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cryptid-bloodhound · 5 years ago

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The Phantom Agony

So, this was totally for @ajays-lullaby for that music ask game and uh...it got like wayyy longer than intended. So rather than put it all in the ask (bcus I can’t put a read more in there i don’t think??) i decided to make a separate post. Otherwise yall would h a t e me for the clunky ass text. anyway, hope yall enjoy! <3

Characters: Wraith, Bloodhound

Notes: It’s a total supernatural/fantasy AU. Ghost!Wraith (aka Wraith!Wraith bcus i think im funny) and Monster Hunter!Bloodhound. It can be platonic or romantic if u squint depending on your preference. Wraith has no memories, mean voices, and bad anxiety. she just needs a hug.

Read On: Ao3

Random Song Selected for the Prompt: Monster - Starset

“My heart's an artifice, a decoy soul Who knew the emptiness could be so cold? I've lost the parts of me that make me whole I am the darkness I'm a monster“

Deep in the wilds forgotten by time lurked the shadow of a woman lost to despair. It was a desolate place that reeked of woe. What life had once flourished there had long since been chased away by the tormented entity. Trees stood barren and brittle, casting long, gnarled shadows in every direction like greedy hands. Nothing but cold dirt and stones pocked the ground. Everywhere else in this forest was thriving and beautiful. Everywhere except for the den of the Wraith.

She could not remember anything; not her name, her age, how long she had been trapped here, or where all of this anger came from. It was as if she simply came into being one day full of anguish and hate. There was an endless aching in her skull in the form of callous voices. They're insidious little whispers just at the furthest reaches of her mind, tempting her with memories she could never quite grasp. Try as she might, they always seemed just out of her reach. It was maddening. She wanted to know who she was, why she was stuck here, why everything hurt, hurt, hurt-

She could recall voices, though.

So many voices.

They scratched aching grooves into her nerves when those harsh tones rose in her mind. What they said, she couldn’t catch but it filled her with a God-awful dread. Always the same voices, always the same tones.

And she could remember pain.

So much pain.

Like torn sinew and choking breath, it crawled through the ghost of her nerves. Over and over and over and over. She just wanted it all to stop!

There had been a fear so strong in those lost memories that it branded her soul. She could still taste its acrid flavor like bile on her tongue. How utterly cruel it is that she can taste nothing but her fear. Her fear and her rage. She was but a phantom of suffering, wailing pleas and profanities into the deep, yawning abyss around her. She would grip her head and scream, scream, scream for help but no one ever came. No one that stayed, that is.

At first, she did not know what she was. Not until some hikers crossed her path, that is. They walked into her grove, a light and joy in their eyes that made her ache. She called out to them but they did not answer. She walked up to them and asked for help. Still, they did not answer. They walked around her sacred area with wide eyes, remarking on the eerie feeling all around, pointing out the oddly dead foliage, and joking as if she were not there. An ugly, pernicious feeling curdled her gut at the callous display.

Then, the man let out a loud, sharp laugh and a spike of utter terror pierced her to the core. It echoed like a record stuck on repeat in her head. That sound was so very much like the one in her sparse memories. Had she a breath, it’d be caught in her throat. Instead, that cold fear twisted and turned inside of her. It thawed and melted, kept heating up until it boiled over. This... This was one of them. All of her pain and dread and hate spewed forth like a volcano and she positively erupted. With bared teeth and clawed hands, she rushed forward. Her presence was felt like a harsh gust of wind - the herald of a coming storm.

She could not feel her strikes land but the fear in the couple’s eyes and red lines forming on his face let her know that the manifestation of her wrath could certainly be felt. Nature trembled and bowed to her unearthly power as the people skittered over themselves to escape. The Wraith went to take chase but was held back by an unknown force. No matter how hard she pulled at the unseen tether or beat against the invisible wall, she could not leave. Those voices in her head wailed with gnashing teeth, hungry for vengeance. They were left to starve.

From that revelation came a cruel, aching bitterness. There were people out there who took her life from her. They twisted her into some sort of monster and she was stuck here, forced to live in damnation because of it. That bitterness and agony swelled like a balloon. She would chase away any who dared enter her grove because having them there was just another form of torture. She wanted to speak with them. She wanted to feel the warmth of another’s touch, a caring embrace, something . But she was denied even that simple kindness. It was the low hanging fruit she simply could not get. The oasis just beyond her fingertips. And just like the old Fox’s fable, she grew sour over that taunting temptation. It was better to push them all away than to be tormented even further.

It was better to be alone than in agony.

She could not recall how long it had been since the last person fleed from her territory. Time seemed so very inconsistent to The Wraith. Hours, days, years. It meant nothing to her. So she stalked her lonesome grove with a void in her soul that would not leave. There were times she regretted chasing all who came here away because this desolation felt too close to torture these days.

Hadn’t it always?

She pushed those prodding little voices back as hard as she could. There was no use wondering about ‘what if’s and ‘I should have done’s. This is the path she chose and she will stay to it with her chin up and the fierce conviction that was undeniably all her. No amount of longing or rapacious voices will make her backpedal. What’s done is done, after all.

So, when the day came when an oddly masked figure approached her grove she beat back those feelings of yearning and clamped down on the ache inside of her. The Wraith would chase this one away just like all the rest. They would simply walk by her, taunt her with the life she’s been denied, and dangle comfort like a toy. With the same hard stare and clenched fists, she drew upon her pain and prepared to bring the Heavens down once again.

But something strange occurred.

That figure stopped just at the edge of her grove, mere inches from her invisible barrier. They cocked their head as if curious while looking around slowly. Their outfit was unlike any she had laid her eyes on before. Armor was not typically worn by any but soldiers and even then it was unlike this armor. Regardless of the oddity, she remained prepared for that inevitable moment they’d cross her threshold. They were probably another adventure seeker or ‘ghost hunter’ looking for a thrill. The frown tugging her lips only deepened at the thought. The Wraith despised those sorts the most. Her agony was not an attraction to be delighted by and she would entertain none who thought otherwise.

“May I enter your home?”

The unexpected words nearly startled the spectral being. Never before had someone attempted to speak to her. It sent a jolt through her body and that malignant current she built up wavered.

“What?”

As soon as she answered she felt foolish. No doubt this one was speaking to ‘The Ghost of the Shattered Forest’. Before she could even get back to scowling, that masked face turned to look directly at her.

“I humbly requested entrance to your home.”

Again, she was at a total loss. What traction she had built crumbled like sand between her fingers. There was absolutely no way this individual heard her. The Wraith tried desperately not to get her hopes up as that masked gaze never wavered from her direction.

“You can see me?”

Her voice, soft and ethereal, wavered ever so slightly at the end of her words. ‘No!’ She yelled at herself. ‘I can’t hope for this.’ Had she not already been dead then surely the crushing disappointment would end her entirely. But, as she tried to smother that devilishly persistent flicker of hope, that mask gave a quiet nod of acknowledgment. She trembled with nerves she thought were long gone.

“But... how? Nobody else can.”

There was a fragileness like ill-tempered glass in her voice that she despised . It’s just been so, so long since she spoke to someone - since she felt alive . If she had tears to shed, she feared they would get the best of her. Even now, just this small confirmation had her choke back a sob of pure joy.

“I have been gifted with sight by the Gods.”

Their voice was just as odd as their armor. An accent curled heavily around their words in a way she was unfamiliar with. Foreign, then. She couldn’t help but wonder if they truly were blessed to see such a creature as her or if they were delusional. In her eyes, such sight would be nothing short of a curse. She cleared her throat - a useless but ingrained habit - as she composed herself. This was a stranger. One who could see her. One who may hurt her. Those snarling, snapping voices tried to tempt her to violence. It would be best to destroy this person before they had a chance to cause her more pain.

That grotesque desire was so strong it nearly suffocated her. She would not heed them. After all, she was no one’s puppet. Still, even the chance of danger had her ghostly, almost translucent eyes narrowing suspiciously. Once bitten, twice shy.

“Who are you?”

The stranger never shifted from their spot, she noted. She had never permitted them to cross into her withered grove and they acknowledged that. Instead, they stood calm and tall, exuding a peace she can’t recall ever feeling. It made that hunger in her rise like a leviathan. She wanted that peace. Whether it was due to her desire for comfort or that damning hunger, she gestured for the hunter to step into her territory. They gave a gracious gesture and took but a few steps forward before halting.

“I am Blothhundr, a Hunter of the Gods. You may call me Bloodhound.”

That wariness didn’t wane after their introduction. If anything, all it accomplished was setting her teeth on edge. There was a war waging in her head between the desire to close the distance and drink in the company she’s long been denied and the desire to cast them far, far away so she would be safe. That inner battle caught her tongue for a moment and kept her rooted in her spot. Finally, she was able to push past the haze of violent screams echoing like sirens to get out a response.

“And what are you hunting?”

They paused for only a moment before uttering a single word.

“Monsters.”

Just like that, her hopes shattered all around her. There was something utterly devastating about finally getting just what one has always desired only for it to be twisted so cruelly. She had no doubt this proclaimed Divine Hunter was here for her head. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so harsh to the mortals who crossed her path. That bitterness mixed with a swell of fear and it reminded her of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It came in the form of the singing silver of blades unsheathed and cruel, husky voices.

While the voices screamed for action and her body trembled to flee, she stood her ground proud and tall. Perhaps under all of that fear of what’s to come was a shred of dark relief. Anything would be better than this lonely Hell, wouldn’t it? Regardless, she would face her hunter with all of her fierce, untamed fury. She wouldn’t go quietly into the night. Not again. That ethereal energy she possessed built around her once more as she prepared for their inevitable clash.

“I take it that monster is me?”

As she spoke, she jutted her chin up in defiance, letting it be known that she would be no easy prey. Instead of aggression, however, she was met with pacifism. They raised their gloved hands in a placating gesture that once again surprised her.

“My apologies, I have not made my intentions clear. No, you are not the one I am after.”

They sounded completely sincere but how would she know any better? Her disbelief colored her voice dark with its dry, skeptical undertone.

“Really?”

Still, the odd hunter seemed unfazed. They merely gave another polite nod.

“Já.”

That frown on her face only deepened further. They lapsed into a tense silence as she eyed them up warily. There was a barely concealed hostility just beneath her wraps as those voices implored her to act. Once more, the hunter spread their hands out wide in a grand gesture meant to convey some sort of understanding.

“Not all óvættr are wraiths and revenants. Some appear as men. They are the most monstrous of all. They are who I am after.”

Again, something in her head twisted sharply. There was a thought - a memory - at the very edges of her mind. It left her itching to chase that particular white rabbit. Still, she did not speak. She did not want to encourage this enigmatic hunter to keep raising her hopes back up. It’s a trick , the voices claimed. Her jaw clenched and she felt a phantom pain from the pressure. They continued on.

“Truly, I do not believe Wraiths to be monsters at all.”

She scoffed in utter disbelief.

“You’d be the first.”

The sardonic, baleful words slipped from her tongue without her permission. She snapped her mouth shut as soon as the last syllable left her lips. The abrupt, almost angry cut-off didn’t seem to bother her newfound companion. They just shook their head, an almost mournful hunch to their once-squared shoulders.

“I am aware. Many misunderstand that which they fear and they fear that which they do not understand. Wraiths are born of violence and injustice. They are innocent souls who met a fate they did not deserve. So they are trapped, unable to find friðr until they find justice. ��

Their words stirred up a violent hurricane within her. Flashes of faces colored her vision until it was all she could see. Voices and metal-on-metal beat in her ears. The suffocating scents of leather, dirt, and smoke choked her airless lungs. It all flashed too fast for her to catch but she knew - she knew - where all of her hate and fear came from. This one, they spoke the truth. Something utterly profane happened to her and it robbed her of all that she once was. It left that disgustingly familiar hollow ache in its place. It pulsated like a fetid wound. This wasn’t fair! The dead should not hurt so deeply!

“That’s what happened to me?”

It came out a whisper full of turmoil. The Wraith could hardly untangle this confusing web of emotions she was feeling. It left her wanting to lash out like a wounded, cornered animal as she was used to doing. Without realizing it, she had squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to push the wailing voices and barbed feelings far away. It felt like she would shake apart from the endless tide beating against her soul.

Stop, please stop!

“It would seem so.”

The soft voice was so much nearer than it had been before. It startled her, though not nearly as much as the gloved hand on her shoulder. She could feel the weight of their hand and the warmth of the glove against her icy skin. So shocking was this gesture that even the voices were silenced for a change. The Wraith could not help but stare with wide doe eyes and gasp quietly.

“How are you able to do that?”

As if only just realizing what they’d done, Bloodhound retracted their hand quickly. She almost wanted to chase the touch, much to her chagrin. Just how starved of affection had she become? ...That was a question she truly did not want answered for surely it would only upset her further. Bloodhound was quiet for a moment before finally answering her question. The tone of their voice hedged dangerously close to uncomfortable.

