautiful, all sharp claws and bones and feathers that look both sharp enough to cut and so soft that Hob desperately wants to touch them to find out how they feel. He restlessly jerks his tail and hisses when he feels the sting of the wound the harpy gave him. He had completely forgotten about it. He lifts his body to the surface to inspect the wound. It’s not that bad, just a shallow scratch. The harpy shifts restlessly behind him.

“I apologise for my error. Do you require medical assistance?”

The harpy’s deep and dulcet voice rolls over Hob like a wave of warm water and he sighs, temporarily forgetting that he has been asked a question. He stares back up at the bird man, lost in a fuzzy haze.

“Are you alright?” the being’s inquiring voice draws him back to reality. Hob blinks and then frowns. He ducks a bit deeper into the water, eyeing the other warily.

“Sorry, I…I’m fine, it’s just a scratch. But tell me,” he says, deciding that it’s better to set things straight right away, “are you a siren? Your voice, it’s…it’s messing with my head.”

--

Dream’s back stiffens when the merman asks him if he’s a siren. Has he been involuntarily charming the other? He curses himself and carefully focuses on stopping any latent magic from entering his voice when he answers, “I apologise. Again. I was not aware I was doing it. It’s been a long time since I…talked to anyone.”

The merman raises an eyebrow but seems mollified and ready to listen, rather than just swimming off. He seems to be a very curious person, too curious for his own good. Dream sighs and shuffles his wings nervously.

“There is indeed a siren in my family line. Some of her magic has been passed down…to me. And some of my siblings. I do not use it…intentionally.”

No need to tell the merman that the mentioned siren is his mother and that Dream has indeed inherited quite a lot of her powers. He truly is not in the habit of using his voice to charm others. He prefers to not be around others anyway.

The merman blinks, seemingly fascinated. Dream studies him more closely. He is an adult male with copper skin and dark brown, almost black hair that flows over his shoulders and down his chest into the water. Dream wonders how long it is. The man’s face is handsome, with a strong nose that would make any harpy envious and amber eyes that look kindly up at Dream, shining with curiosity and intelligence.

“Apology accepted. Just please don’t use it on me anymore,” the merman says easily and draws himself a bit more onto the rock. Dream notes the length of his hair, the wet ends curling just around his dark brown nipples. The feathers at Dream’s neck stand up as he fights his irritation at the alluring display. He draws his gaze away from the merman’s chest to meet his eyes again. The man is smiling guilelessly.

“My name is Hob,” he says brightly, “can I ask your name, stranger?”

Dream straightens and tries to answer with dignity, hoping the other has not noticed his staring.

“I am called Dream. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Hob.”

He is surprised that he means it.

[ussgallifrey]

(She Moves With) Shameless Wonder | 27

✦ Summary: Your badge clearly said SHIELD consultant, so you weren’t entirely sure where Fury was getting this whole make you an Avenger idea from. But you had a feeling it might have something to do with the recent discovery of an artifact at the bottom of the Arctic Sea.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Canon divergence, dialogue taken directly from Avengers: Age of Ultron, the Eternals being really bad at lying, dealing with their trauma and grief like ADULTS, excessive drinking, insane levels of foreshadowing, language, modern-day Ancient Grecian festivals, Wanda's canonical love of sitcoms.

✦ Word Count: 17.6k

✦ Playlist: Here

✦ Cinematic Soundtrack: Here

✦ Author's Note: Oh. My. God. I can't believe we're here at the final chapter of the Age of Ultron arc, the very biggest chapter of the entire story. This was so much fun to write. There's going to be some translations, and a follow-up Author's Note at the end of the chapter to keep this part spoiler-free. Enjoy!

[Master List]

The echoing screams are what pull you away from the low-lit comfort of your bedroom. As the highest shriek trembles down into shuddering sobs in the gentle stillness of night. 

Putting your book to the side, you push away from the bed. Almost the second you open your door, the one across the hall from you is creaking open as well. With his ruffled bedhead and a muffled yawn, Steve gives you a familiar nod as you wordlessly move down the stairs to your unofficially assigned duties.

Pietro’s light is already on, his door ajar. While you continue down to the main level, Steve glides his way across the hall to the second door on the right.

Flicking the switch on the wall, the kitchen’s overhead light temporarily blinds your senses.

“Hey,” you give a worn sigh as you make your way over to the stove. “We talked about this. I know you have good intentions here, but - ”

“It is a calming method, is it not?” Vision questions in a slightly stilted tone as he holds the tea kettle above a red-hot burner.

Maybe those shrieking cries hadn’t just been from the traumatized girl upstairs, but from a whistling pot as well.

“Yeah, but it’s only effective if the water isn’t fully evaporated out. Sort of ruins the tea mix.”

“Ah,” he sighs, setting the kettle down on the adjoining burner. “This is still… confusing.”

With a shrug, you gently push him to the side as you move to fill the kettle back up at the sink, “Hey, you’re leagues ahead of most one-month-olds, give yourself some credit.”

He tilts his head, “I am not a human infant, the correlation does not compute.”

Pushing your hair over your shoulder as you return to the stove, you smile up at the man, “It was a joke, Vision. Or at least, an attempt at one. I’m too tired for this, honestly.”

“I was under the impression that deities did not require sleep.”

Placing the kettle down with a little more force than necessary, you fix the creation with a look.

It had been an odd month and a half for all of you.

Your time in Sokovia was still a close memory, as was apparent in the near-nightly nightmares of the youngest twin. Sometimes, when you close your eyes, you find yourself transported back to the battle. You could still hear the terrified screams, smell the decay around you, and worse yet feel the unmovable hand at your throat.

The team had stayed long after the battle to assist in the clean-up process. Which, in all actuality, just meant giving the bodies a dignified place to rest until a temporary morgue could be set up in a structurally stable location.

You all had worked well into the night before Steve began to wane. Gritted teeth and brushes of I’m fine went on for far too long before the multiple broken ribs, punctured spleen, and several large gashes finally took their toll on him. Natasha, Clint, and Sam hadn’t been much better off either.

But even after they were forcibly removed to seek medical treatment, you and Thor remained. To walk amongst the human race was an honor. You weren’t going to leave the scene of battle when such carnage was left behind. 

It wasn’t until morning, when a slow and steady sunrise peaked over the mountains, that you were finally finished in your duties; aided by a handful of SHIELD agents and local residents who had returned in the early morning hours to see what was left of their city.

There wasn’t much of Old Town that remained standing. And, by last estimates, some 17,000 people had been infected and killed by Ultron’s nano-virus. Another 3,000 were killed during the battle, followed by thousands of injured and seriously critical patients in neighboring hospitals.

You didn’t even like thinking of the week’s total now; between Sokovia, New York, Johannesburg, and London. Not to mention Seoul, where Ultron had attacked Cho’s lab while you all had been distracted by other threats.

“Have I said something to upset you?”

The kettle is whistling.

Blinking, you pull the pot off the heat and fill the awaiting mug.

“No, not at all. Just… lost in thought,” you say with a distant voice as you add the herbal mix.

Vision gives you a hesitant nod.

After letting the tea steep for a moment, you give the man a gentle wave before you head up the stairs. He knew better than to follow after you now.

This had been another adjustment for you, in the aftermath of the battle.

As the Tower had been destroyed, the team split off in search of temporary living situations. Tony went to Malibu, Sam back to his place in D.C., and Clint had an apartment in the city somewhere that he and Natasha were crashing out at. Thor had been offered lodging with Tony, at Pepper’s insistence.

Which of course left one particular supersoldier.

 Steve had been living at the tower for well over a year now; never bothering to get a place for himself in Brooklyn, or anywhere else in the city for that matter. It hadn’t even been a question to offer him a room at your house in Vermont after he was cleared from the hospital.

This only left the true question that was the twins and, well, Vision (as Thor soon named him).

They were technically minors and Vision was technically a weapon, but also a sentient being. The legality of it quickly became complicated by international law and Sokovian law and U.S. immigration and temporary refugee laws. You left all that up to Tony to deal with. He had an army of lawyers in hand for things of this nature, thankfully.

You didn’t want to just leave them there to deal with this newfound freedom on their own. You all knew HYDRA would be on the lookout for them, and if that wasn’t bad enough, you personally knew that SHIELD would be looking to take them in if at all possible as well.

And while it had been different for the others, who were all adults who could reasonably consent to things that Nick would offer, you were all too aware of the fragile state the twins were in. It was one thing to willingly join up with SHIELD, it was another to be convinced to join under possibly false pretenses.

You liked Nick, you trusted him to have your six, but there were certain things you would rather keep clear of his grasp.

If the tower had still been intact, perhaps you would have all gone to live there in a strange form of cohabitation. But, instead, you found yourself housing two mutants, a sentient computer, and a supersoldier. There were stranger things out there, you were sure of it.

Pushing the door to Wanda’s room open a little further, you offer the teen a gentle smile.

You had told Tony that you were used to dealing with teenage twins. Thankfully, he didn’t pester you with questions about that and had merely made temporary guardianship signed over to you.

Pietro is sitting next to her on the bed while Steve remains near the foot of the mattress.

Passing the tea along, you rest your weight against the dresser. Sometimes, she would be able to go back to sleep after a few minutes or an hour of talking. But, it looks like tonight is going to be another one of those situations.

After several minutes of the siblings speaking in hushed Sokovian to one another, the girl gathers the black comforter up and around her like a cloak and makes her way down the stairs with her brother at her side.

Steve gives a tired sigh, rubbing his jaw as he moves to stand beside you after flicking off her bedside light.

From here, you can hear the gentle click and hum of the box T.V. humming to life downstairs. You had offered up your vast collection of movies and shows to her on one of those first restless nights. She had an affinity for sitcoms and romantic comedies, oddly enough.

Offering the blonde a slow smile, you ask, “What was it tonight?”

He folds his arms over his chest, rocking back on his heels as he pointedly doesn’t look at you.

“Her, back in the cell… with the Hulk,” comes the terse breath a moment later.

You can’t help but grimace.

During the clean-up efforts, right after the battle, Bruce had transformed back to himself. And while the Hulk might not have noticed or even cared that Wanda was there, Bruce - the man - had very differing opinions on her presence there.

Holding a good amount of anger over her meddling in Johannesburg, he had almost fully transformed back into his green opposite when you and Thor had both tackled him - dragging him far, far away from the terrified girl. You understood, of course. She had gotten into his mind, had twisted it in such a way that he couldn’t regain control over his other self. 

To see her standing there beside all of you was like being sent back to Johannesburg all over again. And to know the damage it has caused to both the city, the people, and Bruce’s own psyche.

While she was apologetic for her actions, you all knew that she was only a child, following the orders of another abusive force in her life. Bruce logically knew that as well, but he couldn’t help that momentary burst of rage that crippled him like venom.

In that sense, you were grateful that the tower was no more. You weren’t sure how they would be able to exist under one roof.

Not that Bruce stuck around long enough after you landed to find out.

Steve reaches out, taking hold of your forearm with his warm hand.

“It’s going to get better.”

With a shrug, you reply, “It’s okay if it doesn’t too. Not everything can be fixed with hope and well-wishing.”

His eye color seems dim in this light, not the usual electric blue you associate with the afternoon sky. Everything about Steve seemed rather dimmed this past month and a half, though. Perhaps, even you were dimmed, a palette of dreary colors that didn’t quite resemble your past self.

It had been a hard victory; one that was soured by so much death and destruction that you weren’t even sure if you could call the battle a victory. It was just finished. That’s all. The finish to a terrible threat.

He gives you a crooked smile, “Still, nothing wrong with hoping for better days.”

“Yeah,” you nod, holding back a yawn of your own.

With Wanda’s regular nightmares shaking the whole house and her screams echoing across the foundations, it was hard for even you to feel energized. Even with your pendant having a permanent position around your neck.

“You going back to bed?” he asks, gently nodding at your second yawn.

“Honestly? I don’t think I could sleep even if I wanted to.”

With a warm chuckle, Steve shakes his head, “Yeah. Me too.”

Together, you make your way downstairs to the living area. The lights are blessedly low, while the program on the TV is a little hard to look at. Pietro is curled up next to his sister, already snoring at the end of the couch. Wanda gives you a thankful nod as she continues to sip from her tea, pulling the comforter closer around her shoulders.

You and Steve find a spot on the loveseat opposite the couch, just under the window. Vision is hovering in the corner of the room, glancing through a book, though his eyes keep looking up at the TV whenever the laugh track plays.

He had been an entirely different addition to your household. Tony had offered to keep him down in Malibu until there was an adjustment period, but Pepper had been more hesitant. It was only after he picked up Thor’s hammer in the rubble of the market square that anyone on the team even felt comfortable having him around. There was so much of Ultron that could have been left in there.

But Tony had sacrificed JARVIS to the net, wiping every last trace of the rogue bot out. He would chase him to the deepest corners of the web to ensure it. That included Vision’s programming.

And, well, since you had a brief moment of clarity on the rooftop together, you volunteered to house him as well.

Steve’s arm wraps around the back of the sofa, his fingers brushing up against your left shoulder as you lean into him. He didn’t really care for these shows, but he didn’t like staying upstairs while the rest of you convened down here either.

“Oh, look. When it started, I was just trying to be nice to her because she was my brother’s girlfriend. And then, oh, one thing led to another and before I knew it we were… shopping.”

“Oh! Oh my god.”

“Honey, wait, we only did it once! It didn’t mean anything to me.”

“Yeah, right. Sure.”

“Really, Rachel, I was thinking of you the whole time!”

Wanda snorts as Monica chases Rachel across their apartment. Steve lulls his head downward, glancing at you with his soft sleep-deprived eyes. You smile back at him, moving in closer to his side, resting your head upon his shoulder as you tuck in for the rest of the night.

The team had been actively avoiding the public eye in the aftermath of Ultron. It was for the best - that’s what Tony’s PR team told you anyway. That’s another reason your house had been the perfect location to place the twins and Vision. It wasn’t public knowledge, the location of your home, and it was a good distance away from any major city. Unlike Tony down in Malibu, who frequently had paps outside of his mansion - waiting for a picture.

That’s why they decide to keep Steve’s birthday a smaller affair - aside from Steve’s own insistence on not making a big deal out of it. Somewhere upstate where they’re less likely to be recognized; questioned, ridiculed.

Well, the plan was to celebrate the supersoldier’s birthday on his actual birthday, but in the realm of superheroes, plans have a way of falling by the wayside. The team is sent to Atlanta to deal with a threat - you stay behind, for obvious reasons.

You’re in the middle of preparing a lunch for the teens, the next day, when you get a text from Tony.

Change of plans. Meet us in Albany round 7 for Capsicle’s shindig? x.

It would give you time to come up with arrangements for the three others in your house. No one felt particularly comfortable with leaving them to their own devices just yet. Not with HYDRA still being an active threat in the world. 

And, since they were in the public image now, more than just the likes of an old military organization might want to get their hands on two enhanced kids. And a sentient being like Vision.

You make a call to an old friend and manage to arrive at the restaurant just an hour after the team does.

They’re all in an array of outfits - since they only had what was available in their go-bags to change into. Natasha has on a black cocktail dress, while Tony’s in a faded Metallica shirt and jeans. Thor has not changed from his armor, though his cape is absent. Clint has a baggy purple hoodie and grey sweatpants on. Only Steve and Sam look to be wearing their typical style of clothing, in all honesty.

“Hey, there she is!” Barton calls out, making everyone turn their head to see you.

“Who’s watching the Wonder Twins?” Tony questions, peering down from behind his sunglasses. Seriously, only that man would wear sunglasses indoors. 

You smile at the belated birthday boy as you take a seat opposite him at the table. Squished between Clint and the resident billionaire, you answer lightly, “A friend.”

“Ooh, like a godly friend, or - ”

“Tony,” Steve sighs with a gentle shake of his head. “Just for one night.”

Stark gives an exaggerated groan, “Oh, for our resident centenarian…”

“He’s only ninety-seven,” Natasha reminds him behind the rim of her drink.

“Thirty, actually. Thank you,” Steve clarifies with another unruly sigh.

Your eyes meet his from across the white-clothed table, a smirk toying at your lips. Leave it to Tony to find the fanciest steak restaurant around.

“What, are we not counting your years in the ice anymore? Cause if that’s the case, man. You really gotta up the game on modern speaking and tech,” Clint rolls his eyes as he lazily folds his napkin into a swan beside you.

“I believe the Captain looks quite healthy for his advanced age,” Thor goads from the end of the table. “A healthy ninety, for sure.”

Steve just buries his head in his hands, a smile tugging at his lips, “This is why I never go to team dinners.”

Your laugh makes him look up. The glimmer of life in his eyes makes your heart swell.

It would take time for all of you to recover from Ultron’s terror, but you would get there… in time.

“So,” Tony sighs, leaning back in his chair, his hand upon his stomach. “I have a schedule out for everyone’s birthdays. Where do I put you two?”

You had just finished a very expensive meal of prime-cut steak selections, fresh-catch baked fish, too many countless appetizers and sides to count, and a very decadent birthday cake with glowing sparklers - because ninety-seven candles on top of a cake are apparently considered a fire risk.

Glancing down the table at your fellow God, you just laugh, throwing your balled-up white napkin at Tony.

“We do not abide by such… mortal things.”

“Well, you gotta have a birthdate, right?” Sam speaks up, one arm on the table as his other hand points between the two of you. “Didn’t just pop into existence one day and forget about it, you know?”

“Well…” you lull your head to the side.

“I knew it!” Clint cheers, “Fucking, what did I say? From the head of Zeus comes the goddess ATHENA.”

Pushing at his shoulder, Barton goes cackling to the side, unable to help himself after a drink too many.

“While I appreciate the sentiment, I’m afraid it’s just not a done thing for us,” you apologize. “If you want, however. Pick a random Thursday, and call it Thor’s Day.”

“You’re kidding me.”

Thor chuckles, “No, it is quite literally my day amongst the practitioners of Norse beliefs in this realm.”

“And you,” Tony contemplates, words playing on his tongue. “Athena… Thena… Thur - no, Tue… no. Okay, help a guy out here.”

You laugh, catching sight of the content looking supersoldier from across the table. His eyes follow the conversation between you and the billionaire, a soft and equally amused smile on his face.

“Nothing like that for me, sorry, Tony. You’re just going to have to survive without throwing me a party.”

“Like hell, I will!” he sounds almost aghast, clutching a hand to his chest. “If you don’t give me one, I’m gonna go for April 1st or something, you know.”

Casually leaning back in your chair, you place your used utensils upon your empty plate. That cake had been delicious.

“Personally, I wouldn’t recommend it. Dionysus gets quite annoyed when people try to take his celebrations away from him.” 

When you catch Steve’s curious look, you return his gaze to explain, “April 1st is the beginning of the Great Dionysia, a celebration created back in the 6th century, BC. He would take it as a great offense that anyone would be trying to celebrate me on that day.”

“Hang on!” Clint remarks, tapping at the table. “Athens. They literally named the place after you. There’s gotta be some kind of thing for you. A party, or a day, a week-long festival, right? I’m right, aren't I?”

“Fellas,” Natasha groans, lifting her glass toward you. “Leave the girl alone. Bad enough we have to suffer through Steve’s dronefest of a party. No offense.”

Steve holds up his hands, “None taken. Wasn’t my idea.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony chimes in. “Was there a thank you, Tony, in there that I didn’t catch? Perhaps a thank you for wining and dining us all on this beautiful evening, Tony?”

There’s a collective groan of Thank you Tony and Many thanks Stark, which seem to satisfy the man’s need for recognition for the night.

When you’re outside, long after the waitstaff usually closed up - but Tony had a very generous tip for the restaurant, so they didn’t mind as much - Clint, Natasha, and Sam say their goodbyes. Wishing Steve a good, belated, birthday before they head out.

Tony lingers around as Thor and Steve converse.

“No word yet on our Strucker double. Just some local guy who went missing about three months before everything went down. And as for the other thing - look. I’m doing my best, but the records from back then are shoddy at best…”

You just nod in return. It had been one of the few requests you had made to the billionaire after taking the teens in. It wasn’t necessarily pressing, but after so many years spent in HYDRA’s captivity, you knew there was a chance that information might help them.

“How are they though?” he asks, voice lowered, sunglasses hooked onto his shirt.

“Good as can be, considering,” you answer honestly. “Wanda has nightmares, Pietro does too, sometimes. But they seem to be adjusting well enough. No… accidental outbursts of, you know, magic. And Vision is… well… he’s Vision.”

At that, Tony lets out a bark of laughter.

“Hey, thanks again for that. Taking one for the team just... yeah. You know? But, good news, groundbreaking on the new location is in a week, so we might be looking at early September, mid-October for move-in?”

You blink, “That fast?”

He fixes you with a look.

“Sweetheart, with the right amount of money, you can afford the best contractors out there. I’m not pinching a dime on these plans.”

Stark had been planning the new Avengers location pretty much since the ride home from Sokovia. The blueprints were good to go by the end of the week. And that was between multiple press conferences, a hospital trip, several angry phone calls from Pepper, and trying to safely and legally get two child refugees into the country.

“Sounds like a plan,” you say lightly.

