#hes so . interesting. putting him under the microscope and pulling his little bug legs off one by one.

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

god im so fucking obsessed with mallard conway. I hate his ass so fucking much I want to kill him with my bare hands but also he's so interesting to meeeeee

[wren-fell]

Stuck in Borderland

Chapter 4: The Days In between

Thank you to everyone who’s read this so far! I appreciate all the support.

Madoka and Sayaka are my characters all the rest belong to Haro Aso.

Warnings: Language, talk of death, weapons

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* Day 1 (Morning)*

“Ughhhhhhhh…” Sayaka groaned as her head rested on the dining room table.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have had that extra two drinks after you ran after Chishiya,” Madoka commented as she sat at the table.

“Shhhhhh… you were the one who suggested we go back to the bar,” Sayaka hissed raising her head to look at her, but winced at the sunlight that came through the window and put her head back down.

“Didn’t mean you had to agree,” Madoka mumbled around a bite of toast, “you should eat you’ll feel better.”

“No if I eat I’ll vomit…”

“Weird. Eating makes me feel better after a night of drinking,” Madoka commented.

Sayaka raised her head to glare at her, “it’s because you’re 21 Madoka. When you hit 25, you’ll get it, until then fuck off,” Sayaka hissed.

“Yea… Well enjoy the youth right,” Madoka mumbled her mouth full.

Sayaka sighed and rested her forehead back against the cool table. The Beach was relatively quiet in the morning. Everyone was so drunk from the night before things didn’t pick back up until noon when people started waking up, so for now at least the music wasn’t pounding in their ears. Sayaka would’ve loved to sleep in more, but force of habit from swim practice had her up and at em at 8am.

“Here this will help with the hangover,” someone said and the sound of a full glass hitting the table made Sayaka raise her head. A tall girl with braids, a blue flowered bikini, and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth gave her a smile.

Sayaka squinted as her memory started to jog, “why?”

“What?” The tall girl asked putting her head to the side.

Sayaka glared at her, “why would you give me this? You’re the chick that’s always hanging around with Chishiya. So what? Is this some murder cocktail from him?” Sayaka nodded toward the tall glass filled with thick looking red liquid.

The girl blinked at her in surprise before bursting out laughing, “no, no. This is a hangover remedy a friend of mine taught me back in the real world. Chishiya had nothing to do with it,” she paused to look at Sayaka who still looked suspicious, “he isn’t exactly in the business of caring about people.”

Sayaka pouted as she watched the tall girl. “Just shut up and drink it Sayaka. Kuina is harmless,” Madoka said.

Sayaka eyed the glass before sighing and pushing herself up into a sitting position with her elbows, “fine…” She picked up the glass and sniffed it cautiously and gagged.

“Yea, don’t smell it just chug it,” Kuina advised.

Sayaka glanced at her hesitantly, but drew in a deep breath and threw the glass back chugging it as fast as she could. She slammed the glass back on the table and stuck out her tongue with a shiver, “oh god that’s nasty.”

“Yea, but it’ll help.”

Sayaka sighed leaning back against her chair and pulling her bangs away from her face, “thanks Kuina,” she glanced up and offered a smile, “do you want to sit with us? I’m Sayaka by the way.”

Kuina smiled, “sure.”

There was a long silence as they all sat and ate.

“So Kuina, did Chishiya say anything about Sayaka’s embarrassing confrontation?” Madoka asked.

“Madoka!”

“Hm? No I don’t think so, but I haven’t talked to him today,” she said thoughtfully a hand on her chin.

Sayaka turned to look at her, “you haven’t you two are always together. What are you dating or something?”

Kuina leaned back laughing loudly, “oh god no! Chishiya is definitely not my type!”

Sayaka gave her an unconvinced look.

“Besides I don’t think he’s the romantic type,” Kuina added.

Sayaka nodded slowly, “I can understand that he isn’t your type.”

“Yea, that’s good. Cuz he’s totally Sayaka’s type,” Madoka piped up.

“MADOKA!”

Kuina was laughing again, “what seriously?”

“No, not seriously! I’ve talked to him once, and if I had the chance I would deck him in the face!” Sayaka snapped. Kuina kept laughing.

“And what’s his fucking problem anyway?” Sayaka demanded leaning over the table.

“What do you mean?”

“Like what do you two want from me?” Sayaka hissed.

“Nothing that I know of. Chishiya just takes an interest in certain people,” Kuina shrugged, “he doesn’t usually tell me what his ideas are though.”

“Great. So I’m still just a bug under a microscope to him,” Sayaka mumbled snatching a piece of bacon off Madoka’s plate.

“Hey!”

“Stupid blonde haired stalker,” she grumbled.

“Honestly, if you confronted him like Madoka says he’ll probably lose interest,” Kuina added.

Sayaka rested her cheek on her fist, “can only hope. I don’t need a stalker when someone is already trying to kill me…”

There was a long pause, “what’s up with the cigarette Kuina?”

Kuina blinked glancing at Sayaka, “oh, I used to smoke, but I figured best to be in good health for these games. I have to get back home to my mom she’s bedridden, and she needs me,” Kuina replied.

Sayaka nodded, “makes sense,” she sighed, “I need to get back to my little sister… she’s all I have left, I can’t leave her alone.”

“I need to get back to my family… My mom and dad just got divorced, and mom wasn’t taking it well…” Madoka mumbled.

There was a collective silence between the three of them, before Madoka sighed and gave Sayaka a hard shove, “way to bring down the mood!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Haven’t you heard the Beach motto? This is a Utopia no sad faces here,” Kuina teased, and they all laughed.

“To fucking Utopia,” Sayaka raised her glass of water, and they all clinked their cups together.

“Cheers,” Sayaka mumbled drinking.

 * Day 2 (night)*

Sayaka hummed to the tune of the music kicking her feet as she laid back in the beach chair.

“How can you hum to this? There’s not even any words!” Madoka asked gesturing towards the speakers with a drink in her hand.

Sayaka shrugged.

“They should play better music,” Kuina said, “if we’re going to die. I don’t want the last thing I hear to be stupid techno music.”

“So true,” Madoka mumbled looking around the pool.

“Chishiya has headphones and music, but I’m not sure what he listens to,” Kuina pointed out.

“Probably something weird, like death metal,” Madoka muttered.

“Or Katy Perry,” Sayaka suggested with a snicker.

“Ha! Yea I can just picture him rocking out to ‘E.T’,” Kuina joked.

“Oh please ‘hot & cold’ would be his jam,” Sayaka snorted.

“What about ‘I kissed a girl’?” Madoka suggested.

“No way, he’s totally virgin lips,” Sayaka laughed.

“I bet you could fix that, Sayaka,” Madoka smirked.

“Would need a lot of drinks,” Sayaka sighed settling back into her chair again sipping on her drink.

“We’ll see,” Madoka cooed.

“You could be the one to break into that icy heart!” Kuina brought her hands to her chest dramatically.

“Yes! And then survive the borderland together!” Madoka leaned into Kuina as they both giggled.

Sayaka glanced at the two of them out of the corner of her eye and smirked, “wouldn’t hold you breath on that one.”

“I still think they’ll end up together,” Madoka pointed out, “I have faith.”

“In your dreams—“ Sayaka, Madoka, and Kuina all jumped as a loud shot rang out, and the pool went silent, except the music still beating in the background.

Sayaka sat bolt upright and scanned the pool. Standing at the far right corner was Niragi and a boy in board shorts cowering on the ground. Niragi was pointing his gun at the boy, and there was a noticeable bullet hole in the pool deck in between his legs.

“You really think you can just talk to whoever you want?” Niragi leant forward pushing the barrel into the guy’s forehead, “that girl is mine. Do you get it?”

“Yes, yes I’m sorry!” He replied frantically.

Sayaka slid to the edge of her seat tensing all her muscles getting ready to run, when a hand rested on her arm. Her head snapped to Madoka who gave her a slight headshake, “if you run. He’ll shoot you.” Sayaka felt her blood go cold, and she dragged her eyes back to the scene.

“I’m sorry!” The boy screamed again.

