#but yeah she’s human but also has a prosthesis arm and eye

[ladychandraofthemoone]

My star ⭐️ 🌟  💫 child. Her name is Astera as why did they give her that name with the unfortunate implications. In my pokemon au, she is the gym leader of Anistar City(yes her outfit is totally inspired by Olympia but she has that three star necklace on her shirt but I tried not to make it skin tight.. cause Ml has a tendency to give the heroes these ridiculously skintight suits that r shiny and showcases them… they’re children!!) Her rings r akin to Hoopa’s and can use them to travel, she can see the past and future, levitation,   teleportation  mind reading including talking to her pokemon just with mere signals and eye contact and much more of her psychic powers 

Also she’s a human who lost her entire left arm and eye 👁 plus some body parts having to replaced due to a childhood incident in a lab. Cause why is the darkest skin girl a white washed robot who’s purpose is to serve others and getter swatted around for 😢 sadrien moments 😮‍💨😖 like Aeon is a absolutely precious cinnamon roll and deserves better.

Slight tw as it does get dark so keep reading down below

🪐Aeon(her name is Astera) is depicted as an informative and helpful person. She is willing to give advice to people to encourage them, also due to her psychic powers she is extremely wise and intelligent. She seems to have a good relationship with her adoptive mother Majestia, taking her advice on board whenever she needs it. Despite her happy and kind nature, she is a quick to forgive anyone who has hunted her or her family/friends as a result of her powers being able to tell whenever or not they are truly apologetic but not many take her seriously as a result of her being straight faced, her expressionless smile (think like the pokemon MC that tends to freak people out even though she doesn’t mean to, it just means she’s deep in thought 💭 

🪐 She had a family but they died due to scientists wanting to use people who are born with these powers, though are very rare and when her family refused, they ““eliminated” them and took her(which they nicknamed her Aeon in honor of the Eon Duo, Latios and Latias but also to demean her in order to control her) their were other kids older or younger but she never got to properly meet them if they weren’t battling each other even though they could ‘sense’ each other

🪐When Olympia finds her, it took all her will power to not punish those who have been apart of the lab after finding papers, those who weren’t working or have managed to escaped and illegally experimenting on children and pokemon So she adopts Aeon, asking her if she wanted to keep that name due to her past but after some heavy thinking and desicion, decided to rename herself Astera due to some aster flower symbolism and sounds similar to astronomy 🔭 her favorite subject. As a result she keep rings she made to control her powers and  states that the inside of her cloak is a galaxy pattern, creating zero gravity that increases psychic power

🪐 One day, the lab she was being raised in captivity exploded, maybe it was due to another gifted student being unable to handle all the emotions due to being an empath and feels their cries and screams and couldn’t take being left alll alone in the dark. Maybe a legendary…Astera is the sole survivor, her psychic powers keeping her alive and her blood pumping but it resulted in her whole left arm being sliced and missing her left eye (deep down Astera wonders if it’s was her who did it adding a layer of guilt, she uses her rings to travel and visit the graves 

🪐 Astera’s is pure-hearted and deeply empathetic. She holds a great deal of responsibility, foretelling her psychic predictions in a precise manner as to avoid any confusion. She often receives vivid visions of the past and future, causing her to flux in and out of a psychic state. The Anistar Gym also serves as a school for other Psychics, training them to reach their full potential. Not wanting them to suffer want she went through the s to her mum’s permission she has a third eye she can open but only when she’s really upset or overwhelmed but it causes her a lot of pain so she doesn’y use it unless the situation calls it but she is always very calm and rational under pressure 

🪐she’s on the spectrum but combined with her lack of socializing skill due to being isolated from a young age not really being around kids her age and parts of body being removed, people began to call her a robot freak, cold, heartless and inhuman when she’s the complete and total opposite of that, most of the time her classmates attempt to antagonize her to get a reaction out of her and avoid her despite her hard attempts to make friends (most people wanted her to do the work as she’s the smartest and can’t say no) until the day Jess comes by and threatens to punch and fight anyone who harms her stepsister 

🪐She is obsessed with space and loves talking about it for hours and her gym is also a giant telescope 🔭 Jessica is willing to listen to her rant for hours cause it makes her happy she would bond with Mewtwo from the Unova series In Pokemon Masters after reading his mind and understanding a lot of his heart due to being treated as an experiment and someone with no emotion, mewtwo would frighten anyone who tries to hurt her as even though she’s very attuned to emotions and sweet, nice, she still quite naive on certain things as a result of her upbringing but is working on 

☄☄ She can open portals to other regions, akin to Hoopa but it takes  a lot out of her, the same goes with Ultra Wormholes and furture sites but it the future is very finicky a seen when Felix is called by Astera as she predicts something terrible will happen as  a result  she reamians calm and composed and is very regal and poised with her battling skills. Because of her tendency to speak in a robotic like tone, Olympia comes off as rather strange and perhaps psychologically deep or complex even though she enjoys talking and is very extorverted plus anybody who places their wrist into Astera's bracelet will allow her to be able to see everything in their future.

☄☄She is very pure-hearted and deeply empathetic and holds a great deal of responsibility, foretelling her psychic predictions in a precise manner as to avoid any confusion. She often receives vivid visions of the past and future, causing her to flux in and out of a psychic state equally precise. She respects others in a noble tone and sometimes also has visions of the past and the future and explains it to others as best as she can and is a responsible gym leader, who uses her psychic powers to assist her allies. .

[everlarkficexchange]

Naked To the One You Love

by: @ameliaodair​

Prompt #46: They really do toast privately in CF – Katniss wearing an orange dress for Peeta and Peeta making cheese buns for Katniss.  They wanted something their own.  No one knows about it and there’s no baby (as far as they know) but how would this change their relationship? How they make their decisions? Would anyone actually believe them when she gets to District 13? [submitted by anonymous]

Peeta, with the help of Prim and Rye has the perfect day planned for he and Katniss.  This is the day they will finally have their toasting.  Will everything go as perfectly as Peeta planned it?

This story goes hand-in-hand with my current WIP called, “Another Way Out.”  If you want to read more, you can find it on AO3 and FFN.

Word Count: 5768

Rated: M for fluff and smut and lemons.

Warning: Adult content below

Un-beta’d, all mistakes are mine

 Naked To the One you Love

| Peeta |

“What are we doing?” Katniss asks as I lead us toward the meadow.  It’s early still, the sun barely making its presence known along the horizon as it bleeds its hues of purples, oranges, and pinks into the morning sky.

“Having breakfast,” I tell her simply, shivering from the cold.

“In the snow?” She quibbles, rubbing her hands together to warm them up.  I sneak my arm around her shoulder and pull her close.  She allows it, pressing her popsicle nose into my neck.

“Just be quiet and follow me,” I tell her, which grants me a scowl— no surprise there.  When we finally reach our tree, we climb up and I surprise her by opening the door to our tree house.

“Wow, it’s a lot bigger than last time,” she smiles, looking around the tiny room to inspect my handy work.  It was only a little more than a week ago when I found a large plank and, with Rye’s help we got it to the top of this tree.  Using some of my dad’s tools, I nailed the plank to one of the sturdier branches.  Each day since then I have come out here, adding more planks to it, and now it looks like a tiny little house.  Or well, well … more like one … very small room of a rather tiny house.  It is just spacious enough for the two of us to stretch out comfortably, but it’s a place of our own, somewhere to go when we need to get away.  It’s the closest we can get to the woods since the fence is electrified twenty-four-seven now.

We spend the morning in our little makeshift tree home, enjoying the breakfast I packed and watching the miracle of another sun rise.  After surviving the games with the love of your life, you learn to appreciate the little things in life.  Like sunrises and sunsets.  Like sharing meals with your loved ones.   Things you didn’t think were important before suddenly become of the utmost importance.  So, Katniss and I bask in the warmth from the sun and just enjoy being together like this.  With no cameras and no Haymitch.  No Effie or prep teams chasing our tails and scolding us about schedules.  As much as we love and adore all of them, it’s nice to have a break from them.  Finally, it’s just us, which is just the way I like it.

“I think it’s time to get Prim,” Katniss tells me when she sees the sun positioned above the bakery.  It always amazes me how she knows what time it is by the position of the sun.

I frown and jut my lip out, exaggerating my disappointment.  “No, not yet.  Just one more minute,” I whine, leaning in for a kiss.

“Come on Peeta, I don’t want Prim walking home alone.” Katniss contests, squirming out of my arms.  As much as I don’t want to leave right now, I know she’s right.  We leave everything in the tree and climb down, deciding we’ll most likely return once Prim is safely back at home.  Together, we walk to the school and wait for Prim just outside the gates of the school yard.  I’m not sure how much Prim knows much about what’s going on, if anything, but Katniss and I are too afraid to let her walk anywhere in the district alone.  Afraid of what Snow might do. 

Everyone, even Katniss’s mom said her father’s death was just a stroke of bad luck— that he had an aneurysm that no one knew about, that ruptured.  That if they’d had the technology the people in the Capitol have at their fingertips, they could have caught and treated it.  But we know better.  There was no Capitol technology or any fancy device that would have spared his life.  There is no doubt in my mind— or Katniss’s that Snow was the cause of her dad’s untimely death.  Of course, it wasn’t him per say, because he was clearly safe inside the President’s Mansion in the Capitol, but more than likely one of his spies here in 12.  The timing of everything was just too coincidental, not to mention the fact that he offered his condolences before it even happened.

“Oh, I told Rye we’d stop by the bakery on our way home today,” I tell Prim and Katniss, giving Prim a little wink.  It’s a lie, but Katniss doesn’t know that.  When I clued Prim in on my master plan just the other day, she was more than happy to go along with it— knowing that we all need something positive in our lives— something to celebrate.

We stop by the bakery and I breathe a sigh of relief that my mother is nowhere in sight.  She isn’t supposed to be here for another hour or so, but that hasn’t stopped her from making an unscheduled appearance before.  Rye has trouble keeping a straight face as he prepares a bag for us, filled with Katniss’s favorites.

“Hey, I uh … I was about to head out and stop by to see Dad, I can walk Prim home,” Rye suggests, also aware of my plan.

Katniss squirms in place, uncomfortable to even the thought of letting Prim out of her sight but I assure her it’s okay.  Rye will protect Prim and keep her safe.  They have grown rather close over the last few weeks … or, well, ever since Mr. Everdeen got sick while Katniss and I were still on the Victory Tour.

I remember thanking him for being there for my surrogate family and he rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, like you’d ever let me hear the end of it if I was there and didn’t help if I could.”  

‘Right,’ I thought to myself.  ‘It had nothing to do with you actually caring about them, let alone that you are a decent human being,’ but I kept those thoughts to myself.

“Prim is safe with me, I assure you that I will take extra good care of her,” Rye assuages.  Katniss squirms uncomfortably, so Rye adds, “Katniss, I promise.  You have my word.”

“Extra good?” Katniss smirks after a second, her shoulders slowly relaxing. “Maybe on your way there, Prim can teach you some grammar,” she says in that snarky tone of hers.

“Katniss, we’ll go straight home, I swear!” Prim decrees, clasping her hands together and poking her lip out.  Katniss narrows her eyes, which is preceded with a scowl, but then she finally concedes.

“Fine.  Go straight home.  NO detours.”

Prim wraps her arms around Katniss’s waist and squeals, “Thank you, thank you, thank you Katniss!  You are the best sister ever!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Katniss remarks, trying to hide her grin.  Like me, she finds it extremely difficult to deny Prim anything.

After Katniss and I collect our stuff from the treehouse, I get an idea.  “I want to make a snowman,” I tell her with a cheeky smile.

“A snowman?  Seriously?  But it’s cold Peeta,” she whines.

“That’s the point.  You can’t make a snowman when it’s warm.”  So, that’s what we do, we build a snowman until she gets the bright idea to chuck a snowball at my face.  And then— it’s on.  I scoop up a ball of snow and sling it at Katniss, hitting her square in the shoulder.

With her impeccable aim, I should have known that I had no chance in the world of besting her in a snowball fight. 

“Hey, that’s not fair,” she whines when she sees the pile of snowballs I have hidden behind the snowman.  She might have impeccable aim, but I am the youngest of three boys— I had to work twice as hard to keep up with them.

“You started it,” I tell her and chuck another ball of snow at her.  For the next hour or so, we have fun, smiling and laughing while getting snow blasted in our faces.  Katniss tackles me from the side and slams me down on my back.  She straddles my hips, pinning my arms to the ground.

“I win, you lose,” she says triumphantly, planting a victory kiss to my lips.

“That may be true, but I think it’s me who is the real winner here.”

Her eyes knit together in confusion, “And just how exactly do you figure that?”

“Well, you’ve got me pinned to the ground, I’m trapped underneath you.  I’ll gladly lose to you if this is my punishment,” I tell her with a crooked grin.

“Come on, let’s go home.  I’m cold,” she says, climbing off my hips and helping me up.  Under normal circumstances I do not need help getting around with my prosthesis.  However, the snow adds many challenges to my already uneven gait.

No longer able to feel either our fingers, toes, or our faces, we make our way back to my house to warm up.  Rye and my dad are hanging out two doors down, at the Everdeen’s, so I don’t have to worry about anyone barging in on us.  Once I get the fire started, we curl up on a blanket I spread out on the floor, soaking up the heat from the flames.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Katniss tells me once the feeling in her fingers returns and then she makes her way upstairs.  Her absence gives me the perfect opportunity to get everything in order.  The moment she is out of sight, I begin creating a mental checklist of everything I need to do.  Once I hear the water splashing against the tile floor, I zip into the kitchen and get to work.  I begin by filling a tray with the cheese buns from the bakery— Katniss’ favorite, and pop them into the oven to warm them up.  And then I take out the dough of the white bread I prepared a few days ago, made for this exact occasion.  I open the drawer that contains the papers and pull them out.  “Certificate of Marriage,” I whisper the words aloud.

“Please be okay with this Katniss,” I anxiously tell myself. “Stop it Peeta.  She loves you, you love her; that’s the only thing that matters.” I remind myself, trying to talk myself up so I don’t chicken out. 

Once all the bread is ready to go, I place them on a table next to the couch and wait for Katniss to come back down.

I am not waiting long when she comes gliding down the stairs in an immaculate floor-length orange summer dress.  The straps holding the dress up on her shoulders are skinny, and for some reason they remind me of spaghetti noodles.  It is snug at the top and gets looser the more the light orange fades into a deeper orange.  My eyes nearly bug out of my head at the sight of her.  She is beautiful, she is exquisite and stunning and just … WOW.  It must be one of the dresses Cinna sent back with her, because I’ve never seen this one before.  And although this one is clearly a dress meant for days with bright sun and scorching heat— it’s not like we’ll be going outside.

It is so unlike her when she twirls around once, a huge smile on her face.  “Do you like it?”

For a moment, I’m speechless, “I … I love it, it’s beautiful; you’re beautiful.”

She blushes, joining me on the floor and I prop some pillows up for us to lean against.

“Are you hungry?” I nervously ask her.  Dammit, why am I so nervous?

“What do you think?” She huffs, her eyes narrowing with her trademark scowl, which forces a chuckle to escape from my throat.  It’s a stupid question to ask anyone who is a resident of 12.  Everyone is hungry, even those of us who are more fortunate than the others.  I hand her the platter of cheese buns, but she’s eyeing the other tray.  “What’s that?” She asks, pointing behind my back.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” I tell her and shift my body, hoping to block her view.

“Oh my God, Peeta; is that—” The papers are all but forgotten as her eyes go saucer eyed when she catches sight of the bread behind me.  She crawls over me and picks the bread up, delicately turning it over and over in her hands.  “Is this—”

I bashfully look away and nod my head, “It is,” I admit.  Her head snaps to the right— and then to the left as she surveys the room.  And then it all hits her at once as she realizes what this is.  For a moment, I am afraid she’s going to go running for the hills, but instead, she reaches for the bread knife and begins sawing at the loaf.  She frees the piece of bread and impales it on a poker before placing it over the fire.  While she rotates the poker to evenly toast the bread, she looks over to me, her silver eyes glistening with the flames and smiles.

“Do I ever tell you how much I love you?  H-how important you are to me?” She asks as her eyes meet mine.  And maybe it’s just the heat from the flames, but her cheeks suddenly flush into crimson.

All my anxiety dissipates into her gray orbs as I extend my hand out, curling a strand of her hair around my finger.  “It is implied every single day, in everything you do,” I tell her softly.

She pulls the poker back and places it down next to the hearth, but not before removing the slightly toasted bread from its prongs.  She juggles the bread from one hand to the other— again and again as she waits for it to cool.