“...That is a story for another time.”

She frowned slightly at the deflection. The desire to pester them for an answer was strong but then she noticed just how stiff they’d become. Their hands were curled into tight fists and they had turned slightly away from her as if contemplating an escape. A quiet desperation rose in her at the mere thought of being stuck in this lonely purgatory again.

Wraith quickly reached out, hand hovering over the hunter’s armguard. Slowly, she reached just a bit further until she gently grabbed their arm. For an agonizing moment, she feared her hand would have passed right through them just as it had everyone else. But no, she could feel the rough, worn texture of the metal beneath her ghostly fingers. When she ached, it was with joy this time. Bloodhound slowly looked her direction, stance still ready to run.

“...I accept your help. I...want to remember. Everything. I want...”

Getting the words out was harder than she could have imagined. Asking for help - showing just how vulnerable she is - was so very, very difficult. But, she managed to get the words out there, soft as a spring breeze.

“I want to find peace.”

And by the Gods it was true. There was nothing in this world she wanted more than to finally be at peace. Wraith could only pray that this hunter was true to their word. Slowly, minutely, their stance relaxed. Finally, they gave a small nod and spoke with a confidence that instilled a courage and hope in her she didn’t previously dare let herself feel.

“Then the hunt begins.”

#Apex Legends #Wraith (Apex)#Bloodhound (Apex)#My Writing #3k+#Prompt Fic #Renee Blasey #Blothhundr #Ghost!Wraith #Monster Hunter!Bloodhound #Bloodhound also kinda has abilities???#but that's not explored #god i need to learn when to shut the fuck up

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elsaclack · 6 years ago

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HELLO the general consensus is that a masterpost would be Good so!! here i am!! masterposting!! this is split by fandom in reverse-chronological order (newest on top) but i will tell u i’m not even gonna TRY with the one-shot collections bc honestly i have. No Memory Whatsoever as to when i posted those in relation to the independent fics lmao. most are on ao3 only but i will include tumblr links where applicable!! and if you think of one i’ve written (or that you think i’ve written) that you don’t see on this list, please don’t hesitate to send me an ask about it!!

BROOKLYN NINE-NINE

kiss prompt #26

2. moving around while kissing, stumbling over things, pushing each other back against the wall/onto the bed

AO3

kiss prompt #25

7. routine kisses where the other person presents their cheek/forehead for the hello/goodbye kiss without even looking up from what they’re doing

AO3

kiss prompt #24

7. routine kisses where the other person presents their cheek/forehead for the hello/goodbye kiss without even looking up from what they’re doing

[PLATONIC]

AO3

kiss prompt #23

10. staring at the other’s lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in

AO3

kiss prompt #22

12. a hoarse whisper "kiss me"

AO3

kiss prompt #21

18. kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap

AO3

kiss prompt #20

19. kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing

AO3

kiss prompt #19

15. a gentle “i love you” whispered after a soft kiss, followed immediately by a stronger kiss

AO3

kiss prompt #18

8. being unable to open their eyes for a few moments afterward

AO3

kiss prompt #17

11. when one stops the kiss to whisper “I’m sorry, are you sure you-” and they answer by kissing them more

AO3

kiss prompt #16

16. when one person’s face is scrunched up, and the other one kisses their lips/nose/forehead

AO3

you’re a king, and i’m a lionheart

“What about...what about Jacob?” An overwhelming sense of rightness settles light as air over Roger’s shoulders as he turns the name over in his mind. Jacob. Prince Jacob. Prince Jacob of the House of Peralta, Duke of Southport. “Jacob,” he murmurs, and he could swear his son smiles. The sun breaks low on the horizon the morning of Prince Jacob’s birth - and far, far away, across a vast forest and a roiling sea beyond it, a lurking Duchess begins to plot.

"In which Jake is the prince notorious for running head-first into danger and Amy is the main guard in charge of keeping him alive."

AO3

and did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?

He can’t remember exactly how old he was when Halley��s Comet blazed through the sky, but he was old enough to at least understand that what he saw was, for most people, a once-in-a-lifetime experience. He remembers the blinding missile-like blur of pure light that streaked across the inky black sky, the feathery trails of starlight that followed along behind her as she tore through the galaxy, the way she flickered and winked as she disappeared beyond the horizon.

And he remembers his mother telling him, in a voice he recognized even then to be warbling with reverence and emotion, how lucky he is to be among those lucky few who will get to witness Halley’s blazing trail twice in one lifetime.

AO3

untitled song lyric prompt #3

“sometimes in the dead of night when you think you can’t make it, you might find i left a light beside the bed for you, ‘cause i’ve been there, too”

AO3

untitled song lyric prompt #2

“That drink you spilt all over me, lovers spit left on repeat, my mom and dad let me stay home, it feels so scary getting old”

AO3

untitled song lyric prompt #1

“I’ve already packed my promises, they’re waiting by the door”

AO3

the good place frozen yogurt prompt #3

inside jokes

AO3

the good place frozen yogurt prompt #2

unmitigated joy

AO3

the good place frozen yogurt prompt #1

grandma’s kisses

AO3

now that the weight has lifted, love has surely shifted my way

“Y’know what? Just - just go ahead. Ruin it. I don’t care. It’s just a dumb ceremony anyways. I love Jake, and I know he loves me, and - and we don’t have to have some big fancy ceremony to prove it. I’m going to marry him,” she says slowly, firmly, “and there is nothing you can do to stop it.”

AO3

untitled prompt #25

"Okay so what about a fic based on pregnant amy santiago wearing a bathrobe?"

AO3

i’m on the edge of a broken heart

Amy Santiago is a vision of beauty.

“Hey,” he says, suddenly winded by the mere sight of her. He falls back to his heels, lets his hands fall down to his sides, and watches as she slowly paces toward him. “I was just…I thought I might…clean.”

Aside from reaching to toss her shirt and purse across the chaise to his right, she remains very still. “You never clean.” she finally says after a long stretch of silence.

There is no inquisitiveness to her tone. There is no confusion in her face. It’s a statement of fact, yes, but the complete lack of emotion in her entire demeanor is a clear and flashing neon sign pointing to the calm before the storm.

AO3

je vais t’attendre là

On the morning of April 28th, Jake Peralta wakes to the smell of pancakes burning on the griddle.

He can tell when he rolls just slightly on his side that the blankets have been pulled up and neatly tucked in over the other half of the mattress, but even that slight change in angle brings him in contact with a part of the mattress still warm from Amy’s sleeping body. His shirt is also still warm where it’s stretched across his shoulders - there’s even a spot on the back of his neck that is cooler than the rest, probably leftover from the kiss she pressed there before she rolled out of bed.

He smiles as he rubs his fingertips over the spot. How she managed to burn breakfast in what is likely just a matter of minutes is entirely beyond him.

AO3

that i need you because it’s so hard to be who i am

But then it’s 7:30 and the last of her belongings are finally unloaded and carefully placed in and on her new desk and she’s straightening up the last picture of the two of them from the night they got engaged right beside her brand new computer monitor while she talks about what they should order for dinner (she’s been dealing with a hankering for good Chinese food ever since Vin mentioned the authentic Chinese cuisine he ate the last time he was in Tianjin and Jake is definitely not still vaguely jealous of the general lifestyle Vin leads) and Jake’s stomach is hollow, hollow, hollow.

That’s what makes the rumbling so loud, he thinks.

AO3

you look happy to me

The ball is several hours underway by the time Amy manages to track her children down again - out on the terrace of all places. The doors are propped open to welcome the balmy summer breeze rippling through the curtains (the ones that miraculously survived the dress incident of a few weeks ago), and though the sounds of her guests in fellowship around her and the gentle sounds of the string quartet in the corner command most of her auditory attention, the boisterous male laughter she’s grown all-too-familiar with rings clear and true above the rest.

Of course her children are with Jake.

(She wonders if the day she trusts her nanny to properly watch her children will ever come.)

AO3

you clicked your heels and wished for me

She’s not sure if it’s instinct or her skills as an amazing detective-slash-genius, but Amy knows from the moment she steps into their apartment that something is off.

AO3

untitled one-shot #7

She’s got that look on her face again - the one that makes his heart feel like it’s fluttering in his chest - and when she reaches across the center console to touch his forearm, her hand is warm from the coffee. “Jake,” she murmurs, and his face is burning. “You’re -” she stops and shakes her head, and then starts again. “You are literally the sweetest, most kind and thoughtful and attentive person I’ve ever met.”

He covers her hand with his own and tilts his head to the side, until it’s leaning against the headrest.

AO3

untitled prompt #24

you ever think about what would have happened if it was amy and rosa who worked with hawkins, rather than rosa and jake?

AO3

untitled one-shot #6

The morning of June 15th begins suddenly with a low voice in her ear.

“Amelia Maria Santiago-Peralta,” the voice is quiet, but it rumbles with delight. And even though she groans instinctively at her abrupt return to consciousness, she can’t help but to smile when his lips brush against her ear. “Do you know what today is?”

“Mmm,” she turns her head to bury her face in her pillow for one more moment, before rolling over to her back. When her eyes flutter open she finds him leaning over her, propped up on his elbow, grinning far too brightly for six o’clock in the morning. “It’s Friday,” she mumbles, “and my middle name’s not Maria.”

AO3

let ‘em wonder how we got this far

Amy Santiago does not get sick, thank you very much.

AO3

i’ll always do my best to make you see

The merry misadventures of Morrissey and Schmidt

one | two | three | four | five | six

they say that dreaming is free, but i wouldn’t care what it cost me

This is not a dream. It may look like one, what with all the fairy lights and the flashing red-and-blue strobe lights and that inexplicable feeling of weightlessness originating from somewhere down in his bones, but it’s real. It’s really happening. Amy Santiago is walking down the aisle, in a white dress, with flowers in her hands and a smile on her face and enough love to eradicate the concept of hate in her eyes, and it’s real. She’s walking down the aisle, toward the podium, where she’s going to get married. To him, Jake Peralta. This is not a dream.

AO3

you’ll always be the only one

"since im such an evil person, i just imagined... what would’ve happened if they didnt find out about the bomb...?"

AO3

you held your course to some distant war in the corners of your mind

The vast majority of his view through the rear view mirror is blocked by Amy’s head, raised a bit higher than usual thanks in large part to the hump that makes up the middle seat. He’s certain that’s going to present a problem once they’re on the road and moving, but he’s rather grateful for her presence in his line of vision at the moment. She’s not looking at him, but rather, at the tiny human bundled up like a baby burrito in the car seat to her left. She’s got a big goofy grin on her face and her brows keep rising and falling with each changing expression. A smile - probably the billionth in the last two days - blossoms across his face as he watches her make silly faces at their literally-hours-old daughter.

Brand new car, brander newer daughter.

AO3

build a ladder to the stars and climb on every rung

In truth, when Jake made the decision to answer Charles’ incoming phone call an hour earlier, he hand’t really expected much. Maybe a live update of something cute Nikolaj was doing, maybe commentary on whatever inedible animal part he was forcing himself to eat at the time, maybe another Cats-related pun. He expected something ordinary.

au where jake and amy find out they're expecting the same way cece and schmidt do on new girl

AO3

kiss prompt #15

First kisses: Hesitant and nervous. Lips hover inches from each other for a few seconds before they just barely brush. It’s just a soft press, but it ignites their entire bodies. Pinkies link afterwards, still wanting to be close, and each looks down, smiling softly.

AO3

kiss prompt #14

Angry kisses: Hard, gripping. Fists in clothes, shoving each other against walls. Fingers digging into hips. But the kisses always melt away from that. They turn into brushes of lips between shaking breaths, until they’re out of energy and are left just standing there, holding each other, fingers carding through hair.

AO3

kiss prompt #13

Heated kisses: Breath huffing into mouths, angrily or passionately. Hands grabbing at clothing and pulling each other closer.

AO3

kiss prompt #12

“I thought I lost you” kisses: The breath is knocked out of both of them with the force that they collide with. Hands grip the back of t-shirts and palms are pressed up and under shirts, holding them close, feeling the warmth of their skin. Palms are pressed to cheeks, thumbs swiping away tears until their mouths collide messily, the world seeming to disappear around them.

[VERSON 2]

AO3

kiss prompt #11

After sex kisses: Lazy, slow presses. Limbs pressed together, chests heaving. Soft murmurs about what to do for dinner later, fingers trailing down backs, tracing lazy patterns. B rolling onto their back and A trailing their lips down their neck, kissing their shoulder, their chest, anywhere they can think of, memorizing B.

AO3

kiss prompt #10

“We can’t do this” kisses: Fists clenched, hands shoved into pockets. Brows low or brought together, jaws clenched. A feeling like a magnetic pull between them. Their foreheads press together, their lips brush, just barely, until B pulls away with a shaking exhale, forehead dropping into A’s neck.

