#his old photos never fail to bring back the wonder to this sad world

[sevensebong]

given how grim things have been and how they've gotten worse with people reaching a whole new level of gross and degenerate using his grandfather's passing to insult him, i would like to share some lovely nuggets of baby Heung + a remarkable parent embarrassment cameo by papa son

[ajoytobeheld]

Ellen: it's been an awfully big adventure

December 7th, 2012

I don’t know how to start this, other then diving right in so….I’ll dive.

It is with a sad face I have to report that I am leaving Los Campesinos!. The show on the 15th of December in London will be my last, and I shall spend it struggling not to cry. Please don’t point out my tears if you come along. Simply pretend it is eye sweat.

Over the last seven years I have been blessed, not by God, because he doesn’t exist, but with opportunities and a life I will not fully appreciate until I am about forty-five. I will look back at old photos of the band, with our smooth skin and questionable hair, and go “fuck me. That was mental.”

The past and present members of Los Campesinos! have been my family for the last seven years and seen me at my lowest, my highest, my most angry, sad, happy, broken, fixed, grown up and immature. They have seen me fail, succeed, let myself and them down, learn the hard way, but they have also seen me grow. And they have always had my back, and I hope, I sincerely hope, I have done my best to have theirs.

There is not a terribly exciting reason for me leaving, (so please start some exciting rumours), I am just going to try something new. Fulfil my ambitions of becoming a failed writer and developing a opium habit. It’s all going to be very retro. I leave with the upmost love and support from the band, but I have requested my replacement not be too cool.

I would say I am sad to go, but that is too simple a word for the variety of emotions I have swimming around my head right now. I am sad, but mostly I am drowning in warm and happy flashbacks, vinaigrette images of us all laughing in the van on long drives across America. Joe Puleo, tour manager, at the front telling a story, Jason playing quizmaster and hosting a game of “Guess the Song,” from an app he has downloaded, and we all scream out responses. Rob taking photos of the scenery on his lomo, Neil watching gangster epics on his laptop, and maybe later on this long long drive Paul and Tom will play Tiger Woods Golf whilst I work out how long I can hold my bladder for before requesting we stop. I was the most frequenter pee needer on long drives. I am not ashamed of this. I owned it.

I felt warm and safe on those drives, listening to everyone tell stories, share experiences, make each other laugh. I am lucky to have shared a hotel room with so many exceptional ladies over the years, Aleks, Harriet and especially Kim, who shared my fear of the cold, love of porridge and put up with my ability to make a mess in any room in under 5 seconds. Starting and ending the day together, we did some good chatting.

I have seen a lot of this world, and I didn’t have to go on a gap year to do it. I have travelled across the breadth and depth of the US and the UK and I have seen a lot of different faces, and sampled a lot of backstage humus.I have seen a lot of graffitied backstage cocks.

I have met and worked with countless wonderful, interesting and horrifically talented people inside the industry, inside the venues, inside the recording studie and inside our practice space. (I won’t gush too much about how talented the people in the band are, you might get diabetes from my sincerity, but it has been a pleasure and a privilege to play the music that Tom writes.)

Also fans. Fans are awesome. You made it possible for us record an album in Seattle. To play a show outside of Wales. To play in a baseball stadium in Japan. A haunted restaurant in Santa Cruz. a handful of US universities and see Mexico! I saw Mexico! You girls and guys are truly humbling, and I hope I never took you for granted too much. I probably did. Thank you for knowing the words, for bringing cakes, and books, and t-shirts, and comics, and buying us drinks and for waiting and driving miles and cheering and clapping. For reading or watching or listening to anything we have ever done. Thanks. You kept us going and will continue to be the life blood of the Los Campesinos! family.

I was trawling through old photos trying to find the best one to represent a start and an ending, but I got lost in old memories and the process of ageing.

(God we looked young, look at our skin! Look at our clothes! Cardigans and ripped up Distillers t shirts, oh I still have that.)

I have eons of photos of the band at the start, at rehearsals, house parties, with experimental hair, (mine black, Gareth long and wispy, Neil’s fringe nearly covering his eyes and Tom always wearing his hat) and at our first shows. I remember when we first started, our summer of label romance where everyone wanted to take us out for a pub meal, and all we ever did was go out in Cardiff drinking and dancing. We said we would change our last names to Campesinos! if we ever played in the states, but we tempted fate, and we never changed out names but we did get to go to America a lot.

I sometimes wonder what alternative universe me would be doing if she didn’t go to that first rehearsal in Ollie’s bedroom. I think she is picking her nose right now in a bath of baked beans, bored and crazy because she spent all day in an office sitting next to a woman who told her about the time she slept with a navy seal. No one cares Brenda.

So 500 plus gigs, millions of air miles, gallons of backstage whisky and wine, a tonne of sweaty cheese and pita bread, a litre of tears shed on stage, hundreds of “don’t fuck up,” panics, hundreds of fuck ups, hundreds of “this is blowing my mind” moments whilst starring into a sea of unfamiliar and impassioned faces, break ups and ill advised hook ups later (don’t date musicians, like ever, we’re all mental,) I realise I have seen all the travel lodges, service stations, and states of America (apart from Alaska) and I have tasted more Marks and Spencer’s meals then I thought possible. I’ve been with some of the finest people I know doing a very unnatural thing, which is both the best and the worst experience and often at the same time, but never the same any given year. And we have done it fucking well. The best we can.

God I’m being dramatic, but I can’t help it, I was a middle child.

So some more self-indulgence.

I want to thank some people for being ace. John Goodmanson – a brilliant producer and a lesson in style and grace under pressure. Joe Puleo – the best tour manager, you never feel anything but safe in his company. Kelly Pickard – inspiration, mentor, wisest woman. Paul Rattcliff- The loyalist soundman whom gives so much. Kev and Alun and Mark Bowen, Wichita, Ben and Vicky, Gareth Dobson, anyone we have toured with or supported or who I have met along the way, everyone I forgot. I haven’t forgot, I am thinking about you.

My mum, because she told me I could be anything and do anything except get my tongue pierced. And I did that anyway, and she still wasn’t mad at me.

And the band.. Kim, Jason, Gareth, Tom, Neil and Rob who I will miss sharing experiences with that no one will understand, I love you guys. Like, loads. From our first Sweet Dreams, until our last, thanks.

Okay, too long, too emo. Bye bye.

Ellen x

[bigteefsmallbrain]

Soul Eater: General headcanons - Adults

@zorgammazoo you didn’t specify which adults so I did Stein, Spirit, Blair, Medusa, and Death! I hope you enjoy it!

Warning, Stein is a freaky child with corpses in this, and is not mentally sound.

Franken Stein:

When he was younger, he used to play with animal corpses

Probably started with him finding a dead rat and he decided to stick toothpicks into it

Maybe something crawled out of it, maybe he just liked watching coagulated blood squish out of it’s bloated body

Either way, this was the seed to his fascination with experimentation

He was a A+ student, not because he’s a try hard, but because the teachers would excuse his odd behavior because of it

He liked studying advanced science and medical procedures

Probably took a lot of night classes and didn’t sleep a lot, which clouded his judgement

Hence his insane persona

He’s a grade A doctor, certified, but lost his license on day one

Probably forgot he was trying to SAVE the patent, and ended up blending their organs like a smoothie and trying to bring them back to life, just to see what would happen

He has extremely fluffy pillows

He can twist and turn those cogs all he wants, they hurt when lying down

He needs pillows that are 12 inches thick at LEAST to be able to sleep comfortably

If he does sleep that is

It’s a rare occasion when he does

He actually misses Spirit, not for his experimentation, but his company

Spirit was probably the first one to actually put up with him and his creepy behavior

So losing him was a new experience

And kind of hurt

This was probably the point where he gained some semblance of mind

Was a bit more open to kindness and care

Spirit Albarn:

You mean Tamaki Suoh if he was a horrible flirt?

I said what I said

And I stand by it

He’s Tamaki Suoh in a different font

Dumb, obsessed with his daughter, womanizer

Boxes checked, he fits the bill

He definitely fell in love at first sight

Not necessarily with Maka’s mom, though he did with her too

But I mean with every woman he has ever liked

He’d see them, and bam, in love

Probably got slapped a lot for randomly proclaiming his love to strangers

When he met Stein, it probably started out with him being romantically interested

LOOK ME IN THE EYE AND TELL ME SPIRIT ALBARN IS STRAIGHT, YOU CAN’T

As time went on Spirit probably started seeing Stein as more of a friend than a partner

Probably still cares about Stein, despite the fear he feels towards him

He also frequently writes to Maka’s mother

Has probably gone on trips to find her so he can properly apologize

He tries to ignore the guilt when he’s around other women

Mostly because he can only see Maka’s mother when he looks at them, and it physically hurts his heart

He’s ready to literally toss his life away for his daughter

He cares so very deeply for her

And supports her no matter what

He would willingly die protecting her

Whatever she asks of him, he would do without question

That probably includes murder under certain circumstances (i.e. a boy breaks her heart)

Blair:

She doesn’t know what's inappropriate or not

I mean literally

She’s a cat, she doesn’t know that giving a little kid lingerie is bad

Nor does she know what pedophilia is

Concepts like consent and adultery were never taught to her, so she really just doesn’t know

Literally doesn’t know what she’s doing, just likes seeing the funny faces people pull when she does things

She doesn’t purposefully flash anyone

She just thinks their reactions are hilarious

So she keeps doing it

She elongates slightly when someone picks her up

Her back just stretches with her body

You have to pick her up a few extra inches

She also actively keeps her feet on the ground for as long as possible when someone does this

She only takes bubble baths

Strictly because they smell good

And it’s fun to play with the bubbles

Doesn’t know how to read

She knows maybe a few words

But other than that, she can’t read

Medusa Gorgon:

Oh how time has made her bitter

She is, 800+ years old, and has seen sh*t splatter the walls

And people wonder why she turned out the way she did

She’s had to see lives come and go

Lovers promise to stay, only to fade

I can see why she would be bitter and such

Was probably a very kind woman in the beginning

The type to comfort you when you cried

Help you win your ex back

Just in general be so sweet and caring

Like how she acted when she was nurse at the DWMA, but like, that was her genuine self

Her bitterness probably started to fester when her friends and lover started dying for the first time

But she wasn’t

She wasn’t aging

Her lover had grown white hair and wrinkles

Her friends turned old and grey

She probably tried to save them, but ended up failing

And she tried again and again

Eventually giving up, isolating herself, going insane, seeing life as feeble and useless

She probably saw a part of her past lovers in Stein, hence her “Love” for him

But it was more of her pushing the image of a past lover onto him, romanticizing it a bit

She could have possibly thought he was a reincarnation

Honestly, all those years could have made her delusional too and she could have thought it was actually them

Death:

He’s a good father, really, but probably accidentally influenced his son’s betrayal and other son’s perfectionist views with his want for a perfect world

The idea of a perfect world filled with peace was probably because he wanted to let his sons live in a world full of peace

Though his first son probably thought he was standing in his fathers shadow and let rage consume him

And his second son took it a bit too seriously, and became a perfectionist in hopes of pleasing his father

He’s exceptionally good with kids

Time will do that to you

He uses a high pitched voice and friendly outward appearance to put others at ease

Has probably babysat children for the staff members before

Unlike Medusa, 800+ years turned him wise, and made him treasure human life

Hence his want for peace and a perfect world

He already knew he was different, and so any bonds he made with mortals, he treasured

He’s actually very emotional when thinking of his friends, weapons, and possibly lovers

Has been known to sob during these times

Has a few paintings/photos of all the people he’s made emotional bonds too

He also cries when watching the students grow up, especially his second son

And cries when thinking about his first son

Wants to live without regrets, but mulls over his first son

Constantly thinks about what he could have done wrong

If there were any signs he should have seen

If there was a chance to save him from the darkness

Definitely has thought about what it would be like if his first son remained by his side, and how amazing of an older brother he would make

Has fantasized about having his family all together

About living in that perfect world with his sons

About how happy they would be

How happy he would be to watch them grow

To watch them love

Be there when they’re sad

And support them through everything

I’m not crying, I swear-

I hope you like these General Soul Eater Headcanons for the adults! You never said which adults in specific, so I went with these guys! Thank you for the ask!