“Well,” he claps his hands, smiling brightly - drunkenly - as he snags his sunglasses to put back on his face. “Come on, Point Break. Let's leave Mr. and Mrs. Rogers to get back home.”

“Tony - ”

You roll your eyes, “Just because we live together, Tony - ”

“Yeah, but you two? So adorable. Like a little nuclear family. Mom, Dad, the two kids, and your cybernetic… pet. You know what - ”

“Okay,” Thor chuckles as Steve drags a hand down his face, a flush of red doting his cheeks. “I think even you’ve had too much to drink, Stark.”

After the God of Thunder manages to corral Tony into the back of his waiting car, Steve saunters over to you - one hand in his pocket and the other tossing his keys up and down.

“Where have I seen this before?” you laugh.

Steve grins, “Come on, let a guy offer you a ride.”

“Well,” you drawl as you both walk over toward his bike. “It is your birthday, after all, so I guess…”

It’s a two-hour ride back to Vermont.

Your hands remain around Steve’s waist as you travel across the lonely freeways and backcountry roads. The warmth of his leather jacket and the rich smell of his cologne keep you company for the ride. You have his shield on your back while his small go-bag is stored under the seat.

At this time of night, you can make out the distant constellations up above. You point them out as you drive, shouting their names for Steve to hear. At one point, he reaches a hand down to squeeze your right hand that’s held tight across his middle.

As he pulls onto the vacant road that leads up to the house, the engine puttering softly, he tilts his head back to say:

“You know, I don’t even think I asked who’s watching Wanda and Pietro?”

You chuckle, leaning your forehead against his upper back, “Just an old friend. He was free tonight, no big plans.”

There’s a nearly audible arch of his brow, “Old friend?”

You nod, letting him feel the gentle up and down of your head against his shoulder.

“From college,” you add.

You know he wants to ask more of you, but he waits until you’re back at the house. A handful of lights are on when you pull up - through the illusion. Downstairs is aglow in yellow tones, while a single bedroom on the second floor has a flashing melody of colorful lights. Wanda was definitely a fan of the mood lights Tony had purchased for her.

Steve parks the motorcycle near the porch. Holding out a hand to help you off the bike, you eagerly stretch your arms.

“Two hours on that might be too much,” you chuckle.

The supersoldier shakes his head, “It was like… an hour-forty, at most.”

“Oh, so you were speeding.”

Cracking a smile in your direction, Steve pulls the keys from the ignition and pockets them in his jacket. Handing over his shield, the supersoldier takes it in his right hand. Wrapping his left arm around your shoulders, the two of you walk up the creaking steps of the porch.

The house, in all honesty, is usually pretty quiet. Even with two teenagers living there. But Wanda and Pietro definitely weren’t your average teens. So, you didn’t question the silence that sometimes overtook your home. After nearly a decade of existing within HYDRA’s grasp, you knew their willingness and ability to make much noise was still limited.

However, you’re slightly surprised to hear a rapturous conversation taking place the minute you enter the central hallway.

Steve’s eyes are immediately locked on the kitchen. A certain change to his posture as he stands straight, shoulders back, chin up, gaze piercing.

Pushing a gentle defusing hand to his chest, you kick off your shoes and move through the archway to your right.

“Is that right?” Vision asks with a sense of excitement in his tone.

“No, it’s quite a fascinating topic if you have the time for it. You know, not many people know this, but - aye! There she is!”

Your smile blossoms into a bright grin as you cross the kitchen to greet the other man.

“Hello, Vision,” you pat the creation’s shoulder politely before you move to hug your friend, “Hi! Thank you again. How was it?”

Releasing you, his hand drifts to rest on your left shoulder.

“Good, really good. Well… quiet, actually. But they’re not too bad. Good kids at heart.”

“Yeah, they are,” Steve stands in the doorway, his arms crossed as he stares at your companion.

“Ah, Captain Rogers,” he says, letting go of you in favor of going over to shake Steve’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Steve glances at you for just a beat before he returns the handshake.

“Huh, good things I hope. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Uhm,” you cough, moving to stand beside the two men, “This is… Isaac, friend from college.”

“Isaac?” Ikaris mouths at you.

“Yeah, you mentioned that already,” Steve stares down at you.

Ikaris forces a smile, “Yeah we studied at… college, together.”

You actually want to hit him. Sersi was so much better at this than him. God, it was awful. But at least Steve has a hint of a smile on his face. 

Leaning against the doorway, the supersoldier comments, “Didn’t notice a car in the drive.”

The Eternal looks to you, then, oddly enough, at Vision, before he answers, “Taxi.”

“Right,” Steve nods, biting his tongue. “Well, thank you anyway. It’s… sort of a sensitive situation here, you know.”

“Of course,” Ikaris nods in earnest. “Happy to help, obviously. And,” he looks down at you. “If you ever need anything, just… give me a call, yeah?”

“Will do,” you smile before pushing up on your toes to wrap him into a hug. “And thank you again. Hopefully, I’ll see you soon.”

He hums in return before he bids you all a goodnight.

You count his steps down the porch and into the yard before - yup.

Steve turns to look at you, “Power of flight?”

Offering him a sheepish smile, you shrug, “Amongst… other things?”

“God, sweetheart,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I think I’ve got the full picture of you and then you just go and surprise me again.”

You push at his shoulder, eyes locked on his as a smile teases at your lips, “You think you know a girl…”

“I'm sorry,” Vision interrupts, as he looks back at the two of you from his seated position. “Were we not supposed to acknowledge his enhanced state?”

Steve looks down at you, and you up at him before you both start laughing.

Even from out here on the porch steps, you can still smell the lingering scent of onion in the air. Latkes had become a bit of a staple meal around the house as of late. The twins only had vague memories of their life prior to HYDRA and that organization wasn’t exactly well-known for their catering options.

Wanda had newfound aversions to deal with, but Pietro was less particular in his meals. As long as it was filling, he would typically eat it. But the young witch had many opinions about the food you served, and how it was prepared. And you weren’t exactly known for your cooking skills, nor was Steve for that matter.

Potato pancakes were easy enough to make, and opening a can of vegetables or applesauce for a side seemed to do the trick.

It’s just the four of you again. Steve had been called away for a recon mission alongside Clint and Natasha two days ago. Even in a house full of people, his absence was felt by all.

Tony had honestly been right when he said that you had basically created a strange little nuclear family in your home.

“Hey,” you smile gently as you take a seat near Pietro on the steps. From here, you can watch the lightning bugs dancing in the tall grass.

The stars are just beginning to peak out from the violet sky as Wanda walks through the swaying flower fields with Pallas on her shoulder.

Your smile wanes as you catch him wiping a quick fist across his running nose, eyes trimmed with red rings.

The urge to ask are you okay is overwhelming, but you know better by now. It had taken some work with Steve to get him to refrain from asking that question too often as well. Ever since Pietro’s fist had gone through the wall beside the staircase.

His desperate no, I am not fucking fine still echoed in your mind.

He’s pointedly avoiding your gaze, just a step down from you, as he rests his arms on his knees, his head is balanced on the crook of his right elbow as he gazes out at the blinking bugs.

His voice cracks as he asks with a sniff, “When will the Captain return?”

Glancing down at Pietro, you turn your eyes to the evening landscape. The wind is warm on this late-July night. It sweeps across the fields and forest canopy, a loving caress against your bare arms and legs.

“I’m not sure.”

Wanda giggles as Pallas takes flight, swooping around her alongside the lightning bugs. She claps her hands together once, holding them to her lips as she watches the owl soar.

“You know,” you begin, leaning toward the boy. “Sometimes, you two remind me of my siblings. A twin pair actually.”

He hums in return, eyes still cast upon the land.

“Wanda reminds me of my sister. Keeping to herself, finding companionship in, well, everything but people,” you smirk as Pallas returns to her, landing upon her right shoulder before he toes his way over to her left.

“And you… an Apollo in the making. Bright, charming, quick-witted. He would have liked you.”

Pietro’s head lifts, a curious arch to his brow.

“I miss them,” you relent. “Almost twenty years since I saw either of them, but the ache doesn’t disappear.”

He nods, lightly jostling his leg up and down.

“I…” he clears his throat, drums his fingers upon his knee, “I don’t remember much before… you know. But sometimes I get these… glimpses of them. Our rodičia. I don’t think she remembers as much. Just that night when the apartment was blown up and that missile was just sitting there - for two days, two nights. But I…” 

Pietro smiles. “I remember my mama’s hair; long, curling brown, blowing in the wind. White sheets hanging on a laundry line, shadows, a laugh. It all seems so far away at times.”

“You were young when you were taken.”

“Seven,” he nods. “We had been on the streets for two years when we were picked up. I can’t even remember my otec now. They… wiped it all away with their words, their machines, bastardi!”

You let the silence between you simmer for a moment, letting him ease his woes in the safety of your presence.

“I can’t even remember my own mother,” you admit in a broken whisper.

Pietro turns his head to look up at you.

“I thought people like you just… burst into existence.”

You give a hollow chuckle, “Not quite. She… she sacrificed herself to save me when I was very young.”

He blinks, lowering his gaze, “And… your father?”

Wrapping your hands into an enclosed fist, you let out a long breath.

“That’s… that’s another story entirely, Pietro. Me and the All-Father have a… complicated history in regards to certain things. At some moments, we were as close as can be and others… after Art and ‘Pollo left… well, don’t let me bore you with a Greek tragedy.”

His brow lifts, “Was that a joke?”

You shake your head, offering him a smile in return, “A hint of a pun, yes.”

He hums in return, leaning against the steps - his weight causing the old wood to creak - as he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. The warm evening wind rustles his stark white hair.

Steve returns on the 12th, several days past when he wants to be home. Things had gotten so tied up between the original mission and the HYDRA agent who ended up being an opening into an even bigger operation near the Mexican border.

He had heard mentions of Rumlow’s name on the wires and it felt like he had been running for nearly a week, chasing after another ghost.

The new compound along the Hudson was coming along. Tony was pleased to announce, when they landed the jet late last night, that the main housing unit for the team was completed - they were just waiting on the interior designer to drive up on Friday to finalize that last part of the process.

In the meantime, Tony had a folding camping table and deck chairs set up in the room he deemed their ‘war station… or whatever.’ So, Steve, Nat, and Clint spent three hours going through every last excruciating detail, followed up by marking known locations for both bases of operations and HYDRA agents for SHIELD to deal with.

By the time the sun was clipping the horizon, the supersoldier was in desperate need of a shower and a change of clothes. Luckily, the showers were set up and Tony had stocked the bathroom with exactly three towels. But that was more than Steve had been hoping for anyway, so he spent a long time soaking his aching muscles under the welcomed heat of the shower’s spray.

As he’s about to exit, he spots the billionaire with his feet kicked up on the folding table, a hand held to his forehead.

Tony peeks between his spread fingers as Steve draws near.

“The convenience of modern-day technology,” he sighs as a call comes through on his cell phone. He almost immediately swipes it over to the reject call button.

Steve lifts his brow in question.

“Well, ever since our little fuck up, I’ve had no less than seventeen daily calls between myself and Secretary Thaddeus Ross. If it’s not about dragging me in for a meeting or threatening to lock our asses up, he’s asking about Bruce’s location. Which, yeah, the man can go fuck himself in that sense.”

Resting his hands on his hips, the supersoldier shakes his head.

Things hadn’t eased up after Sokovia. He was starting to wonder if they ever would.

“But, that’s for me to deal with,” Tony shoves his feet onto the ground and stands with a groan before stretching his arms. “While you run and save the day, I’ll make sure the fridge stays stocked and your uniform doesn’t burst into flames or whatever it is I do exactly.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve looks down at the man with a genuine smile.

“Yeah, well,” he gabs, smacking the blonde on the arm as he passes him. “Say hi to the Missus for me, won’t you? And the kids. Those two adorable, rambunctious little tikes.”

Steve sighs, glancing up at the other man, “You’re never going to lay off that, are you?”

“Not until you plan on doing something about it. I’m all for the long game, but the betting pool is getting high, Rogers and Pep’s not gonna let me throw much more into that pot.”

Tony watches him as he goes through the doors to the recently paved driveway and parking lot. His bike remains under a protected shelter, clear of the elements with some fancy Stark Inudstries-branded cover over the motorcycle itself.

Throwing his go-bag under the seat and his shield over his shoulder, Steve mounts the seat and turns the ignition. The bike purrs under his hands.

The billionaire offers him a two-fingered salute as he pulls out onto the main road.

He just knew that he wanted to get home, back to you, in Vermont.

It still felt strange, to call that place home. Steve hadn’t had a proper place to call home since he was a kid in the 40s. He had a house in the Lower East Side, before the Battle of New York. And an apartment in D.C. during his time at SHIELD. But neither of those places felt like home.

They were adorned with his things; trinkets and items, that could remind him of a time and place far away from the 21st century. He had pictures of his friends, the Commandos. But even then, it was not a home.

But this, this strange cohabitation with the twins and Vision, and most importantly you? This is where Steve could truly say he felt at peace. It had been awkward at first, figuring out schedules and dealing with personal preferences, and hell, just being around two teenagers who were fresh out of HYDRA’s grasp.

And it wasn’t that his room on the third floor felt particularly like something he would style - though he had been able to switch out the lilac bedding and frills for things that were more his taste - the house just felt more homey than anything he had lived in after being recovered from the ice.

That was, in all honesty, probably due to you.

God, he was an idiot. Stark was right, he should be telling you or trying to tell you what he feels in his heart. But now it’s more of a challenge to get you alone as Wanda is usually glued to his side and Pietro to yours and it seems like there’s always a chance of Vision just floating through the walls to see what he’s up to.

But regardless of where he’s at in regards to admitting his deeply-held feelings, he’s anxious to get back to the house. To the place he’s easily calling home now, to anyone who asks.

And sure, Nat’s smirking when he says it and shooting glances at Barton, but he doesn’t care. This feels right. Deep in his bones, he knows it’s right.

And… maybe it's because he can forget about the world around him for a little while. Hidden off the grid, in an unmarked location. He can tune out the neverending news reports that call the Avengers the enemy, that demand retribution for their actions or inactions. 

The endless journalistic segments that detail over each member of the team and their past failings. Histories that had once been buried under government security software. They call into question their integrity, their ability to handle situations, to aid in peace-keeping.

When he’s at the house, he can just push that all away.

He can just… sit on the porch, close his eyes, and breathe.

Steve’s not exactly expecting a welcome party when he pulls up the drive, two hours later. So, it’s a bit surprising when Wanda is running up to him.

Her hair’s tied back in a large puffy bun and she’s got a black sheer duster on that billows up behind her as she rushes down the stairs. And Steve’s got a quick remark on the tip of his tongue as he kills the engine on the bike, but there’s a look in her eyes that makes him pull it back.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t - they, they just came. And they took her and - ” her voice quivers as she points helplessly at the neighboring line of trees, just beyond the pasture. “And you said to stay at the house if any- if anyone came and I - ”

“Whoa,” he eases, standing up from the bike, his hands coming down upon her forearms in a gentle hold. “Who took her?”

“I don’t, I don’t know! We were in the kitchen and we were talking about Strucker and there was a knock and I didn’t even think! She just, gah, bodaj ho!”

Steve’s eyes are immediately intense, scoping the lay of the land, looking for a sign of struggle.

And then, from the forest, he hears the distant cry of:

“No! I swear to - STOP IT, right now!”

He’s not even thinking as he takes off running. 

Your voice is clear as day even from such a great distance. Wanda is just behind him, several yards back. But from the porch, he can hear the confused voice of Pietro calling out to them both. And then the boy is right beside him -

“What? What is it?” he asks, keeping pace a little too easily with Steve.

But then you’re yelling again and the boy is gone in an instant and the supersoldier knows that he shouldn’t have let him go. Sure, you faced Ultron a few months back, but he was still a kid. And he was Steve’s responsibility.

“I swear to the All-Father if you even think for a second that I’m going to - ”

Steve’s pace slows as he enters a clearing. You glance up from the center of a group of women - one of them has a linen measuring tape held to your waist. The cross look upon your face immediately melts when you see him.

“Uh… hi,” you force a tight smile. “Uhm, Steve. You really shouldn’t - ”

But he’s already in front of you, keeping a wary eye on the women around you, “Are you okay? Wanda said - ”

“About that, I’m sorry. Uh… this is awkward.”

Turning to face the others, you ask, “Do you mind? You kind of dragged me off before I could really explain.”

A woman with rich brown skin shrugs. Her dark curls are haloed by a crown of pink and purple hyacinths.

“Just be back by dusk. You know how Di gets.”

And it’s really only now, as the two of you briefly converse, that Steve takes a second to look around at his surroundings.

The forest clearing has been swept clear of leaves and debris. Women are hanging lanterns from nearly every branch around this massive open space. And… yes, that tree is physically moving away from the center of the clearing.

Vision’s nearby, conversing with a man who has… goat legs. Apparently, the sentient being had been with you the entire time. Pietro’s standing off to the side, chatting with a blonde girl in a flowing white tunic when Wanda comes over the crest. Her eyes are just as wide as she takes in the scene.

“She’s fine,” Steve clarifies as she draws near.

“What is… this?”

The supersoldier shakes his head, “I honestly have no idea.”

There’s a canopy being set up by a handful of women now, with wooden tables placed underneath it. Almost immediately, items start appearing upon them; apples, breads and other baked goods, olives. So many olives.

Pallas lands on his shoulder just a second later, obviously sensing his confusion and slight distress from afar. He shoves his beak into Steve’s hair and the supersoldier’s quick to place a hand upon the owl’s head.

“Yeah, I hear you, buddy,” he breathes out.

When you finally break free, you saunter over to him with such a sense of awkward tension that Steve almost doesn’t recognize you beneath it.

“So…”

He blinks, looking out at the women before his gaze drops back to your face.

“What is happening right now?”

“Do you remember, last month, at your birthday dinner?”

He nods.

“When I told Tony that they don’t really… do that for me and Thor. And I said that I don’t have any real celebration associated with me?”

Steve nods again. Pallas pecks at the shell of his ear.

“Okay, well… that might have been a bit of a lie. This is… well, it’s uhm. It’s the last day of the Panathenaia. And my very unofficial birthday.”

He’s gawking, he knows he is, but he can’t seem to close his mouth.

“You’re shitting me.”

“I know,” you scrub a hand down your face. “It’s just… I’m not a fan of the pomp and circumstance anymore.”

“You…” he stumbles over his words as he helplessly blinks down at you, a new revelation bursting like a firework in his mind. “Are you telling me you actually have a birthday and that you’ve been keeping it a secret?”

“Well,” you shrug, crossing your arms as you both watch another three oak trees uproot themselves and begin walking further into the forest. 

“Not so much a lie as it was an omission of truth, right? I mean, last year? I was in France when it came around, no one to tell, no one to celebrate it with. The year before that? I was on Olympus. And before that, I was on Axariun III with my father. And well, before that we didn’t even know each other yet. So, all in all… not really me lying.”

“It feels like lying,” he clips, but a smile is playing at the corner of his lips.

“Fair enough,” you sigh.

Steve drums his fingers along the seam of his jeans as he turns, slowly, to take in all the preparations - if that was even the right word.

“So… the Panathea - ”

“Panathenaia,” you correct gently.

“That. What exactly does it entail?”

You grit your teeth, rubbing at your arms for a moment as you look over at the ever-growing table of food that seemed to be materializing out of nowhere.

“Uhm, drinking, dancing, general merry-making. The occasional athletic competition. They throw me in a peplos and offerings are made in my honor, and someone inevitably starts an orgy before the night’s over.”

Steve’s head whips around to look at you, but you’re not even phased by the words that have just left your mouth.

Right, he tries to remind himself. Greek mythology was literally your personal history.

“And this is the… set-up for it?”

“Yeah. Usually, I’m back home when the day comes around, but… well, extenuating circumstances this year kind of kept me Earth-bound.”

“Right,” he nods. “Yeah, that… that makes sense.”

You’re staring at him with slightly concerned eyes, so Steve forces a smile while his mind is honestly still reeling from the new bombshell.

“Want me to introduce you to everyone?”

Noticing the twins off to the side, now conversing with a handful of women - one of them is placing a white floral wreath on Wanda’s head, Steve merely nods.

“Lead the way,”  he holds out his hand in earnest. Pallas ruffles his feathers.

First, you introduce him to the Dryads. A group of women with varying shades of rust-colored hair and bark-like skin, who saunter out of the oak trees.

“They were just moving them to clear the area,” you explain.

Steve just responds with a polite nod, because yes, of course, that was completely normal and didn't phase him one bit. He had witnessed aliens from space. Wood nymphs shouldn’t be all that surprising to him.

This is followed by the Anthousai, a group of flower nymphs who are shorter than even Wanda, all of which are decorated with intricate crowns of blooms and blossoms. 

The woman you had been speaking to earlier is Euphrosyne. She offers the owl on Steve’s shoulder a polite pat on the head.

“My half-sister. Goddess of joy, mirth, and merriment.”

Followed by a doe-eyed red-head who is named Pannychis who you explain is the Goddess of all-night festivity. And Thalia, who is also your half-sister, and the one in charge of the festive celebration and the provision of a luxurious banquet.