AO3

kiss prompt #9

“You look beautiful” kisses: Just a soft press of lips to the temple, resting them there for a moment, then smiling down and telling them as much.

AO3

kiss prompt #8

Breathless kisses: A series of short pecks because they need the closeness but they also need air, so. Sometimes smiles come in between, or sometimes its just breath, gasping for the sole purpose of being able to kiss again.

[tw: description of near-drowning and mentions of stomach pumping (y’know standard breathless kiss prompt stuff)]

AO3

kiss prompt #7

In the dark kisses: The movie plays in the background, but A and B are hardly paying attention from the back row. They kiss soundlessly, long and soft, fingers locked. A’s arm is thrown behind B’s seat, wrist bent to curl their fingers into B’s hair.

AO3

kiss prompt #6

Hello kisses: After long periods apart, these can include A picking up B and spinning them around. Fingers pressing into cheeks, palms cupping necks, and breathless laughs when they finally come up for air.

AO3

kiss prompt #5

AO3

kiss prompt #4

Comforting kisses: B walks into find A sitting on the bed, shoulders shaking, cheeks wet. A looks up, face looking stricken for a moment. B is shocked, and quietly says A’s name. At this, A breaks, face crumpling, and only barely has time to reach both hands out for B before B is there, kneeling at A’s feet. B takes A’s hands first, kissing their knuckles and palms. Then B reaches up to hold A’s face, pressing soft kisses around their cheeks, their lips, murmuring “it’s okay” and “you’re alright�� and “I’m here” in between.

AO3

kiss prompt #3

“Come to bed” kisses: A has their hands on B’s neck, murmuring the phrase softly. A’s hands slide down B’s arms to their hands, lacing their fingers together and slowly starting to pull B towards their bedroom. A continues to pepper B with kisses all the while, trailing them down their jaw and neck.

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kiss prompt #2

“I missed you” kisses: Long and relentless, holding their body close, arms wrapped completely around their waist. A burying their head in B’s neck and pressing kisses there too.

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kiss prompt #1

“I’ll be right back” kisses: A puts their hands on B’s shoulders from behind them, where they are sat on the couch. A leans down and around, while B turns their head a little, accepting the quick peck.

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on my heart like a tattoo

Amy’s a month old, too young to remember anything, and he shows up on her skin for the very first time in the form of an explosion of color.

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don’t read the last page

There’s dry candle wax on the floor by the window and glitter stuck to the soles of her feet; somewhere down in the lobby their friend is carrying her shoes out into a blizzard, the fruits of her expensive Polaroid camera lying forgotten on the rug. Outside the world is muted and painted white with snow, the pain and misery and heartache of the year behind them left at the 11:59 threshold the night before. They faded to nothing at the stroke of midnight, at the heart-stopping meld of their lips, at his hooded smile to the sounds of their friends celebrating all around them, at the way his whispered we’re getting married this yearwas nearly lost in the commotion. Not quite the blank slate of it’s predecessors - but so much better.

The music ends and they keep swaying, clinging, too stubborn to let go. Their apartment is a wreck of discarded Solo cups and empty bottles and dirty dishes but he is warm and soft and he smells so good; eyes squeezed shut, fingers tangled in his shirt, to the beat of her heart her mind chants forever.

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untitled one-shot #5

Amy’s back is toward him but he can see her arm moving in a slow rhythm - probably drawing patterns in the small shag rug at the foot of their bed - and aside from the slight turn of her head, she doesn’t acknowledge his arrival. The apartment is warm, a welcome reprieve to the bitter cold bartering for entrance at their windows, and even though he can see the snow falling thick and swirling in the space between their curtains he can feel the warmth trickling down his fingers and toes.

“Hey,” he says, voice almost boisterous in the comfortable silence swaddling them both. She turns toward him a little more, peering at him through her lashes - and now he can see the pinkness around her nose has spread over her cheeks and darkened to an angrier color, the used, crumpled tissues like confetti on the floor over the top of her head. “Why’re you on the floor?”

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come on, it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you

The worn soles of her Ugg boots scuff along the dingy carpet beneath their feet, and her scarf - now draped over one shoulder - drags along the ground behind her. Her mittens, over-stuffed puffy coat, matching ski pants, and thick wool beanie complete the look; he’s honestly never seen her look more Randy from A Christmas Story than she does in this moment.

It is without question the cutest thing he’s ever seen in his life.

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if you want me to stay, i will stay by your side

For someone whose job requires an unusually large amount of personal risk on a near daily basis, Amy Santiago has not dedicated much time considering how she might one day die. The vague assumption that it will probably happen on the job - via stray bullets or careening cars or massive explosions - has been enough to satisfy any musing.

She never imagined doctor's visits or specialist consultations or diagnoses. She never imagined hospital gowns and thinning hair and chemotherapy.

And she never, ever imagined cancer.

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in these dark ad quiet hours

There are unanswered texts on both of their phones, lunch invitations waiting to be received, inquiries about dinner plans or post-work drinks demanding responses; there are fresh boxes of his favorite cereal and his preferred brand of hot chocolate in the kitchen cabinets waiting to be poured. Life, their life, ebbs and flows along the perimeter of their mattress. But they ignore it for now, for just a few more minutes of this. For just a few more minutes of them.

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untitled prompt #23

SO..UH...IS IT TIME FOR YOU TO BLESS US WITH ANOTHER DOMESTIC PERALTIAGO FIC???? (pleaseeeeeeeee)

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survival will not be the hardest part

Of course, it’s not a normal Wednesday. Because on this particular Wednesday, Amy’s functioning on two hours of sleep and approximately five and a half cups of coffee. On this particular Wednesday, she’s simultaneously starving and nauseous, having gotten so caught up in this murder case she’s been working with Rosa that she simply hasn’t had the time to eat. She’s exhausted and clammy and probably just about on the verge of succumbing to the flu she knows has been going around the beat cops downstairs.

She’s also exactly one month out from her wedding day.

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even if the skies get rough

It’s sixty-five degrees in the waiting room of Jericho Supermax Prison and Jake Peralta is absolutely disintegrating in her arms.

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the stakes are high, the water’s rough, but this love is ours

This has her eyes splitting open and her brow furrowing at once. Jake may have only been acquitted and released from prison three days ago but already she’s readjusted to sharing the bed again; to find it empty is to choke down a small, skittish wave of panic. The mattress is still warm, after all - he was in bed recently. And now that her senses are starting to fire on all cylinders, she’s absorbing the heavy scent of coffee and bacon in the air and the sounds of Taylor Swift playing quietly nearby.

And then she hears his voice - quiet, but still cracking as he tries to sing along with a high note.

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untitled prompt #22

What if like in the fanfics, amy actually did get engaged to teddy during jake's undercover op?? and the boy comes back actually finding amy's Wedding binder on her desk and jake's like What The Fuck! !!!??!? and emo while simultaneously trying to be supportive bc this is an exciting thing for amy nd he doesnt want to be the one to ruin it. Imagine jake not showing up at the wedding bc he rlly wouldnt be able to take it only to find amy clad in her wedding dress in his doorstep a few hours later

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untitled prompt #21

Do you think amy dies a little inside everytime she catches jake looking at her with the Soft look? like she's definitely seen it and she's probably teased him about it at some point but home girl probably loves it so! much! and she loves him so much and HE loves her so much too! she knows that with her whole being but it catches her offguard sometimes bc this sunshine boy really loves her to bits and he's so good to her and he makes her so so so happy and amy needs to lie down

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untitled one-shot #4

It’s the solid landing of a tiny hand against his cheek, quickly followed by a quiet gasp and a muffled giggle, that rouses Jake from sleep.

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untitled prompt #20

it's canon that jake makes mixtapes so what if he has a box of them labeled with the day they were made and what if amy finds that stash while jake is absent for some reason (based on ur need for Angst™, this reason is up for interpretation) and spends a day going through them, laughing at her nerd bf & his mixtapes ranging from tswift to conner4real to toni braxton until she finds one labeled with the date that he went undercover. again, based on the angst need, this can go so many ways

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untitled prompt #19

How cute would Amy's first Mother's Day be...

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untitled prompt #18

Imagine Jake taking Amy to dinner after her exam to celebrate, and at the restaurant he keeps telling people at nearby tables that his girlfriend just became a sergeant, because he's just so proud and wants to brag about her. And Amy pretends to be exasperated but she can't hold back a smile

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untitled prompt #17

This is the first time in three weeks she’s allowed herself to exist within the walls once stretched to capacity with love, with laughter, with the occasional healthy bouts of exasperation. And really, honestly, she hadn’t intended to snoop. She was just searching for a certain hoodie - one she lived in for months at a time a year ago when this Jake-shaped hole was first blown through her chest - and in the process of looking through old boxes stacked at the back of the hall closet that never really got around to being unpacked, she’d found a binder.

A binder with her father’s name in Garamond typeface emblazoned across the front cover.

(She can’t help but instinctively wrinkle her nose - she would have chosen Tahoma.)

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untitled prompt #16

Hey there! I got an idea for Peraltiago (bc i am trash) One of them gets EXTREMELY wasted and forgets that they're actually dating the other so they start shamelessly flirting with them. The other just plays along. I feel like this would fit Amy cause of "The Santiago Drunkenness Scale" but I'd love to see (in this case, read) a drunk and goofy Jake fall in love all over again. But you decide which is best! P.S I really love your work! ^_^

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untitled prompt #15

Amy has to go in for some kind of procedure, very low key, everything's kosher. However, since she's gonna be out of it for a few hours, Jake has to take care of her.

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untitled prompt #14

Plz write a fluffy fic about when Amy and the ladies + Charles get hammered for rosas bachelorette party Amy either talks to them about Jake or comes home to Jake and is adorable and lovey

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untitled one-shot #3

The first thing Jake does after the bailiff announces the not-guilty verdict is high-five his lawyer. The second thing he does is high-five Rosa.

The third, and perhaps most dramatic thing he does, is turn around, vault the low wall separating the audience from the rest of the courtroom, and kiss Amy.

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untitled prompt #13

Can you write something where jake and Amy go to hook up in the evidence locker or closet or something and end up getting stuck and Amy is like !!!well shit!!! Cause she's claustrophobic

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you did this to him

"So Jake's doing the right thing instead of the selfish thing?"

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untitled prompt #12

could you please write what was going through jake's and amy's minds when figgus had jake at gun point??

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untitled one-shot #2

“Jake,” Amy’s voice is low and soothing as she pulls the car smoothly to the side of the road. Jake grunts, too busy flipping through his notecards to verbalize a response. “Jake, babe, please relax. It’s okay. There are seven of them. I can’t even remember all of their names.”

“That is the biggest lie you’ve ever told me in your entire life, and that includes the time you tried to tell me McGinley asked you to clean out the fridge in the breakroom.”

“Oh my God, it’s been seven years, are you ever gonna let that go?”

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untitled prompt #11

Amy and jake laughing and/or discussing teddy proposing to her

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untitled prompt #10

I can't stop wondering about the scar on Jake's back that he got by banging into Amy's kitchen cabinet. How did it happen? Were they making out? Was he cooking and something fell to the ground? What did Jakey do this time? ... Think of this as a prompt if you need/want one.

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untitled prompt #9

If you're not too busy with prompts, Jake x Amy and the phrase "you fight like a married couple". Thank you :)

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untitled prompt #8

can you write an angsty fic about jake reacting to an old friend dying and amy trying to comfort him??

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when you press me to your heart, i’m in a world apart

“Do you ever think about all the time we lost?”

Jake asks the question quietly, half-mumbled against her neck. The tone of his voice is the same as it has been for the last hour they’ve spent laying in her bed - light, carefree, relaxed. His fingers trace lightly over her side, having edged beneath the hem of her t-shirt twenty minutes ago to trace circles and hearts and swirls over her ribs; all-in-all, far away enough that he probably doesn’t notice the fact that her heart has just skipped a beat.

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watching through my fingers

Eyes closed, one swollen, a violet bruise that gives way in places to greener colors marking the shape of the fist that put it there, slanted down from just above her brow to her cheekbone. Beautiful and painful, like a sunset that rips his heart out of his body. Her eyelids are delicate and thin, so so breakable, hiding those warm brown eyes from smiling up at him and assuring him that everything is okay. It’s all okay. She’s okay.

He is not okay.

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don’t be fools, thinking this is the last you’ll find

Jake gets nervous for the second time on their first official date when they make it back to Amy’s apartment. More specifically, when they’re standing just outside of the entrance to her apartment. When her hair, so light and wavy and tantalizing, is moving just slightly in the late-night breeze and her eyes are bright from both the alcohol and the laughter that filled the long stretch of time after that alcohol; his whole entire chest is suddenly seized with nerves. He hasn’t been this close to her since the copy room at work earlier, just one hour after their evidence lock-up kiss. He swallows thickly and her eyes flick down at the movement.