“And you think that will save you? I think I need to teach you a fucking lesson,” Niragi kicked him hard in the chin sending him backwards and his head cracked into the concrete.

“Not so talkative now, are you?” Niragi leaned forward over the boy’s unconscious body, and spit in his face. He turned around sharply throwing an arm around a girl with long curled black hair who looked horrified, and they began to walk away.

Sayaka felt like she was frozen solid, like her muscles would never move again; even as everyone started to talk and dance like nothing had happened. Very slowly she dragged her eyes over to Madoka and Kuina who were watching the boy be carted away with a solemn expression.

“Hell of a paradise isn’t it?” Kuina mumbled.

“What the hell? He’ll just go around shooting people?” Sayaka asked shakily.

Madoka gave a sigh and nodded, “there’s nothing we can do. If anyone stood up to him they’d be shot.”

“If you stay quiet and hide in the crowd you’ll be safe,” Kuina breathed.

Sayaka drew in a deep breath, and looked back to the pool. This place was like a game arena in itself, but at least in the games nobody was kidding themselves about this being a Utopia.

 Sayaka let out a loud groan as she tossed and turned in bed. She still had a lump sitting in her stomach, since Niragi’s outburst at the pool. Every little sound from the hallway made her jump, and it certainly didn’t help that they weren’t able to lock their doors.

She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed wiping her face, and looked at the clock, 3:00am. With a groan she stood up and walked to the bathroom. She splashed water on her face, and leaned against the counter. Running water was nice, but not having to feel like she’d die any second would be much better. A loud slam of a nearby door made her jolt, and she groaned.

“Fuck.”

Staring at her reflection in the mirror she let out a sigh, “maybe a walk will tire me out enough to sleep.” She slipped on her flip-flops and opened the door to the hallway. Cautiously she peeked her head out, making sure that none of the militants were roaming around before slipping out.

Sayaka wandered around the hotel letting her feet guide her, and making sure to change directions when she saw any of the militants. Whooping and hollering sounded from the end of the hallway, and Sayaka made a sharp turn into the stairwell. Quietly she leaned against the cement wall listening to the laughs as they got closer. She chewed on her lip and looked at the wall across from her where a simple sign with an arrow pointing up read, “roof access”. Casting a glance over her shoulder towards the door Sayaka ran up the staircase hoping to avoid the incoming hyenas.

The stairwell was quiet and there was no sound but the slap of her flip-flops echoing against the stairs. Not even the music made it’s way into the dark concrete walls. She had to admit as spooky as the stairwell was the quiet was welcomed. Sayaka reached the top of the stairwell, and gave the heavy door a shove. Quietly she peeked her head through the door to look around the roof. It was fairly quiet. From the 7th floor the music at the pool was just a distant drumming. Sayaka slipped out onto the roof sweeping her gaze around. There was nothing up here except the air conditioning fans, the utility shed, and… Chishiya. The white hooded boy was standing over by the edge of the roof facing the darkened city of Tokyo.

Sayaka stared at him wide-eyed as he turned around, smirked, and waved. She fidgeted with the hem of her board shorts, “sorry. I didn’t know anyone was up here.”

“Who’s the stalker now?” he quipped turning back to the view. Sayaka drew her lips into a tight line, and stiffened her shoulders drawing in a deep breath.  

Slowly she walked to the edge of the roof to stand beside him. She had to admit, the lights not being on in Tokyo made all the buildings look like giant shadow monsters coming up out of the ground, but the lack of light pollution made it so you could see all the stars in the sky. She couldn’t help, but laugh. Chishiya glanced at her.

“Sorry, I just find it ironic,” she said looking up at him, “it took being in this hellscape to be able to see the stars. It’s actually beautiful…” she turned her head back to the city.

There was a long silence between the two of them, and Sayaka had to admit for once maybe she was enjoying Chishiya’s presence.

“You were a chemist?” he asked.

Sayaka glanced up at him, “uh… yea. Well,” she rolled her head on her shoulders, “kinda. I was finishing up my senior year of my PhD in Chemistry. I was an intern at a pharmaceutical company.”

He nodded slowly, “so you lied.”

Sayaka stared at him wide-eyed, “I… I guess? I mean my title was still chemist, and I was given the same tasks as the other chemists. So, call it what you will I suppose,” she mumbled.

“You lied.” Sayaka closed her eyes tightly. She thought she was actually okay with having Chishiya around, but then he opened his stupid mouth.

“Fine, whatever you want to call it. Are you going to go tattle to Hatter, Mr. Executive?” she grumbled rolling her eyes.

“No.”

She looked up at him surprised, “really? Why?” But of course he didn’t answer just smirked at her, and looked back at the skyline. Sayaka sighed.

“So, you lied about the chemicals as well?”

She felt a shiver pass through her, “I…” she hesitated, “I… I’m pretty sure they would be unusable,” she whispered.

“Pretty sure?” he quirked an eyebrow.

“Yes, majority of the chemicals need to be kept in a humidity and temperature-controlled environment. With the power out, and based on how dilapidated the city is they would be long decayed.”

Chishiya watched her.

“You don’t agree?” she asked looking up at him.

He thought about it, “I suppose it’s a reasonable explanation.”

“Yes thank you,” she nodded.

“That’s not what Hatter wanted to hear.”

“I noticed.”

“You should’ve just told him there was a possibility. He doesn’t take kindly to affirmative negatives.”

“Why are you going to tell him?”

“No, him throwing a fit doesn’t interest me.”

Sayaka looked up at him. Pieces of his white-blonde hair whipped in the wind, and she frowned, “what does interest you?”

His eyes shifted to look at her. Sayaka felt her cheeks starting to heat up as he stared into her eyes. She felt small, and not just because she was actually shorter than him. His gaze was scrutinizing like he was picking her apart bit by bit from the inside out.

“Why are you up here so late?”

Sayaka blinked snapping herself out of her thoughts, “uh… I just couldn’t sleep. After Niragi’s outburst at the pool…” she muttered looking away from him.

“You have to get used to that. It happens often,” he replied.

Sayaka knit her eyebrows together and wrapped her arms around herself, “how can Hatter claim this is a Utopia?”

“These idiots will believe anything even if it doesn’t exist.”

Sayaka frowned, “I hate it here,” she whispered.

Chishiya glanced at her, “don’t let Hatter hear you say that. You’ll be marked a traitor.”

Sayaka grimaced, “and the Utopia just gets better and better.”

“And yet you chose to join.”

Sayaka looked up at him, “I was more or less kidnapped.”

“Lucky you didn’t meet with the militants, you would’ve actually been kidnapped,” he pointed out.

“Technically still was just in a less hostile way,” she added.

“Judging by how calm you were, that wasn’t your first game. Where were your cards?” He asked.

Sayaka raised her eyebrows, “oh… honestly, I didn’t think about it. I was so focused on the fact that I was still alive I just left the game arenas. The cards seemed insignificant at the time. They still do honestly,” she added under her breath.

“You don’t believe Hatter’s plan?” Chishiya raised his eyebrows.

“Do you?” Sayaka asked, turning to look at him.

He paused considering her words, “I can’t say I think it’s the exact solution. But, we don’t have a lot to go on right now. Obviously the cards have some sort of significance,” he looked back at the cityscape, “it was dumb of you to leave them behind.”

Sayaka frowned and glared at him, “does every word out of your mouth have to be an insult?”

He glanced at her with a smirk, “don’t do so many stupid things.”

Sayaka huffed, “always so pleasant talking to you Chishiya.”

“Nobody asked you to come up here.”

Sayaka balled her hands into fists, “fine then I’m going to bed. At least talking to you was exhausting enough that I think I can sleep now,” she turned on her heel and headed to the door, “goodnight Chishiya.”

He held his hand up as she walked away, but didn’t speak. Sayaka walked down the stairs lost in thought. Just when she thought maybe he wasn’t so bad Chishiya proves her wrong and continues to be an asshole. She covered her mouth as she yawned, well, at least I wasn’t lying when I said he was exhausting to talk to.

 * Day 4 (Night) *

“So wait you two actually talked? For an extended period of time? And neither of you have a black eye or are dead?” Madoka asked leaning over the bar.