[zee-writes-and-draws]

Normal world AU where the different buildings are just random groups of people and all of them ended up moving to the small village near the supposedly ‘haunted’ mountain that Samon and Enki grew up on bc property values are low as shit, and all of the minors are adopted by the guards. Qi has basically just grabbed Upa and Liang and ran the hell away from the Chinese mafia. Samon sees this random man dragging two half-dead children with him and this is now the very first time any of the new residents of the village find out the ‘hauntings’ that lowered property values were just a teenage Enki post massive growth spurt and a very small and over-energetic Samon that haven’t been seen in well over a decade.

- Hajime has, unfortunately, agreed to look after Jyugo and Nico while Rock and Uno try to find legal jobs, but it’s a lot on him. He and Seitarou help Uno and Rock fight a case to get custody of the two minors. Yamato is helping Tsukumo get a restraining order against his former agent and various paparazzi, as well as going to therapy so he doesn’t constantly feel the need to put on a persona in front of others. Hajime is a teacher at the local school (since there’s a decent number of local kids and then the building children), Yamato is the school’s coach, and Seitarou sells uniforms/cute festival stuff but is also occasionally seen working with the age 7 and below kids because they’re all very small and nice.

- Kiji is trying to cure Honey of his anger management issues and Trois of his pyromaniac tendencies. His day job is making and testing makeup that everyone buys, like mascara and eyeliner and hair gel. His second in command is working in one of the other small shops, selling everyone clothes (he and Seitarou make the clothing together).

- Kenshirou is only here because some of his dogs are sick and this village has been weirdly good for their health. Along the way he lets Musashi and Hitoshi stay with him because they help on chores and the dogs love both of them very much. He helps with the local stray problem by opening a shelter and rehabilitating most of them (the few who can’t be fixed to near-perfect health are still loved and cared for). Hitoshi bakes lots of food and sells it at Shiro’s restaurant, which is also why his presence is appreciated. Musashi tutors online part-time after Mitsuru rigged up wifi for them. Between all three of their jobs they can afford a place that’s small but has four tiny rooms so each person can a private space. (They sleep in the living room that’s been transformed into the group bedroom).

- Mitsuru is considered the local nuisance in so many ways, but after all of his loudspeakers and amplifiers have been confiscated he’s forced to resort back to regular hand-made instruments, so he at least gets to learn something entertaining as he irritates everyone with his noise-making. He and Momoko live in the same house but there’s a line drawn on the inside and outside that splits the house in half so everyone realizes in all of ten seconds they’re not actually together together, just saving on rent as long-term friends. Momoko works on managing the more official stuff to keep the town from being erased. She’s the unofficial (until the next election of course) mayor of the town at this point. Mitsuru’s day job is rigging up stuff like wifi and helping Hajime with his shop class at the high school.

- Shiro moved here after hearing how wonderful the cuisine is. He approves of being able to gather fresh ingredients on the mountain. Rock is frequently seen at his restaurant, both as a customer and as a worker. Hitoshi was recruited within a week. (Hajime has some mixed feelings but Rock mostly stops acting like an idiot after the first day, so it works out well)

- Inori and Ruka moved here years ago (and dragged the Daisen brothers with them) and are pretty much the only residents who were here before everyone started moving out and the buildings moved in. They’re the only ones initially who know the story behind the hauntings and never shared it out of indifference. Inori works in construction of new buildings/clearing rubble from the old, the Daisen trio help train the different sports teams at the school, and Ruka technically co-owns the makeup business with Kiji but his preferred job is as an unofficial swimming instructor because the two of them don’t get along.

- Samon and Enki bring the village supplies and materials from the mountain and trade this way. Samon has a notable weakness for ice pops, popsicles, and zakuro shaved ice, which he gets to surprise Enki on days it seems like he might want it. The new residents are all pleasantly surprised by how sweet Noriko is. Shiro offers her a job after trying some of her desserts. She bakes on weekends and holidays only to avoid overexerting herself, but the rest of the time her jobs include checking people in, taking orders to Shiro and Rock, and keeping peace if someone starts arguments. Houzuki is the area acupuncture specialist and medic until the Otogi family moves in, but he switches to full time acupuncture and massage therapy after they take up the practice. (they’re better than him at medicine anyways and he’s ok with admitting it).

- Liang and Upa love training on the mountain. Rock joins them frequently, often chatting with Liang as they race up. Qi is marginally less interested in physical activity, but he’s willing to make the hike up with them because of the amazing plant both during the hike and at the arrival itself. In the long run, doing some exercise in this form helps him with his mental health a lot and makes him happier. Tsukumo joins occasionally and talking to Qi helps him gradually come out of his shell.

- Trois takes to the challenge of trying to be constructive in building things instead of weapons and explosives. The downside is he frequently teams up with Mitsuru (who has the most equipment necessary) and therefore there are unique ways of getting around the idea of non-destructive inventions. Honey figures out ways to get Mitsuru his speakers back on the condition that he can use the wiring for his capsules.

- Nico ends up really sad about the lack of wifi so he tries to work with Mitsuru to improve tech, but he’s got a hard time reading the manuals so now Musashi, accompanied by either Uno or Trois depending on the day, can be seen teaching Nico how to read instruction manuals.

- Yamato is still very proud of his Japanese heritage, but he also frequently encourages others to appreciate the culture they live in and the culture they came from. Thanks to him, there’s a small festival hosted each year where everyone brings something like food or games or clothing from their culture and share it with everyone.

- Kiji takes it as a personal challenge to help teach normal world culture to at least one of the Gokuu brothers. Enki is far less willing to go along with the idea that he needs help from someone, so it’s Samon. Inori, who had a similar idea for the last eleven years, is currently trying to teach Samon how to drive. It’s yielding mixed results, but he takes really well to motorbikes. Hajme and Samon have a brief ceasefire whenever the subject of motorcycles comes up.

- No one is allowed to bring up the time that Hajime got lost in the mountain. No  one.

- Kuu comes and goes as he pleases. Mostly he stays at Hajime’s house but sometimes he’ll somehow appear wherever Samon Enki and Noriko are presently staying and lies down in the lap of whoever is trying to meditate. Enki tries to ignore Kuu (and fails), Samon will give him small scritches and complain about Hajime in a quiet tone, and Noriko feeds and pets him.

- In their spare time, many of the adults critique the prison systems they rescued the others from. Kiji, Hajime, and Kenshirou work with Enki to fix things on a bureactraic level, frequently accompanied by Momoko when she isn’t a sole representative in front of various international governments. Hajime knows the prison model perfectly, Kenshirou understands the police aspect that ties into it, and Kiji has several decades of experience serving as a prison guard, and their combined knowledge leads to many of their proposals being pushed pretty far up the ranks. 

- Samon is working on fixing prisons on the level of how each inmate is treated. All the official and formal changes in the world don’t change that there’s also issues with inmates not receiving care, sufficient entertainment, decent things for purchase and not just whether or not they can afford them, all sorts of stuff that slips past the cracks in the paperwork. He’s also the one who’s pushing for  more rehabilitation programs with Kiji and Mitsuru’s help. Between Samon’s knowledge of physical needs of people, Kiji’s balanced addition of general knowledge of what kind of education and paperwork prisoners need for proper rehabilitation to stick, and Mitsuru’s experience in communication, they have a very solid structure. Mitsuru’s ability to middleman and talk to Momoko also helps push their ideas forward.

- Slowly the buildings become more friendly towards one another. Upa smiles more because Nico helped him get out of his shell, there is a photo of Tsukumo laughing as himself for the first time hanging on the wall of Shiro’s restaurant, and Kenshirou’s dogs all adopted different humans to befriend and bond with. Qi gradually gets over his fear of dogs thanks to Musashi and ends up adopting one who works as a service dog for him and keeps him away from panic attacks and self-harming attempts, as well as (gradually) learning how to tell what kind of health Upa and Liang are presently in and alerting the doctor if necessary.

- The time-honored tradition of feuds between the different non-inmates and adults in charge of them continues, but they added in some new competitions. There are now options for multi-building tug-of-war, kids vs adults (and variations) relays, one v one competitions, and general tomfuckery. Most of the time Momoko is the referee, Mitsuru commentates, and although they rarely join in, they tend to tag-team and secure a near-effortless victory. If it’s every person for themselves, Momoko wins unless distracted by Hajime, at which point the rule of funny is frequently used to determine a victor.

[isthisthingeven0n]

leave a message : s.r

on route to a crime scene to meet spencer, you leave him a voicemail message after he doesn’t answer your call. little does spencer know, that would be the last time he’d ever hear your voice. (2.3k)

it’s v angsty, and kinda sad. but there’s a fluffy(ish) ending. i took inspiration from s8ep19 for part of this, but I hope you enjoy! 

“Hi, this is Doctor Spencer Reid. I’m sorry I can’t take your call at the moment but do leave a message and I will get back to you.” You smile at the formal answer machine Spencer has always had. In all the years you’ve known him, it’s never failed to lift your spirits, even if you can’t speak to the real him, a voice mail will do for now. 

Rossi glances over to you, noting the smile falling from your lips as the officer continues to drive through traffic. “Hey Spence, Rossi and I are on our way to the crime scene, Garcia said there’s something important you’ve found?” You glance up ahead at the red light, hearing Rossi tut as he checks his own phone. 

“Downtown for ya.” The driver inputs, easing the moment of uncomfortable silence. “I know a shortcut, hold on.” He quickly adds, and as the light turns green, he turns to the left instead of right. 

“Just let us know when we see you, I love you.” You hang up after that, leaning back against the seat. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Rossi quips, knowing you all too well to know you rarely say those three words in public, let alone to a voicemail message. 

Putting your phone back into your pocket, you shuffle in the seat, tugging on the seatbelt as you turn to face Rossi. “Not really, I, I don’t think so at least.” You explain, but you’re holding back. 

“Did you have a fight last night?” Rossi questions, having noticed like the others how you and Spencer had been distant when you turned up for work this morning, neither of you even looking at each other. 

“It wasn’t much of a fight, Rossi.” You try to joke as you swallow back the lump in your throat. “I’ve been offered a promotion, counter terrorism in New York.” You begin to explain, watching as Rossi quirks an eyebrow. 

“And what, you don’t want it?” Hearing someone else say it, you realise how ridiculous it sounds. 

Why wouldn’t you want this job? You’d be living in New York, working for a team that you’ve heard countless things about and would have more structure in life. 

“I don’t want to leave the team behind.” You mutter, blocking out the officer in the driver’s seat as he navigates his ‘shortcut.’ “It sounds stupid, but I know if I went for this job, I’d lose you all slowly but surely. Spencer included.” 

Rossi sighs internally, wondering how you kids end up with these thoughts sometimes. “Y/n, dear, you’d never lose us.” Rossi tells you with an encouraging smile as you nod along. “We’re family, through and through.” He adds seeing that familiar smile cross your face once more.

“Thanks, Rossi.” You tell him quietly. “I just-” 

Before you can finish, Rossi’s phone begins to ring. “Hey Hotch,” Rossi answers his phone, and you slum back into your seat as a thousand thoughts cloud your mind, leaving you oblivious to the car approaching you until Rossi’s body covers yours. 

“Y/n!” Rossi screams as you shut your eyes tightly, feeling the impact as your body lurches forward, slamming into the driver’s seat and everything goes dark. 

*

With his back against his front door, Spencer replays the same message once again. 

“Hey Spence, Rossi and I are on our way to the crime scene, Garcia said there’s something important you’ve found?”

He listens as you pause, the driver stating he’d find a shortcut, one that would ultimately end in disaster. 

“Just let us know when we see you, I love you.” Spencer can hear the regret lining your voice, knowing it’s centred around your brief argument about your future together, about your future career and whether to take it. 

You shouldn’t have gone to sleep on an argument, that was something Spencer wishes he could take back. 

If he could reverse the clock, he’d go back to that night and apologise. He’d tell you to stay, that you could move into his place and make it a home. Spencer would do anything to make you smile, he’d give up everything to hear your voice once more. 

But until then, a voicemail will have to do. 

*

Walking into the bullpen, heads turn as Spencer holds his satchel close to his chest. “Spence,” JJ breathes out, bringing Spencer into a tight hug that he doesn’t have the might to reciprocate, not yet. 

“Hi,” He barely whispers, and instead focuses on the small part of the case he can help on. For now, it’s enough of a distraction. 