My eyes are cemented on her while my anxiety rises to a new level as I await her next actions.

“Peeta … you are … the most amazingly incredible person I know— have ever known.  And … I never thought I wanted this, but you— you changed everything for me.  You changed the way I see the world, and I … I can’t imagine a life without you.  And … even if I could, I don’t want to.”

Woah, wait a minute, what is she doing?  Those are supposed to be my words.

‘Katniss, what are you doing?’ I ask her in our silent form of communication.

‘I think you know,’ she smiles mischievously at me.

“Uh-uhn, no, that’s my job, I had this all planned out.”

“Oh, so that’s what today was all about?” She exclaims with a bright smile on her face.  I can’t help but return the smile as I lean over and press my lips against hers.  Using my weight, I push her down onto her back and kiss her deeply— thoroughly running my tongue along her lips, sucking … pulling her bottom lip into my mouth until she shivers.

“I love you Katniss Everdeen,” I mumble through our connected lips.  “I love everything about you; even the things I hate about you, I love.” I crawl up next to her, our bodies continuing to absorb the heat from the flames as I stare longingly into her beautiful grey eyes.

“You ruined my plans, I’m not sure if I can forgive you for that,” I quip, smiling and gazing into her perfect eyes.

“What if I …” She intentionally hesitates, lifting the seam of my shirt up and tracing her fingers lightly across my stomach, “do this?” She finishes, sending goosebumps prickling against my skin and I squirm from side to side with her touch.

“Nothing’s ruined,” she promises.  “All I said, was I wanted for it to be ours; that I didn’t want the day I became yours, and you mine to be in front of a Capitol audience.  As long as it’s just us, I don’t care about the rest.”

And she says she’s not good with words.

I take her hands into mine, our heads sharing the same pillow as we stare into each other’s eyes, “Katniss, I was mesmerized by you since I was a five-year old, snaggle-toothed little boy.  I can’t even remember a time I didn’t love you; and for so long, I never thought you would give me the time of day.  I thought … for so long I thought that just being your friend would be enough, but after having your love— after having your heart … I can’t imagine a life without you.  I know you only said yes because of … well, because of everything, but I swear to you, I will be the best husband you could ever hope to have.  I—”

“Peeta, I—” She interjects, but I stop her.

“Please Katniss, please let me finish,” she nods, not pushing it any further.  I glance down to the bread and then back at her, “I offer this toasted bread to you with the promise of being your best friend.  I will listen when you need someone to talk to; when you just need to vent, my ears will be open, or if you just need a sounding board, I will be that too.  You will never have to be alone again because I will be by your side.“

‘Always,‘ I add in our silent way.

“Even when you don’t think you want me there, I will be.  I will hold your hand when you’re scared, and I will be right here, right next to you, scared with you.  I will tell you that everything will be okay— because even if it’s not, we will have each other.  I will always, always be there to catch you before you fall.  And … and I’ll give you a push if that’s what you need, too.  Because I love you.”

Her eyes are pooled with tears and her chin quivers as she reaches for our toasted slice of bread and holds it up between us. It is the only thing separating our lips.  And then I part my lips and allow her to feed me the bread, our bread.  Our little slice of heaven that signifies our love.  I sink my teeth into the perfectly toasted bread, as does she.  Our teeth sink into our promise to the other and then we seal it with a kiss.

“I love you Peeta Mellark, my husband.”

“And I, you; Katniss Everdeen; my wife.”

“I think that would be Katniss Mellark now; get it right,” she tries to scowl at me but fails, erupting in a giggle.

“I like the sound of that, Mrs. Katniss Mellark— Oh, that reminds me!” I exclaim jubilantly, nearly bursting at the seams as I jump up to collect the papers the mayor had given me earlier this week.

“What’s that?” Katniss asks me.

“It’s um … they’re the papers.  To um, make it official.”

“Seriously?  When— How?” I breathe out a sigh of relief when she doesn’t object.  That she seems genuinely excited.

“The mayor.  But … we can’t tell anyone; she’ll be in a load of trouble if anyone finds out.”

“My husband … conspiring with the mayor,” Katniss beams, glowing with pride.  I am incapable of concealing the cheesy, shit-eating grin when she calls me her husband.

As I watch her grip the pen in her hand and sign her name on all the dotted lines, I pinch myself to see if I am dreaming.  I can’t believe it; I am actually, really, truly and officially married to Katniss Everdeen— Mellark.

“Wait!  I have something for you,” Katniss says and rushes up the stairs.  I hear her run into my room and then a drawer slams before she is sprinting back down the stairs.

“You already gave me a ring, and I um … I want you to have this Peeta,” she says, her cheeks flushing as she reaches for my hand.  Refusing to meet my eyes, she slips something onto my finger.

I pull my hand up to look at what she’s placed on my finger to see a ring adorned to the pointer finger of my right hand.  Then she takes her ring off the chain of her necklace— (the one I gave her in District 4 the night of my true proposal to her— the one that once belonged to her mother, given to me by her father) and does the same.  

It’s a tradition in 12 that goes along with the toasting.  Everyone knows that your wedding ring is typically worn on the fourth finger of your left hand, but in 12, it starts out on the pointer finger of your right hand.  There was a tradition from before the dark days that said you start off like this because there is a vein … or maybe it’s an artery that runs from your finger to your heart.  And since marriage is the ultimate promise, by doing this you are connecting your hearts together.  Once the ceremony is over, then you switch it to the fourth finger of your left hand.

Katniss leans over to kiss me and we switch the ring to our proper fingers while our lips are still conjoined.  For now.  I will eventually have to find a clever place to keep mine until … until well, I don’t know.  But the Capitol cannot know we are already married.

After all the traditions are complete, I take our marriage papers to the office room upstairs and tuck them away in a safe place.  Then, with a little extra pep in my step, I find my way back to the main room and scoop Katniss into my arms.

“Peeta!  What are you doing?” She squeals like a giddy schoolgirl, encircling her arms around my neck.  Carefully, I make my way up the stairs and into my room— our room.  Who am I kidding?  It’s always been our room— no piece of paper or ceremony was needed to decide that for us.

“I am carrying my wife over the threshold.  The toasting isn’t complete until that’s been done,” I remind her with a kiss.

“Okay,” she says, nuzzling her head against my chest.  No thanks to my artificial leg, we make it up the steps successfully.  I press my lips against hers as my foot passes the threshold.  Now, all the standard traditions of 12 are complete, except for the final one.  The one that really seals the deal.  Consummation.

Just thinking the word in my head causes me to stumble.  My brain seems to forget how to gracefully put one foot in front of the other and I fall face first onto my bed, my body nearly crushing my beautiful wife.

She giggles; a foreign sound, but it is one that I cherish.  “I love you,” I say, pressing my forehead against hers.

“Smooth,” she says, and I can feel her lips forming into a smile against my mouth.

“So, now, we’re supposed to um …” There is a nervous energy between us; she’s scared, as am I.  Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified in my life, and that’s saying something— having survived an arena and all.

“Katniss, you know … we don’t have to do this, we can just—”

“What? You don’t want to?” She interjects defensively.

“No, no— I mean, yes, I do.  I was just saying … if you don’t want to, it’s okay.  We don’t have to, we can wait,” I stumble over my words trying to reassure her.

“I want to Peeta,“ she says certainly, never taking her eyes off mine.  "I have wanted to for a while now, and I think we’ve waited long enough.  Will you … will you help me unzip my dress?” Her eyes flit to the floor as she smiles nervously, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue.

She doesn’t have to ask me twice.  While Katniss and I have done many things, getting caught up in heated kisses, touching in places I would rather not mention, we have never gone this far.  We have never gone all the way.  She turns around and pulls her hair to the side, granting me access to her zipper.  I scrupulously glide the zipper down until it refuses to budge another inch and delicately slide the sleeves down her arms.  A frown of disappointment encases my lips when she begins to braid her hair.

I press my lips to her bare neck and kiss my way to her shoulder, which causes a moan to expel from her lips.  “Leave it down, please.”

“Mmm hmmm,” she moans.

“My God, you are so beautiful,” I tell her, my lips trailing down to the crest of her shoulder.  Finally, I sling her dress into the chair next to my bed and she nervously flips onto her back, incredulously facing me. 

‘Oh my God, Katniss is naked, bare to me and in my bed,’ I think to myself as I stare her up and down.

Feeling self-conscious … probably due to my ogling her, she reaches over and pulls the sheet to cover her near-naked body.

“No, what are you doing?” I ask her, tugging the fabric back.

“I just … feel so … naked without my clothes,” she says, flushing with embarrassment.

“Well, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

“Well then … be naked with me,” she says, tugging on the hem of my shirt, eager for me to remove it.  I slide my shirt off and it joins her dress in the chair.  I am hesitant to remove my pants, still self-conscious about my leg.

“Pants too,” Katniss whispers in a raspy— so, so sexy voice.

“I … I—”

“Peeta, I love all of you, even the Capitol-made parts,” she takes charge and flips me over, undoes the button of my pants, and I am too paralyzed to refuse; not that I would want to.  She removes my pants, then sits up and straddles my hips.  With nothing but our underclothes on, we are completely bare to each other, and I understand what she meant about feeling naked without her clothes.  There is nothing to conceal our insecurities, both physical and emotional.  But that’s the point, right?  To be completely open, bare— naked to the one you love.  To have nothing— no secrets between you.  However, underneath all my anxiety, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt anything quite this amazing before.  We slip under the covers and I click the lamp on that sits on my nightstand.  It emanates a soft glow, perfectly lighting the room, while producing a shadow over the insecurities.

“Can I take your leg off?” Katniss asks me.  She must be in my head again— I was just too embarrassed to take the initiative— afraid she would find my mutilated leg … repulsive.

“Okay,” I say.  For the first time I realize she’s had a lot of practice helping me put it on and take it off as she slips it off with ease.

“I don’t want any part of the Capitol here for this,” she says, placing kisses against the scar on my leg.  I pull her up to me and flip her back onto her back.

We are a tangled mess of arms and legs, our tongues dancing together in a frenzy, yet in perfect synchronicity.  As if they’d been practicing for years and years until they reached utter perfection.  I trail kisses along her neck, down to her collarbone and across her shoulders.  I want to kiss every inch of her body; I don’t want to miss a single bit of her skin.  I reach down and cup her perfect breasts in my hands and she moans out in pleasure, which causes my cock to pulse until it is fully erect.

“Touch me Peeta,” surrendering to her every command, I stroke her arms, and then add light touches to her perfectly flattened stomach.  I caress my hands up and down her legs, trying to muster up the courage to touch her there.  Finally, I do, and she’s so hot and wet for me.  I slide one finger inside her center and keep it in there while I use my thumb to rub circles on that little bundle of nerves that I know has the power to make her come undone.

Her body tenses up and I know I’ve hit the right spot when she pants out my name.  “I could be satisfied … happy, just doing that to you … every second of every minute, of every single day,” I tell her once the intensity of her climax has subsided.

“Then how would you make me cheese buns?” She says with a heavy breath.  Smiling, I inch up to her face and kiss her.  Soft and light at first, and then harder, deeper— as if I am starving and her lips are the only way to satiate my hunger. 

“I need you Peeta; I— I need you closer,” she breathes into me and I instantly know what she means. She wants me to be inside her.  We have both wanted this for such a long time, I almost can’t believe it’s actually happening.  I kiss her softly as I fumble my way on top of her.  Using one elbow to prop myself up, my other hands grips onto my cock as I tease her entrance with my hardened member.  Even without being inside her, I can feel how wet she is.  Which only causes my already rock-hard cock to pulse even harder.  She spreads her legs open for me and I fumble nervously, guiding my cock into her entrance and sliding inside her— slowly at first.

“Is this okay?” I ask her, recalling an embarrassing conversation with Rye as he gave me the intricate details that a girl’s first time can be painful, and that it’s important that they are “ready” prior to penetration.

“More Peeta, I need all of you,” she demands, locking her legs around my hips and digging her heels into the back of my calves.  Slowly, I push myself deeper into her, impaling her, until finally, I am fully submerged into her heat.

“Holy FUCK!” I gasp, crying out when my cock is surrounded by her walls.  “Is- is this okay?” I ask her again, not wanting to do anything that might hurt her.  It is taking every bit of willpower that I possess to keep my body still— to prevent my hips from ramming deep— and hard, into her.

“Oh God, Peeta, you feel so good.  Please … please, Peeta—” she begs me, and I’ve never been very good at denying her anything as I submit to her will.  Slowly, I partially retract myself from her center and then slowly, slowly push myself back inside, our pelvises grinding against each other.  Her nails dig into my back, finding their way to my ass and then she squeezes—

“Holy FUCK, how did you just do that?” I ask when her walls tighten around my cock.

“What … this?” She grins, repeating the action, “You like that?” She says in a teasing, seductive voice.

“Katniss— stop … or I’m going to … or I won’t last, and I want … this has to be perfect,” I beg her and then she reaches up, encircling her arms around my neck and pressing her mouth to mine.

“It’s already perfect because I’m with you,” she tells me in-between heated kisses.  And once again, she stupefies me with her words.

“Oh God, I love you too, my perfect, beautiful, amazingly gifted wife,” I tell her, while gliding in … gliding out of her sex.

“Katniss … I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to last if you keep doing that … where do you want me to—”

“Right where you are,” she tells me, knowing what I am trying to say.

“But,” I question her with a raise of my brow.

“I took that pill Effie gave you— I mean, me,” she explains, running her tongue along my ear.

I shiver from the contact and lose all control as I slam into her— again and again before grinding into her center once more.  We both grind; hard and slow, and deep— achieving the perfect rhythm until I feel that familiar stirring deep in my stomach— and then we’re both moaning, and yelling, and whispering— shouting— gasping the other’s name and I’m spilling into her, filling her with my seed; both of us believing that Effie’s miracle pill from the Capitol will prevent any watering of said seed.

0 – 0 – 0

Curious about their “unspoken language”?  Or Katniss’s father’s untimely death?  Or who the mayor of 12 is since it clearly is not Mayor Undersee?  Come check out my THG re-writes: Changing the Game (Complete) and Another Way Out (In progress) (The final book/story is TBA).  Told in multiple POV’s.  AND, find out what happens once Katniss reaches District 13.  Does anyone know they actually and officially got married in 12?  Does Katniss get pregnant?  Does Effie’s miracle pill work for them?

[clareguilty]

The Strongest Metal

This is a commission fic! Junkrat/Roadhog Rated: M | No warnings, injury recovery Word Count ~2400

“There’s nothing for you to worry about with me, Mr. Rutledge. To many, I am just as much of a criminal as you are. Turning you in would also result in a sentence for myself.” The voice was unfamiliar. Heavily accented. Stern but soothing. The words floated around, barely making sense.

“I can’t thank you enough. If I had been in your position, I don’t think I would have done the same.” That was Mako. He sounded tired, anguished. Jamison hated that.

He couldn’t remember what happened. He felt terrible, like he’d been on one hell of a bender.

But they had been fighting. He remembered that much. Those guys with the dark armor and the red helmets. Didn’t they know that the outback belonged to the junkers? There may have been no official law in the land, but that didn’t mean they were just going to roll over for any band of soldiers that showed up. They had been fighting to protect their natural resources since before the crisis.

And then those other blokes had showed up. He’d heard about them before. Overwatch. The pride and joy of humanity’s defenders. They’d been shut down last he heard, but he recognized them when they showed up on the battlefield.

Oh. Jamison remembered now. He had died. Been blown to smithereens. Exactly the way he’d always thought he’d go.

Was this heaven? Not where he thought he’d end up, really. But Mako was there, and whoever this lady was. An angel?

Jamison cracked one eye open, wincing at the bright fluorescent lights overhead. Oh yeah. That was definitely an angel.

Wispy blonde hair, piercing eyes, literal fucking wings. She was in all white armor and glowing gold. She looked exhausted.

And Mako was there, looking just as tired. He always looked tired, really, but not like this. He sat slumped in a chair, unmasked and hair down. Jamison had never seen him so miserable. Some sort of afterlife this was.

“Hello, Roadie,” he croaked. His voice sounded terrible. His throat was dry and scratchy. He was starting to think he wasn’t dead.

Both Mako and the angel snapped their heads towards him. “You’re awake!” the angel gasped. She immediately reached for a biotic scanner. “How do you feel?”

Jamison hadn’t really thought about it until she asked. He hadn’t really felt anything if he was being honest, and he told her as much. He was sore, disoriented, but he couldn’t really feel anything.