His dart down to her lips. He’s just a beat too late coming back up to her eyes.

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untitled prompt #7

I need a scene where Jake is sad so to cheer him up Amy gives him a picture of her and Charles from when they wore the same outfit while Jake was undercover

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untitled prompt #6

I really need to dump 'Jake gets framed for murder/some other crime and has to spend some time in prison, while the team fights to clear his name and get him out' on someone, Peraltiago of course, and may be Doug Judy is looking after Jake in prison. ??? IDK

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untitled prompt #5

Do you think you could write a fic where jake and Amy get into a big fight and go back to their own places but they're both super sad about it and make it up to each other in the morning?

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romeo, save me, they’re trying to tell me how to feel

B99 Au idea where Amy never worked in the 9-9 and instead has been groomed by Madeline Wuntch her entire professional career as her protégé, leading to a Romeo-and-Julietesque romance and rivalry between Ray Holt’s own protégé, causing them to have to hide their relationship once they have their asses in gear - Tumblr user stardustsantiago

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and the bells are ringing out

Jake Peralta is sitting in the interrogation room.

It’s strange, Amy thinks as she watches him through the glass. They’ve probably been in this same position at least three dozen times before - her on this side, him on that one - but never once has she been quite this anxious. Never once has he seemed quite so frail.

Never once has he tended to his own minor wounds, or held his own ice pack to his bruised and swollen eye, or watched the door with as much quiet intensity.

Never once has he been a victim.

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we watched the sun set over the castle on the hill

It’s not constant, but it’s enough - it strikes a chord deep within her, reverberating back through the years and vibrating in her very bones, each instance blazing in her memory like a makeshift patchwork quilt spanning back over a decade to that first lonely stakeout in their prologue.

A series of snapshots of Jake Peralta's pursuit of happiness.

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you can tell me when it’s over if the high was worth the pain

Once upon a time, there was a knight in shining pantsuit armor who rescued a fair prince from an evil hawk's detention center...

Or, Amy has never been one to lie down at the face of injustice; this is especially true when the one facing injustice happens to be the love of her life.

Post s4 finale fic, in 4 movements.

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should i suffocate or let go

Amy's not sure, really, when her life became so tragic.

She’s not a tragic person. She’s never known sorrow in an intimate way, never really felt her bones turn cold with it. Organization keeps the demons at bay; she knows this as surely as she knows her own name.

Enter: Jake Peralta.

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all my seconds, minutes, lifetimes for you and only you

“You had me worried for a minute, there,” he tells her quietly while she lavishes attention on the faded freckles along his shoulders.

(It’s code: you could have just talked to me.)

She pauses, long eyelashes fluttering against her cheekbones, before tilting her head back up to peer at him. “I knew you’d find me eventually,” she says off-handedly. “I just - I freaked myself out.”

(It’s also code: you and I both know I would only have freaked out more.)

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hold on to hope if you’ve got it

He wonders, distantly, what the soul mate science says about situations like this. He wonders as the cool backside of Amy’s hand presses against his forehead; he wonders as he loses touch completely with reality, as his mind comes unhinged and tears spewing down his face spread at an alarming rate across the mattress beneath his violently tilted head.

Who's he supposed to turn to when she can’t be there for him?

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i think i’m tired of getting over it

She’s not sure about the how or the when or the why, but on one warm afternoon in May, Gina is faced with the realization that one Rosa Diaz has become an undeniable cornerstone in her life. Gina almost hates herself for allowing this to happen, for allowing this one person to become so intimately entangled in the life she’s built for herself that the moment that person disappears from it, everything comes crashing down again. Her eyes are open and she can still see colors and feel textures and the world is still real and spinning, except her mind has dropped off back into that void and there is nothing there to pull her out, there is no one, nothing, gone gone gone -

“Gina?” Gina blinks, and Amy Santiago’s face comes fading into view.

[a s4 finale prediction]

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just let the pain remind you hearts can heal

He’s been walking a fine line recently. She’s been out of the hospital for less than a week, and while she’s been incredibly diligent about following all of the instructions the doctor gave her about medicine and physical therapy, she’s been all but belligerent about the bed rest side of things. It’s hard to tell her no, and not just because one pleading look would be enough to convince Jake to commit arson for her; Amy Santiago can be quite intimidating when she wants to be.

(Part of him wonders just how much that terrifying look hardened while she was undercover. Part of him never ever wants to know.)

[set in the sleepwalking universe]

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the well-worn pages of my favorite book

"How dare you tempt me with a small bookstore!"

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untitled prompt #4

omg idk if this has been done yet, but imagine an au with jake and amy where amy is an artist and jake is a photographer or something and they're each others muses like o m g

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untitled prompt #3

um hi love your writing BUCKETS - prompt for after tonight's ep, jake goes home and accidentally lets it slip that he wants to have kids at some point (a la mentioning he kissed holt - totally unintentional, slips out by mentioning charles in convo with amy, potentially??)

AND

Prompt! The night of Captain Latvia, Jake talks to Amy about his thoughts on what Boyle said about Jake never becoming a dad.

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untitled prompt #2

Prompt idea: get this... jake amy in highschool .. prom is coming up.. amy cant go something comes up.. jake is super excited but .. instead stays with amy at her house playing board games in pjs

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untitled prompt #1

do you have any headcanons for jake and amy on valentine's day? an idea of mine is that they're both working late and so they can't go out for dinner or anything and thus jake feels bad and buys amy all the tacky valentine's gifts he can find within a mile radius of the precinct

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untitled one-shot #1

Amy can tell something’s off the moment she steps off the elevator.

To the naked eye, everything about the bullpen appears to be perfectly normal. There are three perps sitting in holding, and Charles is bickering with Scully over the coffee pot in the break room. Gina’s engrossed in whatever is illuminating her face on her computer screen, Rosa’s scribbling something in the margin of what appears to be official paperwork, and Holt’s office door is closed. She can see Terry’s back through the open blinds - the two appear to be deep in conversation.

The only one missing is Jake - which is why she’s immediately suspicious.

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baby, you were my picket fence

Amy snatches it and takes a long pull, screwing her eyes shut against the bitter taste, but even as she coughs and splutters as she lowers the bottle again Rosa finds that she just can’t make fun of her. “Good? Or do I need to order another bottle?”

“Another,” says Amy, and then, “he’s gone.”

Rosa stiffens, gaze lifting to scan over the crowd around them. “Who?” She asks quietly when she can’t spot the threat.

“Jake.”

She deflates. “Yeah, he left, like, three hours ago -”

“Not three hours ago, ten minutes ago. And he - he stopped me in the parking lot, as I was on my way out.” She swallows again, thickly this time, and Rosa clenches her jaw. “He confessed - he told me that he likes me.”

For a split-second, Rosa has to fight the craziest urge to laugh. It’s all so juvenile - a boy confessed he liked her and she’s immediately distraught, how utterly cliche - before the implications of it all belatedly hit her. “Oh.”

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this girl right here’s gonna rule the world

Could you write something where Rosa encourages Gina to think about becoming a cop/something post coral palms pt3??? Xoxoxo - ANONYMOUS

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don’t let our hearts freeze

I see a lot of Jake helping Amy with panick attacks but not much of the opposite and you write intimate moments between them so well, so would you write the first time Jake feels safe enough with Amy to call her when he gets a panick attack (establish relationship) ? - FUCKINGDAMNITDEAN

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just say you won’t let go

Hey there, I love your writing, so if you're ever up to, could you write Rosa and Charles watching the surveillance tapes from the evidence lock up in episode 03x01? I just think it would be so funny to actually see (in this case read) Charles watching Jake and Amy killing a guy with their kiss, and Rosa telling him to chill (while secretly smiling to herself). - ANONYMOUS

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my life before was tragic

Prompt! After Jake and Amy start dating, Jake finds the ring from The Bet in Amy's desk and asks her why she went back to get it. - ANONYMOUS

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stuck in second gear

HAS ANYONE WRITTEN A JAKE AND AMY PROPOSAL THAT HAPPENS JUST LIKE MONICA AND CHANDLER’S PROPOSAL - Tumblr user youngsamberg

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the roads ahead are paved with good intentions

i just remembered this and i think it’s really interesting that amy told teddy both times jake told her he liked her, before and after he went undercover - Tumblr user youngsamberg

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heaven and earth have finally aligned

ANONYMOUS: so do you have any headcanons regarding the Jake and Amy stills from the wedding? (I.e. write a short fic based on the pictures of them)

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i’ll be there for you

Hey, do you know an episode of friends where Monica and Chandler are secretly dating and he accidentally kisses her in front of Phoebe and Rachel? Can you write that Peraltiago-stylez? Please please pleeeaase?

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i'm still waiting patiently

i am ONLY asking bc i'm a self destructive mess rn but if ur in an angst writing mood could u write something where like jake has to cheat on amy while he's in florida???? idk????? i love angst

[PLEASE NOTE: i didn't write this exact prompt]

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something like that

i don't know if you're taking prompts but could you do Jake and Amy's first kiss like Nick and Jess. AUish. Idk. THANK YOU FOR EXISTING

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when i’m wiser and i’m older

Jake has six months worth of missed cuddling with one Amy Santiago, and he does not intend to waste any time in catching up - pain killers and airplanes be damned.

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just like a movie, just like a song

Amy Santiago does not break rules.

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where the numb meets the lonely

Anonymous said: Okay so I was just thinking about the fact that Jake and Amy's one-year anniversary probably occurred while Jake has been in Florida- do you think Jake had like a fake anniversary celebration with Amy's selfie? Also thinking about Jake and Amy not getting to be together for their anniversary makes me sad.

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and as our eyes start to close

He’s gone thirty-some-odd years without mourning his lack of a broad English vernacular, but that all changes the first time he sets foot into his new apartment after living in Florida for six months.

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you're not alone, 'cause you're here with me

Pertaigo oneshot where Amy has a really really bad panic attack? It can be at the prescient can be there to - ANONYMOUS

Can you please write Amy having a sever anxiety attack? - ANONYMOUS

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and you’re the sky

JAKE AND AMY MEET THE EXACT SAME WAY JANE AND MICHAEL DO AU (an unassuming beat cop shows up to her epic twenty first birthday door and gets mistaken for a stripper) - PHIL-THE-STONE

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how can i be an optimist about this?

ok for a jake/amy prompt how about their first fight as a married couple? can be as simple or as angsty as you please! - ANONYMOUS

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i promise that you'll never be lonely

Hi this is the same anon with the moving in together prompt so i have two and I'm not sure if these are more one-shotty or if you've done these before but 1)jake and/or amy's inner thoughts during johnny and dora 2) amy calling her mom to tell her about jake and her answering all of those *annoying* mom questions also are you on ff. net and or ao3? sorry you've probably posted about it before but I just started following so i don't know - ANONYMOUS

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and i see colors in a different way

as payback for the dress she wore and having to dance with scully in the bet amy plans a bad date to take jake on even though she doesnt expect to use it and later (while dating jake?) finds her notes while going through and cleaning out some old binders/notebooks - ANONYMOUS

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why don't you sit right down and stay awhile?

Prompt! Jake finds out Amy has never seen diehard and takes her to see it immediately - TARDIISBLUE

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to make up for the times i've been cheated on

u heathen okAY OKAY imma be Terrible and say Jake gets shot protecting Captain Holt and Amy and Rosa react ;;;;)))))))))))))) - PHIL-THE-STONE

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got that good song in my feet

prompt! six drink amy around jake in established relationship (i.e she's no longer lonely,, she's more clingy and emotional?? idk) :))) - FOURDRINKAMY

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i'd pay to see you smile

I've seen AU oneshots where Amy arrests civilian!Jake, but what about one where he arrests her--maybe a bit of a Doug Judy S2 ep type situation where she's flirting with him and he's into it but then catches himself? - GRYFFINDORSWEATER

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six days

Watching the speech scene in The Funeral where Jake is so adamantly willing to get demoted and Ames is trying to convince him that it’s his dream job and he shouldn’t let it go that easily and then he tells her ‘Amy…this good’

Like. I know they were both already way too deep once they started it, but?? I really?? Need someone to write a fic centering around Jake’s PoV during those six days? What was he thinking while he and Amy did Normal Couple Things? Did he constantly get streams of thoughts that revolved around how this is a reality that he’s alive and he’s not dreaming and how amazing this whole thing is that he can openly give her the Looks and hold her hand and snuggle with her and he can openly show her affection because they’re dating now?? I NEED SOMEONE TO WRITE A FIC PLS

- Tumblr user tall-butt

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i’ve been sleepwalking too close to the fire

Amy goes undercover immediately following the events of Johnny and Dora. Jake and the others try to deal.

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the only proof that i need is you

"in which Amy makes a habit of ranting to the bartender (about her terrible day, her last awful date, the patriarchy), and Jake takes it upon himself to try to make her smile."