“Yep,” Sayaka replied sipping on her drink.

“I’m surprised you didn’t push him off the roof,” Kuina added.

“Trust me I thought about it,” Sayaka muttered.

“What did you two even talk about?” Madoka questioned, “like what do you two have in common?”

“Oh this coming from the one that desperately wants us to date?” Sayaka teased.

“Well yea, but I seriously doubt Chishiya is the small talk get to know you type of guy,” Madoka snorted.

Kuina laughed leaning over the bar, “yea definitely not. He’ll only ask questions if they’re about something that’ll benefit him.”

Sayaka snorted, “yea like getting me kicked out of the Beach,” she muttered swirling her glass before bringing it to her lips. Sayaka noticed two guys were snickering on the other side of Kuina, and leaned back to look at them. One leaned towards her and pulled at the strings on her bikini bottom. Sayaka opened her mouth to yell at them, but Kuina whipped around and grabbed the guy’s wrist. He stared at her wide-eyed as she bent his wrist backwards and he yelped dropping to his knees.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She demanded.

“Ow! Ow! Nothing! Nothing!” He screamed.

“Then what are your hands doing on my bikini?” She bent his wrist back farther.

“Ow! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He yelped.

“Good. Don’t be doing shit like that to other girls. Give them respect!” Kuina snapped and thrust him forward so he landed on his back. He scrambled to his feet and ran out of the bar, but his friend wasn’t so intelligent.

“You bitch!” He snapped and lunged for her. Kuina didn’t even bat an eye. She stuck out her leg putting him off balance, and brought her elbow hard into his chest. Much like his friend this guy ended up flat on his ass.

“You were saying?” Kuina said with an eyebrow raised. The man scrambled to his feet muttering under his breath, and ran out of the bar.

Sayaka and Madoka both stared at her wide eyed with mouths agape.

“Holy shit,” Madoka mumbled

“You can fucking fight?” Sayaka snapped.

Kuina tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and replaced the gummy cigarette in her mouth, “yea my family owned a dojo. My dad taught me to fight,” she replied with a shrug.

“That’s super cool must come in handy—“

“Teach me!” Sayaka said slamming her hands on the bar and leaning towards Kuina.

Kuina blinked, “uh, yea sure.”

“Yes!” Sayaka pumped her fist.

“How much have you had to drink already?” Madoka mumbled.

“Shut up. If I can do cool shit like that I’ll be unstoppable!” Sayaka laughed.

“I’m just going to take this away from you,” Madoka slowly scooted Sayaka’s glass down the bar.

“Don’t touch my drink,” Sayaka glared at her as she slid it back towards herself.

“That’s right don’t want to get bitten,” Kuina chuckled.

“Shut up.”

 * Day 5 *

           Sayaka bent over with her hands on her knees breathing heavily, “jeez I didn’t think this would be so hard.”

“Well what did you expect?” Kuina asked putting a hand on her hip.

“I don’t know, to be badass like you?” Sayaka breathed waving at her.

“Aw, so sweet,” Kuina cooed leaning back with a hand to her chest, “but get up we have 3 more sets to get through,” she gestured for Sayaka to stand up straight.

“Ughhhhh,” Sayaka lumbered over to Kuina and brought her fists up to her face. She drew in a deep breath and punched Kuina’s raised hands.

Punch 1, 2, 3, “duck!”

“Wha—“ Sayaka didn’t have time to finish as Kuina’s fist slammed into her cheek and she fell backwards. Sayaka laid on the ground stunned staring at the blue sky.

“I said duck,” Kuina put a hand on her hip.

Sayaka’s eyes darted to her and she raised her arms, “what the hell Kuina! That fucking hurt!”

“You want to learn to fight? You need to be ready for the unexpected,” Kuina replied giving her a hard look, “especially out here.”

Sayaka sat up rubbing her cheek with a pout, “yea, yea, yea. You have a point,” she muttered.

Madoka fell backwards onto the roof laughing hysterically, “oh god Sayaka you should’ve seen the look on her face,” she snorted.

“Shut up Madoka, you’re not even trying to learn,” Sayaka snapped her head around to glare at her.

“That’s because I’m not learning,” Madoka replied pulling her sunglasses back over her face, “I’m sunbathing. Gotta rest up for my game tonight, right?”

Sayaka watched her with a pout, that’s right her visa expires tonight.

“Come on Sayaka 3 more sets,” Kuina waved at her again.

“Yea, I’m getting up,” Sayaka said pushing herself up from the ground, and bringing her fists back up, “so am I allowed to sucker punch you now?” She raised an eyebrow at Kuina.

“Ha! If you can hit me I’m all yours,” Kuina smirked.

 Sayaka leaned against the balcony railing as she watched Hatter address the Beach members below. She let out a long sigh and rested her head on her arms. Scanning the crowd her eyes settled on Madoka in her purple one piece. She was towards the front of the crowd rubbing her arms with a nervous look on her face. Sayaka sighed, I hope she comes back.

“Not enjoying the show?”

Sayaka’s stood up straight and snapped her head around to see Chishiya, “well, I think his speech is bullshit. But, I’m just worried about Madoka.”

He gave a curt nod, and slid up to the banister beside her. Sayaka stiffened and watched him out of the corner of her eye.

“Now let the games begin!!” Hatter’s speech conclusion made her gaze snap back to Madoka as she approached the assignment table. Sayaka frowned watching as she joined her group consisting of three militants.

“You shouldn’t be so concerned about other people,” Chishiya said.

Sayaka turned to look up at him, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll die if you keep being concerned for other’s wellbeing.”

Sayaka glared at him, “it isn’t a bad thing to want her to be okay.”

“It’s an unnecessary distraction.”

“So what? Betrayal and being a dick is the only way to be here?” she demanded putting her hands on her hips.

Chishiya glanced over at her, “you haven’t played a hearts game have you?”

Sayaka watched him, “just one,” she whispered.

“That’s the whole point of this place, self preservation. If you don’t put yourself above others you won’t make it.”

Sayaka stared at him. His brown eyes were cold and calculating. She didn’t have to ask whether or not he had let people die, whether or not he had saved himself above others, she could already see the answer.

“I think you’re a shitty person,” she hissed.

He smirked at her and chuckled, “not the first time I’ve heard that.”

Sayaka sighed and turned back to the now empty lobby, “she reminds me of my little sister,” she admitted. Chishiya watched her, but didn’t say anything.

She turned to face him with a hard look, “that’s why I’m concerned for her. Trust me if it comes down to you and me. I’ll kill you in a second,” she snarled and stomped away.

[thesandersarchives]

Dreams/Nightmares

A brilliant, wonderful anon ask on my main blog made me think about the canon characters meeting their Sanders Archives selves, soooooo... here we are! Mild warnings for bugs (maggots), body horror, suffocation, vomiting (mentioned only, not described), and panic attacks.

The first thing Logan sees once he realizes he’s dreaming is--well, technically speaking, it’s not a ‘thing’, it’s a man. He doesn’t look like Thomas in the slightest, not like any Side he knows, but somehow Logan knows that this tall, long-haired man is him. And then this other-him turns, and Logan sees his eyes. Or more accurately, behind his eyes.

It’s infinite. Beautiful, if Logan were prone to poetic language. An entire universe of knowledge, inside this man’s mind, and Logan is envious, until the other-him opens his mouth.

“Don’t. Don’t wish for this, don’t seek it out.” There’s a pleading, desperate edge to his voice, and it prompts Logan to look closer. He sees himself, helpless, doomed to watch horror upon horror upon horror and unable to look away, unable to intervene, unable to save the people he cares about as they fall deeper and deeper, and all the while, he’s being watched himself, a specimen under a microscope and nothing more, nothing more--

Logan wakes with a start in his own bed. He switches the light on almost immediately, reaching for his favorite novel to give him a sense of familiarity, comfort, control. When he does eventually return to sleep, he hopes he won’t dream of those eyes again... -------------------------------------------------

Virgil is no stranger to fear, nor nightmares, but this one is the worst he’s had in a while. He doesn’t know exactly what’s chasing him through these twisting corridors with dizzying patterns on the walls and carpet, but he knows that somehow that fractured, twisted monster-thing is him. If he weren’t panicking right now, he’d be able to appreciate the irony that even in his dreams, he’s his own worst enemy.