She frowned. “I guess that’s not the worst thing. Can you move at all?”

He raised his arm, wiggling his fingers with a grin. Then he saw his hand. 

“What the hell?! What happened to my arm?” Last he’d checked, only his right hand was cybernetic, and it certainly didn’t look like that. He looked at both of his hands, except these weren’t his hands. They were sleek, polished metal with tiny spindly joints. But they moved when he wanted them too, and he could feel them, even if they weren’t flesh and bone.

He flexed and curled the fingers in front of him. His frown only deepened as he inspected the high quality engineering. It wasn’t scrap, that was for sure. Much too fancy to be a part of him.

“Who did this to me?” He demanded. “Give me my old arm back!” He had made that arm. That arm was a part of him.

“Jamie,” Mako reached out, but he pulled his hand away before he could touch the horrible mechanical monstrosity. “You’re arm is gone. You were in an explosion. Dr. Zeigler saved you.”

“Saved me?” Junkrat looked down at his body. Where there was once flesh and blood and scar tissue, there was nothing but metal and wires and -- still quite a lot of scar tissue. “I look like a fucking omnic!” The angel winced.

“You’re alive,” Mako said. “You owe these people your life.”

“What life?” Jamison spat. “What am I now? Did you give me a fancy new leg too?” He sneered at the doctor, throwing the sheet aside to look at his legs. Thankfully, his peg was still there. And aside from some bandages, his flesh leg was still intact.

The doctor fumbled over her words. “We wanted to wait until you were fully rehabilitated, but there is the option to change your prosthesis, or even try to integrate some cybernetics.”

“I don’t want any of your corpo bullshit tech.” 

“Jamie,” Mako scolded him. “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Angela. She did the best she could to save you.”

Jamison glowered, but kept his mouth shut. Mako really did look like shit, and he probably hadn’t left his bedside in days.

“We’re at an old Overwatch outpost,” Mako continued. He knew Jamison would listen to him over the doctor. “Quite a few former agents have come back. They helped us in that fight against the black-suited soldiers. Apparently they come from an organization called Talon.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Jamison waved his hand. He hated how the motion felt. “I don’t want anything to do with them.”

Mako sighed. “We don’t have a choice. It’s going to be some time before you’re healed. Angela has explained to me what you’re going to need. She has experience with cybernetics, but there isn’t a lot here.”

Jamison said nothing.

Why should he care about Overwatch? Or Talon? Or any of that shit? He wanted his body back. He wanted to be as far away from doctors and agents and civilization as possible.

But he had never seen Mako like this, not even after the worst job. 

So he sat through the doctor’s check up, begrudgingly answering her questions and letting her poke and prod at his new body. 

“How long have I been out?” he finally asked.

“It’s been nearly a week.” She was gentle, hesitant as she redressed his wounds. “The biotics have helped to heal the most severe of your injuries. But, I have limited resources, so I have to make them count. I know you aren’t… happy with your cybernetics. They’re rudimentary and certainly not where I’d like them to be. If you so choose, we can always modify or upgrade anything once we have access to proper engineering. This outpost has been out of operation since the crisis and-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jamison cut her off. “Roadie trusts you, and that’s enough for me. But I want nothing to do with your Overwatch.” He wanted to be gone as soon as possible. Back to Junkertown, back the the safety of the outback.

It was another day before they told Jamison the full extent of his condition. He slept fitfully, a combination of biotics and medication and paralyzed numbness. He hated moving in the hours he was able to. It wasn’t his body. It wasn’t him.

He had been caught in an explosion in the fight against Talon. The blast had ignited the gunpowder on his own gear. He hadn't been in very good shape when Mercy -- Doctor Ziegler -- had found him. It was through sheer luck that he had been saved by the one doctor who pioneered full body cybernetics.

The hospital at the Australian Overwatch outpost had been… lacking, but between the doctors and engineers on hand they had managed to stabilize Jamison and fit him with rudimentary cybernetics.

Jamison knew he should be grateful. He was alive because of their generosity. But he couldn’t tamp down the resentment. He didn’t ask for this. Why would they go through all that trouble just to save some lowlife junker?

But he couldn’t leave Mako. If any of the two of them was going to be left alone it was going to be Jamison, he had resigned himself to that. Maybe he would have to pull through just for the old bastard.

The doctor -- he had taken to calling her blondie just to see how much it annoyed her -- fixed the nerve receptors and recalibrated the movement on his cybernetics. He knew how tedious the process was, he had done it all himself when he lost his arm the first time.

But that had been on his terms. He had gotten himself blown up and he had fixed it. None of these battles or fancy hospitals or strange people practically dissecting him every damn day.

Every time he tried to throw a fit, Mako would shoot him a look that would guilt him into playing nice. Mako would say thank you when the doctors finished up for the day. Mako would help clean him and dress him and feed him. He felt like a damn baby.

They finally let him out of the hospital after a few days. He wasn’t perfect -- not that he was anything special before this whole shitshow. But he doubted he would ever feel right again.

He staggered down the halls to the room Mako had been staying in. The Overwatch base was nice, but it felt too sterile, too civilized. Jamison and Mako were used to their little shack in the outback, they had never needed any fancy bells and whistles.

“Roadie,” Jamison whispered, “Maybe we could slip out of here tonight. Steal one of them fancy all-terrains and head back home.” He had seen the vehicles they came in one. They would scrap for some nice parts or sell for a good bit of money.

“No,” Mako didn’t even blink. “You’re still not well. The doctors here will look after you. We’re not leaving until you’re better.”

Jamison scowled. “Fuck them. I don’t need them. I can build everything I need out of scrap at home. I’ll just need your help.”

Mako was unfazed. “It’s too dangerous. You barely survived as it is, and the stuff they pieced you back together with isn’t going to last very long.”

He knew that. He knew he was on a timer. Without access to any real, up to date medical equipment he was just wasting away on the temporary machinery. He wanted to say it didn’t matter, that he’d rather go out on his own terms than be strung along from one set of parts to another, but he couldn’t do that to Mako.

“I hate it here,” he said.

“That’s fine,” was all he got in response.

The room was cozy, dusty, impersonal. It had been decades since Overwatch had any real presence on the continent, something that showed in every part of the base. The dorm was small and empty, a little run down, but the bed was big enough for both of them.

There was a small pile of gear on the desk, Mako’s gun and mask, some biotic canisters. None of Jamison’s gear had survived the explosion.

“I’m going to have to build a new gun, aren’t I?” Jamison asked. He was going to have to start over on everything. There was nothing left.

Then he caught his reflection in the mirror. It was jarring, to see his own face on an unfamiliar body. The wires and the plates and the joints. He was staring at the stranger in the glass when something soft smacked him in the face. One of Mako’s shirts.

Jamison unfolded the soft, faded material. He couldn’t even feel the texture of the cotton. “I’m pretty hideous now, ain’t I, Roadie? Uglier than ever.” He pulled the shirt over his head, wincing at the ache and pull of his healing muscles. 

“I don’t care how you look, Jamie,” Mako said quietly. “As long as I have you here with me.”

Frowning, Jamison washed his face in the sink. He liked being away from the constant supervision of the hospital room. All he wanted was to be left to his misery. He didn’t care about calibration or pulmonary function or anything like that.

He flopped onto the bed, glowering at the ceiling. Mako lay beside him, sighing and resting his hands on his stomach. “You don’t have to like this,” he said.

“Good. ‘cause I don’t.”

“You should be nicer to Doctor Ziegler.”

Jamison snorted. “Why?”

“For me.”

That wasn’t fair. Jamison would have continued being an asshole with no regrets if it weren’t for those two words. Because he would do anything for Mako, even if it meant letting some doctor make him miserable every damn day.

He would survive. Just for Mako. Even if he hated what he had become. It’s not like when he lost his leg, lost his arm. That had been before he had Roadie, and he had fixed himself up on his own. On his own terms. He had still felt whole, even with a peg leg and a scrap arm.

Now he was premium alloys and advanced sensors, and he had never felt more broken. Even Mako wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t touch him. They treated him as though he was fragile, made of glass and not the strongest metal his body could carry. 

He woke in the night panting and sweating. The same nightmares that had followed him for years. Metal fingers scrabbling at the plates on his chest, the wire channels running to his neck. He needed it off.

Two massive hands closed around the thin metal joints of his wrists. Calloused fingers, chipped nail enamel. Mako.

“Jamie,” he said.

“Roadie,” Jamison croaked. They had done this before. Countless times. 

He was surprised when Mako threw his arms around Jamison, pulling him close. It was the first time he had truly touched him since he woke up in that damned hospital.

“I’ve got you,” Mako whispered. He didn’t even wince at the feeling of metal against his skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jamison huffed in disbelief, but nuzzled into Mako’s chest. The familiar sound of Mako’s raspy breathing helped to ground him. “I’m the one who almost croaked. I just didn’t want to leave you with all these Overwatch weirdos.”

“They’ve been good to us.” Mako murmured. “We owe them.”

“You’re too nice. We don’t owe them shit, and the first chance I get im going to rob them.”

Mako chuckled. “They could help get rid of those soldiers.”

“I’m done with soldiers,” Jamison groaned. “I’m done with everything. I just wanna go back to the shack and drink my weight in beer.”

“We will.”

[rosepetals-flyingbirds]

Letters.

With: Bucky Barnes x Reader

-Gif credits go to @bluesteelstan  and a few others I don’t know because I have those gifs saved in my phone for months-

                            ...

*After Civil War events, in Wakanda*

“You will be okay?“ Steve asked gazing at his friend.

“Yeah,  tell Y/N I will expect her letters.“

                                …

24 of March.

Hey Y/N. I promised we would keep in touch, and even here being really modern I think writing a letter mix me well. T'challa filled his promise and helped me, his sister is a genius and are helping me a lot.

They offered me to stay at the palace but I preferred something simple, you couldn’t believe but I’m on a hut, using a man bun -at least that is why Shuri told that is when she saw me- and wearing a dress. Everything here is so calm, different than anything. My life has been between wars and being in the nature actually hearing only the animal noises makes me feel at peace.

I wish you were here, we could talk and I bet the kids would stare at you too. Its funny because I’m like an alien to them, they call me the White Wolf.

At least is better than Winter Soldier.

                                …

Once Thor was on Earth and Loki got you as a hostage between his arms fully knowing Steve Rogers wouldn’t dare to hurt an innocence civilian.

Bucky Barnes is your friend. You met the man in Bucharest when you ran out of your life searching for peace. Being an Avenger was tough, you didn’t have superpowers like Vision or wasn’t as skilled as Clint. 

Loki held you on a tight grip and took you to Asgard with him, Thor followed and when you -a mere mortal- stepped at the rainbow bridge a pain hit you, something about the fast travel and the differences of the space made your body chemistry change.

Loki literally threw you out of the floor and you fell into the darkness of the space.

When you woke up you were laid in a big room with weird technology around, some women wearing long dresses taking care of you and for a moment you wondered if you had died.

“Good morning, how do you feel?” The oldest lady asked and you took a deep breath trying to calm down and focus on your body.

“I feel good, confused, but out of physical pain, if that is what you want to know.”

Thor, the god of thunder himself, appeared a few hours later, and you never spoke with the man before and you weren’t sure how to approach him.

“What is your name?” He asked.

“Y/N.”

“Listen, I apologize for my brother's behavior, he was filled with angriness and was terribly bad what he did. I’m truly sorry.”

You nodded, but it wasn’t his fault, actually the fact that you were still alive is his doing. “It wasn’t your fault, it was your brother after all, not you. If anything I should be the one apologizing.”

“Nonsense. Listen, your body passed through some stuff, this is Asgard and humans beings shouldn’t be. Apparently, it made your body change a bit, we did some tests here and I’ll make sure your human healers will do too, but as far as we know it messed with your aging cells and your strength. Our guess is that you won’t age as you would and now you can heal faster and probably had the twice of your body strength.”

Hearing about his words you wondered about the serum they had used on Steve Rogers back in the day, the same serum Doctor Banner tried to recreate. “Like... Captain America?”

Thor took a few seconds to think about your question. “Yeah, like him.”

Sam came into the picture too and you, Steve and Sam started to go out together, you didn’t imagine you would become friends with Captain America and Falcon, but well, you also didn’t imagine a Norse god would save your life after his brother -another god- tried to kill you in outer space.

“Wow, I mean I’m glad I didn’t grow horns or anything.” Thor looked at you puzzled, not understanding your terrible joke. “Sorry.”

After meeting the place he sent you back and told his friends/co-workers about you and what happened. Tony paid for all the exams and hired some specialists doctors to run some tests. Steve took interest and became a friend, somehow you were like him, glad you didn’t grow muscles, was still you. But stronger and wouldn’t age normally.

With training and your good heart Steve took you in on the team and you started to go on missions.

After a tough week where you almost died, you took off and traveled as far as you could to breathe. You sat at Bucharest and mixed well with the people, you didn’t know Romanian language but gladly with all the technology you always could use google translator.

Tony ordered you quarters in the Compound but you declined. You liked your peace and you could always drive there before missions.

                              …

One day your data was running low and you couldn’t simply ask for some fruits at the local market.

You grunted and tried again but no one seemed to understand your trials of a different language.

“Yes, oh please, could you maybe ask him for me?”

A man with a hat and way too much for a hot day saved you with a small smile.

"Bananas and plums?” He asked and you looked at him a bit worried at first.

“Doamna va dori banane și prune.” - The lady will want bananas and plums. He told the seller and he gladly departed the best fruits.

At your abode, you ate the bananas while reading the newspapers repeating the words trying to learn the language.

“Mulțumesc.” - thank you - You told the seller and nodded at the kind man who helped you.

Your thoughts went to the man that helped you earlier, his english was clear as day, and it made you wonder if he was American, but he also spoke Romanian so perfectly, and what were the gloves about? It was almost 27°C outside. 

He puzzled you.

The next day you walked around the city trying to find the man, with no success you got home afterward with a small frown, you were an Avenger!

You shouldn’t be searching for a man out of beauty!

It was four days later that you found the man, he was entering an old building, the same hat, jackets, and gloves.

Intrigued you followed him, the steps to his place was round with old paintings on the walls, and rusty stairs.

Looking up you saw the broad man opening a door, you tried to make sure it was the right apartment and kept walking trying to hide your body under the tall stairs.

You heard a banging and you knew it was his place. Reaching it you knocked twice and took a deep breath, what were you doing anyway? Asking the man on a date?

After the silence, you took another deep breath and shook your head feeling ashamed.

Turning your steps ready to walk home the door opened quickly and you felt a gloved hand on your mouth and another pulling you inside the place.

Kicking your legs the man took you to his apartment and closed the door.

You kicked his knee and bit his hand only to almost break your teeth, you widened your eyes, of course, the pretty man would be some villain.

His grip kept around your waist making sure to lock your arms, your muffled screams against his hand and you felt terrible for wondering why he was so warm against your back. “Who are you? Why are you following me?” His voice was deep down scared and you tried to find a reason to, maybe he was some Romanian drug dealer who made business with Americans -which would explain his non-accent english- but why he was so sad.

Stopping your screams you also stopped the kicks you were throwing.

The man took his hand out of your mouth but kept the other arm around you. You turned your body to see him.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Y/N, I’m not a cop or… anything. It’s stupid, but I wanted to see you again… to thank you.” You said softly trying to show honesty. You were an Avenger, yes, but that wasn’t a cop... right?

Retrieving his steps he nodded his head unsurely. Extending your hand he grabbed his right one and you felt that one was of flesh and bone. He didn’t tell your name and you didn’t know what to do. “Well, thank you for helping me a few days ago and sorry for following you.”

Fidgeting with your things you didn’t know what to do. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m- I’m Bucky.” Bucky said nervously.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

It was a sluggish process, you would start a conversation and Bucky would listen, sometimes mention something but he always seemed unsure of what he said or tried to say.

After that, a friendship was born.

Bucky had something that drew you in, not only his look but his persona. He seemed so strong yet fearful, so firm yet falling apart, truly intriguing.

                             …

A few weeks later when your friendship grew stronger and you could actually spot a few simpers on his face, you saw the news about Tony creating a robot called Ultron. You remember walking to Buck’s apartment when you saw the newspaper with Tony’s and Steve's picture on it. You bought and asked Bucky to help you read it.

You knew you had to go back, you couldn’t abandon your job and live with a strange man because you were lonely and sad.

When you left was the first time Bucky touched your skin, telling him you had to go back he nodded but before you could reach the door he hugged you strongly. It was such a warm feeling. “I will come back, I promise." You stated and left.