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and let your colors bleed and blend with mine

"in which Jake and Amy are New York’s Most Wanted… or so he thinks. Amy’s actually an undercover cop meant to take him down – except it’s a year into the assignment, her fake feelings for him are a bit too real, and she just can’t imagine turning over this big misunderstood softy to the feds."

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and ignore those big warning signs

“Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I love him. Please, Charles, I’ll hold them off for as long as I can, just - just go!”

The last words Amy Santiago speaks before waking up alone in a hospital room, handcuffed to her bed.

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i never knew daylight could be so violent

Charles likes to think of himself as the world's first post-apocalyptic gourmet chef.

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and we will put the lonesome on the shelf

They get married on a Saturday evening, and that morning, it rains.

Amy wakes to the gentle tap of steady rainfall knocking gently on the window just three inches back from the very top of her head. For a moment, she lays very still - her sleep-dried eyes blink lazily up at the all-too-familiar ceiling above her head, watching blankly as a dull muted light casts soft shadows that stretch from the window all the way to the ceiling fan in the center of the room. She inhales deeply, so deeply that she feels a faint pop between her shoulder blades, and her eyes flutter shut again.

Seconds later, the stillness of the morning is pierced by an all-too-familiar alarm, and when her eyes fly open, they fly open on the wings of a powerful surge of excitement and adrenaline.

She’s getting married today.

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and i’ll tell you all about it when i see you again

It's snowing by the time they make it home from Brooklyn Methodist Hospital.

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love you inside out

Amy cries the night Jake comes home from Florida.

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most nights, i don’t know anymore

A response to the following prompt:

It isn’t a fanfic unless Main Character has to tear their gaze away from the strip of skin revealed above Love Interest’s waistband when they casually stretch their arms above their head.

----

“It’s the way he looks when he talks about her. There’s just…I don’t know, I can’t explain it. There’s something in his eyes when he talks about her, or when he looks at a photo of her. He would never hurt her. It’s written all over his face.”

“Are you quoting two-thousand-nine Beyonce at me?”

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your arms wrapped around me and this moment

"How did you know they were the one?"

"I just...knew."

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you know that i am home

It’s the sum total of many moving parts that ends up landing him in such a position at such a late hour; the coalescing of several Unfortunate Incidences, of which he had little to no control over, that thrusts him into such a predicament. A series of bad omens, as Gina would later tell him with a knowing smile, that he just couldn’t avoid, because he’s a freight train careening out of control and this is the end of the tracks.

Or something - something like that. It’s hard to think straight at 3 o’clock in the morning.

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my head is an animal

Anonymous: But: Jake is a sleep cuddler. Amy found this out before they were dating. They were on a long stakeout together and it was her shift. Jake fell asleep next to her clung onto her like his life depended on it. She didnt have the heart to wake him. Also: Gina found it out at a sleepover when they were kids. She woke up to Jake almost squeezing her to death. She screamed and threw a pillow at his head. Jake was not amused. Gina never slept beside Jake again.

AO3

i’m with your ghost again

"wait what if there’s a flashback during s4 of Jake and Holt leaving for Florida and it shows them saying goodbye to Amy and Kevin like I am not ready for that but it’s all I want" - Tumblr user youngsamberg

AO3

i’m gonna be free and i’m gonna be fine

It all ends the same way it starts: with a phone call.

AO3

i’m gonna make this place your home

It's 3 AM and Jake is trying to comfort his newborn daughter without waking his wife. Delirious rambling ensues.

AO3

wake me up when it’s all over

A stolen moment between Jake and Amy in the days after he returns from Florida.

AO3

i know places

Missing moment alluded to in the s3 finale:

"No one knows where I live." "I thought you had Amy over there once?" "Yeah, it was fun. I moved the next day."

AO3

riptide

Request: Could you do a fanfiction where an old ex flirts with amy and makes her laugh and jake realises he’s wants to be the only one to make her laugh? JEALOUS JAKE IS THE BEST JAKE

AO3

new york city, please go easy on me tonight

"There isn't a single person in the world I'd rather have on this case than you."

AO3

rivers and roads

"Rivers and roads, rivers and roads, rivers 'til I reach you."

AO3

thunder

Jake is thirty-five years old when he discovers a new breed of thunder.

AO3

until the sweetest words remain

In her four-year stint as an art major, Amy learned a lot of different words to describe beauty. She studied brushstrokes that communicated immeasurable pain and triumph and hope and fear. She learned how one piece of art could capture a moment so intense she felt like she could feel the artist’s breath on her neck. She felt positive that she’d never meet anyone who could make her feel as much as Michelangelo could with just one facial expression.

Until she met Jake.

AO3

of all the things my eyes have seen

Sometimes healing only comes one piece at a time. Sometimes it's so slow, it's painful. And sometimes it only happens when the people we love push us toward it. A stand-alone one shot that spins off from the events of Heliocentrism.

AO3

heliocentrism

Prompt: Amy goes undercover for some time (months maybe??). Jake goes crazy because he misses her like hell and is worried about her. He is very sad. Then she comes back and they are very cute (lots of fluff please!!)

You only need the light when it's burning low, only miss the sun when it starts to snow, only know you love her when you let her go.

AO3

THE GOOD PLACE

the song in my head was all that i had

He's Chidi Anagonye, and everything is fine.

AO3

GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY

were we the belly of the beast or the sword that fell

The expanse of inky blackness sprawled out before her seems peaceful in spite of Drax’s mind-numbing laughter booming through the Benatar, and though the sound of it grates against her ears even after all the time she’s spent in close quarters with him, she feels her lips twitching, fighting against a smile. He’s off somewhere in the bowels of the ship with Mantis, probably exploring whatever areas they’ve not yet discovered. And she knows Rocket’s busy arguing with Groot near the storage area - apparently explosives don’t mix well with whatever kindling Groot has started to shed. And Peter -

He’d shuffled off to the captain’s quarters with the earpieces of his Zune tucked securely in his ears some time ago.

It seems that all is right in the galaxy.

For now.

AO3

STRANGER THINGS

the wind is low, the birds will sing that you are part of everything

ANONYMOUS ASKED: a fic prompt - Steve gets introduced to El and internally he's like 'guess ive got 5 kids now' :3

She looks very different than she did three days earlier. Gone is the slicked-back hair and heavy eye makeup, gone are the ratty jeans and ripped shirts and jackets. The girl that sits before him now doesn’t particularly look like she’s hiding superpowers. She looks like just that, a girl - radiating innocence and timidity beneath a veritable mop of lazy curls that hang down in her big wide brown eyes. Her clothes are big and baggy and definitely scream hand-me-down but he can tell by looking at her that she has no concept of why that might be a bad thing.

It’s when she slides off the bed and steps toward him - after casting an uncertain glance at Mike - that it really hits him. She reaches up to push her hair out of her eyes and he finally sees them, the depth behind those irises, the strength radiating off of her that seems to originate somewhere down in her bones. What he thought was timidity is now a carefully-restrained surge of pure power. It very nearly floors him.

“Hi,” her voice is soft and measured and her hand is steady as she reaches toward him.

AO3

watching through windows, you’re wondering if i’m okay

The whole house is quiet, the echoes of Billy’s barbaric screaming long-since faded away, but when Mike closes his eyes and inhales deeply enough, he could swear he still smells the faintly tangy scent of whatever that gel was in El’s hair, the one that filled his lungs when he breathed her in. He can still feel the heat of her against him, the way her heart beat so hard and wild against his chest, the way her nails dug into his shoulders through his sweater when he’d hugged her as close and as hard as he could. He can still feel her, alive and breathing, real and there, even though it’s been a couple of hours and he’s had as many brushes with death in that time. The anxiety still bristling in his stomach roars and doubles over on top of itself, threatening to buckle his knees and bring him to the floor for a moment.

It’s the memory of those headlights flaring to near blinding proportions that keeps him steady on his feet. There’s no way that was anything but Eleven.

The aftermath of the group's collective brush with the Mind Flayer and his army.

AO3

#em's masterpost #brooklyn 99 fanfiction #the good place fanfiction #guardians of the galaxy fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction

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violetevents · 7 years ago

Text

thin ice

pairing: shane madej/ryan bergara word count: 1,5k summary: “Ryan?” Shane asks, taking off his soaked rain coat, only to reveal a soaked jean jacket underneath. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Ryan stutters out, between the clattering of his teeth. “Ju-just rea-really c-c-cold.”

Or, the boys end up frozen and wet after a disasterous shoot in the woods. Shane helps Ryan get warm again. a/n: hey tumblr, its me, ya girl. im alive and kicking and also yet again in another fandom but what else is new. this is just a lil scribble i did to get myself into writing these boys. (also im already planning a longer fic why am i like this) hope you enjoy!!!

It’s raining. It has been raining since they’ve arrived, nearly three hours ago now. The woods are in are supposedly haunted, but after three hours of unrelenting rain they have absolutely no footage. Even Ryan, who is usually capable of detracting entire sentences from the smallest gusts of wind has been uncharacteristically quiet. Shane’s wearing a raincoat, they both are, but at this point it has been completely soaked through. It kind of feels like he’s never going to get dry again.

On top of that it’s freezing cold outside, partly attributed to that fact that it is the middle of the fucking night. At this point Shane is contemplating just admitting ghosts exists just so they can go back to their hotel to warm up. Shane would kill for a warm blanket and some hot chocolate right now.

Ryan apparently has the same idea, because he makes a frustrated noise, and says, “We’re not getting anything. Let’s go to the hotel and try again tomorrow.”

Shane could kiss him, but that’s not a thought he wants to get into right now. That box is staying locked away in the deep corners of his mind, never to be opened, preferably. “Maybe it’s a ghost that’s causing all this rain. Maybe they’re doing it on purpose, don’t want us lurking around their home,” Shane says, notably cheered now he knows he’s only half an hour away from a fluffy blanket.

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan says, but the soft smile pulling at his lips considerably lessens the insult.

When they finally get back to their shared hotel room, Ryan is shaking like a leaf. Shane is feeling pretty cold too. The heating in the car did nothing to warm them up, only making them realize how cold and sticky and wet their clothes really were. Next to that the car dropped them off on a street that was still a ten minute walk away from the hotel, which means they just got soaked all over again.

So the most logical thing to do when they get inside the room would be to take of their wet clothes and put on some dry ones. However, when Ryan steps inside, he just stands in the middle of the room, seemingly frozen.

“Ryan?” Shane asks, taking off his soaked rain coat, only to reveal a soaked jean jacket underneath. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Ryan stutters out, between the clattering of his teeth. “Ju-just rea-really c-c-cold.”

Shane has shucked off his jean jacket as well, and turns to frown at Ryan. He’s still fully dressed, trying to undo the zipper of his rain coat. He’s struggling, because his fingers are absolutely frozen stiff. While Shane had had his hands tucked into his pockets for most of the shoot, Ryan had been operating the cameras. Without gloves.

“C’mere,” Shane mutters, stepping into Ryan’s space and slowly undoing the zipper of the raincoat. Up close, he notices Ryan’s lips have turned completely blue. He momentarily entertains the idea of kissing them warm again, and then scolds himself for even thinking like that in this situation. Ryan needs him right now, which means his little ‘I may have a bit of a massive thing for my best friend’ crisis is going to have to be put on the back burner.

After the rain coat he removes Ryan’s jacket, and then reaches down for his shirt, slow, hesitant. But Ryan doesn’t stop him, just lets it happen, looking soft and frazzled and still so, so cold. Shane wants to do anything he can to warm him up as soon as possible.

So he pulls the shirt over Ryan’s head, slowly, carefully, and then reaches for his pants. When those are off too, Ryan is in front of him, in just his soaked boxers and a pair of wet socks, staring at Shane with so much trust and fondness that Shane has to turn away before he does something stupid.

“Here,” he says, trusting a pair of his own sweats and a hoodie at Ryan. “Go grab some dry underwear and get changed. I’ll go do the same,” he adds, vaguely waving in the direction of the bathroom. He flees, because if he has to spend one second longer in the same room with a ruffled, sleepy looking, wet, half naked Ryan Bergara he is definitely going to do things he is going to regret later.

When he emerges, Ryan is sitting on the bed, wrapped in Shane’s hoodie and sweatpants, and Shane curses himself for offering up his own clothes, and then curses Ryan for looking so absolutely adorable in them. He doesn’t try to think about how readily Ryan had accepted the change of clothes instead of grabbing his own.

Ryan looks up when he hears Shane enter, and he smiles. Shane wants to wrap him up in a million and one blankets and never ever let him go again. He also wants his brain to stop thinking things like that. “You feeling warmer?” He asks, sitting down on the bed as well, scooting until he’s next to Ryan, leaning against the headboard.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, but a small shiver running through his body betrays him.