Yet, as Spencer passes your absent desk, he tenses up. “Spencer, it’s okay.” Derek speaks up, resting his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. 

“It’s not.” Spencer mutters, shrugging Derek’s hand off as he retreats from the bullpen and hides in the elevator, waiting to disappear back into his own world where reality doesn’t have to exist, a reality where you’re still here. 

As the elevator doors close, the team exchange glances. “It’s too soon,” Hotch states as he picks up the fallen paperwork that was left on your desk. “but we have each other, and Spencer will open up when he’s ready.” 

JJ nods as her heart sinks at the sight of your bare desk alongside Spencer’s, knowing she’ll never see you sneaking looks to your boyfriend or the late nights of paperwork where your laugh lightened the moods of everyone. 

Weaving through the baskets left outside of his door, Spencer falls back down on the ground between various books he threw off the shelves days ago in a rage. 

Logically, Spencer knows there are five stages of grief. He knows he’s teetering on the edge of denial and leaning towards anger, but he doesn’t know how to be angry about it. All he feels is lost, and so, he takes his phone and lies on the ground. 

Staring up at his ceiling, Spencer holds onto his satchel tightly, imagining it was you in his arms as he replays your voicemail message, hearing your voice as tears fall down his cheeks. 

*

It hadn’t been long enough, but Spencer couldn’t take the silence of his apartment, the empty feeling in his heart. He needed a distraction, craved something to keep his mind occupied for hours on end to stop the regret sinking further into his subconscious. 

“Reid,” Rossi speaks up, and Spencer tenses for a second before turning around, seeing Rossi leaning on a crutch. “it’s good to see you, kid.” 

Spencer keeps a tight-lipped smile as he nods to his senior. “How is the pain in your leg?” Spencer asks, now seeing Rossi is applying more weight to his left leg and the stitches he had in his face have been removed. 

“Better,” Rossi nods. “how are you doing, Spencer?” 

Clearing his throat, Spencer lifts up a series of newspapers and places them on his desk for Rossi to see. “I’ve been looking into a series of murders across the country, and I think there’s a connection no one is picking up on.” Spencer delves into his work, blocking out any thoughts of you and your last moments with Rossi in that car. 

As Spencer continues his explanation, all Rossi can focus on is the red in Spencer’s eyes, how fidgety he is and the dark circles that have settled beneath his eyes. 

“Have you been sleeping, Spencer?” Rossi interrupts, and Spencer pauses as his mouth remains a gap, unsure what to say. 

“I, I can’t.” Spencer quietly admits, and Rossi simply nods before motioning for Spencer to follow him into his office. 

Once the door is closed, Rossi walks over to his desk and takes a seat opposite Spencer who scans over various awards and framed copies of Rossi’s books. Part of him wonders if he’d have his divorce papers on display, but that would be a question for another day.

“Is it about Y/n?” Rossi leans over his table, noticing how Spencer holds his breath at the mention of your name and quickly runs his hands over his trousers repeatedly. 

“I, whenever I close my eyes, all I can see is her in that hospital bed as her heart rate stopped.” Spencer mutters, that image forever being burned into his mind as he was forced out of the room no sooner than he arrived. “I never got to say goodbye.” He whispers as tears form in his eyes, but he sniffs to distract himself. 

Rossi looks down at the photo on his desk. It’s one that no one else sees beside himself- one of his family, of the whole team at his mansion during one of their pasta nights. He’ll never forget your laugh as Spencer squirmed at the squid you held up in his face whilst he recited facts about squid ink. 

“Y/n wouldn’t want you like this Spencer,” Rossi starts, knowing he’s walking on thin ice as Spencer focuses on him intently. “you need to take care of yourself, kid. I told you about my Uncle Sid and,”

“And the old car that he did up, yeah.” Spencer finishes, and Rossi can see a slither of humour lining Spencer’s expression. “I’m just not sure how to, Rossi.” Spencer admits with a heavy heart. 

“Why don’t you sleep in here? Take the couch for a few hours.” Rossi suggests, motioning to the long leather couch to Spencer’s right. “You’ll be undisturbed, and it’s away from your own place.” 

Spencer nods along, the temptation beginning to set in as he rises to his feet. “Thanks, Rossi.” 

Nearing his door, Rossi glances back to see Spencer hesitantly nearing the sofa before sitting down. “We’re all here for you, kid.” Rossi reminds Spencer. “We, we all miss her.” 

Tears brim Spencer’s eyes as Rossi closes the door, leaving Spencer to lie down on the sofa and within minutes of closing his eyes he passes out. 

*

The doors to the elevator open, yet it’s quiet. The usual bustle of the office is absent, and confusion etches itself into Spencer’s expression as he walks through the glass doors to see you sitting on his desk, two coffees beside you. 

“‘Bout time you turned up.” You giggle, and Spencer pauses as he focuses on you. “I was beginning to think you’d never allow yourself a break, Spence.” 

Walking closer toward you, Spencer pauses in front of you. “You’re here?” The words are barely audible as they pass his lips. 

“Technically, I am.” You shrug your shoulder before lifting one of the coffee cups, taking a long sip. “This is your dream, Spencer. But, this is also mine as I’ve been waiting to tell you something.” 

Spencer watches as you slide off of his desk and reach out, taking his hand in yours. “You’re here.” A watery laugh leaves his lips as you squeeze his hand tightly, not wanting to let go, not just yet.

“Spence, I, I’m so sorry.” You begin to explain, but Spencer shakes his head. “No, please, let me just, let me say this.” You move closer, resting your hand on his cheek as Spencer leans into your embrace, feeling you wipe away his tears with your thumb. 

“Okay,” Spencer mumbles as his eyes lock with yours, a sight he’ll never stop missing when he wakes up in the mornings. 

“I just want to say thank you for making me so happy. For making the past three years the happiest of my life, and I know, I know we didn’t have the ending we envisioned.” You trail off as you look around the bullpen, your second home where you first met the love of your life. 

Spencer could see you struggling for words, but didn’t want to interrupt. He needed to hear this in full, he needs something else to hear you say other than that voicemail message. 

“But I want you to be happy, Spence. You deserve to be happy and carry on with your life.” You explain, but Spencer shakes his head in protest. “Baby, please.” 

“I can’t,” Spencer states as you lift your other hand up, resting it on his other cheek. “I can’t without you, Y/n.” 

“You can, Spence.” You tell him with your whole heart, no matter how much it hurts you both. “I want you to be happy, and for you to fall in love, to carry on with the team, to carry on watching Doctor Who with Penelope and watch Henry grow up.” Tears freely fall down your cheeks now and Spencer wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest. 

“But you won’t be there,” He admits, resting his chin on the top of your head as he closes his eyes, not wanting to forget how you felt in his arms. 

“Oh Spencer,” You chuckle as you look up at him. “I’ll always be here, even if you can’t see me.” 

“I know that’s supposed to be sweet, Y/n. But it sounds slightly terrifying.” Spencer laughs and you join in, rolling your eyes. 

“Way to ruin a moment, Spence.” You chuckle, your smile lighting up your entire face as Spencer homes in on every detail. “I’ll be around if you ever need to talk, but you need to heal.” You sigh, knowing it won’t be easy, but it’s necessary. 

“I’ll always love you, Y/n.” Spencer tells you, watching as you begin to step away from him. 

“I know, Spence.” You smile as a bright light encapsulates you. “I love you, Doctor Reid, don’t be so hard on yourself, okay?” 

*

Opening his eyes, Spencer sits upright as his cheeks remain wet. 

Looking down, a fresh cup of coffee sits on the floor beside him and the door to Rossi’s office remains ajar. 

“I’ll never forget you, Y/n.” Spencer mutters as he lifts the cup of coffee to his lips, remembering how you introduced yourself with the same cup in hand three years ago. “Rest easy, baby.” He closes his eyes as he takes a long sip, knowing you’ll be there watching over him and your family, loving them all from afar. 

[squirrel-moose-winchester]

My Girl

Title: My Girl

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1600

Square Filled: Childhood Friends

Summary: There are rumors going around the neighborhood that Dean was coming back home to Lawrence for a visit. Needing clarification of said rumors, you made your way to the Winchester house. When you arrived, your question was quickly answered and then some.

Warnings: Fluff, Eavesdropping, Angst if you squint, and just really cheesy stuff (that I can’t get enough of.)

Written for @spndeanbingo​

Disclaimer: Not my gif, and all mistakes are mine!

A/N: I don’t know why this one was so hard to write! It was so weird, but I’ve done it and I tried my best to make this super fluffy because I wanted to. All my other trials were really angsty and dark and I just couldn’t stand it. Anyways, I hope you like your fics super cheesy, because that’s what you’re getting. Cheese with an extra side of more cheese! Hahaha. Happy Reading!

There were rumors going around town that Dean was coming back to Lawrence for a visit. Wanting answers, you headed to the Winchester household on your day off, but definitely not empty handed. Out of the goodness of your heart, you also decided to bring over a homemade cherry pie, fresh out the oven. Also, you specifically remember John saying, at church, how much he’s been craving one. What better way to kill two birds with one stone?

You stepped up to the front door, hitting your knuckles against the painted wood. After taking a step back, it took a few seconds before the door opened.

“Surprise, I made cherry pie—” You chirped, raising the pie in front of you. but lost your voice as you saw Dean standing in front of you. “Dean!” You screamed with excitement, jumping into his arms, nearly dropping the pie, but thankfully Mary was near enough to catch it in time.

The older woman laughed as she watched you and her son greet each other. Dean chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist and hoisting you into the air, causing you to kick your feet up. The question you came to ask had instantly been answered and you were ecstatic.

“Looks like I surprised you more than you surprised us, huh?” he laughed.

“I was actually coming here to drop off the pie and ask your mom if the rumors of you coming home was true and then, bam! There you are! It totally caught me off guard.”

“Good morning to you too,” Mary tried to feign hurt, but failed through her giggles.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Mary. Good morning! And I also made you guys a cherry pie. I remember John saying he’s been craving one lately, so I took it upon myself to grant wishes,” you joked.

“Oh… with Dean here, I’m not sure this pie will make it in time for John to even try it,” Mary joked back.

After the brief greeting at the door, Mary ushered you into the house, navigating you to the living room. She observed the way you nearly ran into the corner of the small table by the entrance, how you almost ran into the wall, and how you barely made it on the couch, all because you couldn’t take your eyes off of her eldest son.

The whole scene reminded her of back when you, Dean, and Sam were little. She remembered how you’d always try to gain Dean’s attention. You were so infatuated with him, always wanting to play with him, sit next to him, just over all be around him. They way you looked up to him always made Mary’s heart melt. She thought it was the most precious thing in the world. She still did.

“Well, you kids talk and relax, I’m going to put this delicious looking pie in the kitchen to cool.” After watching Mary disappear into the kitchen, you turned to look at Dean finding him still smiling at you. You returned the gesture before going on with your questions.

“When did you get here?” You asked.

“Last night,” he admitted.

“Why are you here? How long are you staying? Want to go out for lunch later?” you spitfire.

“Whoa,” Dean laughed. “I’m here because I just needed some time to get away, to clear my head. Honestly, I just broke up with my girlfriend.”

His confession caught you off guard. You didn’t know he even had a girlfriend. Dean noticed the change in your demeanor, the light in your eyes no longer there. You moved back, giving Dean a little space, space that Dean didn’t didn’t want.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you mumbled. “Maybe I should leave so you can have that time alone you came here for.”

When you went to stand up and leave, Dean grabbed onto your wrist. “Y/N, wait.” You stopped, looking back at Dean. His evergreen eyes pleading you to stay. Unable to resist, you sat back down.

“Fine. Look… to be completely honest with you, I’m not sad. I was the one that broke up with her.”

You gave him a curious look. “Why?” you thought out loud.

“Because… I found an old picture of us.” That peaked your interest. You wondered how a picture of you and him would have anything to do with him breaking up with his girlfriend.

“What does that have to do with me? Are you saying that it’s my fault the two of you broke up? I mean, I wasn’t even there. I didn’t do anything…” You were almost offended.

“No. No, that’s not what I’m saying. All I’m saying is that when I found the picture it made me smile. It brought a light into me that I haven’t felt in a long time, not since I left Lawrence. The only time I felt that light was when I was here, and that’s when I realized that the light was you. It was being close to you. It never dawned on me till I found this picture. Like everything just made sense. I saw the photo, and… I don’t know. I missed you.”