That day Bucky felt alone again, and it was terrible.

With the events going on, Tony didn’t make a question of your previous whereabouts. The Avengers defeated Ultron and you took the first flight to Romania on the next day.

When you reached his place he wasn’t at home, your heart sank at that, the thought of never seeing him again.

But after a few hours of you -creepily- sitting in his balcony you heard the door opening and there he was.

For years stood like that, staying there with Buck, helping his nightmares, and helping him in all the aspects he would need you, and going back to work.

But when Bucky uttered something about his old friend you froze, Steve never mentioned him for you before and when you questioned about the man Bucky explained it was his friend a long time ago, that they got apart. 

Due to Bucky’s nightmares, amazing prosthesis, and all his great reflexes you knew he wasn’t telling you everything. But Steve’s friend? Was he the ’James Barnes’ the museum’s spoke about?

You were scared to ask, too scared to hear ‘yes, it’s me’ because even if really selfishly you wanted Bucky all for yourself. 

But Steve had to know. 

Talking with Buck you showed a picture of Steve and said you knew him too, that Steve Rogers wasn’t only your friend but also a coworker.

Bucky was surprised and you remember the sad look he had given you, the look where he queried if you were some sort of agent to spy on him, to steal his heart and trust to drag him to the authorities.

Gladly he listened to you, he knew you, not your job beforehand but you came clean to him.

And he came clean to you too! All the Hydra process, all the things he did and regretted so much.

For the first time, he told what his nightmares were about.

Things happened and Bucky got back to States and to Steve. The situation was a whole mess. The Sokovian Accords that split the team and you truly found it unnecessary, the government wanted to control the Avengers, for a side you understood that… but it was wrong.

The split finished and a few of your friends went to jail in a super facility. Tony's heart was broken to see his mother’s murder and seeing how Steve chose his old friend than him.

But time is the best healer.

You’d a fever one night, such a burning strong fever where you even had hallucinations. To your luck you were in the Compound with Tony and Rhodey when it happened so they were quick to take you to the hospital.

                          …

No one discovered what was happening, not even morphine was stopping the pain you were enduring.

The rainbow bridge had been demolished, Asgard has been destroyed and whatever magic that has changed your body’s particles years ago was slowly leaving you, painfully leaving you.

And when it finally did, you became human again. No super strength, nor quicker healing process or agility. Just a fragile normal human being.

It made you sad, you couldn’t be an avenger anymore, you were useless. You couldn’t even stay at some sort of "guy in the chair” since you weren’t so smart to be a genius in the computer.

And they had F.R.I.D.A.Y. after all.

Tony said you could still be around, but he likes you too much to let you get killed on missions. The man had already too much baggage on his shoulders.

So you left, they had too much to worry already. Too much to do, Tony accepted your decision and opened a new account to you, “just to be comfortable and no need to rush to find a job” he said, you dismissed at first saying you already had some saved but the man is stubborn.

Bucky has gone to Wakanda, and you knew it would do good to him. 

But his absence took a toll on you, he became so important, all the “Romanian Escape” created such a strong bond. 

And as your powers, Bucky was gone.

When Steve handed you a letter you wondered who would that be, it couldn’t be Bucky, right?

Wrong.

And especially, how you missed him dearly.

It was his, and each Friday a new one reached your address. It was the spotlight of your weeks, receiving one of his letters and reading about his new life, of how he was and how he was feeling. You answered each and every single one, you explained how you lost your “cosmical super serum” and how you left the team.

I’m starting to plant, is amazing how something can grow out of patience. But today was complicated, I did all the chores around and even helped a man named Zuma with his heavy materials of planting.

                             …

16 of July.

But when I got back at my hut… I started to remember the sessions. I don’t remember if I mentioned that, but I believe you saw the videos, those ‘sessions’ I’m talking about is about when I was at Hydra.

When my mind started to show me memories and they had to, to brainwash me.

I had a hallucination today, I was separating some grass… doing normal work, when I touched a small piece of wood that has got in the middle of it. I remember I raised it but the next second I flickered my eyes I was somewhere in Germany with a knife in my hand.

I don’t know Y/N, one moment I was sat on the floor and on the other I was locked in a chair with a protection on my teeth. I feel like I can’t shake those memories, I just want them to vanish.

5 of August.

It was terrible, I was confused, but it wasn’t a surprise I was always confused in those situations, always asking what was happening and why everyone was yelling, the fear had crept in me Y/N, I wanted to cry I wanted to scream but a com was in my ear yelling: Mach deinen Job, Soldat. And the sound of the electro sessions made me shiver…

I got out of it when I heard a humming, really far away but I had grasped on it. It was you, Y/N.

That song you used to hum when we walked at night in Bucharest. So I closed my eyes and the knife fell out off my hand. And when I opened my eyes again I haven’t seen an old mission, but the quiet florets of Wakanda. Thank you for pulling me back.

I remembered a lot of things already, I have traveled the world previously. But no place can be as peaceful as the village I’m staying in. There aren’t cars, people yelling, robbery, the polluted air.

12 of August.

Is all... pure, I wonder how we have destroyed it. How many florets have been destroyed to build the big cities? And that is sad.

There is a lake here, I go there every day to see the sun rising and setting.

It’s truly beautiful.

I heard someone mentioning that Wakanda has the most beautiful sunrise, I believe that.

Things are calm, I haven’t had another hallucination or nightmare. I guess the calm surrounds can really be therapeutic.

I wish you were here, you could come! Has so many things I want to show you, I know I can’t ask you to leave your life but… I’m worried about you.

You’ve left the team and now without your job and 'powers’, I wonder about the danger that can reach you, I hope Steve is taking a good look at you. By the way, where is Steve? You two would love here, that punk always said about green areas when we were kids.

Letters kept coming and you kept sending them. You wondered about moving there, T'challa seemed to take a like on you, maybe he wouldn’t impose. 

                                 …

Yet you felt anxious.

Leaving everything you know and go live in a calm out-of-danger zone with Bucky seemed like a dream, but did he need that? He was recovering on his on, what if your presence triggered something bad on him? And what would you do… he had never shown a hint of a ’love interest’ for you, of course there were hints of affections and the conversations were deep. 

But he was a lonely man, and you were his only friend after 80 years of pure torture.

It was only a searching for human connection, for a friend. Not a romance.

Maybe in the future, maybe when he got happier.

But that time plan was screwed when Bruce came back warning about Thanos. About his cruelty and of Thor’s death. If a creature were strong enough to kill a god, what would he do to your friends and to you?

Tony kept you aware of the situation and you felt useless and helpless. You tried to help, said you could go but not only Tony, but Steve and Rhodey denied your wish.

And before you could try to impose they left. You didn’t know where Tony was, where Steve and Sam was.

The fighting was happening, you knew, ominous ships invaded the atmosphere and things were growing weird.

Didn’t know where they went or what was about to happen. If the alien attack back in 2012 due Loki’s issues almost destroyed everything… what would happen now?

                             …

Steve said he would head to Wakanda and you wanted to go, but his point was right ’is too dangerous’ the idea of dying was what held you back, but being just some weak human you would actually slow them down, knowing your friends would worry about you and lose their focus.

Days passed and no new, your heart clenched when you went in the groceries and saw people becoming dust. The city was chaos, cars in the middle of the streets, people dying on the floor and the rest of what used to be a person.

Locking yourself at home and making sure your weapons were near you, you waited.

When someone got in your yard you almost broke it when you saw Steve driving a black car with even darker insulfilm.

A smile reached your face and in what seems to be years you felt a hint of peace, Steve walked to your reach and you smiled at him and looking back at the car, Bucky was shy and probably nervous, but nothing happened, when no one got out of the car you paid attention to Steve’s face, how puffy and red his eyes were.

“No.” Shaking your head you gave a few steps back. “No no no.” Scratching your scalp, your eyes filled with tears. “No! He can’t be dead Steve!” Starting to cry again Steve hugged you tightly, you fell and he kneeled to manage to hold your body. “Wha- what happened?”

Steve’s explanation would seem impossible, but as someone that visited a land of gods’ you knew nothing was impossible.

“No no no. Buc- Bucky is strong, he- he survived the fell off the train, he endured 70 fucking years suffering daily, he-he,” Sobbing you kept making a distance between Steve and you, Steve who entered the house and locked the door, the tiredness crystal on his face. “He fought against Tony, he fought when the government, SHIELD, and Hydra were searching for him. He stood at Wakanda a completely different place with one of the only languages he doesn’t know… to… to die like that? No! He is alive, but somewhere in outer space! I know that. He can't... he just can't.” Trying to the reasoning you walked to grab your cell phone.

“Y/N…” Steve said in a whisper, you were splitting his already broken heart.

Searching for something that would lead you to Thor you called Natasha she could reach Thor for you. “Y/N.” Steve called again.

Placing your hand in the air trying to prevent Steve’s step your call went straight to the voicemail. “Maybe Thor knows something, knows somewhere where Thanos sent his victims, maybe Bucky is there waiting for us.” You sobbed again and Steve grabbed your phone throwing it somewhere in the room.

You started to push him and grabbing the device ready to call even the Nasa if necessary! “Y/N!” Steve shouted. Looking at him perplexed you realized the heavy tears in his eyes. “I miss him too.” He softly said and sobbed, going to a hug you two stood there crying and trying to console each other.

Hours passed when you two could finally cease the tears, no word was exchanged.

You went to take a shower and Steve knew he was welcome to stay, but he needed a time alone, just like you. “I, uh, Rhodey wants to talk with the government protection, see who is still alive and-” Squeezing his eyes he didn’t even know what to say. “You can come, I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Rubbing your face due to a terrible headache it was forming because of the tears you gave him a small smile. “Thank you, but I can get by my own.”

The world was a mess, half of the people had become ashes, and you curse Thanos for not taking you too. Steve was was at the Compound, what was left of the Avengers stood there trying to find a way out, Tony was shattered.

Convincing him you actually needed to have some space Steve left your house and you allowed to cry again, Bucky was dead.

“The thing is, you don’t have to.” Steve answered and looked at you up and down, how shaking your hands were.

’I’m with you to the end of the line, pal.’

The end for his phrase came to his mind.

Everyone was grieving. Tony not only Peter died but his other friends too, Happy and Harley -the kid that helped him when the Mandarin tried to murder Tony-. 

Each one was graving in each owns way, Clint lost not only his wife but his three children too, he was torn apart.

You tried to stay at the Compound, even if you weren’t an avenger anymore, your friends were suffering as much as you. But, however, you couldn’t handle spend a whole day there, you had to stay alone.

Entering your house and locking the door you saw the correspondence under your door, normal civilians bills and one white envelope. Sniffing you dropped your bag on the floor not caring if it would break your cell phone and sat in the couch looking at the bills and threw each of them at the floor, the white envelope was taking your attention. 

'The world is ending and the government still trying to win money?’

Your line of thought went to hell when you ripped the paper and found a letter inside.

Bucky’s handwritten.

22 of May.

Hey, doll. Something is happening, I was at the little farm I told you about when T'challa showed up, he opened a box and it was a fresh new arm, all of vibranium.

I knew what that meant, it was a war. T'challa took me back with him and Shuri installed the new arm, is weird to feel that “limb” again, it is lighter, but is still weird.

Steve is coming, something about aliens, can you believe that? I’ll go to war again, who I was trying to fool? 

I would never have a normal life, maybe in another reincarnation if that thing really exists. The thing is… if we don’t win that, I know I’ll die, and the thing that scares me the most is that I don’t care, I wish it would be something poetical like 'i only care about your safety’ and Y/N I do! But I want to die, I’m too tired, too old in an early 30’s man’s body, my mind isn’t mine doesn’t matter how many times I try to control it.

I’m broken, and I will always be, what Hydra did with me will always haunt me, doesn’t matter if in a few years I would go back to you, if… if I asked you out, and we got married and create a family together. I will never be whole and you don’t deserve that.

I think a lot about Romania, of how we became friends when we didn’t know anything about each other, we didn’t know that we both knew Steve.

It was so easier right?

Reading books, talking about anything, visiting the old museum, at night because I was too scared someone would spot me. You were my light. You still are.

I’m sat on the rooftop of T'challa’s palace, looking at the expansive area and waiting for Steve. I’m wearing a uniform already, I know what will happen.

I love you Y/N, you are the person that made me heal so much, don’t feel bad and don’t even dare to wonder what else could you do, you did everything.

Every day I think about you, ever since we met, and here in Wakanda each hour I thought about you somehow, the light that saved me from the shadows, how cheesy is that?

I’m sorry, I wish I’d the courage to ask you out, to kiss and touch you. To love you and make you happy, but I couldn’t, you deserve better, I think not even the 40’s Buck Barnes would deserve you.

Alien's attack… I have no idea what will happen but I feel it will be the end for me, please don’t cry if it will be, I want that, I want to rest.

Thank you for everything, my angel. I wish I was brave enough to declare my heart for you, but now is too late. I hope we will win that war and you’ll be happy. You deserve it. For now, goodbye.

I will always love you.

                                 …

I love you too, my love.♥

[midoriyasseawolf-blog]

Final reveal for Sal in the prom AU. Finished all the color and little details to his outfit.

Bonus Scene:

Sal would never be able to pay Lisa Johnson back for all her kindness. When Sal had asked her to help him go through his mom’s old gowns and pretty him up, he was sure she’d laugh in his face. Instead, there was a little sparkle in her tired eyes that told him everything. She was excited to have the experience that every mom with a daughter would have where she’d get to help pick out a dress and make her baby even more beautiful.

“What about this one Sal?” Lisa suggested holding up the shimmery off-shoulder black gown with gold detailing flowers with leaves and vines. “I bet we could find the accessories for this one in your mom’s jewelry box and fuss around with the in-seam a bit...”

“Are you sure it would fit?” Sal questioned, abandoning the box he’d been digging through in favor rubbing the material of the chosen gown between his fingers.

“I’m sure I can make it fit you.” Lisa declared. “Whaddya say, Sweetheart?”

“Sure let’s do it,” Sal consented with a half-convincing half-shrug. His face burning with anxiety and embarrassment behind the prosthesis.

“Awesome! Let’s find your mom’s jewelry box then,” Lisa directed, setting the dress to the side.

It was pretty much downhill after that. Once they found everything, they headed back to the apartments from the storage unit. Larry’s mom had Sal try on the dress to find that it actually needed to be taken in. As it turned out, Sal was a bit more petite and certainly less curvy that his mother had been. While Lisa altered the dress, she had Sal shave his legs and rub them down with baby lotion to avoid razor burn. She showed him how to paint his toes to look neat and tidy and finished her work on the dress. Once the dress was ready, they did Sal’s hair. They decided to do a sort of braided bun to one side with a couple loose curls to frame Sal’s face while his bangs were pinned back by a decorative hair pin. There was a larger pin attached above the bun then it was on to makeup. Lisa had seen Sal’s face plenty of times. The first time she saw his face, she cried for him and the pain he must’ve endured. She had confessed that it broke her heart to see what had been done to him. She even apologized for her ramblings and tears when she realized how upset, confused, and concerned Sal was. She didn’t even bat a lash as she applied eyeliner, fake eyelashes, eyeshadow, and lipstick to highlight certain features. With all that in place, Sal slipped into the dress. That’s when it was time for the jewelry, gloves, and shoes. The jewelry was the same black and gold flower motif and the shoes were old fashioned peep toe slip-ons.

Lisa let Sal situate everything as he needed and waited patiently in the living room with her ancient Polaroid camera. She had checked it over a few times and done a couple test pictures just to make sure it wouldn’t fail her. She was so excited that Sal and Larry were going to their first prom. They were juniors this year and next year would be even more special as it marked a whole other place in their lives. She was excited her two favorite boys would be going to prom together. Unlike some people, she wasn’t bothered by same sex relationships. Her philosophy was that what you did in your time, especially in your own home, was your own business as long as no one was being harmed. She felt the same way about people who stated they were the opposite gender as they were born to look- as long as they didn’t force others to be the same way, what did it matter if a boy liked pink and dresses or a girl liked blue and men’s jeans? So when Sal said he wanted to be a beautiful girl and go as Larry’s date, Lisa was ready to make it happen in any reasonable way Sal requested. She thought it was very sweet of Sal. Besides, she’d had an inkling since the first time Larry saw Sal without his prosthesis that the shorter male had developed a very heavy crush.

“D-does this look okay?” Sal stammered, prosthesis gripped tight in his hands as he revealed himself to Larry’s mom.