Shane snorts, “Liar,” he says, untucking the covers and throwing them over them both, “Or are you going to tell me it was the ghosties that made you shiver?”

Ryan just hums, and scoots a bit closer to Shane. Shane, who desperately hopes he isn’t reading the signs wrong, wraps his arm around Ryan’s shoulder and pulls him against his chest. For body heat purposes, obviously.

Ryan makes a happy noise and snuggles into Shane’s chest. “D’you reckon we have to go back tomorrow?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” Shane says, running his hand up and down Ryan’s arm. “I don’t think we got much useful footage. Although knowing you, you can probably pull some shit out of thin air. ‘Do you hear that Shane? That’s not rain, that’s the screams of the thousands of lost souls that roam these woods.’”

Ryan wheezes, and Shane appreciates that he finally seems to be getting himself back a bit. He thinks back to the frozen Ryan that had been standing in their hotel room only minutes ago, and decides he much prefers the warm, giggling variety. “I think the rain was kind of fun,” Ryan eventually says, and Shane frowns.

“Did you get brain freeze?” He asks, genuinely concerned, and Ryan laughs again.

“No, no, I mean, it was an experience wasn’t it? It’s like, bonding time,” Ryan says.

Shane snorts. “You have a weird perception of what bonding time is. Although I guess undressing each other is considered a pretty good bonding time activity by many couples.”

Yes, Shane, great. Why not use the word couples while talking about undressing your platonic best friend. Great work. 10/10.

Ryan, predictably, falls silent. “Yeah,” he eventually says. “I didn’t mind the undressing very much.”

“Me neither,” Shane blurts out, because Shane clearly has no brain to mouth filter. “I mean, like, considering all the horrible shit we went through today it was definitely not as bad.”

Ryan wheezes, “Not as bad, that’s, that’s really doing wonders for my self confidence, thank you Shane.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it, buddy. You’re an attractive young man. Anyone would be lucky to undress you.”

Yes, great going Shane. Fucking dig your grave even deeper.

Ryan’s expression turns serious, which is about the last thing Shane wants right now. “Anyone?” He asks, tentatively, and Shane swallows.

“Anyone,” he echoes, and suddenly Ryan is lurching forward to press their lips together.

The angle is kind of awkward, because until then Ryan had kind of been lounging on Shane’s chest, and also Shane isn’t expecting to be kissed, which means he’s thrown for a bit of a loop, but then Ryan is sitting up and swinging his legs over Shane’s thighs for better access and his hands are on Shane’s cheeks and oh.

Oh.

If Shane had to spend the rest of his life kissing Ryan, he doesn’t think he would mind.

Shane’s hands have dropped to Ryan’s waist, and one of Ryan’s hands is slowly tangling himself in Shane’s hair, and for a minute the whole world disappears, and it’s just them.

And then Ryan pulls away for air, and rest his forehead against Shane’s. “Do you still think the supernatural is fake? Because I thought that was pretty out of this world,” Ryan eventually says, their faces so close his breath fans Shane’s face.

“I’m breaking up with you,” Shane informs him.

Ryan pouts at him, “We’re not even dating yet.”

Shane hums. “Hey Ryan, you want to be my boyfriend?”

“Yes,” Ryan says, without hesitation.

“Great. I’m breaking up with you.”

Ryan laughs. “Shut up, Shane,” he says, and it sounds an awful lot like ‘I love you’.

“You shut up,” Shane counters. It sounds an awful lot like ‘I love you, too’.

The next morning, the weather is beautiful. Shane can’t even find himself to be petty about it, not when Ryan snuffles in his sleep, and rolls around to bury his face in Shane’s chest.

#shyan #sceptic believer #my fics #4 #5 #bfu #bfu fic

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agent-kentauris · 7 years ago

Text

im really happy with how this WIP is going right now. it needs work especially with timeline-ing, but i’ll be offline for awhile and it will be a few weeks until i can come back to it, so im gonna put it here on tumblr for now, then probably ao3 once the whole thing is done.

[[WC 5000]]

This is how it feels to watch your best friend fall.

It starts simply.

One day you get a call.

It’s a professional interest.

Your IGNR talk - you were working on neural progenitors. I’ve found a way to control for the effect you mentioned. It goes like this. Can any of your people confirm?

Who is this?

David Sarif. We met at a conference last year.

You don’t remember.

You’ll always regret that.

It’s an academia thing. It isn’t obsession.

It’s late nights, because there is so much to do. He in America, you in England. Skype is a long way away, but Picus has experimental ways to talk, he in the air around you like the ideas, alive. Nano-scale artificial epidermis. Direct epiretinal enhancement. The implication of replication of optical illusions in eye prosthetics. There are things beyond the imagined.

It’s an academic thing. It’s early mornings, because the time difference exists. Though time, you say the first time an early morning effortlessly becomes a late night, time too is purely academic. An exercise in human imagination. Overclocking, he says. Hm? says you.

Overclocking biomechatronics for heat preservation in low temp environments. Read a study about it.

You look up, though he’s thousands of miles away, and smile, because you remember writing that one.

It’s an academic thing, though.

It’s an exchange of ideas.

The mutual pact of similarly minded people walking in the same academic field.

He admits that he was nervous. To call. The first time.

It’s astonishing. You can’t imagine him any less than he is – absolute.

Nervous? Him?

You’re the damn head of the field, he says.

It’s personal.

The academia is slipping.

Let’s not talk about this again, you say.

Alright.

Trick yourself into believing he sounds relieved.

It goes like this.

It’s academic.

His struggling company goes public and you, with a handwave, get him a pass to Tai Yong’s first industry showcase. You owe Ru a favor. It’s a bad position to be in. You present your joint paper on nerve interfaces. He’s alive on stage in a way that captivates even the jaded. Nerve interfaces become unquantifiably fascinating, become the future, become something…with more potential than they possibly have. He paces and points and invites conversation and we are all, for the moment, involved. Way up there, are you beside him, or is he beside you? It doesn’t matter. You owe Ru a favor but you and he are side by side. These places your are at, they equalize.

The paper, you tell yourself, is academic.

The pride when Ru, without prompting, invites him back next year is...

Personal.

It’s a tradition. The start of a tradition. Every year. You and he, at the top of the new world order.

You’ll miss it when it’s gone.

It’s personal.

The integrated workspaces are a given, by now. There was a time when you could work alone, and there was a time when you wanted to, and there was a time when you didn’t. They’re all past. He is a given, outside any conscious choice. Sometimes, it is hours of silence and one typed out what do you think of this, and sometimes, it is a day and a half of discussion you don’t understand when you look back over your notes except one or two sparks of engineered brilliance. Sometimes you don’t take notes. Debate for the joy of it. Scholastic. There is something you missed about the theoretical. And so, the integrated workspaces become a given. The audiolinks. The shared screens. The general document access. A bloody security nightmare, says your IT team. A fucking security nightmare, says his.

But.

It’s acknowledged that you both work better together.

It’s acknowledged that it’s simple synergy.

It’s personal.

In those quiet moments when there is no work to talk about he mentions his family. His company is small enough that it is still a family. You don’t tell him that will change. It might not. Given the way he speaks of them…

You learn their names, slowly. Athene, Josie, Vasili.

You learn to know them as well as anything else you know.

They are an extension of his life, and so you extend a degree of interest towards them.

It’s a personal thing, nothing more.

Lies.

It’s familial.

He’s supposed to be there.

It’s a Nobel prize, for god’s sake.

Is the concern misplaced?

Likely.

Unlikely.

Likely.

I’d like to begin, you start.

Your aide enters the back of the room, panicked eyes. She waves.

Excuse me, you say, immediately, to the titans of the industry.

There’s been an incident, she says.

You are on the next flight.

Your titles and persuasions mean nothing to the doctor standing resilient in front of you. An obstacle unpersuaded by a final desperate do you know who I am?

He’s family, Athene says, squeezing past the doctor and through the door, gesturing, grabbing your arm.

You’ve never seen her in person, but you’d recognize her anywhere.

David’s done a good job bringing things to life, as always.

An assembly line accident, Athene says as you walk.

Will he survive? you ask.

There are several more of them sitting in the waiting room, heads in hands, half-asleep.

One looks up.

Maybe, he says, with a light Russian accent, and shrugs. Maybe not.

Your aide reminds you that the Nobel committee called while you were somewhere over the Atlantic.

They aren’t family.

They don’t matter anymore.

It’s industrial. David’s new arm. The first model. Nothing like the best available at the time, the most realistic, the most integrated, and yet…

You look at the schematics, and the plans, and the design philosophy and it is breathtakingly industrial. Conceptual. Its potential for adaptation far exceeds everything else. It isn’t designed to perform, it’s designed to change. Constantly. It is replicate of a living thing so closely that but for the presence of alloys and angles, you’d forget what you are looking at. It will be an industrial standard, if not today, then tomorrow.

He doesn’t look happy with it.

“I…” he says, trailing off. Two months of rehabilitation therapy and he still has difficulty lifting it. It is industrial, not intuitive. He’ll adapt. He’ll make it better.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he says. This was supposed to be yours first.

What? you say.

The schematics were for you.

He shows you. Months of work, kept off your shared workspaces. Biomechatronic prosthetics designed for you, designed for your leg, your knee.

The arm he created will become an industry standard. This, though…

This is science fiction.

He flexes his prosthetic fingers with difficulty. This is just an adaptation, he says. Not a good one, either. But that one…that’ll work.

It doesn’t.

They call it DDS.

He has several folders full of the research on your shared servers. Studies based on your DNA.

If you were more astute perhaps you would have noticed, then.

If you were less lost you might have noticed it then.

You could have saved him.

Stopped him.

One or the other.

It’s academic.

It has to be.

It’s all you can handle, at the moment.

The first year of recovering is hell. The migraines. The dizziness. The flashback imprinted memories of those first few days of seizures, the first sign that anything was truly wrong. You should be glad, people say without thinking, that it was only the control chip they implanted. The chip is one centimeter by one centimeter. You had it for twelve days. You can’t see straight for a month. You can’t leave the house without sunglasses for four months. Walking was never easy for you. You don’t recover enough of your balance to stand for half a year.

You miss the Tai Yong conference.

He presents a paper on rejection syndrome.

You can’t even listen to the audio recordings without the migraines getting bad enough to black your vision out.

You don’t hear from him for a year, because, you can’t.

The flashbacks lurk so quietly.

The things you ignore for the sake of your survival.

He’s shaking during a presentation in New York ten pm local, and another one in Berlin one am local. At home, in the dark, you leverage your connections to discover he took a Concord between both places.

He calls you. You don’t pick up.

Did you sleep? you wonder.

We’re getting there, he says in a BBC interview at seven am local. It’s all theoretical, but we’re doing genometric sequences. If we can find the right code, we can reverse DDS. Universal augmentations.

They’re taking questions from twitter.

You make a fake account.

Augmentations? you ask.

PR says it’ll be beyond prosthetics, he says, looking at the camera. There are lines under his eyes and he can’t hold steady but his voice is unwavering. I agree.

The things you ignore for your survival.

The new American Recession rippling out across all the Illuminati’s plans. One emergency council meeting after another. They call you to several. Why don’t you go?

Picus reports financial news. One day, SI is down fifty points. The next day it is not. The things you ignore. The council in intrigued. Ru is annoyed.

He calls you. You don’t pick up.

Find out what is going on, they instruct.

He calls you. You don’t pick up.

It’s DARPA contracts, the council’s military insiders eventually discover. DARPA contracts and military money. They’ll be keeping an eye on him.

The things you ignore for your survival.

The Tai Yong conference gets moved from Shanghai to Hengsha. DI sends representatives. So does SI. Sarif himself is busy, it seems, working on personal projects.

Vasily comes to England for an official Darrow-Sarif Industries collaboration. No one tells you. You learn about it when the paper is published.

It’s a wake up call.

It goes like this.

Dowd says, in New York, then?

Morgan says, the new kids don’t take too well to old money.

Ru says, the new kids?

Lucius voice breaks in, commanding. Hengsha is the seat of our power in this regards, and you, Ru, our primary control mechanism on that sector. It will take place at TYM’s headquarters.

Rand says under his breath, if Hugh will leave London, that is.

The things you’ve ignored for your survival. None of them admonish Rand for his remark.

“Forgive me,” you say. The voice-scrambler controls for the way you struggle with the efforts of still being awake right now. “We’re discussing…?”

There is a moment of silence on the line.

Perhaps it’s disbelief.

Perhaps you don’t care.

David Sarif’s recruitment? Dowd says, a question in his tone.

Ru is far more blunt.

Are you with us? she asks.

“No,” you say. “When?”

There is another moment of silence on the line.

There is no room for sympathy at the top of the world.

Next week, Ru finally says. No one else says anything.

Ah, you say. Next week, then.

It’s a wake-up call.