“Uhm, this is my nephew, Comus.”

A young teen with strawberry-blonde curls blinks up at him from behind the edge of a golden cup.

“Son of Dionysus, quite infamous for his revelries, festivities, and general merry-making. Which, weren’t you supposed to be helping Euphrosyne plan?”

“Don’t tell her where I am,” The boy smirks before he dips away, grabbing another goblet from a table as he goes.

“And there’s still a few around here who are too busy to introduce just yet. But… yeah, that’s the beginning of this madness, really,” you pause, looking around with your hands upon your hips. And then you turn to look back at him, “I’m honestly so sorry to be dragging you into this. If you want to just hang back at the house tonight and try to ignore the noise, I completely understand.”

Steve leans against one of the posts keeping the canopy aloft. Pallas gnaws at his hair.

“Are you kidding me? Like I’m going to miss out on this?”

Your brows lift in surprise, “Seriously?”

“Yeah, of course. You’re one of the most important people in my life, Athena. If you want me here, I’m going to be here.”

“Ooh, taking one for the team, I see. Well, even if I can’t have everyone else here tonight, at least I’ll have one Avenger on my side.”

He laughs, “I mean, it’s not every day you get to experience an otherworldly festival steeped in antiquity.”

You stare at him for a long silent moment before you shove at his left arm. Steve lets you move him, a laugh startling out from his chest.

“Hey, you’re making me sound old!”

“Aren’t you a little, considering?” he gestures at the flowing tunics of your companions and relatives.

“Yeah, but… you don’t have to say it like that.”

Steve wraps his free arm around your shoulders, gently jostling you.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you a little sensitive about the age thing? Cause, take it from someone who frequently gets the grandpa jokes. I just want you to know, that I’m never dropping this.”

“Come on, Rogers! It’s funny when we say it.”

He snorts, “No trouble dealing it out my way, but not as fun when it’s returned, is that it?”

“Well,” you pull away from his grasp, wrapping your hands around your arms as you turn away, an indignant clip to your voice. “You know what they say about ladies and their ages.”

Steve laughs, trailing after you before he can wrap his arms around your torso. A furious blush graces his face as you lean back into him, your head against his sternum.

“Don’t be like that. It’ll be fun, I promise,” he speaks into your hair.

Your right hand comes up and pats at his arm that’s resting across your chest.

“You say that now. Wait till you see the dress they put me in.”

A twitch of arousal sparks through his body and he quickly releases you from his hold, but he plays it off with a laugh.

“Honestly, I can’t wait.”

You smack his chest with your hand, “You’re the worst, Rogers. Please remember that. The worst.”

As you walk away to go and converse with your relatives, Steve shyly scratches the back of his head. 

He makes the unfortunate mistake of glancing over at the twins, who are both looking back at him with nearly identical smirks on their faces. Fantastic, as if he needed two teenagers on his case now as well.

Turning in the opposite direction, he makes it up the hill - back toward the house - when he extends his arm out for Pallas to move down on.

The tawny brown owl blinks up at Steve with his dark eyes and a curious tilt of his head.

“Hey, pal. If I gave you a message, do you think you could deliver it to a few friends for me?”

He squawks in return, almost as if sensing what the supersoldier has planned.

The fading orange hues of sunset are just barely visible through the gaps in the forest’s lush canopy. Steve smiles at your loyal companion as he swoops across the established party area before landing in a tree along the outskirts of the circle. Keeping watch like always.

People in flowing robes and tunics move through the space with such ease that Steve feels even more like an outlier than usual. The twins, and even Vision, are in attendance - at your insistence. Wanda’s hair is loose, adorned by that white floral wreath still. Her eyes are alight as she watches the strangers with unbridled excitement.

Even Pietro has a leaf-woven crown on as he tries to chat up another girl with long dark hair and amethyst eyes.

“Guys, this is my sister, Hebe,” you interrupt with a tight smile as you loop your arm through the girl’s - effectively pulling her away from the boy. “Hedylogos was looking for you.”

The girl’s cheeks blush into a full blossom of red as she quickly darts off toward the other end of the party.

You look down at Pietro before slapping his shoulder with a light hand, “Seriously? If I’m told you’re hitting on another one of my relatives, I swear I’m going to throw those shoes you like out.”

He balks, “You wouldn’t.”

Steve smirks, lowering his stance to speak to the teen, “I wouldn’t risk it, personally.”

Wanda snorts, looping her arm through her brother’s, “Come. I see food and drink.”

“Guys, don’t take anything in a gold goblet!” Steve calls out.

“Especially if a man in purple robes hands it to you!” You add with a laugh.

With a sigh, you turn back to look at the supersoldier. Steve’s already looking down at you with warmth in his gaze. It’s like witnessing a different side to you, free from the heaviness of battle. Right now, you were removed from the usual expectations put upon you and it was beautiful to see. How you moved between the party-goers, an easy smile on your face, and a laugh on your lips.

“This is nice,” he comments, looking around at the simple gathering.

You blink.

“You know it hasn’t actually started yet, right?”

And then you’re sipping red wine from a goblet encrusted with jewels and you’ve got a playful look on your face and Steve, for as out of place as he feels, just wants to kiss you right here and now.

He shoves his hands into his jean pockets instead.

“Is that right?”

“Come on!” you exclaim, “We’re Olympians, this is barely a family gathering. Wait till the man of the hour appears.”

Shaking his head with mirth, he asks, “I thought you were the one being celebrated here?”

“Oh, I am,” you reassure as you take another drink. “But, well, you’ve met my brother but you haven’t really seen him yet. You’ll… you’ll understand what I mean.”

Accepting that as answer enough, Steve gives a nod and takes a sip of his own wine as more and more people begin to appear in the clearing.

It would surprise him if SHIELD or some other government agency wasn’t picking up on all of the energy signatures materializing in this forest in the middle of Vermont. Slowly but surely, the dance floor and surrounding tables and benches are filled up by more and more patrons.

You introduce him to a four-armed woman with a golden crown. Her dark hair is adorned with a large white lotus blossom. She smiles sweetly at him as she converses with you in another language entirely. Steve watches the two of you as her companion, a swan, pokes around at his shoes.

When she leaves, you turn back to him with an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry, I keep abandoning you to go talk to everyone.”

Steve’s brow scrunches in confusion, “It’s your party, you shouldn’t expect to have me glued to your side the entire night. Go, I can hang out with the kids and Vision. I’m sure you haven’t seen some of your friends in a while.”

“No,” you sigh, encircling his wrist with your palm. “Having you beside me is the only thing keeping me from running off right now.”

Looking down at you with an aching expression, Steve slowly slips his hand free from your grasp, only to lock your fingers together.

“Okay,” he says.

Your worried brow softens, a smile teasing at your lips once again.

“I do miss them. I haven’t seen Sarasvati in ages, but… I prefer small gatherings over, well, this.”

He squeezes your hand, “I understand, trust me.”

As a sense of true peace settles around the two of you, you’re swiftly interrupted by the sound of hand drums beating out a melody.

“Ladies! Gentlemen! And gentle beings alike!”

Steve cranes his neck, and you stand upon your toes, as a shrill voice calls out from the center of the party.

“That’s Eupheme,” you whisper.

“I have the sole honor of presenting the Lord of Celebration himself. The Granter of Blessings, the Kind-Hearted Savior, the God of Wine, our dearest Dionysus!”

Several people cheer, others clap, and some even whoop in delight as a processional band from atop the ledge of the forest floor begins to play.

“Τοῦ Διὸς ὁ παῖς ὁ Βάκχος, ὁ λυσίφρων - ”

As the large swaying line of white-robbed people begins making their way down to the party, you lean up - clutching his shoulder - as you begin translating:

“The son of Zeus, Bacchus,” you whisper-sing into his ear. “The liberator of mind, the Lyaeos, the Lyaeos, the Lyaeos.”

“ὅταν εἰς φρένας τὰς ἐμάς εἰσέλθηι - ”

Steve can feel the warmth of your breath against the shell of his ear and the length of his neck. He grips your waist in his right hand as you continue translating.

“When he enters in our mind. By making it drunk, making it drunk, making it drunk - ”

“διδάσκει με, διδάσκει με, διδάσκει με χορεύειν.”

“He teaches me, he teaches me, he teaches me to dance.”

The processional breaks through the space, a line of people and goats and musicians. Aloft a gold and purple cushion, held by four young men, sits your brother. A laurel wreath around his head as he raises his goblet at the many faces he spots in the crowd. He cheers your name as he passes, but you’re still there glued to Steve’s side. The melodic sound of your words against his ear is a heated delight.

“ἔχω δέ τι καὶ τερπνόν o, ὁ τᾶς μέθας ἐραστάς, ὁ τᾶς μέθας ἐραστάς,”

“And I the lover of drunkeness have, desire for satisfaction, desire for satisfaction.”

His fingers dig into the jut of your waist, pulling you impossibly tighter as everyone around you throws flower petals at the God of Wine.

“With beats and songs makes me happily as does Aphrodite, Aphrodite, Aphrodite. He teaches me, he teaches me, he teaches me to dance. He teaches me, he teaches me, he teaches me to dance. Again I want to dance, to dance - Oh!”

You’re pulled from his grasp by two women adored in ivy crowns. Giving a sheepish smile in his direction, Steve watches as you’re tugged into the center of the celebration.

As his heart eases back to a normal beat and the furious heat in his cheeks begins to lessen, the drummers begin beating upon their handheld instruments.

“My most beautiful friends!” Your brother cheers, his sloshing goblet held high above his head. “Tonight, on this blessed last night of Hekatombaiōn, I wish you all to welcome my lovely sister: the Champion of Olympus, the Beloved, the Wise, the Traveler Amongst Mortals, the Goddess Athena!”

Several loud whistles ring out across the forest as Steve joins in with the clapping. You’re shoved into your brother’s side, an unabashed smile on your face as you push back your hair.

“As the unofficial party master - ”

“Unofficial, seriously?” you ask with a laugh.

“I hereby declare that this Greater Panathenaia begins!”

As the crowd cheers in delight, the musicians belting out a jaunty tune, Steve watches as you shove at your brother’s arm before wrapping him up into a quick hug.

“You’re the worst, you know that right?” he can hear you ask.

The man shrugs, completely unbothered, “You’ll thank me later.”

“Wow.”

Steve turns his head, a smile immediately gracing his face as he spots Tony amongst the robe-clad patrons.

“I’m not gonna lie, I feel a little overdressed.”

He claps his hand in the supersoldier’s for a quick shake as the rest of the team slowly appears from behind him.

“Oh,” a sultry voice comes from beside Tony, a soft hand caressing his face. 

Steve’s brows rise.

“We can fix that,” the woman grins, a hand pulling at the billionaire’s arm as she begins to drag him away from Steve.

Tony chokes, “I mean, when I said that, actually, what I meant was - ”

Steve laughs, a deep belly rumble, as Stark helplessly looks back at him before he truly disappears somewhere into the roving group of partiers.

“We’re never letting him live this down,” Nat smirks, arms crossed as she watches the procession swoop you up into a dance number - you stuck in the middle as they circle around you. “Or Seven, for that matter.”

“Thanks for coming,” he says, his eyes never really traveling farther than you.

“Shame she tried to keep us out of the loop with it. Families though, they can be rough from what I’ve heard.”

He shrugs, taking a sip from his goblet. 

“Her’s don’t seem all that bad.”

Nat’s emerald eyes meet his in the lantern light and flickering flames, “You still haven’t met the old man yet, have you Rogers?”

With a twisted grin that seems to say it all, she takes Clint’s hand - he’s wide-eyed and his mouth is fully agape - and blends into the crowd.

Steve lets that thought simmer for just a moment in his head before he gulps down the rest of his wine and successfully pushes it to the back of his mind. Weaving through the other patrons, he spots the twins at a table under the canopy - talking to a group of Olympians who look around their age. But with godlike immortality, they could well be a thousand or so years older than Wanda and Pietro.

He smiles as the girl catches his eye, offering her a nod of reassurance before he moves on past the overflowing tables of what he now understands to be offerings.

You had explained it all rather quickly that afternoon to him. But he takes his time looking down at the array of items. Lots of olives still. But now he also spots wooden owl statues, pomegranates, oranges, feathers, small embroideries, and drawings. Hell, some of them looked like fan art the team regularly received, but with your image upon the crayon-dusted lines.

He accidentally bumps into the arm of a boy as a group of women crowds into the tent. Steve goes to apologize, but when the kid looks up at him, he feels rooted to the spot when he notices the rather large unfurled white wings on the youth’s back.

“Sorry, a bit of bad luck there, right? You must be one of those mortals my aunt’s always going on about. I’m Anteros. And you are… oh, wow. I see. Bit of a heart-on-the-sleeve type, yeah?”

As Steve goes to back away from the boy, the kid merely shakes out his bouncing dark curls and laughs. 

“You’re not used to that are you? Don’t worry,” he smiles as he nabs an apple from your offering table, taking a loud bite out of the fruit; juice dribbling down his chin. “She’ll get there eventually. I might not be part of the Fates, but I can see some things in that regard. Mmm,” he chuckles, chewing the white chunks with a slightly opened mouth. 

“Better stay away from my friend Pothos, or he’ll read you right down to the bone with all that energy going on in there.”

“Right,” is all Steve can say because he honestly has no idea what exactly has just happened, only that he feels very raw and vulnerable being next to this kid whose eyes are far too old for his youthful face and body.

As he exits the tent, he runs right into you. Oh, thank god.

“Hey,” you beam up at him with dazzling dark eyes. “Did I just see Hedona fitting Tony for a chiton? Also, when did they get here? How did they know?”

“Might have had help from Pallas…”

“Steve,” you beam.

But there must be a look on his face because your features fall.

“You okay?”

“Wha - yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Sorry, there’s just a lot of relatives around and I feel a little… weird about meeting literal mythological legends. I think I just met your nephew possibly?”

You make a humming noise in your throat as you look over his shoulder, “Oh, Cronus. The Erotes. No wonder you look frazzled, Rogers. My deepest apologies. Stay away from the young boys with hearts in their eyes, okay? Menaces, all of them.”

And then you’re tugging on his arm, forcing Steve’s head closer to your lips.

“Come on, I’m trying to avoid the Charites for as long as possible.”

Words come to his lips like why and what, but they’re droned out by the raucous sound of music and inebriated party-goers.

Steve lets you lead him by the hand through the madness and joy. Swerving through dance circles and casual drinking groups, offering a word of thanks for attending the celebration and a surprising introduction on his behalf.

“Seshat! Thoth, so glad you could make it.”

You’ve just run into a woman with heavy kohl-lined eyes and a yellow animal print tunic. But beside her stands a man with a bird-like head and a long blue cowl. He’s only wearing a low-hanging robe around his waist. He tilts his head in a very bird-ish fashion as he looks down at the two of you.

“It’s been so long, my friend!” the woman beams, grasping your free hand in hers.

You hadn’t let go of Steve’s right hand yet. He’s trying his best not to feel smug about it.

He’s been introduced to the large and incredibly interesting friend group you had long been keeping to yourself. The supersoldier meets a man with a lion head, an Aztec or possibly Mayan deity (Steve couldn’t actually hear his name over the sound of the musicians striking up another song). As well as so many Olympians, he’s fully lost track.

But above all of the noise and splendor, he hears Clint start roaring with laughter. Trailing his eyes across the crowd, he immediately spots the source of his amusement. Tapping you on the shoulder, he stands back and watches.

You turn, the question of what is on your lips, but you immediately hold a hand to your mouth to keep from outright bursting into laughter.

“Okay, little more breezy than what I was expecting,” Tony admits as he draws closer to them.

“Wow, it’s… quite a look,” Steve attempts to restrain his own laughter.

Stark does a little spin, showcasing the simple red tunic with a single gold clasp at his left shoulder. The arc reactor glows a faint blue light from the center of the cloth, making him look both ancient and alien all at once. The hem of the garment is far above his knees, with the threat of showcasing more than Steve would ever wish to see just a sudden gust of wind away.

A camera clicks, followed by a flash, as Nat tucks away her phone.

“Very dashing. Watch out for breezes.”

“Eegh,” Tony groans, holding his hands to the hem of the fabric.

Steve’s so distracted by the strange display in front of him, that he’s failed to notice the woman you’re now talking with.

“I didn’t realize mortal men could be so dashing.”

“Surely you remember the likes of Perseus or Achilles.”

“Mhmm, but there’s something just... intriguing about these new ones. They don’t need you or the All-Father to be powerful, they just are on their own.”

His ears are burning as he tries not to interrupt your conversation, but then he feels your fingers slipping around his wrist, squeezing lightly against his pulse point.

“Sorry, I don’t think I had the chance to introduce you. Philophrosyne, this is my dearest friend, Steve Rogers.”

“Oh, pleasure’s all mine,” she smiles brightly. “But, I’m afraid I’m here for more nefarious means, apologies, sir.”

And then she’s got a hand on your forearm and she’s calling out, “SHE’S OVER HERE!”

Shooting Steve a helpless look, you whisper, “Save me,” before you’re dragged away by a group of smiling women.

He hears mention of a dress and Steve just chuckles, watching you go.

“You look divine, my lady,” one of the young girls says as she looks up at you with sheer delight.

“Thank you,” you respond with genuine gratitude.

While you had made a rather large fuss about the party and the dress and, well, everything to do with the celebrations, you did sort of enjoy it. Long ago, the Athenians had worshipped you in grand week-long festivals. It had been a point of pride and amusement for you as your temple was filled with offerings in your name.

Now, several millennia later, you found yourself, at times, nostalgic for those days. The concept of birthdays had never been a tradition amongst your people. But, as the decades drew on, some small mortal festivities became familiar on Olympus.

“It’s a very fine dress, indeed. I can see the love and hours spent upon it,” you remark with a wink.

Gazing before the standing mirror in your room, back at the house, you admire the sky blue peplos. The sleeves and waist are embellished with golden floral trim, with hints of purple thread that seem to shimmer against the soft blue linen. The sleeves are clasped by two golden pins, each of which is decorated with an owl’s head.

The loose fabric sways as you walk back across the pastures with your personal procession of weavers. Only, when you catch the strange silhouette against the moonlight, do you beg your companions for a moment of solitude.

Finding yourself following in the familiar footsteps left from a few months prior, you move to join Thor against the tall grass of the overlook.

“Ah, my Lady Athena,” he greets, beaming down at you. “‘Tis a fine garment.”

“Thank you. I had hoped to see you at the festivities this night, my friend.”

He chuckles. The loose strands of his hair flutter in the evening breeze, a warm stretch of summer night blanketing the sky with splatters of glistening stars.

“I can not intrude on such an event.”

Biting at your lip for just a moment, you nod, “Well, I suppose that would be true if you were not on the arm of the one being honored.”

His dark eyes gaze down at your offered arm for just a beat before his bellowing laugh echoes across the countryside.

When the two of you, and your procession, appear at the top of the hill leading down to the forest clearing, the musicians break off as your sister, of all people, takes the floor.

“My most gentle patrons, I wish for you all to now gaze your eyes upon the Daughter of Zeus, the Goddess… Athena.”

Giving a small giggle of anticipation, your hand grips Thor’s arm as you descend.

“My friends, family, and drunken guests!” you call out, receiving a chorus of laughter. “Tonight, I wish you all to welcome my honored guest with open arms as you would me. The Protector of the Nine Realms, the Wielder of Mjolnir, the Champion of Midgard, the God of Thunder, the Son of Odin, Thor.”

A few people clap, but you’re quick to add on:

“And if you refuse his presence, I’m going to have Dionysus throw out the good wine.”

“DON’T YOU DARE!” Comes the immediate and indignant shout of terror from your brother.

Soon, the partiers begin to laugh and cheer as the musicians pick back up with another song.

Thor leans down, kissing your cheek.

“Thank you for allowing me to grace your… humble celebration. Wait - ” His voice clips as he looks out over the crowd. “Is that… is that Bragi? I can’t be here but he damn well can?”

You give the God of Thunder a shrug, “To be fair, you have tried to kill or badly maim most people here, Odinson. You can’t expect them to not hold a grudge.”

“But… but…” he mutters, eyes shifting between you and his fellow Asgardian.

“And Bragi gets on well with a few of us, he’s always around for poetry readings and the every-other-decade book club meeting.”

His features pale, “You’re kidding me.”

“Wish I was,” you grin in return, lightly smacking his cheek with your hand. “Have fun. Don’t bed too many of my relatives. If they don’t try to slap you first, now that I think of it.”

You watch as he heads over to the bar filled with many of your brother’s finest spirits. With a smile on your face that seems incapable of fading, you make your way through the crowd in search of your other friends.

To your surprise, you find Steve locked into a conversation with both Sersi and Sprite - who remains in her natural form.

“ - yeah, no. We’ve known each other for… a while. Uhm, college roommates actually, in London.”

“Wow, really?” Steve asks, with a voice that clearly says that he’s not buying it, but his smile doesn’t really give him away and Sersi seems oblivious to his suspicion.