You were not expecting such an explanation. Dean practically confessed that he was in love with you… right? Maybe you’re just being delusional because you were so in love with him that your mind is being stupid and misinterpreting everything he said.

“Wait, what?” was the first thing that came out of your mouth.

Dean chuckled breathily. “Stop over thinking. Yeah, I’m telling you I’m in love with you,” he blurted.

--

Without the two of you knowing, Mary was hiding behind the wall right beside the kitchen entrance listening to the whole conversation. Her lips were stretched in a wide grin, ecstatic from what she was hearing. It was her dream when you and Dean were younger. She would always talk about how one day the two of you would end up together.

Suddenly, she heard a car pull into the driveway, she did a little hop, while silently clapping her hands before heading outside to greet her husband. As she stepped out, John opened his mouth. “Hey baby, Y/N here—”

“Shh!” Mary hushed. “John it’s happening!” She squealed.

“What’s happening?” John asked confused.

“Dean and Y/N!”

“Mary, not this again,” John groaned.

“No, really! It is! Come here, come in!” Mary dragged him into the house, motioning him to remain quiet.

When John peeked over the wall, Dean was cupping your cheek, pulling you closer and closer until…

--

“How… when…” you didn’t know what to think at that point. You couldn’t believe that Dean had actually told you he was in love with you. In all honesty, you’ve daydreamed about all the ways he’d confess his love to you one day, but you never thought it would ever happen. The two of you were childhood friends and he’s never given you a second look before and now… “what?”

Dean laughed again. “Listen to me carefully,” Dean said, cupping your cheeks and bringing you closer so that you were only looking at him, although he didn’t need to because all you could do was look at him.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Y/N…” you nodded, “I, Dean Winchester, am in love with you.”

And suddenly, your lips were pressed against his. Your eyes shut with content, enjoying the feel of his slightly chapped lips slanting over your soft ones. When Dean pulled away, much to your reluctance, he cracked a smile when he heard you growl in protest, your beautiful eyes still closed.

“You good?” He asked.

“I was,” you fluttered your eyes open, looking up at him through your lashes, “until you pulled away.”

Dean couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh. “That’s my girl,” he cooed, pulling you into a hug.

--

John felt soft jabs to his arm. When he turned, Mary was punching him, doing a little happy dance. John chuckled at his wife’s excitement. “That’s my girl,” John mimic Dean’s words. “Now c’mon. Let’s leave these kids alone.”

--

“I bet my mom will be happy,” Dean whispered, slightly pulling away so he could rest his forehead against yours.

“Why?”

“Seriously?” Dean pulled away further, looking at you like you grew an extra head. “She’s been wanting us to get together ever since we were little.”

“Really? I never noticed,” you frowned.

Dean only laughed at your reaction, pulling you in again for another kiss. “Always oblivious,” he whispered.

You scoffed and punched Dean in the stomach just hard enough to surprise him. He grunted while he laughed. “That’s my girl.”

A/N: I told you it was just a bunch of cheesy fluff! LOL! I hope you liked it!! Please leave some feedback and reblog to help me get my fic seen by more friends! I thank you in advance, and I also hope you all are doing okay! xx

[oceanera12]

Linked Wilderness (Part 3)

Part 1

Part 2

Wild get’s the present of his sister. And then she gives him a present.

Alright! This is the last focus on Wild I SWEAR. You are not the only boy I need to make suffer.

It was a week since her brother and traveling buddies had left, when she got the letter. How she got said letter was a mystery in itself (mail had been a bit spotty since the Calamity), and she had no idea how it was coming through time but there it was!

The letter was short and sweet.

“Rhea, Wind told me that I need to start writing you. I told him I do not know if these will even find you, but the postman hasn’t failed us yet so here we go. Things have been pretty quiet with us. Killed a few moblins, but nothing too major. I hope you are well. Wild Link”

Rhea felt like jumping for joy. She hurriedly wrote a response.

...before realizing she had no idea how to mail it to him.

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

Wild was surprised when the postman arrived with two letters for him. One was from Flora. The other was Rhea’s. Wild opened it very carefully, Twilight on one side and Wind on the other.

“Dear Link, Normally, I would ask how a letter from you reached me here. But with everything I heard during your visit, I suppose it is not the craziest thing I have heard. Or seen. I am doing well, thank you for your concern. The neighbors brought me an apple pie yesterday. I shared it with Epona.”

Twilight scoffed. “You two spoil that horse.”

“And you don’t?”

“Just read, cub.”

“I found myself wandering outside the village the other day. Do not worry, I stayed away from Guardians and hid whenever monsters came by. I know how to take care of myself. It was quite peaceful. I see why you enjoy traveling. I am placing this note on my doorstep, along with a baked apple. However your letter arrived, I hope this one will find its way to you. Rhea.”

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

“Rhea, Twilight is very disappointed in you for sharing the pie. I cannot say the same because I would do the same thing. Wind wants me to ask about any embarrassing stories from my childhood. I would prefer to hear the not so embarrassing ones. Link.”

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

“Dear Link, To prevent Wind’s temper, I will share one of each. When you were five years old, you climbed a tree as high as you could. And then you were too afraid to climb down. Father would not help you down. He told you that you had to conquer your fears. You were stuck up there until the sun started to go down. And then you jumped out of the tree with a korok leaf. To this day, I still do not know how you did not die, or even break a bone. The first time you ever taught me to cook, you showed me how to make baked apple. I had difficulty with it and ended up burning most of the apples. By the end of our lesson we had one “good” apple. The rest were a dry, burned, lump. We ended up sharing the good one. I thought I would tell you that monster activity has started to go down the past week or so. Not enough for people to travel, but enough to notice. So whatever infection is spreading through the monsters, it does not seem to be here. Rhea.”

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

“Rhea, Your last letter earned me a scolding from both Time and Twilight about my reckless nature. Wind and Legend could not stop laughing for ten minutes. Wind would like more stories. I am resigned to whatever my fate is. I am happy to hear you do not have to deal with the infected. They are rather a pain. Link” P.S.- The postman will arrive soon so I do not have a lot of time. I finished this letter last night. In my dreams I remembered baking apples with you. You used to wear a bright pink dress, right? It had a white flower design.

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

“Dear Link, Yes, I did wear a pink dress with white flowers. I must admit, when I read you remembered something about me, I felt very happy. I know you cannot control what you can and cannot remember. But I cannot stop the hope of you remembering more. Call me selfish, but I want you to have a family you can remember. If not ours, then the current one you are in. I do not know if you remember Fenton, your old Knight friend. He was a year or so younger then you and wanted to be a knight in the service to the king. But he was born with one leg twisted so badly, it is impossible for him to walk long distances. You still taught him the best you could in swordplay and archery. The reason I bring him up is he just got married this past week. The girl is not from Hateno so no need to worry yourself on her. I went hunting and found a deer for their wedding feast (and also my present to the happy couple). Your sister, Rhea.”

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

“Dear Rhea, You must be wondering why I have not written in over a month. The answer is complicated. To keep it short, let’s just say I am having quite the adventure. My dreams have been a lot of memories lately. It took a bit, but I remembered Fenton... at least, I remembered a memory with Fenton. I remember teaching him archery and thinking he was quite good. If only the army had let him try, I am sure he could have made an excellent archery captain. Then again, it is probably for the best he missed the war. The likelihood of him surviving the Guardians would be very low and then we would not be talking about his wedding. I remembered something with you, a few nights back. You woke me up from my dreams because of a nightmare. I let you sleep with me so you knew that the monsters would not get you. It felt familiar. Did that happen a lot? Your brother, Link”

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

“Dear Link, Yes, I had many nightmares and you let me sleep with you when I was afraid. I am embarrassed to say that I still wake up afraid. I have the remains of an old cloak of yours and use it as a blanket, during those nights. It is falling apart now, but I cannot bear to throw it away. The monster’s are increasing again. I had to take out a few that came too close to the village. Fenton helped from a distance. He still in an excellent shot and one of the best archers in town (excluding me, of course). Your sister, Rhea”

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

“Rhea, I remembered mother last night. She was showing me how to make bread in the coals of a fire. She was also coughing a lot. Link. P.S.- I am sending you another one of my cloaks to replace the old one.”

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

“Dear Link, Mother died from an illness the doctors did not know how to treat. She was sick for the last year of her life, with the last few months being bedridden. She loved you very much and would be proud of you today. I know that I am. Thank you for the cloak. I will take it with me everywhere I go for the rest of my life. Love, Rhea.”

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

“Dear Rhea, This letter has a surprise for you on the next page. I hope you like it. Four, Warriors, and I almost burned down a forest yesterday. Time and Twilight were not happy. It helped me remember that time I almost burned down the house. Father and Mother were not pleased with me. Or you. You had something to do with it, didn’t you? Love, Link.”

“To Rhea, Sister of the Champion We never got to meet, to my deepest regrets. I am writing to thank you for your sacrifices to the kingdom of Hyrule. I am sorry that I was unable to stop the Calamity from claiming your brother and father from you. I am also sorry you will never get to see the land free from the Calamity. I am sending a picture I have of your brother from the Sheikah Slate. It is not much, but I pray that having an image of him will help you remember him for who he is. Link mentioned that he ran into you on his current adventure. It is fascinating that these portals not only travel between different worlds but also times. I wish I could study them, but alas, Link has forbade me from getting near them. Apologies, I got off track. Along with the photo, I am sending 500 rupees. Link is not happy with this gift, but I insisted upon it. Please use it for whatever you wish. Rhea... you did make a difference to Link. I am grateful for your help, past and future. I thank you for your devotion to the kingdom. At your service, Princess Zelda”

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

“Dear Link, Please thank the Princess for the letter, photo, and the rupees. I confess, I was actually in dire need of some. My bow is getting old and I know it is going to break soon. Weapons are not cheap in these times. And before you get any ideas, you are not sending me any of your bows. I already bought one from a traveling Rito. The remaining rupees I gave to Fenton and his wife. He confided to me that his wife is expecting. I am very excited for them. As for almost burning of the house down: I have no idea what you mean. I certainly had nothing to do with it. And nothing will get me to say otherwise. Link, I am leaving you something under the floorboards of the house. Consider it a final gift from your little sister. All my love, Rhea.”

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

“Dear Rhea, I do not know when I will be home in my time again, but I will be sure to stop by the house. I look forward to seeing your gift. I remembered something. I think it was the last day we spent with Mother and Father. We had a picnic outside. Father carried Mother to the blanket and we spent the day playing games and making food. When night came, we looked at the stars and we fell asleep hugging Mother. When we woke up, she was home in the sky. Love, Link”

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

Dear Rhea, It has been a week since my last letter and I am still waiting your response. But I thought I would share with you that I remembered the last time I saw you. Before the Calamity. I will not remind you of that day’s events. But I will tell you that I was very sad to leave you and Father. I hope Hylia will unite us again on the journey. If not, then I am grateful I was able to see you again. Love, Link”

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

Dear Rhea, It has been almost a month since your last letter. Is everything alright in Hateno? Last night, I made everyone Mother’s stew. I remembered the recipe... or at least most of it. Call it my version, I suppose. Wind would like me to ask you for more embarrassing stories. Please write soon. Love, Link

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

Rhea, I am getting worried. You still have not written back. It has been over a month now. Please let me know that you are okay. Link

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

Dear Rhea, The postman has informed me that my letters have not moved from the porch of the house. He has returned them to me, with the promise that he is looking for where you are now. Rhea, I am scared. Please let me know you are okay. Your brother, Link.

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

The moment Wild’s slate began to ping, Wild pulled it out and quickly tapped a few things. “I’m teleporting to Hateno. Any objections?”

No one did. Time pointed at the nearby stable. “We’ll stay there for the night. If you are not back by morning, we will be coming after you.”

“Agreed.” Wild tapped a few more things before vanishing in a trail of blue ribbons.

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

The house looked exactly how he left it. Wild didn’t know why he expected any differently. It took him five tries to find the right floorboard under the stairs. A dried flower laid on top of a sealed envelope. The now familiar handwriting had scribbled, “To Link,” across the front.

Wild sat back right there on the floor and tore the seal off.