“Oh, Sal,” Lisa breathed, a couple proud tears escaping at the beautiful sight he made. “You look beautiful, baby.”

“R-really?” Sal questioned, a little light-headed and hazy with relief and euphoria that he could pull the look off. “Do you think Larry will like it?”

“If he says anything else, I’m beating his ass for lying,” Lisa reassured with a loving smile. “Let’s get a couple pictures and then we can take you down to the basement to ask him.”

Once Lisa had taken the pictures she wanted, they left for the basement apartment. Larry was supposed to be ready by then, but anything could happen with that boy. He was a good kid, but sometimes he got ahead of himself or couldn’t keep up with everything and it was hard to tell at times which one would be the case. This time, he surprised them by being all done up and tugging at his suit in the living room. His hair was tightly pulled back and pinned in a masculine (in Lisa’s opinion at least) bun on the top of his head, his facial hair neatly groomed and his black suit freshly pressed with a crisp white dress shirt.

“Woah, who is that?” Larry questioned, looking Sal over as if he were a totally new and different person. His assessment wasn’t entirely wrong. Sal was practically a whole other person like this.

“It’s just me, Larry Face,” Sal insisted, holding the prosthesis in front of his face and pulling it away as if that was the magic key to Larry’s understanding.

“I didn’t even recognize you, Sally Face!” Larry grinned, giving his friend an appreciative once-over. “What brought this on? Did Todd try to set you up again?”

“No, a-actually,” Sal admitted, avoiding eye contact as he fiddled with his prosthesis.

“What made you decide to be a classy lassy over a dapper dude then?” Larry prompted, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets.

“Funny you should ask,” Sal laughed humorlessly.

“Go on, Sweetie,” Lisa encouraged, camera at the ready.

“I actually wanted to see if you maybe,” Sal hesitated, unsure of whether this was a good idea or not. “Maybe you would go with me?”

“Like a date?” Larry clarified. It was his turn to hesitate as he studied his friend’s expression, uncomfortably shifting his weight.

“Yeah, but it could be just friends if you’d rather,” Sal quickly qualified. His chest felt tight and heavy as if it were enclosed around a wrought iron cage full of spastic butterflies. Hyperventilation was just over the horizon as Sal started to spiral into negative thoughts of all the reasons why Larry would say no.

And yet, he hadn’t thought of the simplest reason.

“Actually, Sal, I kinda told Ash that I’d be her date,” Larry confessed, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand as he avoided looking Sal in the eyes. “We used to have this thing a few years ago. I guess it was kind of a relationship? She thought it might be fun to go together and see where that lead...”

Lisa’s camera sounded off twice before she or Sal fully processed what Larry had said. Instead of getting fairytale ‘he/she said yes’ pictures, her camera was able to pinpoint and preserve the exact moment that Sal’s little bit of self esteem and excitement for prom shattered into pixie dust. It also caught the first hints of Larry’s mounting guilt and desire to back out of the situation.

“O-oh,” Sal breathed, licking some of the black lipstick from his scarred sliver of an upper lip. “That’s good... I, uh, didn’t know you had plans so... No, yeah, I’m happy for you guys.”

“Larry, kitchen, now, please,” Lisa gritted through her teeth.

When he didn’t react fast enough, she yanked him after her by his earlobe. When they reached the kitchen, she slapped him upside the head when Sal turned away. Larry looked confused and betrayed. His mom hadn’t done that to him since he accidentally killed Mrs. Gibson’s pet rabbit when he was younger.

“What the hell, Larry?!” Lisa demanded. “Why didn’t you think to tell that poor boy that you and Ashley were going together?!”

“I didn’t think he’d wanna go together!” Larry defended. “It was all super last minute! Ash offered after Samantha shot me down. I said sure cause I didn’t have a date and Sal hadn’t said anything since we first heard the date for the dance and he said he wasn’t really interested! I figured he wasn’t going.”

“And you never thought to ask if he changed his mind or if you all could go as a group of friends?!” Lisa pointed out, arms crossed over her chest in typical angry mom posture.

“Okay, fine. No, I didn’t,” Larry huffed. “What was I supposed to do? Lie to him about my plans?”

“No! You’re supposed to be his friend and talk to him about his plans too!” Lisa scolded. “You’re supposed to share things with him! That poor boy has had a crush on you since you first saw him without that mask and treated him like a normal human being! Use some sense, Larry!”

There was a knock on the door that made Sal look between it and the two arguing in the kitchen. By the look on Lisa’s face, it was best to leave them be for the moment. Sal made his way to the door and opened it to reveal Ash all dolled up in a deep plum prom gown with some simple detailing here and there. She looked beautiful, even with as little makeup and jewelry as she wore. She was like model, but instead of her modeling the dress it was more like the dress was modeling her.

“Wow, Ash, you... you look amazing,” Sal beamed, pushing aside the tiny shred of jealousy and the larger dose of hurt that roiled inside him.

“Thanks, Sal,” Ash smiled as she joined him inside the apartment. “You look so pretty! What made you decide to swap teams for the night?”

“Oh ya know, just thought I’d try something different,” Sal blew off, rather unconvincingly. “Figured it couldn’t hurt to balance out all the guys in the group.”

“How noble of you,” Ash teased with a warm smile. “Where’s Larry?”

“Talking with Mrs. Johnson in the kitchen,” Sal answered. “I guess he’s in trouble or something?”

“Oh, I wonder what for...?” Ashley mused, looking curious and a bit concerned as they looked over just in time to see Larry get another slap upside the head. “He must’ve gotten into some serious trouble to earn that...”

“I guess...” Sal submitted, wondering if their argument had to do with his rejection.

Lisa caught Ashley’s eye for moment and gave her son a glare and quiet scold before approaching, “Ashley, you look lovely. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“I just got here a moment ago,” Ashley dismissed. “Sal let me in since you two were chatting.”

“Okay, well I won’t keep you three,” Lisa responded. “Just let me get a couple pictures and then I’ll let you head up to join Todd.”

Lisa snapped the pictures and wished them lots of safe fun and good memories. She tried to assure Sal that he didn’t have to go if he didn’t want to, but he insisted it was fine and he wouldn’t want to waste all her efforts to dress him up. Lisa clarified that it wouldn’t hurt her feelings in light of the situation but whatever made him happy was fine with her. Before they left she made Sal promise to call her if he wanted to leave at any point since they were supposedly rolling right into after prom once the dance was over. With all that said, the trio left to meet Todd and his parents in the parking lot for the apartments.

Sal really did try his hardest to enjoy prom and spent most of the dance with Todd, who was an incredible friend. Larry and Ashley did their own thing most of the night but came back every once in awhile. Surprisingly enough Travis was at the dance with some girl from one of their classes. He didn’t look as though he was having anymore fun than Sal was, though. It made sense since everyone in their group had pieced together that Travis was not as straight as he advertised- in fact, he was as opposite as they came. After several attempts at dancing with Todd and a few separate chats with Chug and Maple, Sal wasn’t able to keep up the neutral, happy for everyone façade. He excused himself to one of the empty tables and planted himself in a chair. After a couple minutes, Todd rejoined him.

“How are you holding up, Sal?” Todd checked in, following Sal’s eyes to where Larry and Ashley were giggling about some inside joke as they slow danced together.

“I’m... I’m fine,” Sal insisted, but the hesitation was there.

“You know it’s okay to be upset about this,” Todd reassured him. “Just like it’s okay for me to be upset about Neil not being allowed to come.”

“I hate to sound like a jerk,” Sal prefaced, adjusting his prosthesis straps on his head. “But that’s a little different...”

“You’re right,” Todd agreed. “But the point is that neither of us came with who we wanted and we both feel that hurt. It’s the same basic principle. As much as we enjoy each other’s company, it’s not the same as having that special someone to share that first slow dance with.”

“You’re not wrong,” Sal sighed, fussing with one of the bracelets enclosing his wrists. When he looked back up at Larry and Ashley, his heart shattered. They were sharing a tender and rather long kiss.

“Sal...” Todd sympathized, noticing the shorter male’s breathing stop. “I’m so sorry...”

“I... I...” Sal stammered, struggling to breathe.

Sal shot up from his seat, kicking his shoes off, and darted towards the men’s room. Unbeknownst to him, Travis had been watching off and on. The blonde saw Sal go from indifferent to shattered before the shorter boy could hide his feelings. Sal locked himself in a stall, ripped his mask off, and sank to his knees on the floor. The gown billowed out around him and left parts of his legs exposed to the cool tiles. He felt his breath come in gasps until he was nearly choking on each one. Then came the tears so strangled and violent that he gagged and threw up into the toilet before him. At least none got on his mother’s gown... Sal struggled to right his breathing, finding that the tears wouldn’t stop.

Just when he thought he might have calmed himself enough to be able to step out and rinse his mouth in the sink, the door to the bathroom squeaked open and slammed shut, causing his anxiety to spike. Between the violent tears and crippling anxiety, Sal’s stomach found enough contents within to hurl a second time. There was a knock on the stall door that halted Sal’s sobs and breathing and paralyzed his vocal cords. Todd wouldn’t chase him down like this and there was no way he’d get Larry involved. Chug didn’t know what was going on so it was unlikely that he was on the other side.

“I know you’re in there, Sally Face,” Travis called. “I can see the dress under the stall door. Open up.”

“Leave me alone, Travis!” Sal pleaded, his voice raw and strangled. “Just please, go!”

“Open the door or I’m coming in there!” Travis insisted, his irritation rising. He was trying to be a decent person and Sal was being an ass. “3...2...1... I’m coming in.”

Before Sal could question whether it was a bluff or not, he found himself scrambling to get out of the way as Travis’ head started to duck under the door. The kid was actually going to crawl under the stall door and force his way in... Sal smacked his forehead on the toilet in his rush to collect his mask and put it back on. By the time Travis had fully squeezed himself into the stall and stood, Sal had forced himself between the toilet and stall wall, mask sloppily secured in place. His heart was racing as he wondered if Travis was going beat him up for dressing like a girl or crying like one or... or... what was that look on the boy’s face? Concern? Confusion? Disgust? Irritation? What was it?!

“Are...” Travis sighed in frustration. He’d come this far and now his stupid brain was panicking and blanking. “Are you okay?”

Sal didn’t answer. Was this a trick question? Would he get punched if he said one way or another? There was no escape and with the music, no would hear if he screamed... Sal didn’t like this at all.

“I get it... you don’t wanna answer,” Travis huffed a sigh. “I’m just the jerk that beats you up and there’s no way that’s not what I’m here to do...”

“N-no, that’s not it!” Sal protested.

“Then what is it?” Travis pressed.

“You forced your way into my stall in the bathroom...” Sal hesitantly pointed out. “That’s a little unsettling...”

“Well, you wouldn’t open the damn door!” Travis countered. “What was I supposed to do? Let you puke your guts out until you die with face in the toilet?!”

“I don’t think I would’ve died...” Sal corrected.

“You never know,” Travis argued. “You could rupture your esophagus with all that bile!”

Sal just blinked at the blonde boy in the burgundy tux. What was this all about? Why was Travis so concerned for him?

“Look, I saw how upset you were about Larry and Ashley,” Travis fessed up. “You ran outta there pretty fast and no one else was coming to check on you...”

“I didn’t think you cared about my mental health or feelings...” Sal admitted, sniffling and making himself gag.

“Of course I care!” Travis blurted, mouth agape in shock at what he’d admitted. “Are you okay? Do you need to hurl again or something?”

“If I do, you need to leave the stall,” Sal insisted. “Like now.”

“Why? What’s the big deal?” Travis questioned. “Everyone pukes at some point in their life. So what?”

“I’m not taking off my prosthetic in front of you,” Sal bluntly stated. “No one sees me without it.”

“Why not?” Travis pressed. Why was he being so difficult? There was no way he was that mangled, right?

“Because. Just go, please,” Sal shit down.

“Just take it off,” Travis pushed.

“No,” Sal shot back.

Travis grumbled something incomprehensible and then lunged at Sal. They wrestled with Sal nearly shouting into his ear to stop and let go until finally it happened. Travis managed to unhook both straps and the mask fell into the toilet. Sal looked down in horror and Travis in shock. He didn’t think he’d get the mask off and he was waiting to see Sal’s reaction. He felt awful that it had fallen into the toilet but he was more curious to see if Sal would attack him or, more importantly, if he could see the blue haired male’s face... Sal crumpled to floor once more, sitting right on Travis’ feet. Slowly, he broke down into silent tears of humiliation that grew louder with each breath until he was nearly sobbing.

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” Travis apologized, slipping his feet out from under Sal and and kneeling next to him. “I didn’t mean for it to fall in! I’ll wash it off for you! I just didn’t want you to choke or suffocate or anything!”

“Don’t look at me!” Sal sobbed, hands already covering his face as much as he could make them. “Don’t look! I’m a monster!”

Travis had had it as soon as Sal uttered that last declaration. In a couple rough, but careful moves, Travis pines Sal’s hands in his lap with one hand and lifted the boy’s chin with his free hand. Travis’ face displayed his shock and then awe. Sal was beautiful. Gold dust shimmering on his eyelids, supple lips accentuated by the black sparkling lipstick, hints of blush and eyeliner making those baby blues pop... Each scar was flaming red from the heat in Sal’s face and irritation from the tears. His nose was practically half gone and face was concerningly skeletal but somehow that just accentuated his hauntingly beautiful features.

“Y-you...” Travis stammered. “Y-you’re beautiful...”

“W-what...?” Sal clarified, assuming there was some mistake. Surely Travis meant to say beastly...

“You are beautiful, Sal,” Travis insisted, his fingers caressing Sal’s face as he continued. “Your eyes, the contours of your face... your lips...”

“It’s not nice to lie, Travis,” Sal reminded, swallowing heavily in discomfort as a tear ran down his scarred face.

Travis leaned in and kissed the rogue tear away, pulling back, “I’m not lying. I’m done lying, Sally Face. I like boys. I like one very special boy... I... I like you...”

“Nobody likes me...” Sal breathed, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Whoever doesn’t needs there ass kicked.” Travis declared. “Starting with that fuck face, Larry. He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t appreciate you.”

“And you do?” Sal skeptically questioned. “After all the times you fought me verbally and physically...”

“I deserve that...” Travis agreed. “But I’d like to prove I deserve you.”

Sal thought it over. He had certainly suspected this could be a thing but he hadn’t been certain before... But could he really like Travis that way? He’d spent so much time pining over Ashley and then Larry... He didn’t actually know how he felt about Travis.

“I get that you might not like me that way, but maybe you could give me a try,” Travis hoped aloud. “Maybe give us a try...”

“Okay...,” Sal accepted. “I’ll try...”

“Really?” Travis pressed.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you please clean my prosthesis off now?” Sal requested.

“Right!” Travis scrambled, getting up and helping Sal up.

He rolled his sleeves up and shifted so Sal could squeeze out of the stall and wash up. With a deep breath, Travis plunged his hands into the toilet and fished the mask out. He made a dash for the sink and scrubbed the plastic down with soap and water.

“Did you lock the door?” Sal asked as he dried his hands and spied the lock out of place.

“I figured the fewer people the better for your sake,” Travis owned up, drying off the prosthesis and handing it over.

“That’s really... sweet of you,” Sal commented before slipping his prosthesis back on and choking at the smell of the soap. “What the hell kind of soap is this?”

“Some awful medical grade crap, I’m guessing,” Travis winced, realizing Sal was going to have to smell that the rest of the night.

Sal shrugged, unlocked the door and paused halfway through. A couple guys pushed their way in, ignoring the pair as they rushed to the stalls. Travis was just standing there, admiring how Sal looked in a dress. He didn’t like women, not really, but he wasn’t against Sal in a dress...

“Are you coming?” Sal prompted.

“Yeah,” Travis responded, snapping out of it.

As they made it back to the dance, they spotted Todd with Chug and Maple. Sal waved him off when he looked concerned and the redhead relaxed. Larry and and Ash were grabbing punch from the concession table. Sal just stood and watched the dance floor as a high energy song faded out and everyone cheered. The next song was slower. It was a soft song, Perfect by Ed Sheeran.

“May I have this dance,” Travis requested with a deep bow as if they were in Old England at a fancy ball.

“Yes,” Sal breathed.

He let himself be led to the dance floor. Travis kept his posture and hand placement respectful while still holding Sal close. He twirled and dipped Sal like the shorter boy was delicate and beautiful creature to be revered and praised. Sal was amazed by how gentle and loving Travis treated him. As the song reached the end, Travis began to sing along, locking eyes with Sal.