Eventually, he stumbles, falls--he tries in vain to crawl around a corner, but cold, spindly fingers close around his ankle and drags him back

“I’m sorry,” His own voice, layered over with static, comes from behind him, too close for comfort. “I don’t want to do this, I don’t, I really don’t, I’m sorry--”

Static roars in Virgil’s ears, and he wakes with a gasp, launching himself out of bed and into the hallway before his brain catches up--but it’s not the hallway from his dreams, the adrenaline from the chase is already fading, though he’s still trembling.

Shakily, he staggers downstairs for a coffee. He’s not getting any more sleep tonight. --------------------------------------------

Remus usually has weird lucid dreams, so it’s no special occasion when he finds himself in a basement crawling with maggots. He’s pretty sure he’s already had a similar dream, actually, which is frustrating. He hates repeating himself, hates the thought that he has the capacity to be boring and predictable like Roman.

Nevertheless, he’s having a maggot dream, and he’s determined to enjoy it even if it is a repeat. He strides up to the largest cluster of wormy-squirmy deliciousness, and reaches out a hand. Just before he makes contact, something barrels into him with an incoherent snarl, knocking him flat on his back.

“Leave us alone.” The person above him hisses, voice echoing. His face and what little Remus can see of the rest of his body are covered in holes, which seem to house more of those lovely maggots. And somehow, that’s not even the most interesting thing about his appearance. No, judging by the mustache and the wild look in his eyes, this person is supposed to be him.

Suddenly, the other-him leaps back and away, like he’s been burned, muttering apologies and clutching at his head. More of the crawling mass swarms towards him, covering his feet and legs, going up and up and up while Remus grows uncharacteristically nauseated at this half-mad, helpless version of himself.

He wakes with a shudder, and scrubs a hand over his face a couple times until he’s satisfied that there aren’t any maggot-holes, before rolling over and going back to what he now knows is going to be a fitful sleep. --------------------------------------------

Roman doesn’t often have dreams like this, quasi-realistic, bland dreams of the back of his own head hunched over a book, but perhaps this is meant to be some kind of precursor to something more interesting. With that in mind, he approaches, and gets just close enough to see himself lift a gnarled, mangled hand to turn a page.

He gasps, and just that small little noise is enough to alert his other-self, who stands--tall, taller than Roman thought humanly possible--and snatches the book away. He turns, and Roman looks into a face that is and is not his own, a face that is indescribably wrong.

He takes an involuntary step back, horrified at the sight, and watches the other-him’s wrong face twist into something resembling dismay. He starts to speak, but Roman doesn’t hear--he’s already running. He can distantly hear bones creak, flesh shifting, and he doesn’t look back, no matter what horrifying things he’s seen Remus do, this is worse, so much worse, he’s so much worse--

Roman wakes tangled in his bedsheets, damp with sweat. He heaves himself out of bed with a heavy sigh. His mouth is dry and there’s bile rising in his throat. He needs a glass of water, and he needs it now. ----------------------------------------------

Patton doesn’t have lucid dreams often, but when he does, they’re rarely set in his room. Although perhaps this isn’t quite his room, but it feels like it could be... If he’d transformed into a giant video-game frog and destroyed the place, at least. The whole place is a pile of rubble and dust and remnants of old memories that Patton dimly recognizes.

At the center of the wreckage is a man--at first Patton thinks it’s one of Thomas’ friends, but as he shuffles closer, he realizes that it’s him--well, a version of him, anyway. Covered in dust and dirt and looking bone-tired, waist-deep in a pile of old books and soil.

Patton rushes forward to try and pull him out, but the other-him shakes his head. “No use for it, buddy. I’m in too deep.”

He tries for a grin, but it falters, and he lapses into a coughing fit, sending dust swirling up into the air as he sinks deeper, deeper, dirt spilling from his mouth. Patton’s stomach lurches. He looks back down at his other-self’s dirt-smeared, still-smiling face. 

“Don’t you worry, everything’s fine.” He says, and Patton hears a loud, deep groan before the roof caves in and falls down on top of them both, blocking out the light, the air, everything, and the breath is stolen from his lungs--

Patton kicks off his duvet as soon as he wakes up, stumbling in his haste to reach the bathroom before he throws up. -------------------------------------------------

Janus tries to hide his surprise at the sight of--well, not exactly himself. Himself if Thomas was a few inches shorter, with a slightly more angular face and lighter hair. Himself without scales, with normal human eyes. He used to look a little bit like that, years and years ago, and he finds himself wishing--

“Not the truth, I’m afraid. At least, not anymore.” His other-self says, letting his features melt into a half-scarred face before it morphs into more familiar scales. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He looks impossibly old, for a moment, and there’s a flash of something sad and defeated in his eyes before they cloud over into mismatched mirrors, and just as Janus comes up with a question in his mind, the other-him answers.

“A long time. And mostly alone.”

Janus can’t fathom what he’s been through, what it would be like, and he doesn’t want to. The idea of spending who-knows-how-many years completely on his own sends a chill through him, too close in his mind to the few years he spent in the dark until he found his way to the other banished Sides. He steps forward, for once at a loss for words but determined to offer some form of comfort nonetheless, but his other-self gets there first.

“It’s better this way, and I’m well used to it by now. So you just sleep, no more dreams for you tonight. I’m not built for prolonged socialization, and it’s dangerous for you to linger.”

With that, he puts a hand against Janus’ chest and pushes, gently, until Janus tips back, falling into blackness.

He’ll wake, a little later, with tears drying on his pillow and the inexplicable urge to tear his gloves into little pieces burning in his mind. ---------------------------------------------------

Thomas didn’t expect to meet a new Side in his dreams, but apparently it can happen.

This one seems more like him than the others so far, somehow, but he looks downright miserable. And no wonder, with the cold dampness permeating this dreamscape. Thomas waves his hand in a Roman-esque flourish, manifesting a coat, which he drapes around the Side’s shoulders.

The Side stiffens, turning to look at him sharply, before scoffing and turning away.

“I should’ve guessed.” He says wetly, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. Thomas isn’t quite sure what does it, exactly, but suddenly something clicks into place and he realizes that this isn’t a Side--it’s him.

...Except it isn’t, quite. He’s seen enough reflections of his own face to know that he’d never hold himself like that, never set his jaw that way, never harden his gaze and shut his emotions away like this other-Thomas is doing.

He gets the feeling that this Thomas doesn’t want to talk, so he merely sits down and wraps an arm around the other-him, waiting for the man to settle into the touch. They stare out into the fog in silence, and Thomas dimly registers other-him leaning against his side before the fog blots out everything else, and he wakes up with the light of dawn leaking through his curtains, a fuzzy, cold feeling in his head, and a dull ache in his stomach like he’s been punched in the gut.

He summons his Sides, all of them, the need to see them and be with them greater than his exhaustion. They all look as worn-out as he feels, even Remus. He sighs, and spreads his arms. “Bring it in, guys. We’re going back to sleep.”

They fall surprisingly easily into a cuddle pile, and Thomas soon drifts back into sweeter dreams with his Sides sleeping peacefully around him. They’ll talk about what they each saw in the night once they wake, but for now, it remains in the past, a fleeting nightmare and nothing more.

[cchellacat]

Snapshot

“I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick. It even makes me rhyme. I hate it- I hate the way you’re always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh; even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call, but mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you; not even close; not even a little bit; not even at all.”

This was my prompt for @littledarlinhavefaithinme 10 Things Challenge. Sorry it’s so late my love xx

Wintershock

Bucky/Darcy

18+

“I hate you!”

“No, you don’t”

“Yes, I do....”

Bucky slides out from under the counter, pulling his hair back and snapping the elastic around it.  Darcy stands in the doorway, hands on hips and silently fuming.

“Fine, why do you hate me today Doll?”  He drawls it out, Brooklyn accent thickening as he cocks a brow and gives her a slow grin as he prowls closer to her.