It’s four a.m. in David’s part of America.

s’David, he answers, slurred in the middle of a yawn.

“Tai Yong is going to ask you to meet with them in one week. Don’t say yes, David.” Urgency infects the speed at which you speak, making it less likely that he will understand. You can’t slow yourself.

Hugh? he says, sleepy, surprised, in shock. Is that you?

“David, listen to me-”

Now he’s awake. It’s instant. He’s furious. You can’t get a word in edgewise. Where have you been? Where have you goddamn been?! It’s fury covering up for something sadder, though, something that tinges his voice with a nervous tremor you haven’t heard since- since- since I’ve found a way to control the effect. It goes like this.

“DON’T,” you insist, your voice harder than it’s ever been with him, “tell them yes.”

It stops him in his verbal tracks.

If it injures him, you’ll forgive yourself.

And yet, the quiet you suffer far worse than the preceding tirade.

“Why?” he asks.

You don’t have an answer. Only urgency.

“Please, David,” you say instead.

He’s fast on the uptake. Maybe too fast.

“Is someone threatening you?” he asks. It’s an academic interest, you tell yourself.

You open your mouth to say something, then close it.

Is someone threatening you?

Are they?

Who are they threatening, exactly?

What’s wrong? What’s so wrong?

What is so wrong with you?

“I’m asking you this as a friend,” you say. “I won’t ask again.”

A bit of a laugh from David. This time the disbelief is present.

“Are you threatening me?” he asks.

“The only threat,” you say, “is Tai Yong Medical. You will not go.”

“Fine,” he says coolly. It’s another thing you’ve never heard from him.

Nonetheless, it is perhaps the most relaxing thing he could have said.

“David-” you start, not knowing how to explain.

Except.

He’s hung up.

On you.

Two weeks later the council convenes and invites you so they can berate you for your absence at TYM’s headquarters, and then they proceed to talk about integration steps for their latest member, and where he will fit in, and what rank Sarif will be given, and you are certain that the DDS should no longer be causing extreme dizziness, yet. You can barely keep your world still.

It’s a wake-up call.

It’s the first time you’ve stepped foot inside his Detroit headquarters. It’s the first time you’ve come into contact with it. Sarif hasn’t connected it to your shared workspaces. Why would he? You’re never online. It’s cold, and gold, and alight in an inorganic way. The lights are replicas of something that used to come naturally, to him. The angles celebratory in their unfamiliarity with nature. We are something more than real, the construction says.

Much of this was paid for by DARPA contracts, you think.

There are several lightboard pillars displaying the history of biomechatronics – no, augmentations. You’re on one of them.

Hugh Darrow’s groundbreaking work with human enhancement has altered the very fabric of society.

It would not be a mistake to say that he changed the world as we know it.

Past tense.

You’ve got time.

You’ve got time to stop this.

You don’t recognize him. His new augment is solid black, with silver in the joints. The lines of it are sharp, and unapologetic. Artistic. Aesthetic.

The industrial is a memory.

Athene sees you before he does. She’s past shock, going straight to anger.

“You,” she hisses, eyes flaring, cutting David off mid-sentence. “Absolutely not.”

David leans off her desk as she snaps around it, a security officer in her wake.

“Hugh?” he says, tone empty. “What are you doing here?”

Athene holds up a hand. “You don’t have to talk to him, David.”

The security officer at her side crosses his arms. Your own security bristles in response.

“If you don’t mind,” you say.

“Oh, but I do,” she says. “I very much do.”

You look past her, towards David. He meets you with a tired stare.

His eyes are silver, too.

It’s a shock.

What happened?

When did it happen?

Why weren’t you watching?

“David,” you say.

He says nothing.

“If you want to speak to Mr. Sarif,” Athene says, “you’ll need an appointment.”

“That’s beneath you, Athene,” you inform her.

“I don’t think you have a right to say that,” she says.

The jab lashes at some vulnerable part of you, stings, because, there is no defense. Perhaps it’s beneath her. Perhaps it was beneath you, to wait so long, to stay away so long. To live as if underwater for so long.

Perhaps it wasn’t.

Perhaps it doesn’t matter.

This is more important.

“It’s about Them,” you say over her shoulder.

“Who?” she says.

You watch him. You still know him. Under the framework of these past few years, under the new things and the learned things, it’s still him. Considering, calculating, weighing, even though he’d already decided the moment he heard you. He taps his hand against the side of his desk as he thinks, but his subconscious has already decided.

The only thing you don’t know is what conclusion he’s reached.

You would have assumed…

But he went to meet them.

And you don’t know anymore.

You can’t guess anymore.

His eyes should be bright under the lights in the office, but instead they are muted and dull.

He nods his head towards his office.

“Come on,” he says. “Athene, let him through.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she gives a half-laugh.

“Athene,” he repeats. “It’s about Hengsha.”

She locks into neutral with alarming speed. Every tell concealed. How bad was it? What happened? What was he told, and why did he buy it, if Athene is…? The piece don’t add up. The concern is growing. Spiraling. Now is not the time to lose control.

Control it.

She steps back wordlessly.

Your security looks at you.

“Wait here,” you tell her.

Back then, there was no danger.

It should be a relief.

“They’re called the Illuminati,” you begin.

Everett. Lucius. Ru, Rand, Dowd. The Council of Five, Versalife, Picus. Everything David knows, everywhere he comes from, everywhere anyone who is anyone comes from these days is under their influence. All under their purview. All under their control. Their goal? The new world order. You tell him everything.

He laughs at first, then he grows quiet, then he grows somber. He stops pacing around the office and sits across the desk from you, and watches you, and fidgets with a pen in his hands.

When you finish, he stops twirling the pen through his fingers.

“You’re telling me this why?” he asks.

It’s the only thing he says.

You don’t have an answer.

“You aren’t curious as to how I’ve come to know about their plans?” you ask, deflecting.

“Easy,” he says, with a shrug. “You’re one of ‘em.”

“I could be a rebel, fighting against a corrupt system,” you say, in jest.

In jest.

“Corrupt?” he asks, and he’s dead serious. “From what they said, sounds like they’ve got the right idea.”

You can’t speak for a moment. You never expected he’d agree with them.

“I know you don’t believe that,” you say, when you can.

“Why not?” he says, shrugging again. “Tai Yong’s on the forefront of innovation. So are you. They’ve got the money and the power to make it work. To do what we have to so we can get it done.”

“They-” you say, slowly, struggling to work past the flat astonishment at hearing him say anything in line with Illuminati beliefs. “They believe in... they believe in control, and stagnation, and they will never let humanity achieve our potential, never let you achieve your potential, David, surely you must understand-”

“What makes you think they won’t?” he challenges, leaning back into chair. “What makes you so sure about that?”

“You can’t be so naïve,” you say. “Look at the larger picture, David. Your work with human enhancement has the potential to alter the very fabric of-”

“-society,” he finishes, rueful smile. “You’re gonna have to do better than that, Hugh, I wrote that damn paragraph.”

“It applies,” you say. “Doesn’t it?”

He pushes himself up.

“You’re wasting your time.” he says, with an air of finality. “I told them yes. I meant it.”

He walks around you, towards the door.

“David, you can’t trust them-”

“Then I can’t trust you,” he points out. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

A sudden, sore pain encircles your throat.

“David,” you protest. “I’m not here as an Illuminatus. I’ve never been here as an Illuminatus.”

“Haven’t you, though?” he says, tilting his head slightly.

“No,” you say firmly. “I haven’t. And I’m hurt you would think that of me.”

“Think what?” he says. “I’m not the one accusing them of being all that bad. Athene?” he adds, pushing the door open. “We’re done here.”

It’s not fear. Why would it be? The Illuminati are…are not that bad? Correct? They are a part of you and they have never been the threat to humanity. Chaos has. And yet…it’s something.

Imagine him, with cold eyes, and control. Looking down at the world from someplace disconnected. Imagine him, unchanging. Unevolving.

Static.

Cessation.

You’ll lose him.

It’s not fear making breathing a conscious act, it’s not fear making you feel the impact of your heart rate. It isn’t fear making your voice rise. It isn’t, you tell yourself. It’s not. It’s not fear, because it’s not possible he’ll go through with this. They are antithetical to him. The two cannot coexist. They’ll destroy him. Everything that is him. The telos inherent.

“David, it’s critical that you listen to me,” you insist.

“I did,” he says. “Next time you want to stop by too late you feel free to.”

He gestures towards the waiting area, a please leave sweep of his augmented arm.

“Me, I’ve got work to do,” he says.

It doesn’t make sense.

It doesn’t.

This hurt encircling you doesn’t. His decisions don’t.

“This can’t be what you want,” you say.

“Would you know, Hugh?” he asks. “It’s been three years. Would you really know?”

You haven’t heard it counted out loud.

“Three years?” you repeat.

It’s a sarcastic snort. “Almost. You weren’t counting the days? I was.”

“Don’t make this about you,” you say. “I was injured.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, Athene appearing briskly beside him with a scowl on her face. “You really thought the best way for me to figure that out was from your press secretary? It was my design, Hugh. You were my friend.”

Past tense.

“Don’t pretend as if you don’t still care,” you say, feeling like you’ve lost a battle that was suddenly more important than you realized. “This issue doesn’t go away because you feel slighted.”

“Slighted?” he says, looking away, nodding. “That what you think? Is that what you think?” He bites on his lip. “Huh,” he says. “Slighted. Who’d have thought.”

“You need to leave,” Athene says, her voice a hard line, the security behind her an ultimatum.

Walking in a straight line is difficult. Walking in a straight line and making it look as if it takes no effort is not possible.

He moves aside, and does not look at you.

“David,” you say, not knowing what to follow it up with, not knowing what to say. You have to say something. You have to stop this.

He gives you a tight, professional Picus-polished smile, and clips back into his office. Athene shuts the door behind him, keeping her eyes fixed on you the whole time.

“Why is he doing this?” you say, half to yourself, half in the hopes that Athene will answer.

“You should already know that,” she says, walking back over to her desk. “I’m not inclined to help you figure it out, Mr. Darrow.”

It’s not encouraging. But she is answering. And David is not.

“Please,” you say. “They’ll be the end of him. I know they will.”

Her steps falter, for a beat.

And it is opportunity.

A chance.

It might be a chance.

“What has he told you?” you ask.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that,” she says, but she turns around to face you. “What do you know?”

Oh god, it is a chance.

“Much,” you say, talking fast, because if you miss this chance, and if this is the last one, you will never forgive yourself. “I know that they and he are not alike. Their natures are dissimilar. I know that the he and they can’t coexist, that they have ulterior motives far beyond anything he can understand. No. Beyond anything he will allow himself to understand. I know this can’t be what he wants.”

Her eyes soften, a bit.

“I was worried it might be so,” she says. “Tell me everything.”

“No,” you say, an instant reaction. David is a different matter from all the other people you know. He’s different.

“It isn’t safe for you,” you add, in response to her newly crossed arms.

“Then I suppose,” she says, “you’ve done all you can. Thank you for your concern, Mr. Darrow.”

It’s slipping away. It’s getting away from you.

“I…” you say.

“Yes?” she says.

“I…no.”

“Hm,” she says, and crosses the rest of the way to her desk.

The sound of her typing accompanies you to the lift.

You reach it. You press the call button. You imagine David in ten years, twenty. With every passing minute the outcome seems worse. The two cannot coexist. And the Illuminati is too powerful to be brought down by one man.

They’ll kill him.

Will they kill him?

It’s not like them to waste an asset.

It’s not like him to be controlled.

What can’t be controlled can’t be called an asset.

The chaotic can only be a threat.

Who is being threatened, here?

It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is the man sitting twenty feet away alone in his office, and all that matters is that if you leave, you’ll never be this close to him again. The personal stake is academic. The academic stake is irrelevant. The thing invoking fear and causing your chest to tighten and calling forth the seizure-fringed flashbacks is something far deeper. Something essential. Something deep-rooted and complex and related, perhaps, to love. No. It’s something simple.

You can’t lose him.

Not to them.

The lift arrives with a ping, and it becomes a conscious thought.

I can’t lose him. Not to them.

You don’t realize it then, but it is perhaps the first time you’re aware that you can lose to them. That you and they are distinct. That your losses are not their losses.

That your gains will not be their gains.

The doors have opened. And now, they are closing.

Your security says, Mr. Darrow?

You turn around. Athene is looking up.

“Well?” she says.

It’s money.

That’s all it is.

That’s all it comes down to.

You’ve underestimated the depth of his research into DDS.

The media has grossly underestimated the depth of his research into DDS.

He’s been killing himself over this, she says, hardly pulling her punches. She takes some pity on you, though. When she says this, you know she means you.

Half the company is devoted to it. He’s determined to beat it. He blames himself, she says. For what happened to you.

He couldn’t have known.

Don’t play that game with me.

He couldn’t have.