“Baby, I'm dancing in the dark, with you between my arms. Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song. When I saw you in that dress, looking so beautiful, I don't deserve this, darling, you look perfect tonight. Baby, I'm dancing in the dark, with you between my arms, Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song. I have faith in what I see. Now I know I have met an angel in person And she looks perfect. I don't deserve this. You look perfect tonight...”

As the song drew to a close, Travis dipped Sal back as far as the shorter was comfortable and planted a soft, sweet kiss to the lips of the prosthesis. When Travis pulled him back up, Sal decided this boy deserved better than a plastic face. He unclipped the prosthesis in the dark of the dance floor, blocked one side of his face with it, and stole a kiss from the blonde boy that was so desperate to atone for his mistakes.

“You deserve this,” Sal breathed, both of them tearing up at his words.

Neither of them had ever heard that phrase in a positive context before then. They silently vowed to always remind each other that they do deserve better.

[the-zodiacs-written-in-the-stars]

Writer’s Month; Day 15 - First Time

Four years prior to Written in the Stars, Mike meets Matt’s family for the first time - and he’s a nervous wreck!

~*~

Summer 2014: Meet the Family

(Prompt: First Time)

Mike was a nervous wreck. Melanie found it honestly kind of fun to watch. He had been pacing the apartment for about two hours now. Or at least that was what Rick had said when he had called her to come over because he couldn't deal with this nonsense anymore. He had better things to do – like a date with the cute girl he had met the other week. Second date and apparently he was already head over heels for this Lizzy girl. That was cute. Cuter than Mike's pacing, that was for sure.

“What's the big deal, little brother?”, asked Melanie pointedly.

“Mattie invited me to go to Cathedral City with him”, muttered Mike distressed.

“Okay... And... what's so huge about that? Is it your first weekend get-away as a couple?”, asked Mel a bit confused. “You've been dating for what, three months?”

“Yes but also no. Cathedral City is where Mattie was born. It's where his family lives”, explained Mike distressed. “He wants to take me to the reservation. To meet his family.”

“Oh. That serious already, huh?”, asked Mel surprised. “Wow. Yeah, I'd go crazy too.”

“...Thanks. Really helpful”, muttered Mike with a glare. “What do I do?”

“You... get his mom flowers and his dad whiskey, you're polite, you do small-talk, you continue looking at Matt like he hung the sun and moon and then you'll be fine”, assured Mel with a fond smile. “Come on, you're absolutely smitten with him and they'll see it.”

“But what... what if I'm not good enough for their son?”, asked Mike worried.

Mel frowned thoughtfully. “Well, I guess then you have to leave the city and never come back.  - Oh, come on, I'm just kidding. Wow. You're really worried. You'll be fine. I know it.”

“But it's not just a dinner. We're staying the weekend so if they don't like me, it will be super awkward all weekend. Or oh god what if they think I'm just after Mattie's money?”

“Ah yes. You look like the regular gold-digger”, agreed Mel solemnly. “Mikey. Calm down. Take a deep breath. Think about this thoroughly and think about how much he loves you. He wouldn't let his family dig in on you either. He'd defend you. And if he doesn't? Then, honestly, he's not the right man for you anyway. Because... you are an amazing man, Michael.”

“You're really good at mom-ing”, muttered Mike with a small smile, hugging his sister.

“I've momed you long enough, I'd think so”, grinned Mel, clinging onto him. “You'll be fine. And if you aren't, you call me, I'll drive out to Cathedral City and pick you up, okay?”

“Okay”, mumbled Mike, nodding against Mel's neck. “Thank you, you're the best.”

~*~

“...You went overboard, amore”, noted Matt with his eyebrows raised.

He regarded Mike, who was carrying a giant stuffed unicorn under one arm, a huge flower-bouquet in one hand and a bottle of expensive whiskey in the other. Matt shook his head amused.

“I just... want to make a good... first impression?”, offered Mike with a helpless shrug. “It's the first time I'm meeting your parents. And meeting the parents for the first time is... awful.”

“Awful?”, echoed Matt while the two got into Matt's car.

“Yeah. My high school sweetheart and I... meeting his family was not great”, muttered Mike.

“Tell me more about it”, prompted Matt. “We have a long ride ahead of us.”

“Okay”, groaned Mike. “So, Tony, he was... the most popular guy at my school? And he was from a rich upperclass kinda family? I was super awkward as a teen, I mean I was a jock – captain of the football team. Uh. Actual football, not that American nonsense.”

“You say that kind of stuff at home and uncle Andy may just kick you out”, warned Matt.

“Wait. Uncle? There are going to be more people?”, asked Mike distressed.

“Huh? Yeah? My parents and sister, my grandparents since they live together, but after they heard that I have a cute boyfriend I'm bringing over, my aunt and her family decided they'll come over for dinner too”, replied Matt with a shrug. “It's okay. It's just aunt Tammy, uncle Andy and my cousins Pippa and Tolly. You're going to be fine. Now tell me more about this Tony.”

“Uh, he actually moved to Los Angeles too?”, offered Mike and ducked his head. “Works as a barista in some cute little café. It's how Rick met his new girlfriend? Because we went to the café together – I... I swear there's nothing between us anymore, but we were really good friends in high school and it's... nice having someone from London close?”

“Babe”, laughed Matt and reached a hand out to pat Mike's thigh. “I'm not jealous. Everybody has a past. I'm your present. I'm asking because I'm curious and want to know more about you.”

“...Oh”, whispered Mike and nodded. “Okay, so Tony and I, we were like... the golden couple at high school and one day it was time for me to meet his parents. I was so nervous, I called his mother 'mom' instead of 'ma'am' and then I was too embarrassed to speak all evening and Tony, the absolute wanker, he of course had to be inappropriate and tease me and make out in his room just for his dad to walk in on us and I swear to this day, the smell of cigars kills every boner of mine.”

“Okay, I'll admit, that is...”, started Matt before he laughed.

Mike grumbled and curled in on himself a little bit. “I told you. I'm a disaster.”

“You're endearing”, countered Matt gently. “My parents are going to love you. My cousins are going to adore you because you're fun. Just... relax. Seriously.”

“What... What do I do with your grandparents? I mean. Your grandfather. Is he like... important? I mean...”, tried Mike before frowning. “I mean that I have no idea how... how things are handled in your... tribe and I don't want to be disrespectful.”

“Don't... call us a tribe”, offered Matt. “But yes, my grandfather is one of the eldest. Just... be polite, respectful and don't say anything dumb. I know you don't mean to say dumb things, I know for you from London all of this is something you only know from TV. If you have any knee-jerk reactions to say something, it's most likely better if you don't. Just... treat them like... people. Like anybody else. Like you treat me. I know it currently scares you that you're going to be... thrown into a whole new culture that you're not familiar with. The unfamiliar can be scary. But I'm here.”

“Yeah, you are”, sighed Mike and turned to look at him. “I love you.”

~*~

“Is he... Is he alright, Matteo?”

Matt drew his eyebrows together as he turned to properly look at Mike and see what was going on. When he put one and one together, all he could do was sigh with a fond smile.

“I think that he's unsure whose hand to shake first. If he shakes yours first, mom, he may insult dad, if he shakes dad's first, then it may look like he thinks the patriarchy is true and dad is in charge. So... he just... froze up”, offered Matt in explanation. “He's been overthinking everything about today. I didn't know a human could be this nervous.”

His mom made a soft cooing sound before she just pulled Mike into a hug. “Aren't you adorable? I'm Luca, that's my husband Giovanni. My parents Teddy and Simone, my sister Tammy and her husband Andy and their kids Pippa and Tolly. Now breath.”

Mike took a shaky breath. “Hello, ma'am. Thank you for having me.”

Luca smiled at him fondly and shook her head. Mike bit his lips as he properly looked around and looked at Matt's family. Giovanni was the only one white, his eyes the same shade of light-green as Matt's, his long hair put in a bun and a neatly trimmed beard framing his jawline. He had one arm around his daughter's shoulders. Marcella was a young teen, her dark hair in braids.

“So you're my brother's boyfriend, huh?”, asked Marcella with a pointed look. “Pretty boy, I guess.”

Mike made a high-pitched sound, while Matt's grandmother laughed. Simone was a very elegant elderly lady with nearly white hair, wearing golden jewelry and on-point make-up as she smiled at him. Her husband next to her looked more stern as he stepped forward and offered a hand.

“Thaddeus Lugo. You may call me sir”, stated the man.

“Teddy, don't give him the same treatment you gave me”, huffed Giovanni amused before turning to Mike. “Don't take him seriously. He's a good man. He's just trying to unnerve you. He did the same thing to me when I first got together with Luca. He really played up the stern dad.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”, grunted Thaddeus pointedly, glaring at Giovanni for a moment before focusing on Mike. “I had always hoped for a son to take over the family store, but I was gifted with two daughters instead. One who ran off to win the Olympics and the other who had to fall in love with a white man. Now, my grandson does the same.”

Mike swallowed hard, wishing he could just swallow his tongue. “I, uh, I--”

“Enough with the intimidation now, papa”, interrupted Matt's aunt Tammy. “Let's get the boys inside and get started on dinner, mh? Come inside and don't mind Teddy.”

“No respect for the elders anymore”, stated Thaddeus dryly. “You. You better treat my grandson right or I will send the spirits after you to enact my revenge?”

“Don't play a cliche to scare the white boy”, requested Marcella embarrassed.

Mike went to the car and grabbed their bags, though he couldn't help staring. Ever since Thaddeus had mentioned the Olympics, Mike was trying very hard to not stare at Tammy's leg. He had known the story, even before he had gotten together with Matt. Matt's aunt had been an Olympic sprinter but then she had lost a leg in a hiking accident, it had been what had made Matt dabble in prosthesis. Still. Mike knew it was rude to stare. He knew that.

“You coming?”, asked Tammy with a kind smile, knowing exactly what Mike was thinking.

~*~

Mike heaved a sigh as he collapsed next to Andrew and Giovanni. The two men were sitting outside and drinking the whiskey Mike had brought with him. Matt was inside, playing with his little sister and cousins and his grandparents, while his mother and aunt were watching 'their show'.

“Teddy was only messing with you earlier, you know”, stated Andrew casually. “He's given me the same treatment and he's known my family all of his life. It's not because you're white. He's just grumpy and protective, that's all. Don't worry about it. You'll grow on him.”

“As long as you treat Mattie right. And if you don't – well then my father-in-law will be the least of your problems”, pointed Giovanni out with a sharp smile.

“I would never, sir”, promised Mike hastily, shaking his head.

“Mh”, nodded Andy amused. “My nephew tells us you're a cop? One of the good ones, I hope?”

“Mattie sends me to save you!”, exclaimed Tolly, looking at Mike. “Come play with us!”

Tolly was four years old, with the largest, dark-brown eyes. He held his arms up for Mike to pick him up and Mike was happy to do so and escape even more of Matt's family trying to threaten and frighten him. The fact that both men started laughing when he went inside told him that at least it wasn't mean-spirited, it was just that the whole family were a bunch of sadists with odd humor.

“You gotta relax. This is day one of many”, noted Matt gently when Mike sat down next to him. “This is my family and dating me means you'll have to get used to them.”

“I'll be fine”, muttered Mike, leaning against Matt. “Either they'll kill me, or I'll be fine.”

“I like him. He's funny”, noted Marcella with a smile.

“Yeah, I like him too because he's funny”, grinned Matt, kissing Mike's cheek.

Mike made a small, miserable noise as grandpa Teddy glared viciously at him at that.

[borderline-and-boujee]

So I’m anxious and therefore did a journal prompt:

Write down the lyrics to a song that makes you happy. What is it about this song that makes you feel this way?

I’ll die way before Methusalah 

So i’ll fight sleep with ammonia 

And every morning with eyes all red 

I’ll miss them for the tears I shed 

I like, in this section, how it’s pretty fucked up. Like I love lyrics that are always super gloomy at its core but also like rhymes just so it seems peppier? And how it mentions one’s acknowledgement of their own mortality and the indifference of not being around for the end of the world. It’s pretty cool. It’s gory, the ammonia. And ruining your eyes lol 

But I’m actually good, can’t help it if we’re tilted

I am actually good, can’t help it if we-

I am actually good, can’t help it if we’re tilted 

Repeat 

It pretty much explains itself. Alot of times i’m made happy by this because in it’s own way its theraputic by me being able to sing about being good especially because my brain has a tendency to split and tell me i’m being bad and I can’t ever get out of the spiral of being bad regardless of the trigger. So this helps some to combat that, I think. Also, accepting that there’s nothing quite straight about me but I don’t need the whole angsty like “i’m not like other girls” shit. It means nothing to me but I am very aware of how i’m hardwired in a very specific way and with that, I find this relatable to me and helps me accept that very fact. 

I miss prosthesis and mended souls

Trample over beauty while singing their thoughts

I match them with my euphoria

When they said, "je suis plus folle que toi"

So I had to look up what was meant by this part so I guess this doesn’t necessarily help me feel that good but apparently she’s talking about drag queens and how they’re crazy fearless and how her experience with them was euphoric. I do like having experiences with people who you connect with that you find common ground with and the moment of “yes, this person loves and respects me and likes who I am and supports me” it is like a high. Probably because it doesn’t happen that often especially for me nowadays. It’s so easy to feel disconnected and uninspired when you’re a broke artist in LA but yeah. The audacity to declare that you’re crazier than someone, it can be healing for some folks. Make them feel seen. I know I do. 

Chorus 

Nous et la man on est de sortie

Pire qu'une simple moitié

On compte à demi-demi

Pile sur un des bas côtés

Comme des origamis

Le bras tendu paraît cassé

Tout n'est qu'épis et éclis

Ces enfants bizarres

Crachés dehors comme par hasard

Cachant l'effort dans le griffoir

Et une creepy song en étendard

Qui fait:

So in english, this is…. Us and the man are out there

Worse than just a half

We add UP to a half

Pile up on the edge

Like origami

The outstretched arm looks broken

Everything is just tilted and splinted

These weird kids

Spat out as if by chance

Hiding their effort in the scratching post

And a standard creepy song 

Goes like this:

 Again, this is something I had to look up because while i’m learning french, I only understood about 35% of this part but it’s so much fun to sing. Again, the echoing of like none of us are normal. It’s not as easy as one side or the other side of humanity. The weird kids try to hide alot of what makes them who they are and I like the acknowlegement of that here

 I’m doing my face with magic marker

I’m in my right place, don’t be a downer

Repeat 

 I LOVE THIS PART! Idk, I’m a sucker for the gory. It’s so crazy to think about applying magic marker to your face with no fucks given about what it looks like. Sometimes I write on my arm when i’m feeling very disconnected from my body and sometimes it helps to replace self-harm thoughts and behaviors but even so I try to get rid of it or hide it when i’m in public because of the implication but here it just feels nice to hear this part. I am where i belong, fuck you for trying to make me feel like shit for it. I’m not okay sometimes and whatever. Like what’s it to you!

[doodlelolly0910]

Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind

Summary: Emma Nolan spent a lot of time alone, and that was fine by her. Because one is never truly alone. She should know. She can talk to dead people. What she didn’t expect was one of these spiritual encounters to hang around, taking her down a rabbit hole of missing women, revenge, and, least expected, love. Can she save the day and Killian Jones? Is there even another choice?

Read it from the beginning on AO3 and FFN!

A/N:  Okay y'all so this chapter is a big one. Big reveal! I'm a pickle! No wait, that's something else :P But there really is some big stuff happening here. A new character introduction, more Emma and Killian bonding, lots and lots of revelations that will even carry over to next chapter. I won't say too much. I hope you guys like it! And thank you so much for all your kind words and lovely reviews. They really mean more to me than you know, even if I don't always have the time to respond to each of them as I would like. Thank you guys, so so much. And thanks also to @kmomof4 who has already had her brain exploded by this chapter (lol sorry?) and to @courtorderedcake who made the beautiful art that goes with this story and I will never be over how amazing it is. Here we go with chapter 17! Almost at the end!!! EEP!!!

Chapter 17

Emma woke up feeling refreshed for the first time in a long time. Refreshed and warm. She snuggled into the firm pillow underneath her and sighed, content. The sound of rustling paper made her wrinkle her nose and grunt. It was just annoying enough to keep her from slipping into peaceful slumber again. A chuckle sounded from beneath her head and something tightened around her back and waist, causing her eyes to snap open, her head popping up from where it had been apparently resting on Hook's t-shirt clad chest.