Darcy bites her lip trying to stop the smile from forming, fuck it makes her knees weak when he looks at her like that.

“That, right there, that is why.”

Bucky frowns, consternation clear on his face.

“What?  What did I do?” He reaches out and catches her wrist, tugging her playfully till she falls against his chest.

“Don’t talk to me like that!” She uses the now close proximity to poke his chest ineffectually with one pointed finger.

“Like what?” Bucky rubs his nose to hers before dipping and stealing a fast hard kiss that makes her moan low in her throat, her whole body now molding itself to his.

“Like you know what I look like naked, damn it!” She pushes away from him as he chuckles into her mouth and he lets her go with a reluctant sigh.

Darcy stomps off, cursing under her breath, Bucky is left feeling slightly confused.  To be fair he often feels confused, especially since he started hooking up with Darcy. 

He watches her go, hips swaying and licks his lips...  he does know what she looks like naked, like a god damn fantasy. He’s determined she’ll give in eventually, let him take her out, date her, do things the right way. He knows she’s everything he ever wanted, but he also knows she’s wary of relationships, scared that if she falls for him he’ll just be another one of the jerks who used her and cast her aside when they were done. It drives him crazy the anyone has used her like that because she’s perfect to him in every way.

Bucky steps off the elevator running vibrainium fingers through his hair, it’s shorter than he’s had it since ‘45.  It was strange watching the last of the Winter Soldier fall away as Natalia cut it this morning, like he was shedding his old life, or maybe even reclaiming his first. 

He holds a tray of coffee in his free hand as he searches the labs for Darcy.  It takes him longer than usual to find her, getting stopped by a half dozen people, most of them staring and smiling at him and trying to flirt, at least till they suddenly seemed to realize who they had come onto, then they’d make excuses to get away. 

Darcy finds him before he finds her, the sound of her heels clicking purposefully have him turning to greet her.  He’d know that Staccato rhythm anywhere, she walked with a purpose and vitality that exuded confidence, he’s come to appreciate that little twist of heel in her step, it makes him smile just hearing it. She stops in front of him, scowling.

“I hate you!”

“Doll, you wound me,” he brings a hand to his heart, “I brought you coffee.”

He turns on that old Barnes charm and offers her the tray. The way she eyed him actually had him a little unnerved for a moment and he wants to fidget, she always makes him feel this way, like he’s some bug under a microscope being assessed and judged, but she’s been looking more and more confused with each meeting, like she doesn’t understand why the other shoe hasn’t dropped yet, doesn’t get why he keeps coming back no matter how much she pushes him away.

He smiles anyway, tilts his head, taking in the pretty picture she makes in her black dress, it’s all business today which means she’s got meetings with some of the department heads. His girl practically runs the R&D department, there’s not a project she doesn’t oversee and secure funding for and the scientists love having her around, the place would be a mess without her.

Darcy grabs the coffee and glares half-heartedly, red lips pursed, watching as he runs his hand nervously through his hair again.  She makes a choked noise and bites her lip.

He kept coming back, kept chasing her, she doesn’t understand why, he’s had her, multiple times, it seemed he’d spring up out of nowhere regularly and it wasn’t just for sex.

He kept bringing her flowers and chocolate and... fuck, he always seemed more interested in making her cum than taking care of himself. If she wasn’t careful she’d get her heart broken. She’d been through this too many times before, men always got bored of her, they only wanted her for sex and she’d come to accept that.

She enjoyed sex, I mean why shouldn’t she? It didn’t have to mean anything and sex with Bucky was insanely good, like, ruined her for all other men good.

Then there was the fact that he wanted to talk to her, listen to what she had to say and would laugh at her stories, always asking for more, it made her nervous. He was slowly turning her world upside down with his sincerity, but he seemed determined to wear her down, to convince her to him a chance... maybe it’s time to stop running.

“You cut your hair.”  She stated, shooting a nasty look at Pearl from accounting who sidles past, winking at Bucky as she goes. Darcy reigns in the urge to slap her or make some snippy comment about taking a picture and refocused on Bucky as he shot her a smug smile, damnit. He seemed to know what she was thinking.

“Yeah...  Felt like I needed a change.”

“I hate it.” She sounds less certain this time, eyes filling with heat as she really takes in the change. Jesus Christ, he looked hot. All she wanted to do was run her hands through it, maybe give it a hard tug while his mouth was between her legs. She closes her eyes briefly and tries to think of something else.

“You hate my hair sweetheart?” 

He knows she doesn’t. Sees the way she curls her tiny fists as though holding back from something.

Darcy rolls her eyes and shakes her head, there was no way she was going to let him see that he was finally getting to her. He has that self-satisfied smirk in place like he thinks he’s won something.

“Did you have to cut it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you just dropped out of a GQ cover shoot, no one is getting any work done, they’re all too busy staring at you.”

Bucky’s lips lift into a crooked grin, she looks cute when she’s flustered, he can see her resisting the urge to run her own fingers through the new cut.

“Here,” He digs in his pocket and brings out a pack of peanut buttercups, holding them just out of reach.

Darcy swears and reaches for them, he holds then above her, teasing her with her favorite treat.

“Bucky!”

“Thought you hated me Doll...”

“Give me the god damn candy Barnes.”

“Give your best guy some sugar, sugar,”

Darcy presses her lips together, stifling a giggle from the cheeky smile he gives her and stands on tiptoe, kissing his lip's quickly. He grins like he just won a prize and drops the treat into her hand, enjoying the childish glee which suffuses her expression. He grabs her hand in his and she follows along beside him right up until he suddenly scoops her up and tucks them both out of sight inside a supply closet.

Twenty minutes later a disheveled Darcy emerges from the closet, her shirt askew and her hair loose from the bun she’s had it swept into earlier. Bucky follows her out, catching her arm and pulling her back in to steal a soft heady kiss before letting her go again.

“Dinner.” Its a demand, not a question.

Darcy bites her lip, eyes bright and finally, after two months of trying to convince her he was serious about them, she nods her head.

“Saturday night, pick me up at seven.”

Bucky whoops and swings her up not caring a bit that half the techs in the labs were staring at them.

He’s got it, a proper date, he’ll plan the whole thing out. He wants to show her how special she is, that he’s not dating her on a whim or to satisfy some carnal itch, she makes him giddy, the way she smiles, how much she cares, she makes him laugh, to him, she’s everything.

“Jesus Bucky!  Not so hard!”

“This damn car’s older than I am.”  he gripes, foot pressed to the floor as he wrenches the wheel again, taking them round a corner at speeds Darcy could have lived without.

“I hate you!  I am never letting you drive my car again!”

“I love you too Sweetheart, now pass me my gun and hold the wheel.”

Darcy shrieks as the hail of gunfire strikes the back window and does as she’s told.  Worst first date ever!

“Would you stop that?”

“Stop what?”

“Staring at me.”

His shoulders rise nearly to his ears as he shrugs uncomfortably and looks away.  The tiny confines of the jet make it hard to put any space between them, which is what Darcy had been trying to do since their clusterfuck of a date two weeks ago.  Every time she got him cornered he ran, he couldn’t now though.

Eyes cast down again she pretends to read her book.  He’d ignored her trying to talk to him when they first boarded, she’d given up trying an hour later when it seemed all she was going to get were noncommittal grunts.

This time only ten minutes pass before she feels the weight of his eyes on her again.

“What?”  The demanding tone ricochets in the tiny compartment like shrapnel.

Blue on blue caught stubbornly as his mouth tightens in a thin line.

“Nothing.”  He finally mutters, looking away, fingers tapping aggravatedly on his thigh.

Darcy slams the book closed and leans forward.

“I-”

“Hate me, I know, I finally got the memo doll.”

“Oh don’t try that bullshit with me, Barnes, seriously, what is your fucking problem?  So what if the date went badly?  You’ve not spoken to me since you left me in medical.”

“You nearly got killed!”

“I know!  I was there!”

“Than why are you trying to talk to me?”

“Because all you’ve done for two weeks is make puppy eyes and run every time I track you down!”

“I nearly got you killed Darce...  I didn’t know what to say.”