It comes down to money, though. He’s burned through his resources, his connections, reached the end of every route he knows and he still hasn’t solved it.

It’s a last resort. They must have known. The Council has offered him the power to reach a higher level of enlightenment.

He’s taken it.

All you have to do, she says, is offer him an alternative. Any alternative. Coming from you, he’ll take it.

Athene accompanies you back to SI, back to the lift.

She holds to door to his office open for you.

The frown flashes fast across David’s face. “Don’t-”

“Neuropozyne,” you say. You’ve invented the word right then and there. Even the merest idea of the drug is still only a concept. You say it with confidence, as if it is a certainty.

“What about it?” he asks, with a suspicious that is only tempered by Athene’s presence.

“You don’t know it,” you tell him. “We haven’t released any information about it. But it’s designed to treat DDS – minor cases, at least. We could work with it, though.”

“Yeah?” he says, still leaned over his keyboard, still unwilling to engage.

“We could have it commercially viable as soon as the end of the year,” you say, the promises coming wild off the top of your head now. Why not?

“I would have heard about it,” he says.

“You wouldn’t have.”

“Yeah?” he says again, this time pushing his chair back, and resting his arms on the sides. A false air of open congeniality.

“Yes,” you affirm. “Because I only invented it a moment ago.”

It is the highlight of your arrogance. The breadth of your assumptions. A desperate hope that you can take this leap and some god-forsaken-how, your intelligence will catch you.

He regards you for a second, then two, then more. You catch yourself breathing too quickly.

The wearied lines in the corner of his eyes disappear as he breaks out into a smile.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he says. “Where the hell have you been, Hugh? You got a lot to catch up on.”

He’s out of his chair and across the room in an instant, grabbing your free forearm and pulling you into a hug, always the one for the importance of tactility, and he says come on, I’ll take you on a tour of the place, and Athene’s dangerous edge dissipates, a bit.

It should be a relief. It should all be a relief.

Instead, it is the first time you’ve felt fear. True fear.

Your goals and their goals are no longer the same.

And you are well aware what happens to their enemies.

You are well aware of what happens to their traitors.

The council is lousy with misunderstanding.

Dis-understanding?

Un-understanding?

They’ve only heard yes for far too long.

You watch it defy their framework of understanding so uniquely.

Lucius and Rand are ready to write David off. Morgan and Ru are taking a long game stance on the issue. Dowd seems caught somewhere between American patriotic pride in Sarif and aristocratic perturbation.

“I can convince him,” you tell them. You are lightheaded with the defiance. It is a risk beyond any other. Beyond anything you’ve taken since…

Since your skiing incident, you think.

Oh, how have you missed that adrenaline.

You tell them that you can convince David, and they trust you.

The risk is heady, but you don’t think about what happens if-

When that trust becomes eroded.

When that trust becomes eroded…

Well. We can’t all live forever, can we?

Best not to let them catch on, then.

#WIP #deus ex #david sarif & hugh darrow #david sarif #hugh darrow #what how are we still pre dxhr with this

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onceuponaprime · 8 years ago

Note

23. Last kiss - Cor & Drautos

Thank you for giving me an excuse to make this one shot i was planning even worse here ya go~

Got a little long so im just gonna throw a link to ao3 and hope the read more worksas my allergies take me to hell

Insomnia was bathed in light, and it seemed like a taunt, the way the city glowed in the darkness.

“Bring us down before the gate. Best not risk the ship until we know what to expect in the city.”

“That was the plan,” The mercenary woman replied from beside him. “You heard the man, boys. Take us down.”

“You got it, Lady A,” said the pilot, and the ship hummed a new tune as it began it's decent.

“So,” Aranea began, stepping away from the pilot’s seat and making her way to the center of the small ship. “What’s the plan, Mister Immortal?” His brow twitched in irritation at the nickname, and he followed her slowly, unused to having a ship beneath his feet.

“We scout, bit by bit. I doubt we’ll be able to get close to the citadel, but we need to at least take a bridge. Hopefully we pave a path for His Majesty’s return.”

“Our primary goal is to access a library,” Monica added, tapping the notepad on her lap.

“And hope you find something on Chancellor freakshow?” Cor nodded and Aranea shrugged, leaning against the wall of the ship with a casualness that felt misplaced. Like they weren’t about to drop into the ruins of Insomnia in the dead of their new eternal night. In all truth Cor still wasn’t sure what to think of the woman. Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis had vouched for her fiercely, and he owed her for their safe return, but trust was something he hadn’t yet reached.

They landed then, cutting off any further conversation as the ship settled on the ground. Monica took a moment to find her balance as she stood up from where she’d settled herself on the floor during the flight from Lestallum. She looked a little green, but the motion sickness would wear off soon, and she waved off his concerned look.

“Well at least he’s keeping the lights on,” Aranea said once the disembarked. The street lights at the West Gate flickered in response.

“Keep your guard up, those aren’t strong enough to ward off daemons,” he replied, scanning the dark, hand instinctively coming to rest on the hilt of his blade.

“Might not keep out daemons, but I’ve got a feeling that might keep out unwanted guests.” Aranea’s tone turned suddenly serious, and Cor turned his attention up to where she was pointing. An armored figure was strung up above the gate, arms extended and held by what might have been chains. Maybe a warning or an example, Cor wasn’t sure, Ardyn Izunia’s twisted methods were beyond him. In the dark it was hard to make much out, but some parts of the metal shone in the light, just enough for him to make out the almost familiar shape, preserved by whatever dark magic their foe was so fond of using.

"Is that-"

"General Glauca,” Aranea finished for him, squinting up at the figure through the gloom. “Yep.” Poor guy.”

“Did you know him?” Monica asked and Aranea shrugged.

“Not really, only met him once. Quiet for the most part, a bit dramatic, but not as bad as I thought he'd be. Better than the rest of the Empire’s lackeys at least. Well except for me and these two of course.” Cor huffed and somehow managed to keep his eyes from rolling, and wondered if the woman was ever serious. Doubtful, he decided, given what he’d seen. Still, it was cruel to be left in such a way.

“Get him down,” Cor said. “No one deserves that, not even someone like him.” Then he turned his attention to scanning the area around them, watching out for any terrors lurking in the dark, only half listening to what was going on behind him.

“You got it,” Aranea replied and Cor could hear her leap into the air and land on top of the wall with an easy grace. “Oh, yikes.”

“Is he still alive?” Monica called up to her in response.

“I hope not, that would suck.” Was all Aranea said before she fell silent. “Alright boys, I’m gonna need you to brace and catch.”

“Right!”

“Got it!”

“Bombs away!” The second chain broke louder than the first, and the ring of chains was quickly followed by a hard thump as what was left of General Glauca hit the men below. A muffled argument broke out, Cor wasn’t eavesdropping enough to understand, but the sudden horrified gasp quickly snapped his attention back around to his companions. Monica staggered back toward him, a hand over her mouth.

“Monica what is it?” She only shook her head, turning away from him like the question hurt.

Concerned he reached the body, the men who caught having retreated a fair distance after Monica’s outburst. Half the helmet had been broken away and the face beneath it made his blood run cold because he knew it. Knew it all too well. Titus Drautos looked pained in the peace of death, whatever battle corroded the armor had taken a greater toll. As Cor knelt beside him he noticed more, but he could hardly process what his eyes were telling him, violently rejecting what it meant.

“What kind of cruel trick is this?”

“No tricks here I assure you.” Cor was back on his feet in an instant, sword drawn and ready in his hand as he shot Ardyn Izunia an icy glare. To his right Aranea was poised and ready for a fight, and to his right Monica cocked her gun.

“What did you do to him?” Cor demanded, anger burning through him. Ardyn chuckled.

“Nothing he didn’t ask for,” he replied with a sinister grin and made his way further into the light.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Aranea voiced Cor’s thought before he could speak it himself and so he simply waited for the answers he was desperate for.

“Years ago Nifleheim took a quaint little village by the sea. I met a boy there and gave him an opportunity, serve the Empire and his home would be spared and oh how eager he was for that bargain when next we met. Killing the king was just an added bonus for both of us. You see, Captain Drautos was against you all along. Almost poetic, isn’t it?” It had to be lies, he wanted it so desperately to be lies. Something in him knew it was the truth, and it made it all the worse. Betrayal stung worse than he ever imagined, but the pure rage boiling forth eclipsed it by far.

“You bastard!” Cor lunged, sword singing as it slashed through suddenly empty air.

“Please there’s no need for that, Marshal,” and the way Ardyn rolled the title off his tongue made it sound like a mockery. “Truth be told I was saving him for dear old Noct, but I’m starting to think this is so much better.”

“You’ll pay for this!” And Cor lashed out again, catching the former chancellor in the middle and. There was silence and for a moment all Cor could hear was his huffing breath and the blood roaring in his ears as his anger dulled to something he could once again control. Ardyn returned soon enough, his expression one of mild irritation.

“I did wonder why you were spared, quite the tragedy,” he said close to Cor’s ear. “But there is only one immortal in this world, Marshal, and I am getting quite sick of sharing my title.” Then he snapped, and before Cor could strike again he was gone.

“Leonis, we have a problem!” Aranea pulled his attention back to the scene behind him and what he saw made him taste bile.

Purple swirled around Glauca’s armored form as he rose from both the ground and the dead, the sickly black of the Scourge creeping over the places where the armor was still intact.

“No more,” he groaned in a voice that sounded nothing like the one Cor knew. Aranea recovered from the shock first, lashing out with her spear as Glauca lashed out with a gauntlet that was quickly becoming twisted and sharp. Pulling himself together, Cor threw himself into the ensuing fray.

“Fight it,” he begged as he crossed his blade with that rapidly transforming arm.

“I don’t think he can,” Aranea snapped, narrowly jumping over a low swipe and twisting herself in the air to counter with a jab of her lance. She was right, Cor knew she was, but knowing didn’t make it any easier, and despite the stakes of the fight Cor found himself holding back. So he kept speaking, almost pleading, and Aranea kept cursing as they battled for their lives, keeping Glauca occupied and away from the others.

Perhaps it was their frantic attempt at distraction that drew Glauca’s attention away, or maybe it was his own words. Whatever it was Cor watched that single eye, surrounded by sickly black, move away from them and towards Monica, standing back with Biggs and Wedge, unable to do anything but watch the scene unfold. Glauca parried his attack, knocking Aranea back with the force, and lurched toward the group with an uncanny speed. Cor was faster. Before Glauca could strike he was there, thrusting his blade into the place where the blackened armor seemed weak across his chest. Everything stopped, and Cor watched in abject horror as the darkness began to melt away, revealing the man beneath.

“Cor?” Titus gasped, voice his own once more before he fell back, and Cor followed.

Kotetsu had struck true, and Cor felt the long blade enter the ground where it had pierced through the armored back it was buried in. Cor landed on his knees, harsh against the cracked pavement, almost cradled against a side he’d once known so intimately. He was going into shock. Quick breath and shaking limbs. A weak hand reached up towards his face and Cor caught it and brought it to his cheek, pressing against it, rough metal against soft skin. Grounding himself with the touch. Titus wanted to speak, a thousand words trapped in his eye, warm grey clearing from the taint of the Scourge in his final moments.

“Glad it was you,” he breathed out, hoarse and quiet. It didn’t make much sense to Cor, but he knew there was a meaning behind it deeper than he could fathom.

“Save your strength, Titus,” Cor insisted like it would somehow make a difference.

With his free hand he smoothed back the dying man’s hair. Titus shuddered against the soothing touch, eye fluttering like he was fighting to keep it open. Wordlessly his mouth moved, whatever final words he had lost with his failing strength. So Cor kissed him, trying to convey everything through that familiar touch. Titus reciprocated, weak but sure, cold lips pressing against his, and something passed between them that Cor couldn’t ever hope to name. It was awkward, the right side of his face scraping against the edge of the partially crumbled helm. Despite the discomfort he kept close, like the gentle connection of their mouths could stave off the inevitable. But it couldn't. Soon Titus exhaled, a soft puff of air tickling Cor’s face, and then he went slack beneath him.

Cor pulled away slowly, vision blurred just so as he watched the man dissolve, flaking away in bright sparks as the astrals claimed him at last. There was a cruel beauty to it, but Cor knew that at least in the end, Titus had known peace. His lips tasted like salt and ash and countless questions that would never be answered. The one thing he had now was closure, which settled the pieces of his broken heart into something that was almost whole.

When Aranea suggested they head back to Hammerhead Cor didn’t protest. The trip back was silent and Cor was so lost in his own thoughts he would not have noticed speaking anyway. Monica’s hand against his pulled him back to the present, and he looked down as she laced their fingers and squeezed with all the comfort she could offer. For now that was enough. It had to be.

#mmck writes fics #cor x titus #titus drautos #cor leonis #hey fam i love you but this was cruel #not that i wasnt already planning this but still

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