“Dear Link, If you are reading this, then I am not here. Truth is, I will not be coming back to this home. Most likely for the rest of my days, however long that may be. I have been thinking a lot about you. Ever since the Princess’s letter, my thoughts have been drawn to you. More specifically, where you are in my time. Right now.”

Wild stared at the page, his dread starting to grow.

“That is why, tomorrow morning, I am leaving Hateno.”

“No...” Wild gasped aloud. His grip tightened on the paper.

“Fenton and the others are more than capable of protecting this place. I am sure that the Shrine of Resurrection is guarded well, but I would feel much better if I was there as well. In a few days, I will be finding my way up the Great Plateau. Perhaps I will see the ghost of the King. Perhaps not. Either way, when you wake up in a hundred years, I will be near.”

Wild let out a broken sob. Tears began to fall onto the paper, blurring both his vision and ink.

“You protected me all of my life. Now it is time for me to protect you.”

’No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,’ Wild shook his head, praying this was just a bad dream.

“Besides, you have to find an empty house when you wake up. Otherwise, you will not find this letter.”

“Rhea, please don’t...” Wild begged, despite the fact this had happened a hundred years in the past. Nothing he said could change it.

“You may never remember me. You may never remember our family. But always remember that I love you, big brother. That is something that I will never forget. All my love for all my life, Your little sister, Rhea.”

Wild flipped the page over, desperate for more. He searched the floor boards for another note that might have been left. Nothing.

He bent his head and wept.

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

Personally, I think Rhea survived on the plateau for at least five years. She probably got killed by the Lynel. And if you thought this would be a happy ending-- HA! Hylia was nice enough to let Link remember his family. She’s not kind enough to let him keep it.

And if you thought that was sad, just imagine Rhea wrapped in her brother’s cloak, clutching her broken weapon, and facing her death. Her last thoughts are to the comatose brother that she was hoping to see one last time. But she knew he would see her. And that was all that mattered to her.

Up next: Uh... Sky is the plan but Four is starting to scratch at my brain so we’ll just have to see.

[miioouu]

Single Father Bakugo (3) Birthday Dad

More cute single pa Baku!! Honestly idk i just got this idea randomly sooo. Also idk if i said I'll update you guys on Single Father bakugou once a week, buuuut i don't think that's true, I'll post a part anytime an idea comes to my mind. Anyway HAPPY BIRTHDAY BAKUBOO❤️

Ten months…. 

It's been almost a year since Bakugo was taking care of his little baby. Ever since, his life seemed a little brighter, a little more colorful. Even behind his tired, sleep deprived eyes, happiness and joy can be seen. Life has changed drastically, but he wouldn't have it any other way. And to say he wanted to put the little girl up for adoption! So pathetic Katsuki. 

Even though it's his birthday, things were going on normally, being a dad meant that he wasn't able to go out and party, enjoy his special day like every other young person his age. He could still ask his mom to keep an eye on the child, but honestly he'd rather spend the day with her than surrounded by drunk sweaty bodies, annoying music filling his ears. He'd much rather listen to his baby girl babble and babble incoherent words and him pretending to understand and have a conversation with her. What he didn't expect was that this year, he'd have the most wonderful gift of all time. 

Holding her on his hips as he was making himself a birthday dinner, the little girl always looking up to him, hand gripping his thin sweatshirt, incoherent sounds would come out of her mouth every now and then making the young father look at her and reply with a "yes, you're right" and "I know right?! Unbelievable!". Bouncing her to the rhythm of whatever song that was stuck in his head, focusing on the task at hands, he almost missed the sound coming out of her little lips, if it weren't for her hand tugging harder at his top and other one patting his strong arm, a gesture that she learned would get his attention anytime. Dropping the wooden spoon to the side, seeing her mouth open and close, trying to get out something. "Come on baby! What do you have to say? Dad's listening!" He didn't want to get his hopes too high, knowing that it's still a bit early for her to say her first word, but maybe it's his dad instinct telling him to listen closely, or maybe it's just the little bit of hope that she'd say her first word on his birthday that told him to focus on whatever that was about to come out of her. "Ba… BaBa". That's it! That was it! Wide smile stretching on his face, tears threatening to fall, since when did he become so soft? Well it doesn't matter now... He couldn't believe how lucky he was, to have his daughter's first words be "baba" and on his birthday! He was on cloud nine! Hugging his baby tightly, telling her how much he loves her and treasures her, he couldn't wipe the smile off of his face for the rest of the evening. 

He spent his first birthday as a dad calling up his beloved ones, telling them about the most amazing gift he's ever gotten. 

5 years….

Growing up and growing older together, was everything Bakugou ever wants. His little baby now five, how did time pass by so quickly? It felt like just yesterday he was teaching her how to walk, and now he's begging her to stop running around the house, afraid she'd knock her head on things. It happened before, hearing his angel cry, making his heart drop, he never again wants to hear her in pain again….

His birthday wasn't his special day anymore, it was their special day. Making it a ritual to always spend it together, they'd either go out and celebrate it over ice cream, or they'd stay at home, playing and cuddling watching movies as she drifted to sleep in his arms. He never asked for gifts, she's a child, and even later in life he wouldn't. He never liked his birthday, until he became a dad, the first year she gifted him with her precious first words. The second with a hug, the third with a kiss, and the fourth with morning snuggles. His little bundle of joy completely changed his perspective of his birthday. What will she do this year? 

Apparently, something really special, as she was hiding from him all day, running away from him everytime he tried to get a hug or a kiss. Making him a little angry as he just wanted some affection from the little girl, but he's not getting any of it. Well at least he didn't have to wait that long, lunch was approaching and so did his baby, well not so baby anymore, hiding something behind her back as she was making her way to him. Giving her a little smile as she finally, for the first time today, showed some interest in her father. Pressing her head on his leg as she couldn't reach higher to get his attention, like he wasn't already waiting for her. Bending down to get to her eye level, he gave her a little cheek kiss as she revealed what she was keeping a secret from him all day long. It must've been something on a paper or something like that, but he couldn't quite tell as glitter was covering all of it, looking behind her to see the trail of orange and pink shimmers that would definitely be a hassle to clean. Though he didn't care right now, the only thing that matters was his gift, as narcissistic as it sounds. Taking the present from her hands only to open the envelope to reveal a folded paper. Shaking his hand in a sort of way to get rid of the sparkles, gently unfolding the paper. Eyes wide, then softening as a grin made its way to his lips. It was a family drawing. There she was holding hand with what he assumed to be him, wearing his hero costume, and their little cat to the side. Not forgetting to add her uncle Kirishima but it seemed as she crossed him, writing a small no to his side, making the blond giggle. And on the top of her paper, in bold multi-colored pencil a big "Happy birzday Baba" with a crooked heart next to it. It was nothing amazing, but he can see the thought she put into it, the love and passion she dedicated in the drawing, making him ever so proud of his girl. Giving her the biggest hug, lifting her up in the air as he thanked her. He was honestly having the time of his life, always, with his little bundle of joy…. 

14 years….

Rituals are bound to fade one day. And considering spending his birthday together as a ritual, he wasn't that surprised when it broke. But it still hurts. It's the first birthday in 14 years he spends alone, without her by his side. With her laughs to fill the air, with her hugs to warm his heart, with her "I love you dad"s. Instead she decided to spend the night with her friends. And the worse thing about all of it, she hadn't even acknowledged him all day long. Teenagers… 

Bored out of his mind, and too sad to do anything, even spending the night with Kirishima. He couldn't bring himself to move from the couch, laying under his blankets. Pathetic Katsuki, you've been limping around all day long like a heartbroken teenager! Man up it's just a night away. At this point he had no idea if he was sad that he's not spending the night with his daughter or if he was just worried about her. It's not the end of the world! He can still get out, have fun on his birthday like everyone. He still can….. But he doesn't want to. He wants her. He wants to hug her, mess her hair, listen to her drag his names as he teases her about her crush. He wants to cuddle up with her as they watch their favorite show for the fifteenth time. And fuck, is he crying right now? It's just…. It feels like just yesterday he was teaching her how to lace up her shoes, warning her about boys. It felt like just yesterday, she took her first steps, yelled her first swear, she gave him the middle finger for the first time. She just grew up so fast, how can he not be sad? And his tears didn't stop rolling as he looked at the fridge, family drawings she made, the highest score on a maths exam…. He was just so proud of her. He was just so proud to call this little daredevil with a soft heart his daughter. And he was so proud of the woman she grew up to be. 

Thinking so much about her, it seemed like she sensed it. Right before midnight, a special ringtone shook him awake. It was her! Is she ok?! What if something happened to her?! Shooting out from under the blankets to answer the call, mind drowning in fear, until he heard her gentle voice, slightly above a whisper so her friends don't listen to her. "Happy birthday dad, I love you so much!"

18 years…. 

Sadness, it was all he was feeling lately. The thought of her being already so grown up, he didn't want his baby to leave him. He didn't want his baby to fly away from him. He didn't want his daughter to forget about him…. But there's some things in life that you can't stop. And one of them was the departure of his girl to college, leaving him alone, with their old cat, just to stare at all her childhood photos, relive all the memories, and when he gets her occasional texts, it never fails to make him smile and tug at his heart as tears threaten to fall. 

Though on his birthday, she made sure to make it as special as possible, even if she wasn't near him. Going out to get his mail like every morning, he noticed a special letter. One decorated with glitter, orange and pink. Excitement flowing in his vain as he knew exactly where that special gift came from, or to be exact from who. Running inside and gently opening up the letter, wanting to keep it intact to save it. He couldn't help but sob at the words in front of him, the love they expressed…. 

    "Dear baba… 

     It's your special day! So I thought I'd make it even more special and write to you how I truly feel. 

    I know it's been hard, and I haven't been the easiest to raise. But can you blame me for the temper I inherited from you? Can you blame me for the loud voice I got from you? Can you blame me for the love and care and sweetness I offer the word that I learned from you? 

    I know what you're thinking, cause I thought about it too. Do you ever wonder, like me, about what would've happened if I was never a part of your life? Do you ever wonder, like me, what it would've been like if I had a mother, to braid my hair and caress my cheeks? To lull me to sleep with angelic voice and the smile that would appear everytime I do something right? Do you ever wonder, like me, if I never were a mistake? But I don't blame dad, it's not your fault. I'm not asking you to change anything, there's nothing you can do. And I understand. 

    Do you want to know what though? All of these are just what if's… In reality I wouldn't change a thing, and I know you won't either. In reality I don't need that motherly love, I only need yours. I need your rough hands to pinch my cheeks, I need your loud voice to praise me up, I need your evil smirk to boost me up. 

     I've seen your tears dad, I heard your cries. I've shed those tears too dad, and I bet you heard my cries. You wish you had someone, I wish that too. You wish you were better, I wish I was that too. But now I know, life might be us two. And I'm so ok with that. All I need in life is you. My angel and devil, my father and so much more, my number one hero…..

      Happy birthday to the most wonderful hero, to my best friend, to my one and only! Happy birthday baba! I love you!

                           From your daughter xoxo"

Tags

(@babybakuu )

[ianthedisastrous]

In my Father's Eyes

People assumed Edward doesn't recall his father, perhaps thought of him only in the sense of another story. Truly, shouldn't the author who penned that tale be Edward's parent? His creator? The thought had puzzled him, from time to time, but always he returned back to several certainties. 

His father was a fair man, one who listened to the pleas of his people; the sort of king that Edward wished to be, if he were to ever be given the chance. Many boys idolize their fathers as much as they adore their mothers, with childishly blind eyes; but Edward had always known the image his father held in his eyes as true for more than only himself; a man who earned the praise of his kingdom. 

"A good king," his father's voice comes back to him sometimes, with warmth in the memory of being very small and sitting before him with expression filled with wonder at what he might learn, "must be kind."

"As kindness is stronger than any terrible deed, stronger than evil men and frightening beasts; kindness can give hope and that is the most important gift that can ever be given. 

You hold the faith of your kingdom in your hands and you must always take care with it." 

And Edward believed, with a strength of conviction that could not waver, believed every word spoken was the guidance of a wise man. 

His father taught him to wield a sword, another memory upon the pages, a young boy with palms sore from gripping too tightly the hilt of the blade that was both exciting and frightening. A weapon that felt so much more unforgiving than he knew how to carry. 