Darcy rolls her eyes hard and leans over, pointed finger once again poking his chest.

“You say, let's try that again Darcy, this time without the kidnapping and murder grenades.”

The look of confused surprise is adorable.

“You’d still want to go on a date after we got shot at?”

Darcy throws her hands up and leans back, crossing her arms.

Silence reigns in the compartment, heavy with unspoken words.

“Darce?”

“What?”

“Pick you up at 7 on Friday?”

Darcy’s brow arches, her arms falling as she sighs.

“I hate you.”

“It’s a date.”  he grins before tugging her out of her seat and into his strong arms.  Darcy yelps as she’s moved to straddle hard thighs, her heart racing already in anticipation of what was coming next....namely her.  She smiles as his mouth covers her in a playful teasing kiss and melting into his hold wraps her arms around his neck, relieved to be back where she belonged.

He’s always in her apartment, it feels likes he’s all but moved in permanently.  His books sit on the coffee table, a gun safe takes up a previously empty space under the kitchen counter, there are numerous knick-knacks from around the world he somehow has time to pick up from whatever mission he’s been on recently, littering the surfaces. 

Darcy throws off her jacket and kicks her shoes off, wandering down the hallway to the bedroom.  Just as she enters the room she finds herself suddenly tripping, gravity catching her and hauling her down. 

“Easy sweetheart, I gotcha.”  She’s caught by a warm, wet wall of muscle, her momentum now pressing every inch of her to him.

“Christ on a cracker Bucky, what the hell...” looking down she spies the combat boots that have been left loitering in the entryway to the room.  Where on earth had he come from?

“I didn’t think you’d be home yet doll.”  She takes in the damp hair and naked chest, beads of water still clinging to skin.

“Seriously? Are you trying to kill me?”

“Sorry doll, forgive me?”

A long-suffering sigh escapes her, she’s too tired to tell him off for leaving his boots lying around.

“One condition-”

Before she can complete her demand he produces a bar of chocolate, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he lets her go.

“Okay and I-”

A glass of wine is pressed into her hand like magic.  Darcy squints at his all too innocent expression, mouth opening to-

“’m not a mind reader, just know what my girl needs after a long day.”

“I hate you.” she replies without any ire.

Bucky smirks.

“Love you too Doll.”

She’s never going to live this down, he’s told her a dozen times not to leave without her tracker, telling her she’d get her ass kidnapped.. again.  God, she hates it when he’s right.

The cell is dimly lit, but oddly comfortable considering she’s been kidnapped by what she assumes is probably some previously thought defunct offshoot of Hydra.

Six hours later when the sounds of fighting break out and the thick steel door swings open she’s too thankful to say it out loud.

Bucky strides through the door, murder etched on his face and scoops her up without a word.  Darcy just clings to him, thankful to wait for the lecture on personal safety till later.

He told her he was away on a mission. It’s why when she spots him, she decides to follow him.  He’s meant to be in Egypt, not New York.

He loses her on 5th Avenue and she mutters angrily all the way back to the Tower. 

When he appears the next morning she pretends like nothing happened, like she hadn’t seen him in the city and he acts like he hadn’t lied to her about it. 

Silently she begins to count down the days till his things will surely disappear from her apartment before it’s only him left, the last thing to leave. 

Darcy distracts herself with work and Jane and corralling her merry bunch of mad scientists, putting off the inevitable. 

She’s going to enjoy whatever time they have left.  In the deepest part of her she cries and tries very hard to hate him for the lies.  She thought he was different, she thought he was the one.

Bucky pats his pocket for the fifth time and fidgets in his seat.  The restaurant is half empty and the table service has been terrible.  But it’s the place he’d first met her, although he’s not sure she remembers as they dither over ordering dessert or heading home to raid the freezer for ice cream.

“Have we been here before?”

The sudden question snaps him out of his reverie and he glances across the table.  She’s been subdued lately, but he hasn’t been able to figure out why.

“I was wondering if you’d remember.”

“Remember what?”

“First time I saw you.  I was having lunch here with Steve and Stark.  You blazed in and threw Starks drink in his lap.”

She tilts her head quizzically.

“This is where...  I don’t even remember you being here.”

“We weren’t introduced till the week after, you stormed right back out again after making him sign some papers.”

“Oh..”  Her bottom lip is caught between a flash of white as he rubs his palms over the sides of his thighs.  When she looks away he stands, coming round the table, dropping to one knee.

“Darcy...”

She turns back, eyes widening at his new position and location.

When he reaches into his pocket for the ring she gasps, one hand covering her mouth and the other gripping the tabletop.

With the worst possible timing, a passing waiter trips over Bucky’s foot, sending himself and a tray of food crashing to the ground, leaving Bucky kneeling there, covered in carbonara, mouth half open and a blue velvet ring box in his hand.

He gapes, horrified by the turn of events then closes his eyes.  When he opens them again it’s to the sound and the sight of his girl giggling helplessly, head shaking as she laughs. 

“Omg, your face... baby...  oh my god were you going to propose?”

“What do you mean were, sweet cheeks, this is it, this is my life. I swear to god my Ma must be watching this from heaven and having a fit.  My life's a disaster Darce, but you make everything better. I don’t want to do it without you.  Even if it means getting coffee for breakfast and ice cream for dinner for the next sixty years.  Marry me, Darcy, make me the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.”

She nods her head, still laughing, tears streaming down her face while he struggles to fit the ring on her finger.

“It’s beautiful Buck... when did you even have time to buy it?”

“Took a day a few weeks ago instead of taking the op in Egypt.  Spend it scouring every jewelry store in Manhatten.”

The ring is new, but the design is old.  A princess-cut diamond flanked by garnet petals sparkles in her finger.

A curious expression drifts across her face at his answer and she bites her lip hard before swooping forward and kissing him.

“I hate you,” she whispers lovingly into his mouth.

Warmth spreads in his chest.

“Gonna need you to do that for the rest of my life Doll.”

“Not gonna be a problem soldier.”

They pay and go home to eat ice cream.  A long hot shower later they fall asleep on the couch where they were cuddled up reading to each other. Bucky snuggles her close and throws a blanket over them, thanking every deity he can name for giving him a second chance and her.

The phone is clutched tightly in her hand, the shape of it indented in her skin.  Three days, five hours...  That’s how long she’s been waiting for him to call and tell her he’s okay, that he’s holed up in some safe house or podunk hospital with no internet or cell service.  She taps the glass, checking her call history before swiping and rechecking that the settings are right, the ringer’s on, she’s not on silent or do not disturb...  Grabbing the wire beside her she plugs the phone in to charge, again.  How many times had she done that now? 

The phone rings, some telemarketer, she declines the call, furious that it isn’t him, that it might have stopped his call from connecting. 

Running her hands through her hair she gathers it up, snapping one of Bucky’s hair ties around it in a sloppy bun. 

The quiet of the apartment is getting to her. She stares out the window, watching the silent rush of life sixty stories below.  It doesn’t make sense, how can everything look so normal, how can everyone else still be moving, living?

Cold cups of coffee are scattered around the apartment, keeping company with the small momentoes of their life.  The book he’d been reading to her before he left, her socks left under the coffee table where he’d thrown them after he’d peeled them off her feet, intent on stripping her bare before he’d fucked her into the couch the night before he left.  Her bag and shoes left at the door beside his combat boots, the ones he kept for weekends when he drove his bike upstate, her perched behind him, arms tight and body pressed into the soft leather of the jacket that hung on the peg beside her fluffy cardigan and the Gryfindor scarf she’d knitted for him last Christmas. He was everywhere, in every corner of her life, every crack and crevice, he’d wormed his way in, inch by subtle inch until she couldn’t remember what it felt like before she’d known him. 

The soft wrap of knuckles on wood has her spring from the armchair.  Opening the door the pale face of Natasha Romanoff stares back.  Darcy steps back, silently allowing the women to come in. 

“Why don’t we sit.”  She’s never heard Natasha so quietly calm before.  The other woman is usually three parts snark one part sincerity.  Arms crossed, Darcy stands her ground, shaking her head. 

“Where is he, Natasha?”