But as he goes to take a sip from his goblet, his eyes catch sight of you. And you can’t help it as you wrap your hands over your bare arms as you make your way over, feeling sheepish and strange in the garments of your kind.

“Whoa,” he says as he sets his goblet down. “You look… wow.”

“Hopefully that was a good wow?” you try to joke.

Sprite snorts, face in her goblet, “Obviously.”

“Hey! See you’ve met my friend from college and her… niece?”

Sersi nods quickly in return. Steve just turns his head, hiding his blossoming smile from her.

“Anyway!” she turns back, grabbing hold of your hands. “As is tradition, I have a gift for you!”

“Come on,” you begin to lament. “How many times do I need to say this: Sersi, my love, you do not need to get me anything. Your friendship is more than enough.”

“Just take the frog!” Sprite groans.

You flash the redhead a smile as Sersi shyly hands over a beautiful pale jade frog.

“Wow…” you murmur, cradling the fragile object in your hands. “This must be…”

“From the gift shop, yes,” the Eternal smiles tightly.

So it was very very old then.

The handicraft is exquisite, the jade is smooth and polished. Maybe… third century, around the Eastern Han dynasty, if you had to hazard an immediate guess?

“I don’t know what to say,” you admit, looking up at one of your oldest friends.

“Well,” she shrugs, chuckling. “Just say thanks. I managed to convince Kingo not to send a golden statute your way this year.”

“He almost went for an ice sculpture instead,” the redhead hums, eyes trained on one of the Erotes chatting nearby. Oh, not Himeros. Honestly, Sprite - have some decency.

“I’m sorry,” Tony butts in. “Are we referring to the Kingo? As in, the action movie superstar of the Indian subcontinent?”

You shrug, looking over at the billionaire, “What can I say? He was a friend from college.”

Tony balks for all of ten seconds before he snaps his mouth closed, “Well, since we’re doing gift-giving, which by the way, your royal highness - ” he steps closer to you, looking completely un-intimidating in his high-hem chiton.

“ - do you know how difficult it is to buy someone the perfect gift when they fail to mention that it’s their birthday and you have twenty minutes to be in the air?”

“Sorry?” you reply with a sheepish tone.

He clicks his tongue, “Yeah, well, your perfect gift is back at the house. Try to hold your thanks and just promise to show up for team training every now and then,”

Dipping away, toward the overflowing bar, you all watch him go. 

Sprite smirks, “I like him.”

“Don’t,” Sersi warns with little to no playfulness as she steers the younger-looking of the two of them away.

“No, yeah, I’m with Stark on this,” Clint perks up from his lounging position on one of the benches. Natasha sits beside him with his feet on her lap. “Are we just supposed to ignore your celebrity friend list or what?”

“I know one celebrity, okay?”

“And this? The plethora of pantheons? I’m pretty sure I saw Nike around here because I recognized her from her statue. That’s how insane this is. Speaking of, where’s the old man? Mr. Thunderbolt himself?”

You scoff, leaning back into Steve for invisible support.

“Clint, I’m from Olympus, this is basically a reunion. One in which, the All-Father will not be attending. Not as long as we’re on Earth.”

He lets out a low whistle as Natasha shoves his feet to the ground.

“Ignore him,” she says with a flicker of humor in her dark eyes. “And hey, happy birthday - ” you’re suddenly wrapped into a rare Widow hug, one that you accept all too eagerly as you wrap your arms around her shoulders. “How old are you, by the way?”

“Nooo, I’m not falling down that rabbit hole. Rogers already wants to start up Grandma Athena jokes. I’m good.”

The supersoldier chuckles, you can feel the heat of his breath on your shoulder.

“I’m just saying, they’re more fun to direct at someone else for a change.”

Natasha has a curious gaze in her eyes as she glances around at the other patrons, “I’m going to find out tonight no matter what. Might be easier to just tell me yourself.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?” you tease, turning away to grab Steve by the hand as you disappear into the dance circle in the center of the party.

You don’t intend to stay there, in the middle of the dancers, but you’re almost landlocked by them. Unable to break free from their midst. Offering Steve a shrug and a laugh that can’t even be fully heard above the music, you begin to sway along with the others.

He remains still for just a moment, then a moment more, before he leans down to whisper-shout into your ear.

“You want to dance?”

With a nod, you lean up to reply, “I mean, it’s a party after all. Might as well.”

“I’m not really a dancer,” he laments with a flush of pink on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

You reach up, grabbing hold of the back of his neck to bring him down to your level. Fixing his eyes with a look, you say, “Neither am I.”

His laugh reaches your ears just as the musicians begin to play another number. A loud melody followed by several dancers clapping to the beat. Grabbing hold of both of your hands, Steve spins you around in a dizzying circle before you’re drawn back to him.

With an infectious smile upon your face, you let him lead you in a small space left only to the two of you as the rest of the dancers move and spin around you both.

One of his hands drops down to your waist, while the other dangles over your opposite shoulder as you move in closer - drawn into each other’s orbit like the Earth and the ever-present Moon. Resting a hand on his left shoulder, your fingers tickle the small hairs at the back of his neck as your other hand moves to his waist.

You sway to the beat of the music and ringing laughter and overall drunkenness as the world simmers down to just the two of you, dancing together, moving as one.

Steve looks nearly predatory with his gaze fixed upon your face, his blue eyes a distant memory as the darkness of his pupils takes hold. In his irises, you can see the dancing flames of the lantern lights and the reflection of your own face. Feeling too close, too hot, too much, you pull back.

Tugging on his left hand, you move yourself into a spin - one that Steve finishes with a laugh as you dip away from him before being drawn back in. He seems to take the hint as he leaves your right hands joined together, with his left situated loosely on your hip.

The hand drums batter away as a chorus melody begins. The pace is fast as feet go flying on the ground, hands clapping together in the air.

“Can’t dance, honestly,” Steve snarks as he spins you around once again.

You love the feeling of the sudden rush of summer breeze as it makes the bottom of your dress billow up. Sweat is dripping down your neck from the closeness of the crowd.

With a smile in return, you remark, “Says the man keeping to the beat.”

He shrugs, dipping you nearly backward before dragging you back up to his side, “I mean, I was no dance hall expert.”

“I don’t believe that,” you laugh, as you twist around him, returning on his right side.

“It’s true,” he says with a softened tone. “I would have had to get a girl to dance with me.”

“Oh, Steve,” you pucker, allowing him to pull you in closer than before, your bodies almost touching - the heat between you is electric. “Well, you have one now and she thinks you’re doing a great job.”

“Is that right?” he grins, his hand moving from your hip to your lower back as you’re drawn in flush against him.

Resting a hand on his shoulder, you nod.

“Class act, really.”

You can feel the light graze of his lips on the top of your head, then another press near your temple, and then one to your forehead.

Maybe that Olympian wine was finally affecting him after all.

When you pull back, his face is flushed and his gaze is unbelievably intense. But it’s the sight over his shoulder that has you frozen.

“Oh my god,” you groan, using the human terminology for the first time.

“What?” he questions, still oblivious.

Pushing on his right shoulder, you have him turning just enough to see -

“Oh, wow.”

“You didn’t tell me Sam was here,” you complain.

“He wandered off before I got the chance to,” he chuckles.

“Good thing her husband isn’t here, or we’d be scraping up bits of him for the next month.”

Steve shudders at the imagery.

It wasn’t every day Aphrodite went searching for other companions. Considering she still held a flame for Ares and was married to Hephaestus. But this? This had to be crossing some lines even for a drunken festival.

The man has a hand in her hair - blonde, you note - and their lips haven’t fully disconnected since you first spotted them. She’s got a hand on his chest, as she leans further and further into him.

“Well,” you proclaim. “I’ve officially lost any appetite I might have had. No offense to Sam, of course.”

“I don’t know,” Steve shakes his head. “I think it’s mostly him.”

With a sudden burst of giggles, you grab hold of Steve’s right wrist and proceed to tug him away from the dance circle - far away from the line of sight of an Avenger trying to get it on with your sister.

Pulling your hair back and over your shoulder, you shake your head once again. 

“At my party, of all places. Honestly.”

Steve wanders alongside you, careful of the forest floor as you dip away from the main festivities.

“Give a man enough wine…” 

Looking over your shoulder at him, you remark, “Seems like you might have had a bit yourself, Rogers.”

With a shrug, his eyes flash up to meet your gaze.

“I had two glasses, that’s hardly anything.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” you tease. “Dionysus’ spirits are said to be even stronger than Asgardian liquor. I’d be careful if I was you.”

Resting against the cool bark of a tree, you blow upward at the loose strands of your hair that are sticking to your warm forehead. The early August heat was doing nothing for your sweaty skin and rapidly beating heart.

You’re halfway up the hill and you’re able to look upon the entire party from here. With Sam and your sister out of sight, you manage to spot Tony sitting on top of the bar - loudly proclaiming some outrageous story to a group of Olympians. Natasha, one of the few redheads in the crowd, is spotted a moment later, weaving her way through your relatives with disturbing ease. Clint, is in the middle of the dance floor, jumping up and down to the song.

Pietro has cornered another one of the Muses. He’s leaning against the post of the canopy, speaking into her hair. Wanda is surrounded by some of the Anthousai who all seem to be crafting new floral wreaths together. Thor is actively armwrestling Agon and you knew that was likely to go on all night. The god of competition would not be easily swayed by a possible defeat.

Steve is a few feet away from you, a little lower on the hill, as he too watches on. The paper in your pocket tempts your hands once again. 

You had been toying with it back at the tower before Sokovia. Hell, you had been contemplating it since 2014, when SHIELD was falling and you were technically considered dead for almost 48 hours.

A hand taps at your left shoulder and you completely startle.

“Cronus! You ass! You can’t do that!” you shriek as you slap Hermes' shoulder repeatedly.

Steve looks on edge while your brother merely tilts his head back and laughs.

To be fair, the last time the supersoldier had been in the same room with your brother, he hadn’t been an entirely charming force to be held.

“Oh, come on. Too easy,” he beams.

“Those damn sandals,” you grumble - staring down at the winged footwear that allowed him such stealth-like advantages.

“You love them,” he retorts, flashing his ankle as he tilts them for you to see. “I see you’re having fun.” Hermes lifts his gaze, nodding, “Captain Rogers.”

Steve offers a nod in return, his hands situated on his belt.

“I trust that my gift was helpful,” he gestures at the chain of your pendant.

Pulling the locket free from the peplos, you admire the silver jewelry, “I thought it was a gift from the Fates.”

“Deliverer of gifts then. Speaking of - ”

You watch with widened eyes as a golden halo of light appears from the heavens - three packages floating down into his waiting hands.

“Father sends his well wishes, of course.”

Taking the first box from him - a tiny thing, about the size of the palm of your hand - you lift the cover off.

“Oh my gosh,” you murmur as you stare down at the dazzling blue gems.

Hermes snorts, “I’m sure you know the meaning.”

With a nod, you carefully pull the first earring free.

A teardrop lapis lazuli with a golden clutch.

Looking back at him, you remark, “They’re stunning.”

He says nothing as he hands over the second package done up in purple wrapping.

From within, you retrieve an intricately beaded diadem. The peacock colors are entwined with gold latticework. It’s so delicate in your hand, that you barely even want to pull it free. But then you’re looking down at your companion, calling out a simple:

“Steve?”

The supersoldier, with a wary eye, takes a step up, then another. He’s standing directly in front of you as you offer him up the tiara. With a gentle look upon his face, he carefully lifts the diadem, rotating it around, before situating it carefully on the crown of your head.

With a whistle, he steps back.

“Hera always goes overboard with this one,” Hermes comments in Steve’s direction. “Athena’s about the only one she can stand.”

“Not true,” you murmur.

He blinks, “Seriously? We want to walk down that path?”

With a slow shake of your head - no reason to ruin a perfectly nice night - your brother’s smile slips free as he hands over the last package.

It’s a scroll, wrapped in on itself with a simple white ribbon.

“Careful now,” he comments. “That’s an antique.”

With a cautious eye trained upon your brother, you begin to unfurl the paper. The first glance at the contents has you rolling it back up as you snap, “Did you steal this?”

Holding up defensive hands, he grins, “I might be the God of Thieves, dear sister, but this came from a friend of ours. A certain… woman who puts even my speed to shame.”

You gape.

“She didn’t.”

He beams, “I think we both know she did.”

Turning it slightly for Steve to look at, you unfurl the map once again, “This is the Ebstorf Map.”

The paper extends out, further and further to the point that both men have to hold onto a portion of the map.

“It was created in the mid-13th century by a group of nuns living in modern-day Germany. This was said to have been destroyed in 1943, during the bombing of Hanover. This shouldn’t... oh, that clever woman.”

If anyone in your known circle could have gotten this to safety and kept it perfectly preserved, it would have been Makkari.

Steve’s eyes rove across the intricate work, an artist’s soul soaking up a historical artifact. One that probably shouldn’t be held by physical hands, now that you think of it. Carefully folding it back up and rolling it together, you push it over into Steve’s capable hands as you latch yourself around your brother.

“Thank you! And tell her thank you as well. Cronus, I should get her something in return. Wait a minute.”

You vanish from the forest before either man can utter a single word, appearing deep within the basement of the house. Well, it was listed as a basement, it was more like a museum storage facility, in all honesty.

Makkari might have her own collection on the Domo, but yours was equally impressive. Both between your home in Vermont and your temple back on Olympus. It only takes you a moment to find what you’re looking for - the perfect thing for her never-ending collection - before you reappear.

The two men look up, apparently caught in the middle of a conversation. Steve coughs, taking a step away, as you glance over at him. With a shake of your head, you speak to your brother.

“This isn’t much, but my gratitude can not be understated. Her gift was incredible.”

Hermes eyes you as you attempt to hand over the tablet.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Come on,” you groan. “You know it’ll be safe in her hands.”

With a half-hearted sigh, he takes the emerald tablet from your hands. Oh, she would be wild about it, you just knew it.

“I’ll see that it gets to her with signs of thanks.”

“I appreciate it,” you smile.

Steve helps you get everything back to the house. After rounding up the twins and Vision, the two of you escort your household members back inside. The teens, obviously, were all too willing to stay up late into the morning hours, but you cut them off around 2 AM. And you insisted that he return as well.

Considering the fact that he had just returned from a mission and hadn’t received any proper sleep in nearly 72 hours, he didn’t press too hard about staying back with you to enjoy the festivities.

“Trust me, they’ll only be getting drunker and louder as the night wears on. I can only tolerate so much.”

After Wanda and Pietro head up for the night and Vision disappears to the library down the hall where he had been spending most of his time these past two months, you collapse into a kitchen chair.

Steve lowers himself into the adjoining seat, looking out at the spread of gifts from your closest friends and relatives.

As you pull the diadem from your head, you rub at your tired face - your cheeks puffing up in a slightly adorable fashion.

Laid before him sits a pink bottle with a sea shell emblem, a golden hilt, and a silver dagger. In a very ornate clay vase sits a combination of flowers. You had told him their names, but he can’t recall them now. One has white petals and a yellow center and the others are simple six-petaled white flowers.

From an opened bag on the table, you reach in and begin peeling a mandarin orange for yourself. The sweet citrus scent wafts around him in the hot kitchen - the summer breeze from the open window does nothing to cool the room.

Steve gazes down at the two additional pieces of jewelry you were now adorned with. A golden snake-shaped ring on your left index finger and a dark green jade bracelet on your right wrist.

What’s completely confusing him, however, is the glass in the middle of the table.

Clearing his throat, he finally asks, “What’s with the water?”

You arch a brow as you take another bite of your orange, a dribble of juice sits at the corner of your lips. Your eyes travel to the glass before you swallow your bite.

“My uncle, I’m guessing.”

He nods, but you don’t seem interested in elaborating.

“Is it… special?”

“Steve,” you blink. “It’s water.”

And then you dip your pinky into the glass before bringing the soaked digit up to your lips to suck.

“I’m sorry, salt water.”

“Just… salt water?”

With a snort, you drop the peel on the table and lean back in your seat, arms crossed.

“You’re still not versed on my mythos, after all this time?”

He shrugs, mirroring your position.

“I’d rather hear it from you, honestly. No book can tell me your truth.”

A look settles over your face, one that he thinks is reading as pleased, but he’s a little out of sorts since the third goblet of wine.

“Let’s just say,” you ease. “We don’t get on very well. He was likely required to get me something, but he chose to do so in his own way.”

With a shake of your head, you stand up and pour the glass into the sink.

You stare out the window, at the glowing lights dancing in the center of the forest. Even from a distance, you can both likely make out the continued party down the hill.

After a moment, Steve says, “It’s more than what I got you.”

You turn, fixing him with a gentle look, “Your friendship will be the only thing I ever ask from you. Always, Rogers. No… piece of jewelry or $400 jacket - ” you point at the unwrapped box on the counter; Tony’s gift, “ - will ever be required of you. Just… you. You are enough for me.”

He can’t help it. Standing up and pushing away from the chair, Steve circles your left wrist with his hand as he pulls you in - slowly, gently - to a hug. He can feel the contend sigh you let out against his sternum as you bury your face into his chest. His arms circle your back, fingers tangling into the ends of your hair.

You both stand like that for minutes - though it could be hours with how truly at peace he feels - when, at last, you pull back. There’s a sheepish expression greeting him as you run your palms down the length of your sky-blue dress.

“Bucking tradition, I actually have something for you.”

He groans, closing his eyes, “Now I’m seriously feeling guilty over not giving you a present.”

“Come on,” you beg. “Open.”

When he blinks his eyes back open, he glances down at your extended palms. There in the center of the cupped pair, sits a scrap of paper.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he picks it up and examines the faded brown parchment. Turning it over with his fingers, Steve nearly stumbles.

Because he knows this paper.

He can barely hear your words above the thundering of his beating heart.

“I know, just, okay. So, this has been on my mind for a while now. Basically, this is going to be your link to me now. Whether I’m… across the ocean, or in another dimensional plane. Ever since Russia and honestly, now that we’re going on separate missions with the team, I just… basically - ”

Your fingers smooth over the parchment, landing on the owl constellation marked with ink.

“Long ago, there was a constellation in Pallas’ image. My constellation really. If there ever comes a time when you need me and can not reach me the normal way, I want you to push down on this, like - ” your fingers press into what would be the stomach of the bird, “ - and you’ll get Pallas, who will get me.”

As if on command, the owl swoops up to the window sill, pecking at the glass before you move to let him in. He lands on Steve’s shoulder, gnawing at his hair.

But the supersoldier can’t move, can’t even speak as he stares down at that imagery.

“Hey, I know it’s kind of - ”

He just shakes his head.

“I know this. I’ve seen it before… in my compass.”

You tilt your head, a curious pinch to your brows, “What are you talking about?”

Letting out a breath as he lowers his hands, the paper clenched with his right fist, he explains, “That day that we thought Loki might have been… with the scepter? After New York?”

You nod, after a beat, in understanding.

“You’re saying… you saw this, in the compass? The compass that wasn’t yours.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, feeling the weight of something he can’t even process expel from his chest. “I don’t know how. I just… I remember this being in there.”

Your hands encircle his forearms as you stare up at him.

“There are some things in this universe, that even I can’t explain. Maybe… one day it will make sense. But, I think I’d like to believe that you should hold onto this for maybe more reasons than I originally intended.”

Steve gives a sharp nod, a weird catch in his throat as he says, “Yeah.”

“You’re not going to be far, are you?”

Turning back around, a box in your hands, you shake your head. Pietro looks back at you from the open doorway to his room.

“No, I promised you both that we’d be close by while you get adjusted. I’m two down on the right, and Steve’s one past that. You guys are going to be just fine. Hell, even Vision has a place set up at the end of the hall.”

It had been a strange two weeks, moving everything over to the newly minted Compound.

The twins had their own fears over the move. Pietro had come to enjoy the space at the house in Vermont, the freedom he felt he had with just four other occupants. Now, this place felt a little more… official, and scientific. Tony had a whole section set up for research and development outside of his own personal labs. There were people coming and going nearly all day and night.

Though the private apartments were away from those areas, just looking out the windows would allow you see to the endless flow of people.

Luckily, you managed to lock down a separate corridor near the back of the building, on a lower floor too.

Wanda didn’t like windows. Well, she liked having some windows. But floor-to-ceiling ones made her anxious, and jumpy. She didn’t feel fully protected with them. Tony was all too understanding at your request.

That’s how you found yourselves occupying a hall mostly to yourselves.

Clint and Natasha were in the west wing of the building. Thor and Bruce had designated rooms on the north side of the apartments - though neither room was currently occupied.

Dropping the box off at Wanda’s room, you wipe your hands clean.

You knew it was going to take time for them both to feel comfortable and to adjust to their new living arrangements. But they seemed to understand that this was going to be the safest place for them to be for now.

Even though Tony never went into detail, you understood that the situation outside of the Compound was still… tense, to put it lightly.

Steve glances back at you. He’s on a ladder, helping Wanda arrange her mood lights above her bed.

Sometimes, you wonder exactly where you had been heading all those years ago. The anti-team mindset and your avoidance of people in general. Yet, here you are.

Leaning against the open doorframe, you watch as the pair interact together in hushed tones and soft laughs.