“Good morning, darling,” his low rumble emanated from his torso and seeped into her middle where they were pressed together, his left arm sweeping soothingly over her back. “Sleep better?” The question was light but his eyes studied her face for any signs of nightmare induced stress. Emma cleared her throat, nodding and gently disentangling herself to a sitting position beside him on the mattress. His arm slipped from its place around her and back under the blankets, the only part of him to be covered by it.

Killian Jones in the morning was far more a gorgeous sight than any human being had any right to be. His dark hair was mussed, sticking up in directions that would look odd on someone else, but on him it only left Emma wondering what it would be like to run her fingers through it. His eyes were bright and playful, his dark lashes fluttering over rosy cheeks when he blinked. He seemed… softer somehow.

“You are positively radiant in the morning, Swan,” he murmured and Emma blinked twice, not having noticed during her perusal of his face that he had been observing her as well. She played it off on a scoff, scooping her sleep tangled hair off her neck and securing it in a messy bun on top of her head.

“I’m a mess,” she objected, stretching her arms languidly over her head and wiggling her hips to work out the kinks in her back. Her face felt swollen and puffy from her sobbing during the night.

“Radiant. Like the sun.” Hook's voice pulled her attention back and she looked at him curiously. He was staring at her so intently it made her squirm involuntarily, her gaze darting away from his. That's when she saw it.

In his lap sat her leatherbound sketchbook, page open to a portrait she'd done some time ago of her grandmother. He followed her gaze and reached up to scratch behind his ear. Emma's eyes shot back up to his, her face blanched as her mind raced through everything he may have seen.

“You looked through my sketches?” she whispered. Hook sat a little straighter, letting one of his legs fall off the side of the bed and his foot rest on the floor. His cheeks had pinkened a bit and the hand that had been scratching behind his ear had now moved to rub over the scruff on his jaw.

“I rolled over onto it this morning. I didn't know what it was,” he replied, and his hand came down to rest on top of the book, keeping it there with him when all Emma wanted to do was snatch it back and run away. “You're very talented.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Emma said, reaching for the book, but Hook's hand curled over the top of it, keeping it in place on his lap.

“I have a favorite,” he murmured and Emma swallowed thickly, frozen in place. He dipped his gaze down to the book and flipped through a few pages, stopping and meeting her gaze again. Emma looked down, her heartbeat thundering through her ears.

A landscape was on the page, the docks at sunset, one of her favorite places to sit and think. She had played with new pencils that day, the colors on the page vibrant and blended together in a riot of golds and pinks and purples. It was her favorite, too. But absolutely not what she expected. She looked down at the page in confusion and looked back up to Hook’s face.

“There’s a lot of emotion here,” he explained. “A real definition of character. I like it very much.” Emma blew air out through her pursed lips, flustered at the compliment and searching for words that weren’t what she was actually thinking. She had paused just long enough for him to continue on. “I suppose you were expecting me to show you this one.” While she had searched for words, Hook, had apparently thumbed the corner of the book to the exact page she had been dreading, apparently memorized in its place in her book by its subject.

Killian Jones himself stared out from the page, his monotone features punctated by those blue, searching eyes. It wasn’t until now that Emma realized just how accurate her sketch actually was, right down to the scar on his right cheek just under his eye. His hair was tousled almost exactly as it lay now on the real life version. When she looked back up to meet Hook’s stare, the same shade of blue on the page met her as well.

“When did you do this?” he asked softly, holding her gaze. Emma felt a heat creep up over her collarbones and onto her face.

“Almost a month ago,” she replied honestly on a whisper. Killian’s eyes turned wondrous, as if he were fully understanding for the first time that she truly had been sent to him by his loved ones in the beyond. The tension in the air weighed heavier on her skin, but it had changed. Instead of a fearful sliver that wove its way into it, it was warm now, and all she wanted to do was move closer to Killian. His own gaze dropped to her lips and Emma was sure he was going to kiss her again. Until he abruptly stood, pulling his left arm behind his back and extending her book back to her, still open to the page.

“I have somewhere I think we should go today. Get dressed.” His words were short, but not unkind. Emma was confused at the sudden change in him. As much as she thought she was prepared for Killian Jones, he still found ways to keep her on her toes. Keeping his arm tucked just out of her viewpoint, Hook moved to grab some clothing of his own, along with his prosthesis, and disappeared into the bathroom, Emma assumed to change. She felt a twinge in her heart that she may have made him slightly uncomfortable with the picture, and that he felt the need to hide his arm from her. Her thoughts were soon overrun by his words though, and she wondered briefly where he might be taking her.

Emma did as he bade, dressing quickly while Killian remained in the bathroom. He finally emerged, fully dressed, hooked hand in place, just as Emma was sweeping her hair up into a ponytail. He gave her a warm smile and a fond look, which she happily returned. She was glad to see he wasn’t upset with her. She stood and made her way to her duffel, retrieving her cell and shooting off a text to Jefferson to check in for the day. She had just received a confirmation from him when she looked up to see Killian making the bed.

“Old habits die hard, huh?” she teased, gesturing to the bed. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, completing the task with a smirk. “Navy must have made a real impact.” He chuckled.

“I should have known you’d know that. Fine policemanship, Swan,” he replied, smoothing out the blanket with his hand and hook.

“It wasn’t hard once Milah gave me your name. And Liam told me later on. And if none of that happened, those corners would have been a dead giveaway,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smile. He laughed out loud at that, moving from the bed to the door and sweeping it open.

“After you, darling.”

Hook drove this time. Emma was slightly nervous at first when he had rested his false hand on the steering wheel, but she relaxed as time went on. As with everything he did, Killian was in complete control behind the wheel, and his taste in music wasn’t half bad either. She hummed along to Bad Company, and found out he had a nice singing voice as well when he belted out Living On a Prayer. She did not blush when he complimented her own on Barracuda with a waggle of his ridiculous eyebrows. Before she knew it, she saw a sign that read “Now Leaving Boston City Limits” and she looked over to him curiously.

“Trust me, Swan,” he said, not taking his eyes from the road, but offering her a kind smile. “You should tell that Chapelle fellow that you’ve left the city.” Emma hadn’t even thought of that, though she was sure Jefferson was tracking her phone, and she was touched that he thought of a way to make her feel comfortable. He seemed to be doing that more and more, perhaps his way of making up for the fact that he hadn’t trusted her in the beginning, and earning hers in return. She didn’t make a move to get her phone out, and instead, set her bag on the floor beneath her feet, a small gesture of her own trust in him. He smiled broadly at that and they continued on their way.

They soon turned down a country road, a dirt stretch that ran past the horizon, and Emma was even more puzzled than ever, especially when Hook parked by some trees on the side of the road near virtually nothing. He looked at her sheepishly and something twisted in Emma’s belly telling her she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

“I need you to leave your cell here, love. I can’t have anyone tracking us to where we’re going. I’m leaving mine as well,” he rushed to assure her but she was already shaking her head.

“That doesn’t sound like something I’m game for,” she said, gathering her bag into her lap. He sighed heavily.

“The person we are going to see, I’ve worked very hard to make sure she stays safe. And the only way to make sure she stays that way is if I’m the only one who knows where she is.” Killian ran a hand through his hair.

“But you’re taking me to see her,” she shot back, grip on her bag tightening.

“Aye. You, I trust.”

Emma eyed him, allowing his words to sink in. Going against every cynical bone in her body, she opened up her bag and fished out her phone, only hesitating slightly before handing it over to Hook. He captured her hand along with it, turning them over so he could kiss the back of hers firmly, keeping hold of her gaze as he did so. Something inside of Emma calmed again, and Hook joined her cell with his, opening the door and going to the tree nearest to them. He pulled out a lock box and unlocked it with a key from his belt, placing the phones inside and locking them again. He got back into the car and started it again, sighing in relief. Emma sighed for a different reason altogether as they made their journey another few miles down the road.

Emma’s anxiety and impatience grew until they had reached what appeared to be their destination, turning down a few side trails until they reached a short gravel road that her bug would have never made it through. A little farm house that looked somewhat like a fairytale cottage sat isolated at the end of the road, looking quite out of pace with it’s manicured green lawn, small rose garden, and white picket fence. Killian parked next to an older truck and gave Emma a nervous glance before darting out of the car. Emma took a few calming breaths, composing herself, and she didn’t even notice Killian had come around to her side of the car to open her door for her. She accepted his hand and they made their way to the house, him holding onto her as they walked in a way that made her feel more at ease and entirely unsettled at the same time.

As they walked up the path, the door opened and a wide eyed woman poked her head out the door. She looked at Emma fearfully, her throat working as she swallowed, but she relaxed immediately when she set her eyes on Killian. She opened the door fully, her light brown hair swinging down over her shoulders, and walked outside and towards them, wrapping Killian up in a warm hug. Killian returned the embrace one armed, his hand still wrapped firmly around Emma’s.

“Killian Jones. It’s been too long since you’ve come to see me,” the woman said in an accent that she couldn’t quite place. Nearly English, but not quite.

“Aye, I know, I’ve been a little busy. I’m sorry for that,” he said with a small smile as he pulled away. “I do have someone that I want you to meet, though. This is Emma Swan. Emma, Belle French.”

Emma wasn’t sure if his introduction with her alias was intentional or not, but she was grateful for it all the same. She reached out to shake Belle’s hand with a smile of her own.

“A pleasure to meet you, Emma,” the brunette returned and Emma replied in kind. “Come in and sit down. Tea for anyone?”

“That sounds wonderful, love, thank you,” Killian confirmed and they went inside the little house together. Belle heated the kettle on a little wood stove as she and Killian settled in the small living room, each in a plush armchair. Belle set up a tea tray and placed cups in front of each of them, pouring the water over tea bags and settling into her own place on the couch, her skirt flowing gracefully as she moved.

“So what brings you this way?” Belle asked, stirring her tea and adding a cube of sugar. Killian leaned forward and set his forearms on his knees, his fingers fiddling with his hook.

“I wish I could just say it was for a visit, love, but I’m afraid it’s business.” His tone was serious and every drop of color left Belle’s face. Emma sat more rigid at her change in expression, setting her own teacup back down on the coffee table.

“Weaver?” she asked on a shaky whisper and Emma was suddenly on very high alert. Killian reached forward and touched Belle’s hands where they had begun shaking around her teacup, removing the china from her grasp and setting it next to Emma’s.

“He hasn’t found you, love, nothing to worry about,” Hook told her firmly, grasping her hand once more. Belle let out a shaky breath, offering them both a tight, embarrassed smile and a brief chuckle. She nodded and rearranged herself on the couch, clearly trying to shake off some of her lingering nerves. Hook turned his attention to Emma, who had been watching the whole exchange with rapt attention. “Swan, do you remember the night we met, you were trying to take something from me, aye?” Emma felt her face heat again in embarrassment and fury. Her eyes darted to Belle, who didn’t look surprised at all and Emma didn’t know whether to be grateful for her lack of reaction or offended. She looked back to Killian and nodded. “And you had absolutely no idea what it was?”

“Not a single clue,” she replied, unwilling to divulge that she was associated with Gold once in any way in the presence of this woman who was clearly in hiding from him.

“It was a GPS device. It tracked a chip that used to reside with the lovely Miss French here,” Hook explained and Emma's head snapped back in the brunette’s direction. She was absentmindedly rubbing at a pink scar at the base of her wrist, and Emma assumed that was where the chip was.

“Why?” Emma asked, her heart breaking for the frightened woman. Her gaze turned back to Killian's again. “Why is he so desperate to find her again?”

“Belle was his wife,” Hook ground out the last word as if it tasted bad in his mouth. Emma's eyes widened in shock and Belle cleared her throat. Killian ducked his head, allowing her the opportunity to tell her own story.

“‘Wife’ is a bit of a strong word. My father owed him a debt. He took me as payment,” she said softly, picking at the blue cotton of her skirt as she made her admission. Emma felt rage on her behalf. How many women had he done this to?

“Belle,” Emma sat forward and spoke carefully, but her tone was serious enough to have Belle's eyes finally come up to meet hers again. “Has he taken any other wives before, since, or during your time with him? There are a lot of girls missing right now that are tied to him. I'm trying to help them.” Belle shook her head adamantly.

“It was just me. And Milah, before me,” she looked to Killian sympathetically. “Just us two. The girls he trades do usually owe him some kind of debt, though.”

Emma's breath completely evaporated from her lungs.

“The girls he trades?” she squeaked out and even Killian was sitting on the edge of his seat, eyes darkened in interest. It was clear this was all news to him as well.

“Well, yeah, the trafficking ring. Didn't you know?” Belle looked between the two of them, confused. Emma could only gape at her.

“No, lass, I'm afraid we didn't,” Hook murmured, his voice dark and dangerous. Belle’s cheeks colored and she began fiddling with her skirt again.

“If you want to save those girls, you're running out of time,” Belle said quietly with a sorrowful resignation.

“Belle, please,” Emma moved from her armchair to the couch and the other woman looked up at her, tears brimming in her eyes, “please, if you know anything, I really need your help. They really need your help, all these women that have been taken from their homes and families. Help me help them.”

Emma reached out and touched her arm gently, her eyes still shining with urgency. After a moment or two, Belle exhaled a shaky breath and nodded, giving Emma a soft half smile.

“Alright.”

The single word of assent was the biggest breakthrough Emma had gotten thus far, and none of it would have been remotely possible without Killian Jones. Whatever had set the two of them on their collision course towards one another, she would be eternally grateful.

The scent of jasmine crept up around her for the first time that day and Emma inhaled deeply, a smile spreading over her lips and she knew in that moment that justice was within her grasp. For Belle. For Milah. For all of them.

[thanksfornothinguselessreptile]

A Shifting World Chapter 1: A Message from Stoick

Work Summary: Things have been going great since Hiccup and Toothless have defeated the Red Death. He has his father’s approval, a group of friends his own age, and is leading the integration of dragons and the Vikings of Berk. When neighboring tribes call together a meeting to discuss rumors of Vikings riding dragons, however, Stoick decides to keep their alliance with dragons under wraps. Hiccup must decide whether he should listen to his father or seek to teach the other Vikings of the archipelago the truths about dragons.

AO3

Rating: T

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Astrid, Stoick, Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Snotlout

Pairings: Minor Hiccup x Astrid

Chapter 1: A Message from Stoick

Chapter Summary: Hiccup starts learning a new skill and looks forward to its application, but his good mood doesn’t last when Astrid gives him worrying news.

Chapter Warnings: Food mention

Most people would celebrate a beautiful and unusually warm morning on Berk by walking around wearing their light coats and only feeling moderately cold. Now that the dragons were living alongside them as friends and allies, many would take advantage of the nice weather by going for a flight that didn’t end with them becoming a vaguely Viking-shaped ice sculpture.

One might think Hiccup, being a dragon rider and one who was known to spend entire days in the air, landing only for food and sleep, might be among those lucky Vikings.

However, instead he was sitting in the cove in front of Toothless, trying his best to imitate what the Night Fury was saying.

It wasn’t because he suddenly woke up one day thinking he’d want to sound like a dragon. Rather Toothless had woken up one day shortly after his reawakening and decided that Hiccup should understand his language.

And so, every morning for a few months, they’d go out for a quick flight around the island, and then land in the cove so Toothless could point at things and make some draconic sound, and Hiccup would try and repeat it, to no avail.

At the very least, Hiccup consoled himself as he butchered another word in Dragonese, as he’d called the language, no one was in this part of the woods to witness his lessons. While it was cool and sometimes intimidating when dragons made these sounds, a human like him sounded like a small and talkative dog.

Toothless huffed, a sound that Hiccup assumed was no. Or it could’ve just been a sound of discouragement. While with other human languages the difference between a word and something like that was obvious, with dragons it was kind of hard to tell.

“Well, then, let’s see you do better,” Hiccup muttered. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his grin, which didn’t really help his case.

Toothless repeated the same sound and gestured at the lake a few yards from where they sat with a paw. Quite the human gesture, but after a month or so after moving into Berk Village proper Hiccup wasn’t that surprised. After all, Toothless did learn to mimic human laughter a few months into their friendship, and rolling his eyes shortly after.

This had come back to bite Hiccup when Stoick first saw Toothless roll his eyes and immediately turned to give him a look of resignation as if to say, “You did this.”

Hiccup steeled himself and tried to repeat the word again. At the very least, he thought as Toothless made the sharp noise that Hiccup knew meant “No,” he was learning to recognize some of the Dragonese words. Not enough to understand full conversations, but if Toothless spoke really slowly and in simple phrases, Hiccup could get the gist of what he was trying to say.