The widow tries to place a comforting hand on her arm but she angrily shrugs it away.

“He’s gone Darce...”

She whips round to see Steve framed in the doorway.  He looks wrecked, face bruised and bloodied.  It’s the way he looks at her, his eyes full of silent sorrow and apology that makes her prickle.

“No.”  Darcy doesn't know if she’s denying the words or refusing to accept what he’s saying without speaking, but she shakes her head, futilely repressing the welling panic and grief threatening to overwhelm her.

“I’m so sorry.”

“No,” she snaps, “you don’t get to say that.  He’s not dead.”

“The building was blown up Darcy.  The whole thing collapsed and the fires were raging for over twelve hours...  Even Bucky couldn’t survive that.  We looked for him, no one saw him get out before it went up.  There are no reports of anyone matching his description in any of the medical facilities within a hundred miles of the explosion.  It’s been three days.”

Steve’s begging her to understand but what her heart tells her is that she can not give up on him.  Not yet, not ever. 

Bucky promised he’d come back. He’s never broken a promise to her, he’s not going to start now.

“He’ll come back.  He always does.”  The finality of the statement ends the discussion and both level sympathetic glances at her which she pointedly ignores.

They leave her alone, the apartment door closing quietly as she finally lets her knees fall out from under her.  Bone wrenching sobs burst forth from her lips as her body heaves out her worry and grief. 

“I hate you...  I hate you so much right now...  I hate how much I love you.  You have to come back to me so I can tell you that...”

Whispered words of loss fall around her like ash.  She hates it.  She hates how alone she feels.  Hates that he made her need him.  Hates that when he’s not around it feels as though her world is falling apart. The engagement ring winks mockingly from her finger.  A promise of a life together.  He has to come home, he just has to.

~Six Weeks Later~

“I love you.”

Words spoken into heated skin as pre-dawn light suffuses their bedroom.

He came back, he’s all around her, every inch of him pressing into her.  The affirming sounds of harsh breath, low moans, the symphony of skin against skin as his body slides over hers, fills her with warmth, relief, happiness. 

His hips, safely cradled in hers, his cock buried deep in the tight, silky heat of her leaves him undone and yet complete, grounded, he’s home. 

It’s slow, drawn out.  They make love with each touch and kiss, breath life back into each other with each joining of their bodies. 

Climax closes in for them both, her back arching further, meeting the increased pace of his thrusts as she clings tightly to his shoulders.

His body tenses as the tingling feeling creeps up his spine but he holds back, waiting... When he feels her finally begin to cum, he lets go, her walls clamping around him like a vice as he pounds faster, his hands gripping her ass so he can push deeper and then it hits, not a breath of space between them, bodies shaking and moving through it, his pelvic bone pressed hard on her clit as she gasps his name, her legs tightening around his waist, keeping him locked in place, he couldn’t get away if he wanted to, she was so tightly wrapped around him.  He empties himself inside her, filling her up, some primal satisfaction that she’s full with his seed, that the scent of him will cling to her for days.

The scent of sex and satisfaction lies heavy in the air.

They lie there as the sun rises, bodies replete and at rest as the light slowly fills the room.

“I love you.”  She says it again and he kisses her softly, slowly, burning the memory into both their minds.

“You don’t hate me anymore?”  He asks her lightly and she rolls her eyes, sighing.

“ I hate the way I don’t hate you; not even close; not even a little bit; not even at all, because I never hated you.  I hated that I fell in love so fast.”

“I loved you from the minute I saw you, doll, I’m never going to leave you again, I promise.”

She runs a hand through his hair gently, taking in the sincerity in his eyes.

“You can’t promise that.”

He shushes her with another kiss.

“I told Steve I quit.  No more active duty.”

“Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

“Why?”

“Can’t risk it, not anymore, not when I’ve got you.”

“I’d never ask you to-”

“I know, it’s why I’m doing it.  You deserve to be happy and so do I.”

She’s speechless, but it doesn’t matter, all that does is that she’s not going to lose him again.

“Besides, someone has to keep an eye on you.  You might take over the world if I didn’t. My tiny megalomaniac.”  He teases.

Darcy blushes hotly.  He’s mostly teasing she decides after a moment, after all, she’d taken everyone out of her way to keep the search for him going, even against all the evidence.  If she hadn’t he’d still be rotting inside some Hydra prison cell. 

His eyes crinkle with mirth as he rests his forehead on hers and she wrinkles her nose.

“I hate you.” 

The End.

@omnomsauruswrites   @eurynome827   @loricameback   @southerncross47

@book-dragon-13   @spacemansam   @jobean12-blog   @grimeysociety   @noquirkyurl   @collinsstanharbour  @marvelous-meggi  @marvelgirl7

[ripuels]

For @outreotter​ <3

(Another one that got way out of hand, also I haven’t managed to read over it mine soul is on Jupiter locked in a fridge sorry. Posting it as text under the cut because tumblr remains awful about my ask box~)

“If you're in some kind of trouble, you can tell me.” Christopher doesn't steer far from her hip as he welcomes her into the lounge room and she falls into the couch. 

“What makes you think I'm in trouble?”

The responding look is one of disbelief, he hardly has to be reminded who he's talking to. 

“Okay, okay sure. I'm avoiding someone, and your- the door wasn't locked, and I thought-” Amanda sees the incredulous synthetic stand opposite, arms folding across his chest, “oh my God, this was such a bad idea. I'm just- yeah, I'm gonna go.”

“Wait!” Samuels catches her with urgency, she freezes at the edge of the couch. “Stay, for a tea? I haven't seen you in a year, it's been odd to say the least, and concerning- the radio silence after all we've been through, and suddenly you're in my hallway, I- it would be nice, to catch up.”

She sits back down, nodding slowly. “Tea never hurt anyone. But just tea, then I gotta get back to work.” 

“Amy- Ripley,” he corrects himself as she flinches to a microscopic degree, “it's Sunday.”

She knows what he's getting at, calling her out on any reason to leave in a hurry. “Is it?” Her voice drags with a heavy sarcasm even Christopher couldn't miss. “I had no idea. Mostly because I've been working non-stop for about five weeks. Fucking staff cuts left us with half the crew and double the work, and I can't even complain because I'm one of the fortunate ones who still has a job. And-”

Samuels watches as she sinks comfortably into the couch pillows, ankle crossed over the other knee. It's funny that such a simple movement reminds him how flexible she is, especially her hips. 

“Sorry,” she groans and scrubs at her eyes, “that's exactly what I'm doing right now isn't it?” 

“It’s quite alright. I'm interested and happy to listen.” 

“It’s just, my whole crew was made up of contractors, once their time was up, they didn't want to bother renewing and The Company saw the opportunity to save some dollars.” Amanda huffs, “fuck all the rest of us I guess.” 

Samuels nods compassionately, pacing over to the kitchen to put the kettle on, leaning over his elbows on the bench. It's amazing how unique this synthetic has developed compared to all the others, since the breakup she had never struggled to speak to other Samuels units, though identical, she never saw his face in them. But him, Christopher, he could be standing amongst a hundred others and he'd be the sole blip on her radar. 

“You're obviously not easily replaced,” he means it in more ways than one, “maybe take it higher to HR, they could always steer you in the right direction. I’d be happy to help, if you needed anything from Legal-?”

Ripley smiles, pulling her hair over her shoulder and sliding her forearm behind her head. “Any excuse, you haven't changed a bit,” she laughs, definitely joking though not far wrong, “but I don't want to bug you for help. You've done enough for me after everything, and I already owe more than I could pay you back in years.”

“We had years,” Christopher says simply, fondly, an ease in his voice that Amanda can't tell is reminiscing or final. Or which one she would prefer it to be. “And they were good years. Consider your debt paid. However nonexistent it is.” 

She gently scratches her fingertips in the hair behind her ear, letting out a resigned sigh as he prepares a few mugs. 

“How long have you been back?”

“Two months.” She says with a hard stare. He doesn’t look upset or surprised by the fact that she hadn’t called around to visit, but curious. “I moved in with- with someone, in the hab units, y’know the permanent accommodation ones? By the bay. Nice view, but really quiet.” By that, she means lonely. “Figure I may as well set myself up if I’m going to be around for a while.”