No, you could have never imagined this life for yourself. Not only were you going to have a room here, but you made up your mind that you would in fact be living here, on a semi-permanent basis. No more running back to Olympus at every chance.

You were part of a team now. These were your people, your friends, your pseudo-family.

At the vibration in your pocket, you pull your phone free.

Scoffing at the message - grannie, seriously - you call out, “Hey! Tony says he’s got a free hour if you two wanna head down to do a consult on those uniforms he mentioned.”

Wanda whips around, a look of equal trepidation and excitement mixing together on her face.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I recommend going. Otherwise, he might try and put some armor in there in red and gold tones.”

She makes a face, causing you to chuckle as she waves goodbye to Steve. Running off in search of her brother.

“Kids these days,” you comment for the supersoldier to hear as they both zip past you a moment later. “They grow up so fast.”

He just laughs in return as he folds up the ladder and places it along the wall. She still wanted some kind of canopy hung up above her bed, so you imagined he might have his hands full later.

“So, how are we looking?” he asks as you both head down the hallway toward the main living space.

“Well, it’s not the ‘27 Yankees, but I think we have some hitters.”

Steve snorts as you push through the next set of doors, side by side, striding together through the halls.

“They’re good. We’ll make them into a team.”

You share a smirk with the supersoldier as you make it to the newly finished gym, pausing at the doors as you say, “Let’s beat them into shape.”

With two of your biggest allies out of the picture - hopefully, temporarily - you were faced with the joint decision to mold the newest members into a proper fighting force. Ultron may have had doubts about your ability to come together and work as one, the media might still be feeding those very same doubts to the public, but you were dedicated to proving them all wrong.

Steve enters the gym with an assured look gracing his face. With a nod, the two of you get to work.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Author's Note: Oh my god, not Stethena pseudo-adopting the twins, am I right?

Anyway, here's some importantish notes from this particular chapter that might be of interest to a few people.

Translations: - rodičia: parents - otec: father - bastardi: bastards - bodaj ho: damn it

Clothing: - Chiton (image) - Peplos (image)

Gifts: - Lapis Lazuli earrings from Zeus - A peacock beaded diadem from Hera - A map from Hermes - Perfume from Aphrodite - A dagger and golden hilt from Hephaestus - A clay vase from Hestia - Narcissus flowers from Persephone - Asphodel flowers from Hades - Mandarin oranges from Demeter - A gold snake ring from Asclepius - A jade bracelet from Dionysus - A glass of salt water from Poseidon

The Guest List:

Fauns: half-human, half-goat creatures

Euphrosyne: goddess of good cheer, joy, mirth, and merriment

Dryades: tree and forest nymphs

Anthousai: flower nymphs

Pannychis: goddess of all-night festivity

Thalia: goddess of festive celebrations and luxurious banquets

Comus: god of revelry, merrymaking, and festivity; Athena’s nephew through Dionysus

Hebe: cupbearer of the Olympians; Athena’s half-sister through Zeus and Hera

Hedylogos: one of the Erotes, god of sweet talk and flattery

Sarasvati: Hindu goddess of art, knowledge, music, speech, and learning

Eupheme: goddess of words of good omen, acclamation, praise, applause, and shouts of triumph

Dionysus

Hedone: goddess of pleasure, enjoyment, and delight

Anteros: one of the Erotes, god of requited love; Athena’s nephew through Aphrodite and Ares

Pothos: one of the Erotes, god of sexual longing, yearning, and desire

Seshat: Egyptian goddess of wisdom, knowledge, inventory of writing, consort of Thoth

Thoth: Egyptian god of wisdom, knowledge, writing, magic, science, art

Apedemak: African lion-headed god of war

Mixcoatl: Aztec god of battle, hunting, civilization, and stars

Philophrosyne: goddess of friendliness, kindness, and welcome

Aphrodite

Bragi: Norse god of poetry

Sersi

Sprite

Himeros: one of the Erotes, god of sexual desire

Agon: god of contest

Hermes

Other guests in attendance:

Adephagia: goddess of satiety and gluttony

Agele: goddess of radiant good health

Aglaea: one of the Charites, goddess of beauty, adornment, splendor, and joy

Aike: goddess of prowess and courage

Ame-no-Uzume: Japanese goddess of dawn, meditation, and the arts

Angelia: goddess of messages, tidings, and proclamations

Antheia: one of the Charites, goddess of flowers and wreaths 

Apollonis: a muse; Athena’s niece through Apollo

Arete: goddess of virtue, excellence, goodness, and valor

Aristaeus: god of bee-keeping, cheese-making, and olive-growing; Athena’s nephew through Apollo

Bait Pandi: Filipino (Bagobo) goddess of weaving

Borysthenis: a muse; Athena’s niece through Apollo

Caerus: god of opportunity

Calliope: muse of epic poetry

Cathubodua: Celtic goddess of war and battle

Cephisso: a muse; Athena’s niece through Apollo

Clio: muse of history

Dikaiosyne: goddess of justice and righteousness; Athena’s half-sister through Zeus

Eirene: goddess of peace; half-sister through Zeus

Ekecheiria: goddess of truce, armistice, and cessation of hostilities

Eleos: goddess of mercy, pity, and compassion

Eleutheria: goddess of liberty

Elpis: goddess of hope and expectation

Eros: one of the Erotes, god of love and sex; Athena’s nephew through Aphrodite and Ares

Erato: muse of lyric poetry

Eucleia: goddess of good repute and glory

Eupraxia: goddess of well-being

Euterpe: muse of musical poetry

Gamayun: Slavic goddess of knowledge and wisdom

Gelos: god of laughter

Harmonia: goddess of harmony and concord; Athena’s niece through Ares and Aphrodite

Heimarmene: goddess of shared fate/destiny

Helios: god of the Sun and guardian of oaths

Hermaphroditus: one of the Erotes, god of unions, androgyny, marriage, and sex; Athena’s nephew through Hermes and Aphrodite

Himeros: one of the Erotes, god of sexual desire

Horme: goddess of impulse or effort, eagerness, starting an action

Iris: goddess of the rainbow and divine messenger

Nike: goddess of victory

Pasithea: one of the Charites, goddess of rest and relaxation

Philotes: goddess of friendship, affection, and sex

Polyhymnia: muse of sacred poetry

Polymatheia: muse of knowledge

Tekhne: goddess of art, craft, and technical skill

Terpsichore: muse of dance and choral poetry

Theros: youth god of summer

Okay, so while I have had so much fun writing the last few chapters in this arc and connecting lots of moments together into this big finale, I'm gonna need a bit of time before I move on to tackle the Civil War arc. I need to perfect the plot just so and make sure I have all of my loose ends wrapped up before we delve into that realm just yet.

So thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for those of you who have kept up with the story and have been reblogging and commenting on it. It's honestly keeping my passion for this story going. So, thank you again, and hopefully I'll see you soon with the next installment :)

[eirenical]

I'm having fun posting these every week even if I never seem to actually hit Wednesday, so how about another snippet? ^_^ This part comes after the night of the Donghai battle the next morning on the beach.

[Other snippets of this fic that have been shared, not necessarily in fic canon order.]

*

Di Feisheng woke to the sound of water: the soft susurrus of the waves against the shore, the steady patter of light raindrops hitting the sand and lighter plinks where they hit the ocean.  A quiet groan soon joined those sounds as he rolled himself onto his back, the aches and pains of last night's adventures making themselves heard loud and clear over all the others.  He pried open his eyes to the treacherous clouds overhead, hanging low and heavy and promising more rain for those unwary enough to be caught out in it a second time.  They'd have to move soon.  If Li Xiangyi were any more capable of it than he felt right now.  Easing back onto his side, Di Feisheng stretched his free hand over to reach for Li Xiangyi's wrist… and froze.

Li Xiangyi was gone.

Barely a breath later, Di Feisheng was on his feet, aches and pains forgotten, the robes that had been draped over him in his sleep pooling onto the sand.  He scanned the beach, gaze skipping from sand dune to sand dune, cursing the rain that had wiped away any traces of where Li Xiangyi might have gone.  The man could have turned into a ghost and floated away for all the surrounding terrain gave clues of his whereabouts.  He was just… gone.

The blast of a cold wind brought with it the sting of a thousand grains of sand, a harsh reminder to search out what articles of clothing he could find and make use of them.  He found both shoes, though he seemed to be minus one sock, all of his underlayers save the Yinzhou armor, and both of his outer layers.  His dao, he found, had been safely within reach of where he'd awoken.  Li Xiangyi's clothes were missing, as was his sword.  All of this gave him hope that Li Xiangyi had at least left the beach under his own power—or their combined power, as the case might be—but where could the man have gone?  They might have saved him from immediate death last night, but that didn't mean he was out of danger.

Once he had collected himself and his belongings, Di Feisheng pulled a golden whistle from an inner pocket of his robes.  Wuyan was never far from him, and he had never yet failed to answer his lord's call.  If there was one man in the entire world who understood the meaning of loyalty, it was him.  He would come now, too.

Di Feisheng had no sooner finished cresting the dunes back onto the more solid footing of the road than Wuyan caught up to him, dipping his head in a perfunctory bow before raising his eyes to roam Di Feisheng's figure.  Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he relaxed his posture, awaiting instructions.  Neither was fond of wasting breath on pleasantries or questions, especially ones that were unnecessary.  Doing him the same courtesy of coming straight to the point, Di Feisheng said, "Li Xiangyi.  You saw him leave and said nothing?"

Wuyan's eyebrow lifted, a brief, sardonic smile crossing his lips before he answered.  "My lord, he was already gone when I arrived.  I have been running interference to keep Jiao-guniang from finding you all evening.  I assumed you wouldn't want… unexpected company."

A sneer twisted Di Feisheng's lips before he could control it.  "You assumed correctly."  He sighed.  "There's no help for it, then.  Two can search more efficiently than one and he can't have gone far in his condition.  We'll just have to track him down."

Three hours later, with a sinking certainty that one determined fool could, in fact, have gotten much further in his condition than he should have been able to, Di Feisheng was nearly ready to admit defeat and change tactics.  But just as he was about to call Wuyan back to his side to regroup, the twin of his golden whistle let out a piercing cry from back on the beach.

Di Feisheng wasted no further time, leaping into the air and speeding towards the source of that sound.

[vickyvicarious]

Mina and Van Helsing's journey towards the castle today has several alarming points of comparison with Dracula and Jonathan's journey. Here's just a couple that stood out to me today:

This state of excitement kept on for some little time; and at last we saw before us the Pass opening out on the eastern side. There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the heavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though the mountain range had separated two atmospheres, and that now we had got into the thunderous one.

Jonathan

It is now not far off sunset time, and over the snow the light of the sun flow in big yellow flood. For we are going up, and up; and all is oh! so wild and rocky, as though it were the end of the world.

Van Helsing

Both Jonathan and Van Helsing experience a sensation of crossing from one land/reality into a new, much more dangerous one. I love the idea that there is a palpable sense as you begin to enter into Dracula's territory, and it always brings unease though you may attribute it to weather or to scenery.

Then, amongst a chorus of screams from the peasants and a universal crossing of themselves, a calèche, with four horses, drove up behind us, overtook us, and drew up beside the coach. I could see from the flash of our lamps, as the rays fell on them, that the horses were coal-black and splendid animals. They were driven by a tall man, with a long brown beard and a great black hat, which seemed to hide his face from us. I could only see the gleam of a pair of very bright eyes, which seemed red in the lamplight, as he turned to us.

Dracula

Then she woke, bright and radiant and we go on our way and soon reach the Pass. At this time and place, she become all on fire with zeal; some new guiding power be in her manifested, for she point to a road and say:— "This is the way."

Mina

The sudden burst of vigor Mina experiences upon reaching the Pass reminds me a lot of Dracula's dramatic entry there. He appears in a sudden moment, surprising and terrifying the other passengers, and he is full of strength. Mina is dressed all in black and possibly still hiding her face with her veil now as well, but she shares Dracula's "bright eyes", at least later on in the entry, when she watches Van Helsing sleep.

I think I must have fallen asleep and kept dreaming of the incident, for it seemed to be repeated endlessly, and now looking back, it is like a sort of awful nightmare.

Jonathan

Then we go on for long, long hours and hours. At the first, I tell Madam Mina to sleep; she try, and she succeed. She sleep all the time; till at the last, I feel myself to suspicious grow, and attempt to wake her. But she sleep on, and I may not wake her though I try. I do not wish to try too hard lest I harm her; for I know that she have suffer much, and sleep at times be all-in-all to her. I think I drowse myself, for all of sudden I feel guilt, as though I have done something; I find myself bolt up, with the reins in my hand, and the good horses go along jog, jog, just as ever.

Van Helsing

Both Jonathan and Van Helsing felt the long hours of the journey, the same experience seeming to repeat endlessly in a way that makes them feel they must have been sleeping despite their fear and their efforts to stay awake. I don't doubt that they both do fall asleep repeatedly, at least briefly (and this is echoed again for Van Helsing when he tries to keep watch during the night). Mina's deep sleep in this part of the journey also acts as a kind of contrast to Jonathan, especially if you believe that he was supposed to be hypnotized/drugged into sleep and only partially resisted because he was wearing his protective gifts/didn't drink the brandy. Mina here is almost an example of a what-if Jonathan had been fully under Dracula's influence on that journey. Especially since once again her 'sleeping so hard she can't be woken' state reminds me of Jonathan's trance sleep on 3 October.

I found supper already laid out. My host, who stood on one side of the great fireplace, leaning against the stonework, made a graceful wave of his hand to the table, and said: "I pray you, be seated and sup how you please. You will, I trust, excuse me that I do not join you; but I have dined already, and I do not sup."

Dracula

Then when I return to the fire she have my supper ready. I go to help her; but she smile, and tell me that she have eat already—that she was so hungry that she would not wait. I like it not, and I have grave doubts; but I fear to affright her, and so I am silent of it. She help me and I eat alone;

Mina

And another worrying echo of Dracula in Mina. We know the reason Dracula prepared Jonathan's meal and said he already ate was because as a vampire he had no desire to eat human food, and maybe he had in fact already supped on someone's blood. So when Mina does the same thing for Van Helsing here, it feels deeply reminiscent in a way that makes us wonder... did she not want to eat because she is too vampiric, and lie in order not to worry him? Was she telling the truth? Or does she dine the same way Dracula does - perhaps not then but later in the night, when Van Helsing keeps falling asleep to find her watching him with her bright eyes, and wakes in the morning to find her sleeping once again, healthier and redder than before?

He doesn't know. And he's afraid to confront the possibility by asking, for her sake as well as his own.

[jungle-angel]

Under A Blue Hawaiian Moon (Miles Miller x Reader)

Summary: You and Miles are excited to be going on your honeymoon and can't wait for all the things that await you

Warnings: SMUT 18+ rules apply, breeding kink, etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @attapullman @delopsia @callmemana

You and Miles were both nervous and excited as ever to be going on your honeymoon, the memories of your wedding from the night before still fresh in your minds.

You were waiting at the gate for your plane, his father having gone off to grab some food for you, Miles, Kathy and himself before seeing you off. Miles gave your hand a reassuring and excited squeeze, eager to get on the plane and head for Hawaii.

"You excited (y/n)?" he asked.

"More than I've ever been," you chuckled.

Miles pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, his leg twitching with anticipation. Finally, Otis came back with food from one of the restaurants, much to your relief.

"Well, it's not much," he said. "It's the least your mom and I can do for you two."

"Not a problem Dad," Miles answered. "I remember the days back at the hotel when I hardly had a meal."

"And your grandmother would've been horrified had she found out," Otis said, laughing a little. "She'd have you back at the house with a plate full of pot roast, mashed potatoes and her baked carrots waiting for you."

You and Miles both laughed at the thought. Though you had never met Grandma Essie, you still heard all about her crazy stories from Kathy and Otis, wishing with all hope you had been able to meet her.

The four of you ate your mini meals together, watching the planes take off and land. Occasionally you saw a man in uniform stepping off the plane to meet his family, sometimes by himself, other times with a young woman he had met and married overseas. Miles readily recognized an old friend from his army unit coming through the terminal accompanied by his wife, a young Vietnamese girl, and their newborn baby daughter. Miles introduced you and his parents, the young couple staying to talk for a while until their cab came.

"Attention passengers, Pan-Am Flight Eight-Eighty-One to Honolulu Hawaii will now be boarding," the woman at the desk announced.

"That's us," Miles said.

"Alright kiddo, you take care," Otis said, pulling his son in for a hug.

"You too, Dad," Miles replied. "Don't work too hard."

"Hey, telling your father to not work hard is wishful thinking Miles," Kathy chuckled.

"And he's telling that to the idiot who can't sit still for more than five minutes," Otis laughed.

Miles laughed and gave his mother a hug before leading you to the doors to catch the bus to the plane. You both waved goodbye to Otis and Kathy, the anticipation of getting off the ground filling you both from head to toe.

You followed the other passengers up the stairway and into the plane, taking your seats after stowing your suitcases in the overhead. You and Miles closed your eyes and held tightly onto each other's hands as the plane took off down the runway, only leveling out a few minutes later.

“'I thought that Elves were all for moon and stars: but this is more elvish than anything I ever heard tell of. I feel as if I was inside a song, if you take my meaning.' said Samwise” Miles read.

You could've listened to his voice for hours, but you were far too tired. Miles laughed softly as he pulled the blanket over you and tucked you in alongside him. "Get some sleep my sweet pea," he whispered, kissing your temple. "We'll be there in the morning."

You smiled sweetly, taking his hand in yours as you both fell asleep to the hum of the plane. Morning came soon enough with one of the stewardesses waking you and Miles just as the sun was coming up.

"Miles," you whispered. "Miles look!"

Miles peered out the window next to your seats to see a small sliver of land coming into view from below. You both excitedly gasped when you recognized what it was......Hawaii.

**************************

You and Miles could hardly believe how beautiful Hawaii really was until you started exploring the island. You and Miles found all sorts of secluded little beaches and hideaway restaurants in places you wouldn't have expected. You thought you would be staying in the honeymoon suite at a nice hotel, but Miles had other ideas.

The beach cottage was absolute heaven, something you would have seen in a Home And Garden magazine at the grocery store with its big wrap-round lanai and huge banyan trees that gave plenty of shade. Flowers bloomed everywhere in huge bursts of color and in the distance you could see and hear the ocean.

"Oh Miles, this place is beautiful," you gasped.

"Wait till later sweetheart," he said, placing a kiss on your cheek.

You and Miles entered the cool, airy house with its sweeping views of the garden and the beach nearby, the teakwood and rattan furniture giving the place an air of relaxation, something you both desperately needed.

You and Miles stowed your luggage away in the master bedroom and decided to go for a swim in the ocean. You, yourself could hardly take your eyes off of Miles in his tight dark-grey shorts and the gentle swells of his muscles that had come again with the hard work of helping his father run the ranch back in Montana.

You two didn't hesitate to run into the surf, the two of you feeling like children again as the waves rose and fell, carrying you with it, just a little further from the shore. You and Miles bodysurfed your way in and out of the shore, the cool ocean washing the heat from the both of you.

A few of the locals joined you, teaching you both how to surf. You and Miles both fell at least a thousand times before you got back up again, riding the waves until you both grew tired and hungry.

You and Miles went for dinner at a place right on the ocean, your dinner having been caught that morning, grilled with blackening spices and served fresh with a side of steaming white rice and mango and pineapple salsa. When you had both had enough, you and Miles went back to the cottage.

"Mmmm so tired," he hummed.

"C'mere my sweet," you purred.

You kissed him with Miles happily returning the gesture, your hands roaming all over each other and grabbing at the loose little pieces of each other's clothing. Miles deepened it, the salty taste of dinner still on his lips and his tongue as you elicited a moan from his throat.

"Baby," he mumbled under his breath. "My sweet, sweet baby I love you."

You smiled into the kiss, your hand roaming to his neck as your fingertips gently ran down his skin to the buttons on the front of his white shirt. One by one, your nimble fingers undid them, breaking away from the kiss to notice that Miles wasn't wearing a white t-shirt underneath.

Your kissing trailed from his mouth to his neck and all down his chest, parting the white fabric of his shirt just slightly so that you could kiss the little indents in Miles's chest. His moaning was starting to gather that familiar wetness between your legs, even as you pushed his shirt off him.

"Bed....." Miles mumbled. "Bed.....please.....baby.....please lemme lay down......wanna feel you."

You gladly obliged, laying on your back when you were suddenly met with a look from Miles. "No no baby," he said, kissing your cheek. "Want you to ride me."

He rolled over and shifted you so that you were on top of him. He helped you off with your dress and anything else that might have concealed the parts of you that he loved. The last thing to come off were his pants and his shorts, the two of you fully naked in front of each other.

"C'mon sweetheart," Miles said, guiding you down onto his cock. "Don't be scared, you're alright......there we go......good......good girl.....oh look at you.....easy......easy now......"

You gasped a little when you felt him entering you, He was so warm.....and big.....God he was big.

"Miles.....Miles I......"

"Shhhh, it's ok," he said. "You need some help?"

You nodded.