"Steady your arm higher m'boy, lift your chin, for if you must be the one to bring harm to another you must carry the burden of meeting their eyes, their pain you too must see; this is the weight of the blade you hold. 

This is the responsibility of a just man, if he must spill blood. You must remember them, for they too have fought for their cause."

It was a truth Edward never forgot, a memory that gripped him each time he drew his blade, knowing that it was never to be done in jest. And never once did he walk away in victory without solemn respect given to the loss.

Yet, the lesson that pained him the most, filled him with an indescribable peace, was the hardest to learn.

A brave man stricken with grave wounds and tired, hands grasped weakly around the firm grip of his trembling son, a smile spared for his lovely wife and her soft tears, for the sleeping infant cradled in her arms.

A man Edward thought neither sickness nor time could touch, that no injury might slow; in the end was simply just a man. 

"A good king sees his legacy grow brighter in those he leaves behind when his time is spent. There is no shame in weeping only a short while, do not be afraid of giving your grief a voice; it lives in you the same as every happiness and with just as much to teach you.

But you will be a good king one day, as you are a good man grown from the eager child who once begged for bedtime stories of dragons and knights. 

Love, m'boy, is what makes a man the best he can be; for his family, his kingdom, and himself. You and your sister are my proudest moments, Edward."

The words had never left him, not in the days that followed with eyes wet from the ache of that grief, nor ones beyond it when pain gave way to joy at the recollection of good times and gratitude.

What did it mean then when those memories were penned to the pages of a story? Chapters in a novel that held a past truly real to him? Edward returned to them now and then, fingers swept over the words with an indulgent smile. 

Because it was not only a story, it was his story. 

That is what his father taught him, and what he faced with his head held high; his had a legacy to carry with pride. 

Slightly's life, however, had never been a fairytale. 

Kindness had never been the litany of the world they resided within, but their father had urged them to never lower their eyes in spite of the snarl and snap of the darkness; even fairytales have monsters. And monsters have purpose, if only for how they craft it from their own darkness. They were brilliant, they were strong, they would survive. 

He was proud of his brood. 

"You should never forget where you belong, why you were born with claws rather than lofty ambitions.

I expect you to do great things, things that you must do in places others are afraid to walk."

Perhaps the most loving thing their father had ever uttered was how high those expectations were; he believed in a child many would not have. In those early days the words sounded like a demand ushered unfairly upon the child who had no want of it, but with time the purpose unraveled into truth better understood.

Slightly knew more of being a father than they did of their own; the chores of the Mountain Prince were never finished, they cannot recall ever seeing him at peace. Never remember a moment at rest, no more than a fleeting encounter before the call of the Court drew him away. A shadow of a figure that would with time grow fuzzy at the edges of their memories. 

But what other way was there aside from necessity?

"Is father angry, because of me?" So small, Sorrel was only a child filled with foolish questions, dangerous questions, questions Slightly was old enough to know better than speak out loud and settle doubt in the air around them. Doubt could wound far too deeply. Eyes as blue as still waters begged to know, eyes that did not belong to the Mountains.

"No, he isn't. He's mad at other people for arguing about differences," Slightly had shushed the boy and drew him close with claws laced with Sorrel's own, tiny creature nestled in the spot against their side. Secrets carried a burden one so young did not fully understand. "Because no amount of difference means more to him than you do." 

And it was a truth Slightly saw and knew, each time their father gathered up in his arms the boy who was not his own but he would accept as no less. Each time he stepped between him and some threat, the vicious ferocity the Mountain Fey protected their young with fueling an inhuman anger. 

Their father never spoke it in so many words, but he taught that lesson well; those who are your own simply were, no matter where the world's opinions might fall. 

The crueler lesson came too soon; what loss can do and what sacrifices are worth. 

Day by day Slightly saw their father fade to a terrifying emptiness in his voice, the horrors of giving too much of himself to the pain of having his eldest ripped away from him. 

He gave up, hour by hour, until the light was all gone away into a stillness that lay glassy and hollow in his once fire-bright eyes and Slightly was left choking on the rage of being abandoned. 

How dare he choose to mourn one child so intensely that he left the others behind. To make the decision to fade away rather than fight after all his demands that his children must always do so.

"Keep your eyes open, you must always be ready." 

The words of the one who had not been able to do the same, the one who Slightly trusted and found themselves suffocating in the wake of what they could not understand.  

Slightly locked away the memories; his voice, his lessons, every moment buried deep and soaked with a bitter pain. They had no choice; Sorrel needed to be looked after and mother was taxed with a role meant for two. 

Their father taught a poignant truth with his death; leaving those behind to fend for themselves was the cost of some choices.  

But even so, Slightly could not bear to truly hate him, not when they missed him so very, very much. Children do not simply forget the ones who were their world.

It took long years to find the truth in the pain, to shift through and see that all joy has a shred of sorrow within it, that all love carries a bitter core of fear in the loss; that sometimes a sacrifice is not written so much in blood as it is in a broken heart. 

Slightly learned to grieve from the one they called father, to value those near more than anything that could be won, and most importantly; that sometimes loving someone means you cannot save them from their own demons. That you must accept, and forgive, that they may fail you. 

But shadowy creatures and skies filled with unfamiliar stars never crossed Ian's mind much as a child; he couldn't concern himself with storybook monsters when he knew far too many real ones waited for him in the cold gazes of his classmates. People who didn't understand him, people who were taught to never dare to understand.  

And his mom tried so hard; every day it seemed like she came home just a little more exhausted than the one before. Her soft smile might not have wavered but Ian knew her heart was still just a little too broken to tell her why he was afraid of the world.

She needed him to be brave, but he could only pretend to and hope it was enough. She urged him to speak but he remained as silent as he dared; it was her tired eyes that hurt him at the thought of asking too much of her.   

But his dad always listened. Whenever he needed him, even if he never answered.

As a child, barely tall enough to reach the desk where his mother kept her glossy albums, Ian believed that somehow his late night conversations, hands tightly gripping the only photo he had of the man, did not go unheard. 

"Please come back. Mom is sad all the time and I don't know how to make it better," he would speak in no more than a breath of sound, eyes dropped and half shut to hold back the tears. "I know they're wrong at school. That...that you didn't leave because you wanted to, not because we're...different from everybody else. But if you could just come back? Nobody could say those things anymore."

Some places, his mom explained, people could not come back from, as she kissed his forehead one day. It was a day he could barely recall later his age or the other details, only the words she spoke when he voiced what he had really wanted for his birthday. 

Children so young still believe that magic could do a great deal more than it ever should. 

"He wanted so badly just to meet you," and with the words Ian saw a gravity in her eyes that he never had before, "He loved you boys more than anything in this world, but he just didn't have the chance to stay."

Ian learned that love was powerful, but sometimes it was very unfair, and it was why a person had to be strong for those who needed them the most. The world was scary, it always would be, but people had to try. 

He didn't ask his mom again, he couldn't stand to see that sorrow. 

His dad always was there; never judgemental in that silence. And as a child it had been too easy to overlook that silence could only exist without judgement and find the best in that. It felt safe, so much safer than risking speaking the doubts to anyone else. Silence was patient, and so too then was Ian's dad in his memories of a man who could not be there.

"We have to leave soon,'' quiet moments in his room had long since given way to rooftop vigil under the sprawling skies; maybe somewhere in that expanse of forever his father resided just beyond his reach. "I..I thought I'd be happy to leave this place but I'm just scared. I'm always scared; I wish-" He sighed and drew his knees up with the tired words. "-I wish I were like you, not afraid of anything." 

But Wilden had been afraid; of the sickness that stole his life in small measures, of the world moving on without him, of missing so much of it, and most of all of his boys never knowing who he was. 

Ian had been surprised when he discovered that, as his mom reassured him that it was okay to be afraid sometimes, but just as often she spoke of his bravery in the face of those fears and that it rooted itself down deeply into Ian's mind.

The man he had never had a chance to hear speak taught him that everyone was afraid sometimes, that everyone fights their battles, and the best a person can do is to find a reason to. 

But it wasn't right to let that fear turn a person cruel; time and again he heard of his dad's forgiving nature. And bit by bit Ian learned what parts of himself he wanted to be so much like the man, and what parts he had to let go, for his own sake.

"I don't want to have to be you, dad. I'm sorry." Ian whispered to the darkness as the morning crept so steadily closer; every star in Swynlake glittered in watchful attention to that conversation from the balcony. Twenty years to his life that very day. "I don't know what I want to do from here but you won't be mad if it's not what you expected me to, right?" 

The night could not speak, ghosts belonged in days and years behind him, but it did not mean their presence was any less wanted. Ian could not think in the past tense, not when he still felt there was too much more left to learn. 

He knew what his dad had already taught him, how many times that memory had held vigil to his unsteady words, and he was not nearly done yet. His dad had never been there, not so much the way other people could have claimed, but he had done what any good father strived to; he had listened. 

"I miss you."

[fanfic-of-fables-of-kitkat]

Naruto x OC ship week

Sasori x OC

Prompt: Flowers (3rd day)

PHOTO: Hatsue, my oc

@narutoocshipweek

this is the ending for my fanfic which is a major spoiler so don't click the link to my

fanfic

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

Don't laugh at an old woman

Who has gray on her hair

But still wears flowers on her head.

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

It used to be difficult for Sasori to articulate his feelings. He had grown from then. He was sitting with his wife inside the greenhouse, their rocking chairs side by side. Their surroundings are filled with colors due to the various flowers planted. They were all harmless. A greenhouse built because of a whim. A show of his devotion. Not that his wife required it of him. He just liked to surprise her.

"I've waited all my life. I am most certain I have been waiting for you, long before I met you. My bond with you, my life with you has been filled with waiting, not in vain. Never. You made it so that life is all sweeter with the wait. But I will not wait for my time to come to reunite with you after death. This is the only time I cannot wait, Hatsue. It won't matter or change anything, I will soon wither away once you pass." The passing years only made Sasori long-winded, a complete deviation from his younger years.

"Is there anything I can say to change your mind?"

"None at all. I have long decided."

"Stubborn."

They were silent for a few moments.

"Wife." He called out, still getting a rush of warmth at getting to call her that even decades had passed. "I must confess, the masterpiece you proudly call, I do not think it should be called the greatest of your works."

"Oh? Confessing to me when my bones are weak for being old so I cannot give you the smacking of a lifetime." She jested.

"You... made my life a masterpiece. You paint my day. You paint my mood. You painted the rest of my life in your signature work."

"...Sasori." Hatsue would've teased him when they were younger, but when you have lived and have gotten to their age, words of affirmation won't bring that shot of childish embarrassment anymore.

"Do you still remember the flowers I gave to you when I told you I liked you?"

"Hemlock. I swear if this is some poetic interpretation you got in mind-"

"It means you will be my death."

"...I know. Only you would think it romantic."

"Hatsue, I am holding my vow true. You will be my death for I cannot stay in the living when you breathe your last breath."

"...I always thought it was metaphorical. Why do you have to make it literal?"

She sighed, staring at his blurred figure. Her eyes were failing her due to old age.

".. I feel like this would be a bad time to tell you that I made it from Hemlock."

"Of course. Because you had to make this all poetic."

"..."

"Truthfully, I'm frightened."

"I'm here." Don't be afraid.

"I feel like it's time, I'm not scared of going. I'm afraid of what comes next. If there is a next."

"If there's a next one, I will be yours again."

"What if in the next, there was no you in the world, or I in the world?"

"Must you ask terrible questions, wife?"

"But what if."

His wife would ask these kind of questions from time to time, he could wave it away by reassuring her, however, it did make him think.

"I would pity myself having to live in a world you aren't. To not know what he'll be missing out. The great joy of knowing and loving who you are, most importantly, he'll never know the joy of waiting for you." His voice old and grey, deep and thick with affection.

Hatsue felt a lump on her throat. Years later, her husband's love and devotion only grew stronger. She felt lucky. "If I had to live in a reality without you, I'd be sad for her for not sharing the joys of loving unrestrainedly. To find someone yours and spend almost every waking moment since meeting."

"I love you."

"I have deep regards for you."

He sighed. "Still not letting that one go, huh?"

She laughed, her eyes shone with mirth. "I love you too."

"I could have turned us into puppets, we'd get to live forever."