“Oh, I see. Have you…” He starts, taking a moment to compose himself a little better, stripping the desperation out of his voice. “Have you found someone? Human?” He adds a little unnecessarily. 

After him? Hell no, she thinks. She had her shot at love, at life, at everything, and she blew it. What the fuck would she even do with a new lover but silently wish they were someone else? Someone in particular. 

“No, God no. I've just, been around.” She says nonchalantly, which isn't a total lie. A few dates, made a few more friends, he always said she needed more of them. 

“Anyone right now?”

Amanda doesn't mean to laugh, a little sadly, looking directly at him. “Always.” 

“Oh.” 

The synthetic doesn't seem surprised by the revelation, in fact, he doesn't look anything. 

“Dammit, Chris. Have you turned your emotional programming off again?” Amanda knows him, and knows he is smarter than to lie to her, so he stays quiet. “You're getting worryingly good at faking it. Even convinced me for a while there. Why the hell?” 

Samuels tugs his tie loose with a finger, a movement usually telling of his synthetic measure of anxiety. This time however, it looks more habitual. His face is icy, unbothered, his eyes relaxed under a numb brow. “I found it easier to function.” To cope. “How did you know?”

Ripley gets up and wanders to the other side of the bench, hands wringing at the edge of it. “Because this isn't you, Samuels. Even before you met me you were emotional, sentimental, and now you're just- just like all the others. But worse actually, because you're choosing to be.”

As if she hadn't spoken at all, he finds another subject. One he would experience an immeasurable amount of panic over had he been able to feel anything at all. “Did you ever find any more answers?” His controlled hand pours boiling water into two mugs. “To the whereabouts of Ellen?”

“No, and turns out I didn't want them anyway.” Amanda doesn't need to try to sound convincing. “It's a huge universe out there and I could look for my entire life, waste- my entire life, and not even get a net to the bottom. I'm finished. It's what she would have wanted, I think.”

“I believe you're right. It's what we all wanted for you. To find some peace.”

“Closure.�� She smiles weakly and he nods. “I’m getting there. One step at a time. First things first, I still gotta settle into my new joint. Make it, I don’t know, comfortable. Like this place.” 

“You're always welcome to stay here. It is half your house too.” Christopher stops himself from saying home, something it hasn't been in over twelve months. “There is a spare room or two.”

“I couldn't intrude like that. You probably have a whole social group, a girlfriend, boyfriend, both, who knows. Feels wrong to kick your door down so suddenly,” she says, a little downhearted. The synthetic opens his mouth to assure her he absolutely doesn't, but she trudges onward. “Thanks though, Chris. I’ll keep it in mind.”

He resigns to nod, knowing first hand that corralling this woman never ended well in the past. “Offer isn't retractable, not that you won't let yourself in anyway. Clearly.”

Amanda takes her tea with a thankful smile, leaning on her elbows. The man across mirroring her. “Hey, yeah.” She rests the rim of the mug to her chin. “Why was the door unlocked?” 

“It’s silly, really.” He finally looks away, perhaps considering dishonesty. “I haven't locked it since you left, since I didn't know if you still had a key or not. I'm not sure what possesses me to do it, but I thought of this place as a safe haven of sorts, for if you ever need.” He finds himself looking into the face of a woman who knows her soul is being x-rayed. “Good thing too, came in as a handy sanctuary, from mysterious pursuers.” 

At this she rolls her eyes. “Okay, you got me. There wasn't actually anyone, I just wanted to drop in but something came over me. It was as if-” she takes a sip and shrugs, “it was just dumb.”

“As if what?” 

“As if- I was coming home I guess. I was just going to knock but before I knew it, I was standing in the hallway, and then you were there and, yeah, I panicked.” She finds herself smiling along with him. “You should turn it back on, by the way. Your feelings. It's not fair that I'm here all shaky knees and racing heart and you're just a slab of limestone.”

His face falls. “I don't think that's a very good idea.” 

“Why? What's wrong?”

Samuels straightens off the bench. “It just isn't.”

Amanda doesn't push. “Y'know, if you need someone to talk to, support, I'm here. I might not have always been but, I am now.” 

He thinks for a moment, remembering the times when his ex-lover would break down between his legs in the bath, against the wall of the hallway, when he came home to her tiny frame hunkered behind the couch, terrified, knife in her defensive hand and sweat beading on her forehead. She'd always let him be there, let him in, and he never allowed her the slightest room for guilt. 

It had been months since Samuels felt anything, since he became lost in processing grief, regret, anxiety. Why would she leave? How could she? Would she ever come back? But above all, could she ever come back? He knew Amanda would follow the trail until the end, whether it be of the line, or her life.

If he were to tune into all of that now, should the dam crumble, he doesn't think she should be around to see it. But if she leaves, it may be for good, truly, this chance as fleeting as her.

“Amanda, I- I would, but I haven't- not in a long time. I have reason to err on the side of caution, that it may not be something you want to witness.” Samuels' report is composed, even as he fidgets with the mug handle. “I have no clue what to expect, but suspect it will not be pleasant.”

“Keeping shit bottled up is only going to break you. I’m not going to push, but let me help you, if you need. Anything. No expiry date.”

Samuels rubs his hair back, disturbing the perfect form that somehow always defied not only the weather, but her playful tussling. He seems defeated by the fact that he has nothing to lose. “Could I-” he starts, placing his drink down, “Could I just trouble you for a hug?”

Amanda recoils, she doesn't know why her reaction is of surprise, not until she remembers where they stand. Square one. Or perhaps more accurately, not even on the same tile at all. “Yeah, course you can.” 

She takes the initiative to wander over and feed her hands under his arms, dragging them together tightly around his chest. Without hesitation he takes her around the shoulders. 

He hasn't changed a bit, still warmer than he should be, still wearing the same deliciously oaky cologne she brought a few Christmases ago. The one he wore because he was convinced he smelled of chemicals. Like new silicone baking trays. Amongst other things. And he still holds her as if she is vanishing before his very eyes. 

Now more than ever, she thinks. Even at her scariest, most dire moments, when his hand was the only thing holding her to the face of the Earth, he never squeezed so desperately. 

“Samuels,” she whispers, turning her face from his shoulder to nestle into the crook of his neck. His grip eases as if foreseeing the 'you're hurting me' or 'that's enough now' coming. “When was the last time you had a rest cycle?” 

“Since the morning.” 

“You sleeping every day now?” Amanda steps back hesitantly, her thumbs rubbing his forearms. 

“No,” he clarifies. “The morning I woke up and you were gone.” 

Her heart gives a punishing ache, but presented with the opportunity to make things right, she wasn’t going to screw it up again. “’Kaye. C’mon. Bed with you. Now.” 

“I'd rather be here. You're due to go to work soon and I haven’t seen you in-”

“Fuck work. You need me. You need somebody.” She wriggles up behind him shoves his waist forward. “Rest cycle for you, then if you want, I'll duck out and pick up some dinner. Maybe Italian and a bottle of wine, and if you're really lucky, or the wine is good, I'll stay the night. But only if you’re prepared to turn everything back on over dinner and we talk about this. Properly.” 

“Wait, you'll truly stay?”

She nods her head as he peers over his shoulder. “Couch or spare room. Or would you prefer I went home? Just figured, you might want the company.”

“No! No, of course I do. Please.” He's not even able to change out of his work suit before he's pushed roughly on the bed, the throw rug at the base is dragged up to his chin. Amanda at least unfastens a few buttons of his shirt and unhooks his tie. “What will you be doing while I rest? It'll take-” he seems to calculate, discomfort and disappointment falling over him, “four hours, twenty-five minutes.”

Ripley flops down the the bedside chair, pulling out her phone. “I'll just be here, for when you come to.” 

“Alright.” Christopher hums, rolling onto his side, his eyes fluttering closed. Looking as close to a dead battery as she had ever seen him, though physically at full charge. “Before I- I am out, I want you to know, I’m so happy to see you, Amanda.” 

“Happy.” She teases gently. “And how can you tell without-?”

“They’re already back online.”