Miles's hands gently gripped your hips, guiding you to make yourself feel more comfortable. "There we go sweetpea......" he said. "That's it.....back and forth.....back and forth......"

A pleasureable moan fell from your lips as he guided you, moving and shifting with your own movements. You both picked up the pace as Miles sat up, your kissing becoming heated, needy and wanting, your hips rocking against each other, desperate for each other's warm friction.

"C'mon baby, harder," Miles panted. "Harder......wanna fill you up so much......give you a honeymoon baby......c'mon baby....."

The filthy things Miles whispered into your ears drove you over the edge, your whimpers, moans and noises growing louder until you both came with each other. Your head came to rest against his shoulder, the explosion of warmth rising into your belly as your heavy breathing had become one.

"You did so good sweetpea," Miles panted. "M'so proud of you."

You giggled as he kissed you. Miles went into the bathroom and turned on the water before he helped you in, filling it with a sweet smelling grapefruit bubble soap.

"Feel better sweetheart?" he asked.

"So much better," you sighed.

The two of you washed each other off in the steaming hot water before crawling back into bed. You both went to sleep with the windows open, listening to the peepers and the ocean waves in the distance, snuggled close together until the morning sun rose again and you awoke side by side with the man you loved.

[millenniumdueled]

The End of the World, Again: part 1

The group of Chosen Duelists and their entourage make their way back through the halls of the temple, out the way they had come.

For a brief moment, the two Yugis confer inside their heart. But they quickly nod in agreement to investigate, and Yugi sprints up to the platform.

He slows his pace, the scale and intricacies of the snakes so much more impressive up close. But something else distracts his observation. In each snake's mouth is each of the rarest Duel Monsters cards to exist, the legendary God Cards.

Yugi's eyes light up, and he feels his Other Self gasp. Quickly, he scoops up the cards, then clutches them tight as he hops down and sprints once again to catch up to the group.

As he does, he finds Joey and Tristan tending to an unconscious Raphael. He feels a bittersweet sigh from his Other Self at the sight. "How did he get here...?"

With Joey and Tristan carrying the much larger man between them, they all finally make their way to the temple's entrance, flooded now with bright, teal light. They all race outside, temporarily blinded by the sudden intensity. As her vision clears, Téa gasps.

Floating far overhead is a mass of land, an island raised into the sky.

"is that--!! atlantis?!" Yugi squeaks. "That has to be where that serpent took Dartz!"

"can our helicopters even make it up there?!" Mokuba wonders in awe, sticking close to his brother's side. "in these winds???"

Yugi glances back over his shoulder at the temple. "that rift was left after the monster ate dartz. i wonder if we could follow it back that way...?"

Seto

Seto gazes up at the island before them, then over to the helicopters, then back to Yugi. "...At the very least, we should put those who have no business trying to kill a God onto the helicopters. This place is collapsing."

He squeezes Mokuba's hand- and is summarily interrupted by the pilot himself.

"Mr. Kaiba! A huge hurricane is headed toward the East coast of the United States! If I may, I suggest you all should leave here as soon as possible!"

Seto huffs. Everyone heard that, at least, from the mic in his lapel. He turns on his heel, back toward the temple, and lets go of Mokuba; unfortunately, without a vested interest in Duel Monsters and no deck at the moment, Mokuba has no business trying to follow him, here.

"You all stay here. I'll handle Dartz, myself."

Mokuba

At first, Mokuba nods along to his brother's suggestion. It isn't until Seto lets go of his hand that he realizes, he's part of the helicopter group. He blinks a few times, then turns as if to follow, only to be stopped by Téa's hand on his shoulder once again.

"I'm coming too--" he starts to say.

"Your brother will be okay. He'll fight better knowing you're safe," she assures him.

Still, he can't help but feel particularly small and useless as he watches him go.

Joey

Joey doesn't need to say a word. He just looks at Tristan, and his friend sighs and nods, taking the full weight of Raphael onto himself. Then he turns to Mokuba.

"Don't you worry, squirt!" he teases. It's funny to him, now, to always call him squirt no matter how tall he gets. "We'll keep an eye on 'em. Right Yug? Us and Critias, Hermos, and Timaeus!"

Mokuba

Mokuba rolls his eyes a little less playfully at Joey's comment, however. "I'm gonna be taller than you pretty soon," he warns. Seeing Tristan struggle under the full weight of the larger man, he does at least see one opportunity to be somewhat useful. He's not as strong as Joey, but he slings one of Raphael's arms over his own shoulder to help get him onto the chopper.

But he does glance back at Yugi and Joey as they go. "...please come back," he mumbles

Yugi

Yugi rolls his eyes at Kaiba's comment, but he has a playful little smile as he turns to follow him back into the temple. He keeps his pace slow, though, hanging back a bit until Joey joins them.

"that's right!!" he pipes up in agreement with his best friend. "as long as we stick together, we can't lose." He raises his voice in emphasis on those two words, letting his voice carry down the echoing halls toward Kaiba up ahead.

Seto

Another frustrated *Huff* is all the reply Yugi or Joey get out of Seto as they jog to catch up with his long strides. He doesn't look back to see if they're following (their footsteps are telling enough) and he doesn't particularly care if they *are.* Though, Joey does make a good point...

"I don't need help from a low-class fool; the only reason you'll be at all useful is that legendary dragon card. If not for that, I would insist on handling this alone." *Backed up with a gun, if necessary,* is only thought of, not spoken.

The Chosen Duelists make their way back through the now-empty temple, rumbling and crumbling around them. The souls have all vanished from the stone cards they were being stored in, leaving the halls eerily silent in feeling; Seto isn't sure if he preferred it when it was sorrowful.

But with Joey and Kaiba setting the pace, they make quick time to the swirling blue portal Dartz disappeared into.

Yugi

Yugi has to trot a little to catch up to Kaiba once Joey's at his side. He's quiet as they walk quickly, letting the two have their bantering. Whether Kaiba means his words or not, at least his inflated insults feel familiar. Somehow, they distract him from the anxiety of the battle they're walking into.

But as they venture deeper back through the temple, his pace slows just a bit. He looks at the walls as they pass, empty now, and his chest feels tight.

"all those tiles are empty now. do you think.... they've been.. um."

"....Mm."

"devoured...?"

There's a pause, but Yugi can feel the way his Other Self flinches.

"...We need to move quickly, Partner."

And so he does. Yugi breaks into a bit of a jog as the conversation inside his heart quiets. He's right at Kaiba's side as they reenter the massive chamber where their last fight had taken place.

Yugi draws a deep breath as he approaches that rift. There's still the chance he's wrong. That this portal leads directly into the Leviathan's mighty maw instead of a battlefield. But they came all this way, the Duelists couldn't turn back now.

"ready guys?" Yugi asks his friends.

But the response he gets, the sound of Dartz's laughter echoing from the portal, sends a chill down his spine.

Yugi glances at his allies, wraps a fist around the chain of the Millennium Puzzle, and disappears into the teal light.

(( credit to @redeyesandchilifries and @blueeyesking for their rp parts !!!!! ))

[arrowflier]

hi arrow! for your speedwriting, if you vibe with the prompt: gallavich go to fright fest together for the first time 👻 (them experiencing the decorations/scary street actors specifically would be amazing i think)

Thank you Ray!

"So?" Ian asks, walking backward with arms spread wide to either side. "What do you think?"

"I think it was crazy to spend sixty bucks a pop is what I think," Mickey retorts. "What's wrong with sneakin' in?"

Ian's arms drop, and though he would refuse to admit it, he pouts.

"If I hadn't gone through the line for tickets," he says, "I wouldn't have been able to tell the ticketer that it was my husband's first time here." He raises a brow, and adds, "and she wouldn't have comped that fast-pass upgrade."

Mickey's ears feel warm, the way they always do when Ian flaunts their still-new titles.

"I guess the decorations are cool," he gives in, and the beam Ian graces him with is worth it.

"Just wait 'til you try my favorite ride! It's across the park, but it's worth the walk!"

Ian is practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on his heels. Every time he bounces up, his head aligns with some creepy clown guy standing behind him, making it look like he's the one wearing the awful red wig.

Mickey chokes back a laugh, and gestures with one arm.

"Lead on.""

-

Ian wasn't lying--they really are crossing the entire damn park. They pass half a dozen rollercoasters, a haunted mansion, some ride where you get to shoot stuff with lasers--Mickey is definitely coming back to that one--all glowing an eerie reddish-orange against the darkening sky.

The crowds thin a little as they go, too, shifting from kids and parents to edgy teenagers and a handful of other couples. The noise dissipates as they leave the main area, and so do the lights. The actors are gone, and the regular attendants. They're just walking through a darkened theme park in the middle of the night, the pavement growing cold beneath them.

Somewhere behind them a child shrieks, and laughter follows. The echoes are tinged with a malice that makes Mickey's shoulders hunch under his jacket, makes him draw it tight against the night wind.

"Somebody's having fun," Ian comments, but Mickey isn't so sure.

There's more laughter. Closer this time, louder.

"Hurry up man," Mickey says, and picks up his own pace. "I wanna get there before dawn."

He wants to get somewhere, at least. Somewhere with lights again, and people. Where he doesn't hear his own footsteps echo and feel the need to look back over his shoulder as harsh laughter closes in behind him.

In his haste, though, he's only made it worse. Because the next corner they turn leads into a tall tunnel of metal and piled brush, and suddenly they're completely alone.

"So, uh, how much farther we going?" Mickey asks, and walks as close next to Ian as he can. There's not much light in the tunnel, just a few colored bulbs and the little moonlight that makes it through overhead, but he's close enough to feel Ian shrug.

"Think we're almost there."

Mickey stops.

"You think?" he asks. There's a weird feeling climbing up his back, up his neck. "Or you know?"

"I mean, I'm pretty sure." Ian stops too, turns back to him. "Why? Something wrong?"

And no, nothing's wrong. But also, yes.

"Damn it Ian," he hisses, eyes closing as he runs a hand through his hair. "Can't believe I let you talk me into this."

Ian taps his shoulder, but Mickey shrugs it off.

"I thought we were gonna go on rides, maybe shoot somethin', scare a few kids," he goes on. "Not wander around in the dark, probably halfway out of the park, with no fucking clue where we are!"

"Mickey," Ian says quietly, and taps his shoulder again.

"Don't Mickey me!" His breath is coming fast, and he pinches the top of his nose. Breathes through his mouth instead. "I need to--"

One more tap on his shoulder, and he drops his hand, spins around and shoves.

"Mickey!" Ian shouts, and Mickey wants to push him again, needs to push past and out of this dead-end tunnel and out of this goddamned park and--

And Ian had said that from behind him. Which means...

Mickey opens his eyes, and stares in startled red. Red from colored contacts, which go with the kid's plastic fangs and black cape. Red that's surrounded on all sides by white, eyelids stretched in shock.

"Um," Mickey says, feeling both a lot more settled and a lot more embarrassed by how much the night had gotten to him. "Sorry?"

The kid just blinks at him. Behind, Ian laughs. And instead of echoing with malice, it lights up the tunnel like the sun.

“Sorry kid,” Mickey repeats. Ian is still laughing when he turns and takes his hand. “Shut up,” Mickey orders, swallowing the giggle that lightens his own chest, “and let’s go find your coaster.”

[ripgray-moved]

Peter's Room ;

I'm not so much gonna talk about symbolism ( yes, I understand thematically why the telescope is covered, yada yada yada, etc ) but instead his interests and stuff he likes/his habits as a character so that I can get a better understanding of him as a person. Under a read more 'cause I feel this is gonna get long!

Firstly, he's a bit of a messy dude, but the mess is all superficial and is not dirt. It's clutter. There's no leftover food or grime. Clothes he hasn't bothered to put in the laundry basket; jackets hung haphazardly around the room rather than hanging them up in the closet; his work spaces being chaotic; his bed sheets being disorganised. That kind of thing.

He also has a lot of lamps dotted around the room as opposed to one overhead light. I'm not actually sure what this is meant to suggest. Perhaps he just prefers the ambience of lamps lmao. Nevertheless, I find it interesting that it's so apparent in most shots.

He also has a LOT of spare blankets on his bed! I've counted up to three at a time in one shot, though the entirety of his bed is not visible so there could even be a couple more. I could absolutely be reading into this too deep, but to me, it seems they're trying to convey the theme of regression, which Peter goes through while dealing with his PTSD from Charlie's death ( his other ""childish"" behaviours include crying and, in the scene where Joan attempts to 'expel him' from his body, drinking milk, which is often associated with babies ). Could also be hinting at the fact that a lot of Peter's sense of comfort comes from external sources. He can't rely on his family to make him feel safe, the same way he can't rely on himself to open up and be honest about the way he's feeling in order to attain the understanding/empathy that he seeks.

                              And now onto specific items I can find:

Telescope: Points to an interest in astronomy, or at the very least things like constellations. This could also be why he sleeps with the curtains open. There is of course the explanation that it's to keep an eye on Charlie from his bedroom but I honestly don't think so. In several shots, Peter is shown to be able to see the treehouse fine from his bed, nevermind his window; he has no real need for a lens. His jacket being hung over it could mean it was a past hobby, but I honestly don't think so as in the scene where he's smoking in his room, the telescope is out and directed at the window.

Sport: There's a basketball hoop hooked onto his door and a pair of dartboards beneath it. I could be wrong about this as the picture isn't particularly clear, but there also appear to be baseball caps hung up a little ways away from his bed, almost like collectibles. Granted, the former items look like things you'd get when you're a child, plastic and small, but he's a young man now and still held onto them— probably because they reflect his interests despite him outgrowing the toys themselves.

Record player: Peter appears to have an appreciation for music, considering records aren't really from his 'time'. Like I know vinyl is still a thing and whatnot but it's commonly associated with hipsters and people trying hard to be cool. However, the next thing I'm gonna talk about suggests that he really does just care about music/the quality of what he's listening to because...

Musical instruments/apparatus: Peter has several music related things in his bedroom. For starters, there's the keyboard propped up against his wardrobe. It's also revealed in the scene where his dad says goodnight to him that he also owns a guitar. There's also what appears to be an amp tucked under the table there. This goes in line with my whole 'he becomes a live performer in the future'. And what look like speakers too. Seems he's very music focused as an individual. It's also worth noting that if you look at the first two screenshots provided as reference for Peter's room, the keyboard is in a different position; the second is on the night whereas the first is in the morning, meaning he used it that day. It's an active interest and something he, presumably, finds fun.

TV: Quick little thing that the script makes note of the fact that Peter is watching 'an old cartoon'. This makes me think that he likes animated stuff and gravitates towards that style of media. Not that he doesn't like live action at all, but he definitely seems more drawn to art, given the kind of hobbies he has.

Desk: Given the state of his desk, it's safe to assume he actually does study. Not only is it covered in books, folders and papers, he has an up-to-date corkboard and uses post-it notes to set himself school-related reminders. Also, in the zoom in of his computer, though he's looking at Bridget's pictures in the foreground, he's also reading up on careers in another tab. Alex himself also described Peter as someone who 'smokes so much weed in order to stabilise himself enough to do what he needs to do', going on to say that what he felt he needed to do was get out of his traumatic household. This shows his commitment to doing that, even if he's also grappling with addiction and trauma.

Books: Peter seems to own books that have nothing to do with schoolwork, hinting that he likes to read outside of that. He has a few in the underneath-shelf of his bedside table, and a lot packed in the cabinet on the opposite end of his room ( we never get a clear shot of this like we do Charlie's, unfortunately, so I can't really see what any of them are specifically save for the ones on his desk, which I'm sure are more to do with school ).

[knownangels]

waves

wc: 2k

He could wait until after his scheduled rounds to visit the chapel – church? He could never remember which – but he’s always keen to get out of emergency drills. Haven’t changed much in the months they’ve been under. And, usually alone whilst peak paranoia, Maran has begun to wonder at their effectiveness entirely.

Fire safety and evacuation maps and lessons of psychologically soothing those under duress. Maran still remembers the security team’s guest lecture on that from Dr. Rhoades; he’d had strange goosebumps on the back of his neck entire time. Her soft, lilting, academic tone reciting horrid details about hallucinatory symptoms of madness had been confusing, to say the very least. But also kind of –

Maran shakes his head. Drifting, again. Always fucking drifting.

He’s here to check on the priest, which he figures is a task not yet doled out on the facility rotating task chart. There’s been a string of nasty things – that creature Ben talked about, the readings from the radio lab, the chatter about new thermal vents opening and sediment resettling and quakes miles out and then – then –

His imagination offers a massive wave, crashing towards him, water so black it’s solid.

He squeezes his eyes shut. He takes a steadying breath.

Then he knocks twice on the hydraulic door. Someone has covered it with a sheet of patterned adhesive; the dark faux wood is stark against the rest of the base’s cool brushed metal walls and floors.

It can't wait until after rounds.

*

He isn’t sure how long he sits patiently in a pew. The room is eerie and empty this late, but then again it would be eerie in the middle of day. There’s no amount of tweaking the warmth settings on the overhead lighting that will ever fool the effect of sunlight through windows. Maran misses it like nothing else, how it would spill through the curtain cracks in his room back home, light up a spot in the kitchen while his mum cooked.

A door opens across the chapel. Maran jumps, palms slapping onto the seat.

“Oh, fuck. You scared me.”

Xavier meanders down the middle aisle. He isn’t dressed down yet, still in his dark robes (there’s another word for those, it escapes him) and neck draped in a shiny crucifix. Maran wants to ask if the outfit’s required. If it’s a suggestion, or a uniform. He’s seen priests (pastors?) older than Xavier wear jeans, polos, sandals, trainers.

“Watch it. No swearing in the house of god.”

Maran holds his hands up. “Apologies.”

“I’m just joking.” Xavier says with a warm, beneficent smile. It doesn’t quite pull high enough at the edges for Maran’s liking. “You alright?”

“Could ask you the same.” Maran gestures uselessly. “S’why I came.”

“I don’t know what you mean?”

Maran shuts his eyes briefly, sees that wave, hears the hiss of the hydraulic doors on base opening, closing. He turns to glance up at Xavier, towering above him still in the aisle.

“My mum’s rabbi always used to say he heard God in everything.” Maran says mildly. His eyes skate nonsense patterns on the ceiling. Not a rivet out of place, no cracks, no groans of sheet metal as they separated and burst at the seams. “Heard, saw, felt. Everything. I can never wrap my head around the fact he was probably bein’ literal. Just can’t get this image of God as some old man out of my head. Can’t see an old man in a sunrise, y’know?”

Beside him, the gloomy priest offers only a soft hm.

“Know a bunch o’preachers are always going on about that, too. Those toupee fucks askin’ for money. They hear God, so give ‘em a fiver, there’s a lad, be sure to send along your message thanks!”

Maran swallows heavily. His raised fist drops into his lap.

Xavier says nothing.

“Sorry.” Maran blurts. “I didn’t mean – I don’t want to insult you, wasn’t going about it like that –”

The priest waves a hand between them. A slow backwards scoop: make room. Maran does.

They haven’t met like this. Maran only runs into him in the food line, in the fitness room, and once on a late weeknight standing sullenly in one of the green spaces, sharp pale chin tilted up to the projected dome sky.

They haven’t met like this – it makes him more nervous than the expression he’d seen, that night. He feels something more intense than out of place, and a little bubble of shame makes him snap his comfortably spread knees back together. He was only allowed to be comfortable in places he belonged.

“I was just – chattin’ circles, really. Because I’ve been thinking about it.”

“It.”

“Come on.” Maran says, tilting his head to indicate to Xavier that he is not buying it. “The big D, the big it. Priests are supposed to get it more than the average bastard. But I heard that you... Tanaka said –” He pauses. “I hope the investigation team didn’t give you much shit.”

Xavier sighs and winds his fingers together in what strikes Maran as an incredibly exhausted gesture. “Tanaka said what?”

Maran swallows. He assesses Xavier, silent, for a moment. He doesn’t feel entirely successful when he’s done.

“Tanaka said you were the last one to speak to her.”

Her.

One of the techs. Bright, nice, youthfully pretty in a way that wasn’t Maran’s particularly type, but drew him like a moth regardless. They hadn’t spoken for some time, not since he’d started switching shifts. Then suddenly, she’d had some sort of breakdown the week prior, screaming her head off and tearing chunks of hair in the mess. Talking nonsense, real scary see-stuff shit. And the entire base had been awoken the next evening: red strobes melting shadow and shape into the dark recesses of the facility, sirens wailing like she had.

The post by exit East A1 had been Maran’s, originally. He’d traded it for the lab, and then it had been traded by that person, and then someone had lost track of their hours and no one was posted. If someone had been (if Maran had been), they would have been able to prevent that sleepless tech from stepping into the pressure chamber, overriding the emergency failsafe protocol, and –

Doing whatever humans do, physically, when faced with millions of square tonnes of pressure. He imagines the wave.

Maran shudders.

“That last one to speak to her.” Xavier repeats, unaware of Maran’s drifting or kind enough to ignore it. Or distracted; he almost sounds like he’s musing over the words. “I guess, yeah. You know, I thought it was strange that I got a visit from investigation that morning. I talk to so many people – and I slept late, I never do except that morning. So I hadn’t heard the news. And you know.”