"And miss out complaining about athritis with you?"

"Ah yes, because suffering from old age makes me all the more attractive to you."

"You are. When you were going through andropause , you have never looked more handsome."

"Hm."

"I'm happy, husband." Everyday she tells him, even when she's sulking, even when she's mad at him: she'd say something in outburst, stalk away, scowl then go back to him to tell him she's happy (sometimes he found this comical) but she needs some time alone. At that, he'd lie awake in bed on his side, wondering if he'll sleep alone only to feel her arms wrap his waist, he would turn to her wondering, and seeing only affection in her sickeningly sweet brown eyes which he loves.

"I am as well, wife." The first time he brought up being human puppets and getting to live forever, she shot his idea before hearing it out. It hurt him at that time, and when he sulked, he really sulked. He'd keep maddeningly silent but she waited for him, coaxed him and drew him out. In retrospect, he was being petty with his anger. She tells him she never wants to outlive their children, he proposed in making them puppets too, she scowls at him, asks him: if their children have made their own family, will he turn them into puppets too and their grandchildren and so on and so forth? Besides, they'll never know what happens after a thousand years, they might grow resenting each other. He denies vehemently. He'll love her forever. His argument: a testament of him being a hopeless romantic. She would never take the chance. A lifetime of love is better than an eternity of alternately loving and resenting him. Her argument: a testament of her being a realist.

They loved the silence, it speaks much of their bond in ways words would fail. Only, the rocking of Hatsue's chair, the creak of its wood, echoed inside the greenhouse. She felt lucid, as though she's in a trance. These past days, she dreamt of a small Sasori who became the loneliest person in the world. That loneliness drove him to pursue immortality. Only choosing to die out of loneliness yet again. A vision of puppets with the image of his parents, cheap imitations driving their blades in his heart as ligneous arms locked him in a wooden embrace. The dream left a haunting ache in the waking hours of dawn. She banished the thoughts away and gazed at the flowers. Really, to be surrounded with colors was...

Sasori watched his wife close her eyes and felt her body go limp as her chair stopped swaying. He fixed the peach blossom hair pin on her hair. Peach blossom. I am your captive. Her reply to his affection was to wear it. He slowly caressed the sagging skin on her cheek with his wrinkled hand and then he takes out and uncorks a small vial and guzzled it in one go, lying down on his rocking chair, his left hand on her lap; their fingers intertwined.

He was a boy who waited for his parents to come home. In vain.

A boy who, at that time without knowing, waited for someone to curb his loneliness. He found her. A friend.

Only to wait for her to come home. Or when he comes home. For the war to end. For peace to come. For them to grow. Or to give each other time. For forgiveness. For apologies. For falling in love. For reciprocating. For compromising. For building their own home. For their children to grow up. She taught him that waiting can accompany happiness. And he was. He is. Without a doubt. Happy. Indefinitely. Eternally.

He kissed her right cheek one last time and squeezed her hand.

"A reality without me would be kinder to the world...

...and a reality without you would be most cruel of the world."

End

--------

Really, to be surrounded with colors was...

...fitting for a painter on her deathbed.

End

--------

"What do you get from my happiness, Hatsue?"

"I get to share it. I get to share your happiness. When you're happy, Sasori, so am I."

End

[nat-roman0ff]

all i want for christmas is us

all i want for christmas is us

an entry for @saintlymendes​ secret santa

for: nicole (@tell-me-when-ur-ready​)

-

words: 2,092 warnings: some swearing, angst, and cavity inducing fluff (it is christmas after all)

-

 Shawn looks down again at his phone, scrolling through the photos. Happy. Warm. Holiday season. Ice skating at his favorite park, kissing under the mistletoe, and posing in the matching pajamas his mum had bought for the entire family. A smile creeps up on his face and then disappears just when he starts to feel its warmth. 

 Last Christmas. 

 Last Christmas the photos were taken. Last Christmas they were happy. Last Christmas she had said yes to marrying him. 

 Now the photos just served as painful reminders of his current reality. Sitting alone in his half empty condo. He couldn’t bare to replace the things she took, just in case she decided to come back.

Odds and ends mostly; an end table she purchased at an antique store and lugged eight blocks back home on a hot August weekend, an ottoman where the two would sit on the floor across from each other and play cards all night over a bottle of her favorite red wine, an entirely empty wall that used to make up her vinyl collection. The half empty condo matched his half empty heart.

 Shawn locks and drops his phone to his chest with a thud, opting for the sting of its weight on his sternum over the stinging of his broken heartstrings. He still hadn’t cleaned up the red wine stain from the carpet when she spilled it last Christmas. Getting rid of that was the last bit of her still around and, well, he needed to still hold onto something. 

 Karen’s rung three times at this point. She knew it was going to be a hard day for him, insisted he spend the night Christmas Eve but Shawn declined and instead drank himself stupid until three in the morning and passed out on the living room floor next to her red wine stain.

 He thought about calling her, wishing her a Happy Christmas, or anything just to hear her voice. It hadn’t been a messy breakup, at least at first. She said it was too much too soon and the constant pressure from the outside world was starting to seep through their happy little bubble. 

 Time. It was always time that she needed. But after she returned the ring, the weeks faded into months and when he saw that first picture come up on his timeline he knew that their time had run out. 

 It was innocent enough; someone he knew through mutual friends but could never remember his name. Smiling, with her lips pressed against his cheek. 

 She was with someone else. 

 He blacked out that night, somewhere in the middle of a world tour in a foreign city and woke up the next morning by Brian dumping a glass of water on his head. He cried for a day and a half straight and then again when he had to tell his mum. 

 Time.

 Everyone said it was all he’d need to get over her; the love of his life. He’d known it from a very young age, before the fame, before they’d ever exchanged a wayward glance at each other. He knew she was going to be the one for him, for the rest of his life. 

 Until she wasn’t.

 Write about it. Was his first thought. Write until your fingers bleed and there’s nothing left in your head. Write out every memory, every feeling, every ounce of pain that courses through your God forsaken veins and then you’ll be rid of her. But Shawn couldn’t write. He couldn’t put down a single fucking word in the six months since she left. He just couldn’t describe it; there was no way to put into words how he was feeling, nothing that did it justice, nothing that captured the pathetic sadness that lingered in his bones about her.

 -

 It’s half past two when Karen finally got ahold of him. He’d lost track looking at photos, letting his memories replay on the walls of his condo over and over again. He watches the two of them dance in the kitchen at midnight and make love on the living room floor in the morning, wrapped up in each other’s arms. If he was miserable at home on Christmas, he was going to be even worse at his parent’s house. 

 Everything was the same as it was last year when Shawn finally walks through the front door of his parent’s home, right down to the smells. Except she’s not there. There’s a small box in the spot where the ring box sat last year on the tree and Shawn tries to blink away the onset of tears that threaten to come through. He wonders which cousin is getting engaged this year.

 Asshole stole my idea.

 “Everything alright, darling?” Karen asks in only that mum way. She knows it’s not. It hasn’t been for a while. 

 Shawn nods his head, “yeah, fine. Just...you know. I knew today would be hard.” 

 Karen smiles, “I know, honey. But they day’s not over yet,” she says with a wink.

 Something in Shawn’s heart flutters.

 “C’mon,” she starts, “let’s go open presents.” 

 -

 An hour and two bags full of wrapping paper later the Mendes’ family is nearly finished unwrapping gifts. Shawn’s eyes glance over to the box sitting snugly on the tree branch. No one has reached for it yet, and as things are winding down he can’t help but stare at it, wanting to know the contents. It’s slightly larger than a ring box, but not enough to put anything substantial in it. 

 “There’s one more for you,” Manny points to the tree. 

 Shawn looks at the box and back to his father and he nods. Standing, he goes to the tree and opens the box with shaky hands. There’s a folded up piece of paper inside and he immediately recognizes her handwriting and that stupid gold pen he always hated. It smeared the edges of her letters, he never thought it would end up being something he missed. Shawn can feel the heat of his family watching him as he reads;

 Shawn,

 It’s been too long since we last spoke and I suppose I owe you a lot. See, time is a funny thing. It feels the most fleeting when you have none of it left and the most crippling when you’re looking down the barrel of forever. I needed time on my own, I needed time with other people. I needed to know that what we had was what my forever was meant to look like and to do that I needed to find out a little more about myself. So, as it turns out I actually DO like cucumbers, riding motorcycles, and being alone. But I still hate tomatoes, unicorns (don’t ask) and being away from you. I’m sorry for the pain that I’ve caused you. I know there’s never going to be a way I can take that away or make it up to you, but I want you to know just how sorry I am.

 Meet me tonight at 6 where we had our first date (yes, the first-first one, not the second-first one, you’ll know what I’m talking about).

 Love, Nicole

 His ears are ringing when he looks up - eyes immediately checking the clock on the wall behind him: 5:55. 

 “Fuck - I gotta go!” 

 Shawn runs to grab his shoes and jacket. It’s faster if he runs, he thinks. It’s not far and his car is packed in with his relatives in the driveway and it would take ten minutes just for everyone to move out of the way. He sets off as the snow starts to pick up, slipping and sliding against the sidewalk pavement, breath coming out in foggy puffs. 

 He runs to the park by the high school. It’s not far, and he thinks he can make it in time. His cheeks are frozen, and snowflakes keep getting stuck in his lashes but Shawn just runs to her. When he rounds the corner to cross he sees her there, sitting on that same old dingy swing set that has somehow (despite looked rotted for at least the last twenty years) has never broken. She’s bundled up in her winter coat, looking down at her boots absentmindedly drawing pictures in the snow with the tip of her shoe. 

 The park had been their halfway point when they were kids; perfectly in the middle of each house when they didn’t want to worry about being around parents. It had been here that they had their first date in sixth grade; a picnic of PB&J’s that ended in an unforecasted rainstorm. She didn’t mind, and they splashed and danced in the puddles and went home a dirty sopping mess and he was sure that was the exact moment he fell in love with her. Even though he wasn’t sure what that meant yet. As all things do when you’re twelve, the relationship ended just as quick as it started and it wasn’t until six years later that things actually became serious.

 But that’s another story for another day.

 He’s not sure what to say when he approaches her. His chest is frozen from heaving in the frigid air and she just looks up from the swing and stares. He’s not sure it was possible for her to get more beautiful, but she somehow managed to. Her cheeks were pinked like his, her hair sprinkled with tiny snowflakes. 

 “I know how much we both love grand romantic gestures,” she laughs.

 Fuck, he never thought he’d hear that laugh again and it literally warms his chest to. 

 “Nicole I -” 

 “Shawn I’m sorry,” she starts, “I have no way to ever make up what I did to you. I just...I got really fucking scared. You’re the only person I’ve ever been with and that terrified me. I didn’t know what it was like to be young and single or do something by myself. So I had to be alone -” 

 “What about that guy? The one you posted a picture with?” Shawn says.

 Nicole slaps her forehead with her palm, “Shawn, Joe is my friend.” 

 He sucks in a breath of air, “oh.” 

 “There was never anyone else,” she pats the empty swing next to her, “there’s never going to be anyone else.”

 Shawn sits beside her, it feels good to be this close again; to see all the little things about her up close that made her, her. All the little things he failed to appreciate before she had gone. 

 “So what does this mean now?” He asks. 

 Nicole reaches for his frozen hand and holds it in her gloved one, “I hope it means you still have that ring -” 

 Before she can finish Shawn pulls the chain of her swing towards him to bring her closer, and kisses her. Her lips are cold and chapped but so are his and there’s a brilliant warmth of familiarity that his bones recognize and he melts into her, wrapping an arm around her middle and holding on like his life depends on it. 

 (It does)

 “So how did you even pull this off? Shawn asks when he pulls away. 

 Nicole smiles, “Karen helped me.” 

 He snorts, “I knew it.”

 The park is so silent Shawn swears he can hear the snowflakes hit the ground, trapped in their own personal snow globe. They sit quiet for a moment, and Shawn is still trying to process what just happened. He can feel her still lingering on his lips; the same sickly sweet lip gloss she always wore. 

 “Do you want to go home?” He asks, looking at her through snow flake lined lashes. 

 Nicole nods, “I’d really love that.” 

 Shawn threads his fingers through hers and they walk hand in hand back to the Mendes household. He feels the gold circular piece of metal against his chest. He’s worn it there for so long he’s forgotten he has it. 