Sometimes he could even understand some of what the other dragons on Berk was saying, and that was when his limited knowledge of the language proved a weakness. He wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to explain just why he’d suddenly burst out laughing when no Viking had said or done anything funny.

Toothless finally gave up trying to have Hiccup pronounce “lake” and was just moving on to a word that Hiccup thought meant “rock” when Hiccup heard footsteps behind him.

He turned around, heart rattling his ribs, and saw Astrid walking toward him, a puzzled expression on her face.

Hiccup tried to hide his blush, but from the prickling on his cheeks he wasn’t sure he was successful.

“Hi, Astrid,” he said, getting to his feet as she approached. How long had she been standing there?

Toothless crooned out a “Hello” as well, seemingly unbothered at the interruption.

“Oh, hey,” she said. She smiled slightly as she gave him a small wave. “I guessed you might be here. I haven’t been seeing you and Toothless flying around as much recently.” Her forehead creased slightly, probably in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” He let himself glance away as he rubbed the back of his head. Then, feeling as if he ought to explain, he said, “Toothless was just trying to teach me how to speak dragon.” He shrugged, finally meeting Astrid’s gaze. “As you can tell, it’s not really going well.”

Astrid tilted her head a fraction, her eyes lighting up with interest. “Wait, you’re learning to speak dragon?”

Hiccup nodded. “Yeah, I think Toothless is really sick of me having to guess what he wants.” He explained how a few months ago, Toothless had begun to get Hiccup’s attention and then, quite deliberately, make the corresponding sound in Dragonese until Hiccup realized what his dragon was trying to do. 

“Wow, that’s really quite amazing.” Astrid was fully smiling, and that really made the blue in her eyes look bright, just like the ocean when the sun began to rise. “You think Stormfly might be able to teach me?”

Hiccup nodded. “Of course!” In fact, he was surprised that the others hadn’t been mentioning similar things happening to them. The other dragons clearly could speak it, and it wasn’t as if he was the only person paying attention to them. He was surprised that Fishlegs hadn’t beaten him to it, in fact. “But I don’t think I’ll be much help. I might be able to understand a few words, but I have as much luck saying them as Toothless has speaking Norse.” And Hiccup had tried, after learning he wasn’t much of a Dragonese speaker. If possible, Toothless was worse at speaking Norse than he Dragonese.

“You’ll get there eventually,” Astrid said, and the way she said it made Hiccup believe her. Her eyes sparkled as she crossed her arms and added, “Bet Fishlegs will be begging you for lessons.”

Hiccup chuckled. “Only if Meatlug won’t teach him.” And he sincerely doubted she wouldn’t teach her rider. The two were as attached at the hip as he and Toothless were these days. He brushed some hair away from his eyes; it was getting kind of long, and almost time to cut before Gobber threatened to cut it for him. “I was thinking of talking to my Dad to see if we can get some sort of lessons going to teach others to speak it, too. It seems unfair that we ask the dragons to understand us and don’t repay the favor.”

“Yes,”  Toothless said in Dragonese, and bumped his head under Hiccup’s hand.

“See?” Hiccup used his other hand to gesture at him. “Toothless agrees with me.”

Astrid nodded, but her face shifted into full seriousness. Hiccup immediately knew that something was up.

“Speaking of your dad,” she said, “he was looking for you.” She shrugged. “He was kind of busy, and asked me if I could find where you went. Lucky for me, I guessed you probably were at the cove, if anywhere on the island.” She brushed her bangs to the side. “It sounded important.”

Well, perhaps it was a good thing that he and Toothless had been out flying less nowadays.

“Did he seem upset?” Stoick had barely gotten upset at anything the last few months, but this sounded different than the normal, everyday catastrophes.

Astrid shook her head. “Just distracted, and kind of worried.”

“Uh oh.” Stoick, and Vikings at large, didn’t do worried, just varying degrees of anger. For them to look actually concerned meant something pretty dire was happening. “Guess I shouldn’t keep him waiting. Need a lift?”

Astrid shook her head. “Stormfly dropped me off near the edge of the cliffs. I shouldn’t have to walk too far to find her again, unless she decided to go look for a mirror. Again.”

Hiccup gave her a small salute in response. “Gotcha.” Hiccup didn’t even need to move toward Toothless to get on his back; the dragon had moved straight to his left side, which gave Hiccup the easiest way to get on. With his left leg now ending in a prosthesis, he had no ankle on that leg to turn to swivel himself into the proper position on the saddle. The adapted left stirrup required the prosthetic foot to be in just the right position to lock itself into place, which made getting onto Toothless left foot first a pain.

“I’ll see you later,” Hiccup said. “We meet up around early evening and I tell you just what’s got Dad ready to batten down the hatches?”

Astrid nodded. “Okay. The tallest catapult alright with you?”

Hiccup smiled. “That’ll be perfect. We’ll see you there.” He clicked Toothless’s tailfin open and nudged his sides, and with a few beats of his wings they were airborne, Astrid just a speck in a pale green depression amidst a sea of forest.

Seconds later, even that was hidden by the evergreens.

So it’s been a long time, no write for this fandom, but not only did I get inspiration for a new WIP for this fandom, but also a whole series to go with it (hello, a very busy next few years...). I don’t have a set updating schedule, but I am determined to finish this if that’s the last thing I do. I do have the next two chapters done or close to done, so those are probably going to be posted rather soon. As for the rest, that’s to be determined.

Next -->

[curiosity-killed]

merliro au 1/???

There are monsters in the deep. There are humans with piercing harpoons and fish with strange lures – but there are also monsters. Looming, leering, they wait beyond the reef, in the shadows of sea caves and the rifts of ancient trenches. Their shape changes with each story – sometimes towering and thunderous, sometimes slight and swift as a shark. But always, always, one thing remains. ‘Don’t go into the deep, Takashi,’ his mother had said with fierce solemnity. ‘It’s not safe out there. Monsters live in the deep.’ He’d nodded, promised her he wouldn’t go in the deep, and darted away with the other minnow-like children. As he grew older, the monsters faded into myth. There was so much to learn, so much of the ocean yet unmapped. There was danger out there, oh yes, always. But it was composed of real threats, of pressure and chemicals and predators. ‘Monster’ was just a catch-all for the things people once hadn’t understood – the vents and nets and snares. He promised his mother he’d be careful on the voyage to far-flung Kerberos, but he laughed at her fear of monsters. Now, he grips his spear tight and wishes he could apologize to her as around him, the arena roars.

“Relax, Pidge,” Shiro says. His hands, mismatched, are planted on her shoulders. Despite his efforts, her electric-green fins are all flared and her tail writhes beneath her. “I need to finish!” she protests. “Look, I’m one tide away from completing it.” “And how long have you been awake?” Shiro counters. She looks away, crosses her arms. Shiro waits. “Two moons,” she finally mumbles. Shiro sighs, disappointed but not exactly surprised. He can’t really scold her without feeling like a hypocrite; he can’t remember the last time he actually slept through a full tide without waking and patrolling away his nerves. Still, he’s an adult. He can handle his faulty sleep schedule. She can’t afford the same erraticism. “Your project will be here after you sleep,” he says. “I’ll have Hunk put it somewhere safe.” “Hunk will try to change it,” Pidge complains. “Fine,” Shiro says evenly. “I’ll have Lance and Keith move it.” Pidge blanches, the fight fleeing her body. “Hunk can move it,” she says quickly. Shiro raises his eyebrows and gestures back towards the barracks. “Do I need to escort you?” he asks. She rolls her eyes and flips backward, sending a hard wake directly into Shiro. He rides it out with a disapproving frown but waits until he sees her tailtip disappear down towards the sleeping quarters before turning around and swimming back into the lab. Bioluminescent bacteria illuminate the lab as everywhere in the castle, but a separate light comes from Hunk’s work station, purple and eerily unnatural. Shiro knows it’s ridiculous, but he still approaches with caution. His body remembers too well the pain associated with that virulent shade of violet. “About ready to sleep, Hunk?” he asks. Hunk jerks in surprise, gold fins flattening to his thick tail and back. When he realizes it’s only Shiro, they relax again and he offers an abashed smile. Shiro brushes it away, tail swaying a little to keep himself afloat. “Yeah,” Hunk says, “let me just power down.” He does so with the kind of precise speed that comes from familiarity, and Shiro watches with a stomach-twisting mix of guilt and pride. Already the paladins have adapted so thoroughly to this new life, this new home. They learn so readily, so eager to jump forward into this adventure. They don’t know what waits for them, out there beyond the castle’s coral walls. They don’t know the horrors to which Shiro has brought them. “Does Pidge have a spot for her projects?” Shiro asks, pulling himself back to the present. Hunk snorts a little, blowing a stream of bubbles out of his gills. “A spot?” he jokes. Shiro lets him lead the way to Pidge’s workspace. The project is illuminated by the same cyan bioluminescence as the rest of the lab, and it turns the sleek carbon sides of it a watery teal. It’s small enough for Hunk to lift it easily, and he waves Shiro off when he offers help. “Nah,” he says, “we don’t know how your arm would interface with it, and if it gets messed up…” He widens his eyes and lifts his eyebrows, and a grin sneaks over Shiro’s face. Pidge is territorial in a way neither of the other Holts are. Were. He flinches at the thought, the smile vanishing from his lips. He trails after Hunk, the purple of his tail throwing strange shadows under the blue of the lab. The project is placed carefully on a shelf in the back of the lab, a thick sheet dropped over the front to seal it off to the rest of the world. 

Unlike Pidge, Hunk doesn’t object to their informal curfew. He swims alongside Shiro, a polite distance apart, and chats with a cheerful ease. They say goodnight at Hunk’s door, and Shiro swims down to his own room. It’s closest to the entrance of the hall, no doubt so the Black Paladin could take control of the situation as quickly as possible. Inside, the room is nearly identical to when Shiro first entered. A sleeping cove, neat and clean, a set of shelves, empty, and a small corridor to a private bath. Within this corridor is a storage nook, and inside, the clothes Keith gave him when they found Shiro. He tugs off his armor briskly, ignoring the way it tugs on his fins as he pulls the sheath from around his tail. There are releases he could press to loosen the armor before pulling it off, but this is faster. Anyway, it doesn’t hurt that much. He tidies the armor on the shelves, makes sure the other clothes are neatly stacked. These are far less formal or restrictive than the armor; they came from some Keith had and are only work clothes, not royal equipment. When both sets of clothing are settled in neat stacks, he pauses to debate whether he ought not clean the armor. It’s not as if he did anything much in it today; their training session was thankfully void of bloodshed. But…

But he doesn’t want to sleep. Or, rather, he doesn’t want to try to sleep when he knows he won’t succeed. Insomnia is as constant a ghost as his nightmares and memories of the arena. It plagues him with urchin-like pricks, anxiety a toxin that slithers violet through his veins. Sleep is no longer a comfort but a collapse; it greets him with sudden blackness and missing hours and turns from him for days afterward. He dreads it for its darkness, its gaping loss of time, and he is terrified of its absence, the sloppiness and mistakes it brings. He cannot afford the forgetfulness, impulsiveness, and slowness brought on by sleep deprivation. With the lives of the younger paladins, and the security of the entire reef resting on his shoulders, mistakes are impermissible. His hands, mismatched, fall from the armor that’s already more than neat. He stares at it, biting down into his lip. The glossy ‘V’ stares back. Finally, reluctantly, he gives in. Shutting down his prosthesis, he works through the familiar process of releasing all the many hooks that slide harpoon-like through his flesh and connect to the nerves deep within. A trickle of blood drifts up through the water, but it’s smaller than the time before and the time before that. Resting the prosthetic on the same shelf as the armor, he turns to wrapping his arm in blue-green kelp. The salt stings a little as it seeps into the still-healing ports. He drifts towards the sleeping cove, reluctance turning his movements sluggish. He curls up half-heartedly, tail looped around itself so the tip fans out over his hip. He nestles his left arm under his head and stares, unblinking, at the sealed door. Maybe, just maybe, sleep will come if he pretends he isn’t looking for it. The water washes gentle over his skin, recycled through the castle’s complex vent system. Deeper in, he knows, the Alteans sleep in air pockets to keep from drowning. They flooded these rooms solely for the paladins’ comfort, though Shiro sometimes finds it jarring, still, to breathe through his gills. He spent so long without using them in the arena that he nearly grew accustomed to having them lie still and flat against his neck. Now, they flutter gently with the lapping water. He shifts, rolls onto his back. The ceiling is dark above him, the lights recessed an arm’s length above only a diffuse glow in the water. He sucks air in through his gills and breaths it out through his mouth, releasing a stream of bubbles. As the bubbles pass the lights, they turn briefly iridescent – turquoise and cyan and teal in a shimmering sphere. They pop before they reach the ceiling. “Fuck it,” he groans and rolls out of the cove. His tail unfurls as he falls through the water, and he catches himself easily at swimming level. He debates pulling on clothing for a long moment – it would be easier to pass his patrol off as an infrequent thing if he doesn’t bother – but he relents and tugs his armor back on. He’s grown used to the weight of it, the way it presses around him like a bind. His prosthetic burns a little, as always, as the connections are remade. The door hushes open in a quiet stream of bubbles, and he slips through. Always, always, this is a furtive vigil. He cringes at the thought of discovery. It’s an embarrassment, though he can’t exactly explain why. Perhaps it’s that old guilt, that, after all the lives he ended, he doesn’t deserve the kind of sympathy and pity that might be offered. He is the Black Paladin, a defender of innocent lives, but that has not washed away the blood of those innocent lives he failed to protect. It would take centuries, eons, he thinks, to wash away all that red. The halls are long and empty, filled with only water and the blue of the lights. His shadow is thrown against the ceiling and walls like a living thing, amorphous and wriggling. His gaze shies from it, turns instead to the far end of the hallway where it intersects another going the opposite way. When he reaches the nexus point, he flicks his tail to take him down the righthand path. He changes it up every night, too wary of predictability to stick to a habitual route. He’s alone in the hallway for long enough to settle into a semblance of comfort. Every thing is in order: the doors are all sealed, the training gladiators powered down, the command deck empty. He turns from these and starts down a new corridor. He’s cautious of these hallways, the ones they don’t venture down in the day. There are echoes here from voices long-dead. They whisper around corners and down long and empty corridors. Shiro pulls his mind back and refocuses on the other noises of the castle instead. It is an old castle, and its creaks and groans are not solely imagined. It settles into the sand with the aching gravity of a shipwreck. He wonders, idly, if someday it will simply collapse; if the sandy seabed will, little by little, consume its glossy floors and high-arched ceilings. Almost as quickly, he brushes those thoughts away. His concern is not possibilities but reality. Now is all he can control. There’s a noise to his left. Shiro freezes, tail coiling in tension. His prosthesis hums to life, purple glow brightening in the shadows of the hall. The noise comes again, along with a soft vibration through the water. He can’t quite distinguish the source, but he can tell the location. Twisting around, he dives down the hallway. The castle lights are dimmed here, and the path less familiar. It’s not one of the main corridors but only a side one, little used. Shiro tunes his ears to the foreign noise and lets it guide him down the turns and nexuses of the hallway. He swims swiftly, arms pulling him through the water as his tail pushes him forward. The noise progresses slowly through the hallway, and it’s only a few minutes before he’s reached his destination. The hallway culminates in a dead-end with a spoke branching off the left. Shiro tucks in against this corner and peers carefully past, his tail and arm carefully tucked behind the bulk of the wall. Peeking around the corner, he freezes. Galra. A lone Galra swims down the hallway away from him, its broad purple tail swaying back and forth just enough to move it through the water. Shiro sucks in a breath, teeth baring. He moves before he’s made a plan. Launching himself forward, he draws his prosthetic back to strike the Galra and then shoots it forward. It stops mid-swing. The Galra has twisted around, broad hand shooting up to wrap around Shiro’s wrist. They’re much bigger than him, large enough to simply crush him if the water weren’t there. They make no move to do so. “Shiro.” It’s a breath, a whisper without understanding to support it. Shiro’s eyes flicker over the Galra, hyperaware of the strength withheld from the grip around his wrist. With little effort, they could do great damage. “Who are you?” he demands. The Galra’s mouth opens, twitches as if to form words, and then snaps shut. Their ears flatten against their skull a little, brow furrowing. “You do not remember me,” they say. Shiro tugs his arm, and the Galra lets it go readily. Pulling it back to him, Shiro tightens the artificial hand into a fist. “Who are you?” he repeats. “What are you doing in the castle?” “Ulaz,” the Galra says finally. “My name is Ulaz. I come seeking help from the Paladins of Voltron.”