Xavier laughs. It’s a chilling, base sound.

“You know, when they told me her name, I had to think for a second. It was just the last night. But I talk to so many people. I hear so many people out, try and make it a bit better –” In his lap, his fingers squeeze tight. “Not enough, sometimes.”

“Days since last incident.” Maran draws a morbid circle in the air. “Part of life down here. That’s what I was askin’ – you know. Think he’s down here? Would the rabbi see ‘em? It makes me wonder what happens when you –”

Xavier shakes his head. He’s looking off into some corner of the chapel, eyes dull and unfocused.

“No.” He says. “Priests being joyous mouthpieces for the almighty message, pft. Receiving visions. Being blessed. No. I know what you’re talking about. ”He tilts to look at Maran, then. “I never have.”

Maran stares back. Then he whistles low and long. “Fuckin’ hell. Benji weren’t kiddin’. Catholics – you lot love suffering.”

For a moment, Maran wonders if he’s overstepped again. Offended. Crossed a line that he always feels these occasional chats with Xavier toed; he imagined the other man knew some of the questions and curiosities Maran had, and was withholding. They probably weren’t anything new. People had probably asked those questions to each other for centuries, smarter people than him.

Thanks for indulging me. Maran thinks hard at him, because he’s too shy to say it.

And it must work somehow, that urged thought. Because shockingly, the priest snorts.

“We’re kind of famous for it. And complaining.”

“Us too.” Maran says cheerfully.

*

They talk for a bit more until Maran slips he knows about the wine. To his shock, it doesn’t take much goading for Xavier to retrieve it. And by the time that carafe has drained down to half, they’re leaning each other for balance. The room (chapel?) is swaying, after all.

“Suffering and sinful stuff.”

“What?” Xavier asks, voice slow and sloshy.

Maran tilts his chin to the ceiling. It squishes his sore neck to the carved part of the pew backrest, and he winces.

“I mean.” He glances at Xavier. “Sinful. Catholics. You lot made those confessionals booths naughty on purpose, right? Like, they’re meant to be sexy?” A little swell of guilt for making fun, but Maran’s snort overrides the soft wash of it. Xavier will know a joke when he hears one.

Maran presses: “No way nobody wasn’t horny durin’ that particular decision.”

The priest doesn’t turn to look at him. Instead, Xavier’s face stays primly forward, lightly and sweetly expressionless; not cruel, just professional. Maran always gets the impression that Xavier’s head operates ages older than the rest of him.

But his cheeks start to flame.

“Hi. Welcome back to WatchMojo. Here’s our list of top ten things you should never say again, please god.”

Xavier does that intriguing motion he’d always seen Fiadh’s family do. Father Son Holy Spirit. Maran can never remember which order it went.

“Please him?” Maran leans over to nudge their shoulders together. “I hardly know him!”

Xavier breaks immediately. He doesn’t particularly like thinking of the fact they’re enclosed by the ocean on all sides. But when Xavier laughs…

It’s so sweet and boisterous a sound, he imagines shockwaves coming off it. Waves. Maran imagines he fish outside scattering, panicked and cartoonish. The laugh burrows into him a little too; everyone’s so serious, everyone’s always sticking to schedule, everyone’s always grim-faced ashen with stress, everyone’s always so fucking sad and scared and hopeless.

Maran leans into the sound and Xavier. He’s smiling, lips split wide. The kind of grin he knows will make his cheeks sore if it sticks around as long as it feels like it might. He wants more of that laugh, more of that hope.

We’ll be fine, mate, right? This means we’ll be fine. It feels nice to forget a second, doesn’t it?

“Does it count if I’m sacrilegious?” He glances sideways at the massive metal cross welded to the back wall (that seems more structurally integral to the tiny room, and less holy). Maran kisses his fist and holds it up. “Hey, mate -- we’re cool yeah? M’close ‘nough not to get struck down, Catholic God?”

“Catholic god!” Xavier wheezes. He’s tossed forward with the weight of those laughs, sounding right from the stomach; his hand on Maran’s shoulder is only a fraction of that sound’s warmth.

“Man.” Maran says into the vast chapel – church? – after they’ve quieted enough for the walls to start singing back their laughter. “Man, the old internet was good.”

“WatchMojo!” Xavier emphasizes between hiccupy, breathless giggles. He’s still trying to control himself. “Oh, fuck. I miss YouTube.”

“Worst part of the world nearly about to end.” Maran says. He shakes his head mournfully. “My playlists.”

Xavier kicks off again – Maran is not totally sure what’s particularly funny about that. He really does miss those playlists. But he won’t point out the total lack of humor. Xavier seems to have needed the laugh as much as Maran needed to hear it.

Yeah, mate. He thinks, watching Xavier dab at the corners of his eyes with black fabric. Yeah, I reckon we’ll be fine.

“Like your sash.”

Xavier turns and deer-blinks at him, mouth slightly open. Then his eyes squint violently shut and he tips back and kicks his legs so hard the pew in front of them rattles. He laughs and laughs, heaves of it for the nicest few seconds. And when he can catch his breath – not well, but enough to speak – he’s still out of sorts.

“It’s called a fascia,” Xavier insists.

Maran’s face scrunches. “Thought those were the bellends?”

[octopiys]

Awake My Soul

Sergeant Gary "Roach" Sanderson's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, and the time that his Captain, John "Soap" MacTavish makes up for it. Or, how Soap realizes the truth behind Roach's call sign. That bitch can survive anything. (For @forest-of-shrooms )

(Also on ao3)

4.3k, part 1/2

next

(Cw: cursing, violence, blood, wounds)

[Part 2 will be pure fluff I swear]

Rio de Janeiro

Brazil

"We're sorry, all lines are busy at the moment." Said the cool, automatic voice of the unreceiving receiver. "Please hang up your call, and try again later."

"I can't get anyone on the horn..." Lieutenant Ghost Riley was pacing angrily as he ended the call and dialed again.

Captain Soap Mactavish was standing cross armed by the recently crushed vehicle that he and Rojas had taken as a cushion for their fall. Sergeant Roach Sanderson was currently tying the already stunned man to the chain link fence, kicking his red baseball cap to the side.

"The Russians must've copied the ACS module. Got the key to every lock in America." Soap muttered, flashing Roach a look. It seemed like he was their representative American again.

"And they're killin' a thousand Americans for every dead civilian in Moscow. Looks like we're all outta friends...." Ghost chucked his phone, landing with a clang. It was only good for that number, and now it too was gone. The other two glanced at him, and he rolled his eyes, begrudgingly heading to go pick it back up.

The Captain turned to Roach suddenly, and he felt like looking away under the intensity of his gaze. "I know a guy. Let's try an' find a payphone... if those still exist."

Roach scoffed a laugh as the Lieutenant returned, disposable phone in hand.

They didn't get much out of Rojas, despite their... session for information, other than one thing. There's only one person that Makarov hates worse than Americans, and he's locked up in a gulag far, far away from there.

But now, they just needed to get out of Rio.

There were a few shouts and some gunshots, far off, but rapidly approaching their location. Ghost looked around, spotting something before stepping in closer to them. Roach readied his gun.

"Sir, the militia's closin' in. Almost a hundred of 'em, front and back!"

Soap looked between the two of his men with a sharp nod. "We're gonna have ta fight our way to the LZ! Let's go!"

"What about Rojas?" Ghost didn't slow his step in the least concern.

"The streets'll take care of 'im." Soap spat before picking up the pace.

Roach lagged behind, taking a long look at the man, still chained to the fence. He let out a muffled groan, and a thought crossed his mind. If he shot Rojas now, it would be a mercy killing.

He didn't deserve mercy.

"Roach, c'mon!" Soap's thick scottish voice urged him, and he retreated, leaving Rojas alive. "Nikolai! We're at the top of the favela surrounded by militia! Bring the chopper to the market, do you copy? Over!"

They pushed through and off to the side dirt path, cutting through high ferns and short trees. There was a watchtower of some sort at the top of the hill where Ghost and Soap couldn't afford to wait for him, so he moved faster.

"Okay my friend, I am on the way!" Nikolai's voice jumped over their radios.

He caught up in no time, long legs crossing two of the Captain's one stride. A light nudge on his shoulder and Roach tried to hide his sly grin.

A plane flew overhead, it's engine obscenely loud. He could see the airport from the top of the hill, where other vehicles seemed to plan on taking off. He wondered where Nikolai's chopper was.

"Everyone get ready! Lock and load!" Captain Mactavish warned, and suddenly Roach had a feeling in his gut that told him that the mission wouldn't end the way they wanted it to. He pushed it away, and adjusted his weapon nervously. Soap caught his eye and lifted his head slightly in acknowledgement. And encouragement. Roach felt his face heat red, and he was suddenly thankful for the gaiter that covered half his face.

Really, a crush on your higher up, as childish as it seemed, usually meant no good for anyone. He wasn't sure if it was admiration, or puppy love, or just.... He didnt know. It had to be unrequited no matter what, even if it wasn't. It wasn't law, but it wasn't allowed. Mactavish could easily lose his position for insubordination, and everything that Roach had worked for the past five years would be gone quicker than he could confess.

So he chose not to. Wise, that choice was.

"Let's do this!" Ghost's sharp British accent snapped him out of his thoughts that he couldn't afford to lose himself in, and they ran the rest of the way to the top of the favela.

Immediately, they were met with gunfire from the local militia. Both Ghost and Soap were barking out commands over each other, letting him know when and where the enemies were. He tried his best to listen, truly, but it was a little hard between the ringing in his ears, the bullets whizzing past him, and the pure adrenaline of trying not to get killed.

"Head through the gate to get to the market— Roach, move!" Captain MacTavish barked, grabbing him by the back of the vest and wrenching him to the ground just before a sniper's bullet exploded the ground where he had just been standing.

Eyes wide, he looked at the Captain with a silent thank you, and the man pulled him back up. "On yer feet soldier! Ye solid?" He asked, checking him over at an almost frantic pace. A few strands of hair fell loose from his gelled mohawk, already messy in the heat of the South Americas.

Roach nodded quickly. "I'm good, let's move!"

"Captain, we've got more moving in from the south!" Ghost shouted, and the two started running for it. Their gear was hot and heavy, but Roach was glad for the shoes as they slipped on the broken tiles between a few houses.

Someone fired from the roofs above them, and Roach countered that, jumping over the body as it fell into his path. He slid behind a solid guard rail for cover, reloading his weapon. He peeked over the railing to fire at an approaching enemy, and he dropped quicker than a sack of potatoes. He aimed again, quickly searching the square, and shot someone else in the neck, as he crouched behind an old broken down vehicle. Someone approached his six from behind and he whirled around to fire but it was just Soap, covering his back.

Tires squealed as a turretted truck flew into the square.

"Shit! Captain, ten o'clock!" Gary shouted, slinging his main weapon over his shoulder, and lobbing a grenade at the vehicle. He watched as both the man's eyes widened in surprise, his mouth forming the shape of an 'o' and they ran for it. They didn't have the supplies or the armor to properly defend themselves from weaponry like that. The only thing that could take it down was- "Lieutenant! Throw a grenade into the truck, we can't hit it from here!" Roach shouted into his microphone.

"Rog!" Ghost copied, his voice sounding crackly over the radio, like a raging fire roaring from dying embers.

While he was working on that, Roach and Soap worked in a deadly tandem under the cover of bricks and dust and ruin, taking out the hostiles and trying to not disturb the innocents.

A loud explosion rocked the earth beneath their feet, telling them the truck had been taken care of.

"One and done!" They heard the Lieutenant shout before whatever else he said was drowned out by the commercial plane flying overhead.

Roach pushed around for the guardrail and fencing to advance and catch up to Ghost, before he was knocked square on his back from a bullet that made impact dead center of his chest.

"-ch! Roach! Roach, look at me, aye!" MacTavish was shouting over him as he struggled to breath when he came back to. He fired multiple rounds into the chest of his attacker, a look with something darker than pure rage written deep into the lines of his face. "Just got ye in the plate, Roach, breathe, cmon!"

The fear in his Captain's voice was what scared him the most, as he tried to clear the ringing in his head and the struggling wheezes that clawed their way up his throat as he tried to remember how to breathe. The bullet knocked the wind straight out of him, but luckily it only hit his body armor. He shuddered a gasp, as Soap dragged him to a back alley. Ghost's voice was tinny from the earpiece that had fallen to his shoulder and with shaking hands, he tried to put it back in.

"Attaboy, Sergeant, yer alright, yer alright-" MacTavish murmured to him, doing another once over. "He's good, Riley, just got a bitta the wind gone-"

"Christ-" Roach breathed pulling his gun back around his shoulder as Soap gave him a reassuring pat on the back, his hand lingering a second longer than it should have. Oh, he was hopeless. "That's gonna hurt like- a bitch in the mornin'..."

"Cmon, get to the gate! Keep pushin' to the evac point!" Mactavish shouted into his radio for Ghost to hear as he and Roach made their way forward, taking out enemies as they went.

And they ran.

Roach made his way through the gate, sliding down the slick road that bordered the fence, blocking any escape to the rocky seaside hill. Ghost was right. They did seem to have the entire Brazilian militia on their asses, and they weren't gonna go down without a fight. As more hostiles flooded the streets, Roach took cover in an open building that probably used to be a house, but didn't look like much of anything anymore. Soap and Ghost must've taken a different way, because he soon lost track of the Captain's voice, and the Lieutenant's aura of constant frustration. He went out an open window finding his way onto a flat roof that connected to the lower balcony of a separate house and made his way back down, quickly reloading his gun as he went. Just in time too, as he turned the corner, militia flooded the alley, catching him off guard, so he whirled back around and ran down a separate path.

He regrouped with the other two, Ghost being supported by the Captain. His leg was held in an odd way, and Soap filled him in with a single glance. The Lieutenant had been hit in the thigh, making doing much of anything hurt, and his adrenaline hadn't even kicked in yet. Roach was sure he had a stim somewhere, but they didn't have enough time to find it. The red black of blood told him they needed to hurry.

"Twenty on me, cap'n! We gotta move!" He took up Ghost's other shoulder and quickly began helping them along, using his gun to eliminate any threats, and MacTavish got the ones he missed.

They turned a corner and Roach got body checked with a gun, worsening the ringing in his ears as he tried to regain his footing. He watched one of Ghost's many knives bury itself in the attackers throat and he went down in a spray of blood.

"Thanks Lieutenant-" He breathed and Ghost gave him a slightly-less-than sharp nod, face hidden behind his painted skull mask and orange lensed sunglasses.

Bullets struck the dust at their feet as they made their way through the town, finally reaching the markets as another car exploded, radiating waves of heat and shrapnel out their way.

A part of Roach felt bad as he took up both arms to fire through the market. Things from people's lives that supported them toppled to the ground, or were lit aflame, and just like that, it was gone. Ghost sent him forward to scout out the area, and Roach tossed him his pack.

"Should be a stim and some bandages in there, I'll radio you when I get to the other side!" He shouted, leaving once Ghost had been secured behind a sturdy looking wall.

Ghost thanked him with a, "Tangoes coming outta that shack, 11 o'clock!"

And Roach ran.

He passed through a small stall with a large Brazilian flag draped across the back wall, using his automatic to take out his enemies and ignoring the blood staining his boots.

A few bullets dusted the ground by his feet and he whirled around, ducking for cover. His hand flew to his radio, a bullet went through his shoulder. "Sniper! Sniper on the-" He roared before being interrupted by the Captain.

"Roach, that shed's loaded with-!" Came Soap's voice as he turned into another hut, tripping on some wire in the floor, and he heard the hissing of a trigger blow as his feet moved too slow to escape the wrath of the rigged explosion.

He'd always found a sick sense of admiration in fire and explosions, even as a child. During family bonfires, he'd make up stories from what he'd seen in the flames, tall graceful dancers, giant, earth consuming waves, and plenty of other things. He was a great storyteller, and his secret passion is originally what brought him so close to his captain, an expert in demolitions. The man knew what he was doing, in and out of the battlefield.

In between missions, he had been caught handcrafting explosives with an enthusiastic glint in his eye for missions to come. During said missions, he'd spend his time lodging those explosives, and watching each one go out with a bang. MacTavish never got to talk about them, much, but one day Roach asked. He spoke for hours about each little intricate detail, and the younger Sergeant listened.

He'd listen for eternity if given the chance.

Perhaps that was the moment that Roach truly fell in love with Captain John MacTavish.

Sanderson wasn't sure when he opened his eyes again. All he knew was that his day sucked, it wasn't improving much, and his shoulder hurt like a motherfucker.

He was laying on his side behind a mound of sandbags that seemed to have protected him from the worst, and the air smelt of acred smoke and coppery blood. There were a few cages sitting atop the sand bags, the small bodies of dead birds killed in the fight laying limp on the bottom.

It was strangely symbolic.

Caged birds. No way out, struck dead where they once flew.

"-erson! Gary!" Captain MacTavish shouted with such a force that suddenly snapped the world right back up again. "Do ye copy, Sergeant!?"

"Copy-" Hs coughed the dust and blood away from his lungs, thinking that he was bound to have tinnitus after this. "I copy... Shed was rigged to blow- you get that sniper...?"

"Roach, come in mate! What's your status?" He heard Ghost bark, and he lifted his hand to his radio to respond again before his microphone came away in pieces in his hand.

Both he and it was covered in blood, and the sudden burning ache in his shoulder hit him like a wall as he remembered he'd been shot. The bullet must've gone clean through his radio and lodged in his shoulder somewhere, and he didn't have the strength in him to look at the wound, much less dig the bullet out. He had losses his big boy gun somewhere in the explosion, but still had his pistol on him, so he pulled that instead.

As he clambered back to his feet, he saw his higher upside fighting their way through the market under the cover of bloodlust and smoke. The explosion must've leveled a few other stalls it seemed as flames rolled tall into the air.

The loud whup-whupping of a large helicopter overhead drew everyone's eyes to the sky.

"That's Nikolai's Pave Low!" Soap shouted, being the first to snap out of the trance. "Roach, if ye copy, let's go! Regroup at the evac point! Nikolai, ETA twenty seconds! Be ready for immediate dust off!"

"That ma- --- be f-st enough! -- more militia clos--- in on th- market!" Roach's radio was dying, he was sure of it, as he stumbled the rest of the way through the market. His throat was clogged and run ragged from the smoke and dust that mixed dangerously into the air, his torn gaiter doing nothing to help filter the air.

He pushed through a building, momentarily losing sights of his teammates, but they reappeared as he exited on the other side of the open courtyard across from him.

The Captain's face quickly shifted to an expression of pure relief as Nikolai flew in above them. He opened his mouth to speak, but Nikolai spoke for them.

"It's too hot! We will not survive this landing!" The pilot's voice sounded severely strained, and if to prove his point, an rpg sailed overhead and collided with a building behind them.

"Nikolai, wave off, wave off! We'll meet you at the secondary LZ instead! Go!" MacTavish commanded, looking even more stressed from before. Roach quickly found his way back over to them as Nikolai lifted back into the air.

"How... are you holdin' up?" Roach rasped to Ghost, who was starting to look a little green around the gills.

"Talkin' bout yourself, Sergeant? I'll be fine." Ghost grumbled, tying off a tourniquet on his leg before bullets began flying through the square again.

"Let's get you up then, come on!" Roach pulled the man to his feet as Soap was yelling something through his radio. "Mine's busted-" He breathed. "Can hear, can't talk."

Ghost hummed a response, his eyes just barely visible behind his cracked orange lenses.

"Come on! We've gotta get to the rooftops, this way!" MacTavish shouted, shooting down someone who dared to follow them.

He hoisted Ghost up a container, and leapt up, grabbing hold of the Captain's extended hand and pulled himself up. Roach gave him a nod of thanks as Nikolai flew overhead.

"My friend, from up here it looks like the who village is trying to kill you!" Radioed Nikolai, so ever helpful.

"Tell me something I don't know! Just get ready to pick us up!" MacTavish shouted, leading both Ghost and Roach to visibly wince at the sudden loudness in their ears.

They were running as fast as they could make it across tin and aluminum rooftops, parts of it shoddily connected with sizable gaps. He helped run Ghost around a hanging of clothing before the Lieutenant shouts, "We're runnin' outta rooftop!"

Roach's foot caught on an outcropping in the roof and the two stumbled but kept pushing forward. He could see the Christ statue on the mountain ahead of them, arms stretched out like he was protecting them from harm.

Roach knew better.

"We can make it!" The Captain countered back. "Go go go!"

They were rapidly approaching a ten foot drop, a gap in two roofs. Ghost's face was dead set determined. Soap disappeared over the side, and he knew what needed to happen.

The Lieutenant leapt second, putting more strain on his bad leg than he needed to, falling more gracefully than he would've thought over the edge.

Then came Roach's turn. He took a couple steps back, and then a running start. He launched himself into the air, hitting feet first, thinking he got off spot free.

Now of course, not even that could go right either, could it?

He hit the roof hard, the edge collapsing with the very little support underneath it, and he threw himself forward, scrabbling at the side. His glove got the sharp side of the tin roof, his shoulder screaming at the sudden strenuous activity on his wound. He cried out, feet hanging in the empty thirty feet of air.

Then appeared the Captain, oh Captain, his Captain, to save the day and reached out just as the roof fell. A split second too late, and Roach went tumbling down backwards with it.

"ROACH!" MacTavish roared, doubling over the side with his hand outstretched.

Sanderson hit the ground, and everything went black.

Roach really didn't want to die. Sure, some missions were shit, but this one was really taking the cake.

First came Rojas' very little amount of information.

Second, the bullet to his vest.

Third, Ghost's leg.

Fourth, the actual bullet to the shoulder, fifth, the explosion and the probable tinnitus.

Last and finally, this. Was he dead? He wasn't sure. He most certainly didn't want to be, if he had any say in it. Dying hurt a lot, or so he was told.

Someone was calling his name.

Was it God? He didn't believe in God. If it was Him, then he was most certainly fucked.

"Roach, Roach! Wake up!"

His eyes opened, blurrily. The world was spinning, and he was shaking, and he was most certainly not dead. Death hurt, he was told, but not this much.

He felt as he turned his head, his vision swimming horribly like it was trying to catch up with his eyes, and oh, the wretched ringing was back in his ears.

His goggles were gone, he processed somewhere, and his helmet too. Where was he? Why was it so hot?

"Roach!! We can see them from the chopper! They're coming for you, dozens of em!" Ghost shouted loud in his ear, and he noticed a group of shadows along the wall ahead of him, illuminated by the setting sun, and that group marched into view with many scarily long guns in their hands.

He looked around. Another few, far up on the roof with automatics.

Oh, fuck.

"Roach! There's too many o' them! Get the hell outta there, find yer way to the rooftops!" The Captain screamed. "Move!"

The final word shot him into action, filling him with enough adrenaline to get up and keep moving. He ignored the blood on his hands, and somewhere realized that with his goggles and helmet, he'd also lost his gun.

And Roach ran.

He breathed a pained groan, launching himself forward into an open house, a small part of his mind feeling bad for tracking blood into the just cleaned tiles, until the backwash exploded with a spray of bullets.

He came out the other side unscathed- well, no more scathed than he was before. He ran down the stairs of an alley, praying that his bad luck wouldn't decide to strike again, and then up the stairs through another open door.

His shoulder screamed, blood flowing quickly down his vest but he payed it no mind. He wanted to live.

His vision tinged black around the edges, but he pushed himself forward as bullets ricochetted around him. Up other stairs, and leaping off a balcony, Soap was on the roofs.

He hit the ground at a roll, and ignored the sharp pain in his ankle upon impact and kept going, weaving around tables and discarded chairs, along with something that looked very similar to a body, but he had no time to investigate it now. His head and heart was pounding painfully by the time he heard Soap's voice again.

"Roach! I see you! Jump down, meet us south of your position! Go!" The Captain sounded as just as anxious as he felt, straining every word like they might be the last thing Roach could hear. They very well could be.

"Gas is very low! I must leave in thirty seconds!" He heard Nikolai shout and he cursed to himself.

Now he had a time limit.

"Roach! We're runnin' on fumes here, ye've got thirty seconds! Run!" Soap shouted.

"I'm trying!" Roach hissed to himself, gasping as another bullet made impact to the back of his vest.

He saw the white Pave Low just in the distance as he jumped the gap between two houses. But there was a significant drop off where the roofs ended. It seemed impossible-

"Left! Turn left and jumped down!" The Captain shouted, like a fucking guardian angel. He careened left, sliding off the roof to a man made path down down side of two buildings.

A small part of him wondered if MacTavish had taken his eyes off him at all. The rest of him just screamed, run!

He turned another corner, before launching himself into free air, then making contact with a long, slanted roof. There was a window at the bottom, and Roach prayed it was open.

It was not, but he smashed through it, landing hard in the spray of broken shards. His breath was almost stolen from him again, and his chest pained him horribly, but the spray of bullets picked up again, and he knew he couldn't stop now. He was so close.

The Pave Low lifted from the cliff drop-off near the half collapsed brick balcony. The side door was opened, and a rope ladder spilled out. He could see Soap at the door, securing it quickly and watching with a scrutinizing gaze. The unfamiliar feeling of relief filled his chest at the sight.

"Jump for it!" MacTavish shouted, and so he did.

He felt like he free fell forever over the forested river, before his hand came into contact with the ladder and he held onto it for dear life, struggling to catch his breath.

"Nikolai, we got him! Get us outta here!" He heard the Captain shout from above, as his vision blacked out momentarily.

He climbed a rung, two, looking up to see MacTavish reaching a hand down to him. He took it, and allowed himself to be pulled up, just as the rest of his strength gave out.

He felt the solid floor of the chopper as it took off at full speed, and two hands on him, searching around his vest.

"Roach, stay with us!" Someone said, before pressing down quite painfully on his shoulder.

He bit back a scream, snapping his eyes open, trying to struggle away. He hadn't even been aware that he had closed them.

"Stop, stop, please-" He begged, the cry tearing out of his throat as the pressure increased.

Someone smoothed over his hair.

Something was stabbed into his leg, and he found the sharp blue of Soap MacTavish's eyes, and they were scared, that startled him.

The pain increased tenfold right then, and a scream clawed its way out of his throat, and he blacked out.

[gonzaburrow]

Flash Floods

(Context, this is canon-divergent and years after they're done with school. Tashiro is a bartender at weddings and Hanzawa is a wedding planner. They unexpectedly ran into each other at an event they're both working. Slowly but surely I am piecing together a plot for all these scenes with hamfisted water metaphors...)

Tashiro's shift ends late; he checks the time and there should be just enough to catch the next train. So he's running from the venue to the station. 

If he misses this train it's another hour or two until the next one, he's out in the boonies. 

He's running. 

He feels free.

He's running and the autumn air is crisp and sharp in his lungs. 

He's running. 

And now it's raining. 

It starts as a few drops: a warning. 

He could turn around and head back, find shelter, but he elects to continue. 

It's raining harder. He's giving it his all to get to the remote station sooner. 

A small pothole trips him up, he stumbles but manages to catch himself. It's all for naught, because a larger pothole was lying in wait.

Tashiro's face first in the dirt that's turning to mud. Rain is pelting his back and taunting him. 

He picks himself up and admits defeat. He's walking to the station; the rain is unrelenting and unforgiving.

He makes it to the safety of the enclosed shelter, grateful for the door. It's raining so much and Tashiro's looking through the glass ceiling. He's in a sub-aquatic vehicle, just thin glass separating him from pure and utter destruction. 

His phone shrieks and there's an emergency alert- flash floods are imminent and the trains are shut down for the foreseeable future. 

Shit. 

He's laying down, eyes closed, letting the rhythmic drumming of rain send him into a nap. It's not a great nap, every time he's on the precipice of deep sleep Tashiro's pulled back out by the roar of thunder. 

This is what working hard and saying yes to people gets you, he tells himself. Stranded, cold, wet, and alone in a shelter. 

Sleep beckons him once more despite the cacophony happening on the other side of glass. Tashiro submits without protest, and he's pretty sure he hits at least a few seconds of deep sleep. 

The next clap of thunder is accompanied by lighting and his little shelter shakes, it feels like it could be ripped up from the ground. It jolts Tashiro from sleep, the thunder and lighting continue. The only light is a small overhead light struggling to stay lit and the lightning. 

The shelter is illuminated, but a shadow is cast that Tashiro knows wasn't there before. He whips his body around so fast he falls off his bench. 

The ground is cold and hard and filthy. Tashiro's looking up with trepidation at the new figure, wondering how long they'd been there. He can't make out their features until lighting strikes once more. 

It's Hanzawa. And the way the light shines on his face is a step from nightmarish. 

Tashiro doesn't know what he should be feeling. Hanzawa Masato always did have a knack for finding him, and it makes Tashiro wonder if there's been a tracker implanted on his person all along. 

He comes to his senses and picks himself up, brushing off the dust; it's a silly gesture because he's still caked with dried mud. He's painfully aware that his socks and shoes are still soaked, his hair is half undone from his naps, and the dirt under his fingernails becomes too apparent. 

It's raining and the two men are staring in silence. 

Tashiro wills himself to say something- anything, but his body does not acquiesce; he's opening and closing his mouth like a fish. 

The rain continues its assault on the world. 

Tashiro isn't sure if he's more grateful or nervous that Hanzawa speaks first. 

"I was looking for you, Tashiro." 

The way his name spills from the other man's mouth steals Tashiro's breath for a second. And then he's all too aware of his breathing pattern, quick little breaths in and out. Tashiro is a rabbit in the woods, and whatever Hanzawa is, is large and unknown and that alone makes him terrifying. 

He can only summon breath for one word: "Why?"

Lightning hits again and Hanzawa isn't wearing his usual mask. There's a tightness around his mouth and Tashiro's betting that his jaw is clenched. 

Hanzawa sighs before answering. "I was going to offer you a ride; I know you don't live near here. But when I went to find you at the venue you were gone. The other bartenders told me where you catch the train and I got worried with the weather." 

"Oh yeah, that makes sense. I wasn't trying to avoid you." But he was. And Tashiro hated how the lie felt in his mouth. He didn't really know why he was avoiding the other man, it was a bit reflexive. "But you really didn't have to come out here, now we're both stuck." 

In the dim lighting, he can see Hanzawa stand and take a step closer. 

He steps back. Once, twice, and then his knees are hitting the bench behind him and he falls onto it. Hanzawa continues his advance. 

Tashiro looks anywhere but in front of him, like if he didn't look at the other man then maybe he wasn't really so close. What was Hanzawa going to do? Tashiro's heart was racing, did he remember how to breathe anymore? What was he supposed to do with his hands, or his legs that Hanzawa's own were bumping into. 

The other man raises a hand and as it approaches Tashiro's face he squeezes his eyes closed. 

There was a gentle brush of skin on skin; Hanzawa wiping dirt from his cheek with the most tender touch. 

"If it's with you, I don't mind being stuck." 

No one had ever spoken or touched Tashiro in that way. Like one wrong move would cause him to shatter into a million pieces. He liked it, but the rawness and intimacy of it all scared him. Petrified him. 

Hanzawa presses on, taking his time rubbing dirt away from Tashiro's face while speaking. And Tashiro lets him continue his ministrations; it seemed like the easier path at the moment. 

"Why do you keep avoiding me? I think this is the most we've spoken since we met again." 

Tashiro places his hand over Hanzawa’s; grips it and lowers it and holds it in in between both of his hands. He finally looks up at the other man. 

"Uggfhh." He tries to speak but only a jumbled noise comes out. He forces himself to take a deep breath and try again. "Honestly? This is going to sound absolutely awful of me, but I…don't…know? It's just-" He swallows, and scratches his head with their conjoined hands. "I never expected to see you there, after all this time, after how we parted. My flight instincts are still strong I suppose." He shrugs. 

He doesn't know when he started, but Tashiro's shaking a little and hopes Hanzawa hasn't noticed, but he's sure he has. His head feels heavy at the admission and he wants to cry. 

Something wet rolls down Tashiro's cheek, and he hopes Hanzawa didn't notice. "Ah, guess there's a leak in here somewhere." He tries to play it off. 

Hanzawa stops looming and sits next to him, hands still joined. He isn't looking in Tashiro's direction when he replies. "Ah yeah, it seems there is." 

The silence is heavy, and they're sitting with fingers threaded together. Where their skin meets is hot and sweaty and Tashiro hopes it's not all him. 

It's still raining. 

Time has lost all meaning; they could have been trapped for minutes or hours, Tashiro doesn't know and doesn't move to check his phone. 

At some point, their thighs touch on the bench, and the warmth seeping into him from the contact sends a shiver through him. Tashiro doesn't move for fear of breaking this peace between them.

His face is wet; silent tears had tumbled down his face but had yet to dry. 

The drumming of rain slows. 

Tashiro dares to ruin the silence. "It's not worth much anymore, but I'm sorry. I know we can't go back, and I don't know how to go forward now. Everything just feels-" He sucks in a deep quivering breath, begging his words to sound stronger than he feels. "-wrong." he finishes with a whisper. 

Hanzawa squeezes Tashiro's hand and nudges his calf with a foot. He still won't look his way, but responds nonetheless. "I was wrong, too. All this wasn't one sided; I'm just as culpable as you. Probably more." 

When Hanzawa finally twists his body, one leg on the bench sitting sideways to face Tashiro, it's with the most pained expression Tashiro's ever seen. His tidy hair is a mess, eyes bloodshot beyond belief, and face just as wet as Tashiro's own feels. 

"Is it really so wrong to want still?" 

Tashiro's broken heart breaks further. 

"Wish I knew. God, why did things have to get so heavy? I'm no good at this." Tashiro takes a dirty hand and wipes Hanzawa's face, a trail of dirt left in its wake. "Do you think it's possible to push pause on the heavy stuff, Hanzawa? I don't wanna pretend it never happened, but maybe we branch off and revisit it later?" 

Tashiro can't imagine having this conversation with anyone else. There's a dam that keeps all his deep, weird emotions back. He's pretty sure no one else would be able to treat him the same after hearing the woes that slumber in the abyss of his heart. No one but Hanzawa. 

Hanzawa stands and pulls Tashiro with him. "There's no harm in trying." He maneuvers them to the door, one hand poised to push it open. "I'm glad you're letting us try again. I'm still struggling with forgiveness, if I'm being honest." 

Tashiro stops and anchors Hanzawa in the shelter. Tashiro's face feels tight. "Oh." It's quiet, and the only indication Hanzawa heard is the way his fingers twitch against Tashiro's hand. "I mean, it was so long ago I barely remember what happened." It was the most obvious lie he's ever told. So transparent, like the glass above their heads. "You…don't feel like you need to forgive me. It's okay." 

When Tashiro looks up, Hanzawa's expression is equal parts confused and distraught. 

"There was never anything to forgive you for, Tashiro." Hanzawa heaves a heavy breath. "I was talking about forgiving myself." 

"Oh. Oh." 

"Yeah." 

The rain is softly pattering, a few drops drum every couple seconds. 

Hanzawa pushes the door open, and pulls Tashiro outside with him. "Well, come along Tashiro. I'm parked a few blocks away. We can finish this conversation another time." 

It's drizzling; the rain has eased up. 

[kaijuposting]

The kaiju of the Pacific Rim draft script

Travis Beacham's Pacific Rim draft script has a ton of problems, but the kaiju are definitely none of them! They're definitely a little different from the movie kaiju, biologically-speaking. They have red blood rather than blue, and there's nothing to suggest that toxic blood is a standard feature. There's also no reveal that they're clones with identical DNA.

(NOTE: I said earlier that it's unclear whether they have a hivemind, but I overlooked where Doctor Ivo Czerny said that there's a telepathic part of their brain that's tuned to signals from the Anteverse. The script doesn't use the word "hivemind," but the idea's pretty obviously there.) Here's a list of the kaiju from the draft script:

TRESPASSER: The first kaiju to pass through the Interstice. Category 5. Attacked Osaka and killed Mako Mori's father. Description: ...long and crocodilian, scabrously armored with rugged scales and scutes. Notes: This is the first of several kaiju to share a name with a kaiju in the actual film. However, Trespasser - like all of the others - doesn't have much in common with its movie counterpart.

UNNAMED NIGHTMARE KAIJU: Early in the story, Felicity "Flick" Kincaid has a nightmare about her dead fiance Yancy Antrobus, and sees a kaiju. Description: Hundreds of feet overhead, it's jagged jaws glow furnace-like from within. Ignescent saliva drips from it's teeth like molten napalm, fueling the encroaching wildfire. Notes: Yeah, toxic glowing blood is cool, but saliva that sets shit on fire? That's absolutely metal, man. DENGUE: Encountered by Newt and Flick in Miraflores, defeated by Puma Real. Description: Arachnoid legs bristling with hairs. Scores of black eyes above a wide reptilian grin. Some unholy fusion of tarantula and dragon. An obscene, alien spectacle. Notes: Dengue doesn't just resemble a tarantula - this beast can flick hairs like one, too! They don't appeal to be particularly damaging to the jaeger Puma Real, but at the size of arrows they're definitely a problem for the civilian population.

SLATTERN: Appears in one of Raleigh Antrobus and Mako Mori's training simulations. Description: SLATTERN boasts a shape like an armless carnosaur: a thick, serpentine body on mighty raptorial legs. A head vaguely like a moray eel. A long tail, barbed at the end. It draws patient predatory circles around us, lean and powerful as a panther, scales shifting between jet black and iridescent blue in the fog-stifled light. Notes: The way this is described sounds like it would look absolutely goofy if you drew it out, which is the opposite of a problem where kaiju are concerned.

TORTUGA: The kaiju that killed Yancy Antrobus. Shows up a lot through Raleigh's flashbacks. Description: Tortuga is described as "hulking and turtle-like, carapace studded with jagged rows of bony plates." It's also described with a "trifurcated beak" and a "harpoon-like tongue." Notes: On the one hand, Knifehead made a much more imposing figure than Tortuga. On the other... we don't really have enough turtle kaiju.

UNNAMED WOODLOUSE KAIJU: Lets off an EMP in Busan. Description: Described as "a mountain of crustacean armor, like an outsized mole crab or woodlouse." And "Under its semi-translucent carapace, something writhes and shifts." Notes: We were THIS CLOSE to having an isopod kaiju! Oh well, at least the kaiju skin mites look like isopods - I can't really complain too much, can I? INVIDIA: That thing squirming around inside the isopod is the cat-3 kaiju Invidia! Fought and defeated by Raleigh Antrobus and Mako Mori. Description: Described as "a spindly, mantid shape; tall as a skyscraper." She's described as having "a viper-like head" and "a set of long translucent wings." Notes: Invidia can't fly, but her wings give her added mobility - and create vortices in the air that throw vehicles around! Also, Invidia fills the same narrative role as Otachi - she's the first kaiju that Raleigh and Mako defeat together, using their jaeger's sword.

OOLONG: Appears in one of Mako Mori and Raleigh Antrobus's training simulations. Description: ...a chitinous crab-like dragon with black exoskeletal armor and giant pincers. Notes: I think a spider-dragon and a crab-dragon in one movie might be a little redundant, but I feel like this beast has potential.

KOMODO: A cat-4 kaiju that attacks Minato Mirai. Defeated by Duc and Kaori Jessup. Description: A long, lizard-like creature called KOMODO. Rows of teeth curl sloppily from his jaws. A baroque frill of coiled and braided horns embellishes his head. He scrabbles on six splayed legs; tail terminating in a spiked thagomizer. Notes: Do you know how many kaiju have thagomizers? Not nearly enough of them. Also, this GINORMOUS beast (it's taller than Lady Danger!) spits acid. Definitely inspired Otachi a bit.

FULCRUM: A kaiju that attacks Minato Mirai along with Komodo. Defeated by Mako Mori and Raleigh Antrobus. Description: Tentacles hide his jaws. Longer tentacles trail from his taloned arms. A scourge of tails whips the air behind him. He is kaiju FULCRUM -- an alien chaos of tentacles and dinosaurian limbs, his movements fluid and menacing, as much like a predator stalking primeval jungles as like a kraken prowling sunken ruins. He glisters with bioluminescence. He climbs ashore and rises to his full height -- almost a third bigger than the Mark-2. He lashes out with one of his long tentacles. The mech dodges and as the tentacle rakes past us, we see the rows of cruel, hooked claws running the length of it. Notes: Not to sound like a kaiju groupie, but I love Fulcrum. This absolute BEAST tosses around these things called "Berserkers" - small tentacle-covered creatures that grab and rip apart anything they can get hold of before they swell up and EXPLODE. Oh, and when they rip its head off? Its body just keeps going! Role-wise, Fulcrum seems to have inspired Leatherback a bit - and perhaps inspired the tentacles on Leatherback's head? UNNAMED WORMLIKE KAIJU: Briefly attacks Lady Danger. Description: Described as "wormlike" and having "crocodilian jaws." That's all there is to it, really.

TENGU: Appears toward the story's climax, as Lady Danger approaches the Interstice. Defeated by Duc and Kaori Jessup. Description: A horrific skein of dozens of viper heads on long sinuous necks erupting from a body like a naked bat. Notes: Absolutely hideous beast! Makes me think Ghidorah and Rodan. I'd honestly like to see this one on film. PHARAOH: Appears toward the story's climax. Defeated by Kaori and Duc Jessup. Description: Something between a scarab and a bull, with vicious mandibles and long horns like a rhino beetle. Notes: This one just sounds like a scaled-up beetle. It's a little difficult to imagine that it would be anything other than a Very Good Boy if left to its own devices. I mean, it's probably only attacking the jaegers because it thinks they're mating rivals. SCUNNER: Appears toward the story's climax. Defeated by Kaori and Duc Jessup. Description: Beige-hued skin lends it a disturbingly human look; but grotesquely misshapen, joints bulging and twisted. A skull-like face, jaws over-crowded with jagged teeth. Notes: I really think the sudden appearance of a human-looking kaiju would have been very jarring! It wouldn't have worked in the film that was actually made, but part of me wants to see a movie where this could have happened.