 He stops them in the middle of the sidewalk and bends down onto one knee onto the snow, reaching under his shirt and jacket to snap the engagement ring off the chain he wore around his neck. 

 “Will you marry me...again?” 

 Nicole nods frantically, “yes! Now get up before your jeans get wet.”

 Shawn stands and pulls her into a kiss, threading his fingers through her hair until the both of them are out of breath. 

 “Hey Shawn,” she starts, lips still ghosting against his, “Merry Christmas.” 

 He smiles so hard it hurts his cheeks, “Merry Christmas, my love.”

[supertweetycherry]

DIE HARD || [ii. Wishful Wishes]

—Pairings: BTS x OC 

—Genre: BTS Mafia Au, Slight Fluff, Angst (a lot of it), Heartbreak, Thriller 

—Ratings: 18+ | MA Content | R 

—Warnings: Blood, Death, Killing, Weapons, Torture, Violence, Abuse, mentions of sex and Alcohol. 

—Summary: She belong to them. They belong to her. It’s simple as that. Period. 

—Word Count: 3.2k 

Navigations -> Masterlist || MASTERPOST <<Prologue || PART 2>>

Chapter 1 - The Wishful Wishes 

                                               10 years later.... 

A young women, in her middle twenties, stood staring at the giant mirror with weary eyes. Her hands twitched as she traced all the scars and bruises she recently acquired during her run-in with her uncle’s family again. She was shaken by the amount of pain and fear running through her veins. There was a reason she chose to live away in a small apartment, rather than the big, lavish mansion that her uncle offered her. She thought she would be safe here... but she wasn’t.

They would never leave her alone. 

A burst of sobs left her mouth as she looked at her reflection in disgust. Her eyes teared at the prospect of what she’s staring at. The women she sees in the mirror, doesn’t resemble the pretty, chubby little girl from ten years ago. Instead, the women she sees now is tall and regal with her long, dark black hair and an hour-glass like figure. The baby fat she used to hold has now washed away, leaving behind a sleek, curvy figure that is mostly hidden from the prying eyes. 

But today, those curves were on full show. 

Only because, the women had yet suffered through another horrible run-in with her uncle Sung Woo’s family. His wife (her Aunty) plus their two evil daughters (her two little cousin sisters) and the eldest son (her oldest cousin brother) had barged into her little apartment with another accusation in their minds. An accusation of stealing their daughter’s rightful place in the company that her dad built. 

Yoona sighed in defeat as she remembered the various profanities thrown at her before her Aunty took the initial steps to ‘beat it’ out of her. The evil elderly women made sure to give Yoona a harsh lesson, calling her an ‘orphan’, ‘street rat’ and a ‘dirty scum’ living on their expenses, before allowing her children to do the same. 

And now, Yoona could barely move.  Her skin was filled with black and blue patches that pained her at every move she made.

“I wish you were here, mum.” She whispered, letting her tears fall through her eyes. 

Things have changed so much since that tragic night. For one, she had no-one left that cared for her. No mother, no father, no sister... and no love. Not even her uncle Sung woo—the man who promised to take care of her, to cherish her, to keep her like his own daughter. 

He did none of that. 

Instead, he turned his back on her the moment they escaped from South Korea. He left her in his evil family’s claws and used her as a puppet from time to time before dropping her off like a rag doll whenever his needs were fulfilled. She tried to detach herself from him and his family, but it’s not that easy as it sounds. 

Right after that tragic night ten years ago, it was discovered that her family was being targeted due to their high status within the nation. Reasons were still unclear but her uncle only explained the basics. Which includes that her identity as Lee Yoona, Daughter of Lee Jong gi and Kim Yuri was dead to the world. She was crushed and killed in a deadly explosion on her 16th birthday party with the rest of her family in tow. Her seven best friends who promised to never leave her side, were also killed in the same fire, leaving their family lines barren and free for anyone to take over. 

It was a tragic headline in the newspapers. But thats what the world believes now. She can’t do anything about it. 

“Shit.” 

Her movements stopped as she felt a sharp stinging over a patch of skin on her ribs. It seemed soft and tender to her, indicating the huge bruise she will be receiving the next day. 

Taking a deep breath, she slowly continued to clean her wounds. With every touch she made, she whimpered at the sting of pain. Her eyes continued to spill the tears every once in a while as her other free hand formed into a tight fist, letting the red ruby dig into her skin. It was a ring she never took off. It helped her with the pain and gave her a purpose to be still alive. 

Looking around for a distraction, her eyes flickered to the old whisky bottle that sat in her cabinet, underneath the sink. The last time she had touched anything alcoholic, she nearly ended up jumping off the roof thinking that she could fly. 

It was a stupid thought but it seemed legit to her at that time. 

“Ughh... fuck this.” She groaned and slithered to the cabinet. With all her aching bruises, it took her some time but she managed to grasp the bottle in her hand and pulled the lid off with a loud pop. 

The raw smell of the alcohol greeted her lungs. She pinched her nose and gulped down an handful of rushed sips through her bursted lips. It burned her insides as she coughed and gagged on the taste. It nearly choked her but she managed to survive. 

“This is for you Oppa.” She muttered to no-one in particular and took some more mouthfuls of the liquid poison. The pain from her injuries subsided and she continued to drink and clean her battered body with the antiseptic. 

It felt like hours before she was done. The pain was still there but she knows she can manage it. She has ten years of abusive experience to prove it.  

With a loud sigh at her predicament, she pulled herself up and draped over an old oversized hoodie that reached up to her knees. It made her feel light and small as she weakly sat down on the floor again. The alcohol made her relax and her vision started to sway a bit. 

Still holding onto the bottle to her chest, her eyes zoomed on the small cupcake, sitting on her coffee table with the world’s most innocent look. Just by staring hard and bringing her face closer to it, she remembered why it was there. 

It was for her birthday. Her 26th birthday. Instead of feeling happy, she felt anger and sadness overtook her. 

It’s been ten years since she lost her family. 

Ten years since she lost the loves of her life. 

And ten years since she refused to celebrate her birthdays. 

Feeling a rush of negative emotions, she brought down her fist on the little piece of sugary food, squashing it into a creamy paste. Pushing it away from her sight, she plopped down onto her bed and gazed up at the chipped ceiling above her. If only she had died that night, then maybe she would have been with them, her parents and her boys. 

Reaching underneath her pillow, she pulled out a crumbled photo.  

The sides were ripped and the quality was bad. It lacked the colours and seemed very faded and old. But to her, this was the only thing she has left of her boys. The only picture that she managed to obtain before everything about her life was erased.  

It was originally taken from one of those old Polaroid cameras that her dead sister gifted to her once. Her Unnie wanted Yoona to preserve her memories. She explained how important it was to have photographic proof of moments that one day might fade away. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, yoona. It’s important for us to find a medium to preserve our most loveable memories. Our brains are not wired to remember every single thing in our life. Sometimes, it needs the photographic proof to recall the moments that are long forgotten.” 

At that age, Yoona didn’t care about those words that much. But now, they were engraved into her soul like ink. She remembered each and every one of them whenever she felt lost. They reminded her of a life long forgotten. A life where she had her family and her lovers by her side. 

“I miss you so much.” She whispered, looking at all her boys. They were piled up together in a sloppy, casual pose as they headed off to their classes. She had taken this photo a year before their death. She was in-charge of the photo booth for the cultural week in her school. And making memories was her job. Since, at that time, the seven pretty boys didn’t like being in the camera, she had taken great measures to snap one while they weren’t looking. It resulted in her being chased around the whole school by them but in the end she was happy at her actions. Because in those moments, she saw them being happy and carefree with themselves. 

It had lightened up her coming days. 

Rubbing at the scratchy surface of the poloriod, she tried to engrave their faces in her heart again. But due to the bad quality, she failed to pick up the whole image. She had to improvise from her memories that she could still access. She wondered, if they were alive, would they still look the same? Probably not. Ten years is a very long time. Heck her own body has developed in ways that completely changed her face. 

As Yoona thought about her past, she was suddnely overwhelmed by a longing sentiment from her childhood days. Her mind went back to the wistful affections she received and let out a sob through her lips. The locked memories rushed past her mind like a burning train. It brought tears and pain into her eyes as the alcohol in her body broke apart the little restraint she has built over the years. The same restraint that preserved her fragile sanity.  

Looking up at the crumbled photo, her fingers traced over each of their faces, trying to remember every aspect about them. Their face, their voice, their laughs, their touches... It continued on until her fingers hovered over the boy with the gummy smile. Out of all of them, his death was one of the most occurring nightmares that haunts her dreams. It repeats over and over in her head like a horror movie set on reply. From gun shots to his body being plunged into the dark lake. It haunted her to no end. 

Then, it was the other boys’s deaths. Their last moments being twisted and turned by her mind into gruesome flashes of images that shakes her body awake every single night. 

The nightmares are both horrible and disgusting, but she could never escape from them. She could only wish to be with her loved ones again. But it’s a wishful wish, that will never come true. 

                                                        **********

Somewhere, on the other side of the world, in South Korea, a man with electric blue hair stood near a window, facing the night sky in thought. A small gummy smile was painted over his lips as he gazed at the early stars that had come out to greet a demon like him. 

The night was one of the coldest nights in the nation. Solid white ice covered the entire city. Everyone was in their homes, enjoying some quiet and peaceful times with their families. 

But for this particular blue-haired demon, the night was special. He was leaning against the window frame, breathing heavily as white puff of smoke filtered out of his mouth due to the intense cold weather. 

His hands reached to the familiar friendship bracelet that stayed tied on his right wrist for the past 10 years of his life. He never took it off. Not even once. But today, some imbecile moron bitch tried to get her hands on his little lifeline. 

And there’s one thing that everyone in the underworld knows, it is to never touch that bracelet. It was a taboo to even think about touching those delicate beads that graced his beautiful pale wrist. 

He was a man who never cared about sentiments, but this little thread of colourful beads was very special to him. Each of his brothers had this on their wrists, designed perfectly to suit their personality. They cherished it so much that it became forbidden to even look at. But yet again, someone did try to go against the unspoken rule. 

“I’m sorry, sir. The other masters will not be able to join you today. They’ve been caught up with some unexpected work.” His bodyguard said with a shaky voice. 

The man scoffed at his brother’s excuses. Of course they wouldn’t be here. Why would they? Those little bastards are too busy hiding in their own places, too scared to face the night head on. They feared the guilt of loosing their most loved one all those years ago. 

He chuckled and turned around to face his bodyguard who still stood with his head bowed deep down in respect and fear.  

“They’re scared, Wook.” He told his guard. “To scared to face her memories again. Bloody losers.” He cursed before shifting his eyes to the small chocolate cake on the tall coffee table. 

A small genuine smile graced his lips as he walked forward and lit the colourful candles on the cake with his lighter. He had personally picked out the candles for tonight, making sure the colours matched with his beaded bracelet. After all, he was her favourite. 

The light from the candles illuminated a small figure, sitting on a chair beside the table. 

It was a women, with the most curvy body shape that anyone could think off. Her hands were bounded behind her, mouth stuffed and taped with duct tape. All her makeup was recklessly wiped off, and her hair pulled and stretched into a lump of tangled mess. And the best part, she was naked. 

Fully and utterly naked from head to toe. Her exposed goods were a pleasant sight for all the boys in the room. She was withering and twisting against her bonds as he gazed at the women with a sadistic glee running through his dark black orbs. 

She was cold. She could feel the chills of the cold weather, penetrating through her naked skin. 

“Hush, little one.” The dangerous man boop the women’s nose as her struggles got louder and louder. She whimpered at his unexpected touch. His voice was laced with innocent sweetness. “It’s okay, baby. I know you want the cake. I’ll make sure to give you a slice before I kill you.” He whispered into the women’s ear, before setting himself next to her. 

He smiled at the lightened cake and proceeded to cut it, singing a song with his beautiful voice.

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to my little princess. Happy birthday to you.” He singed, caressing the small picture frame that sat beside the cake. His eyes became glossy with unshed tears as he remembered the good old days with his darling. 

The trapped women beside him, glared at his unusual, weird actions. She was shivering in fright as she was forced to listen to the demon beside her singing such a happy song. It made her more afraid of his unhinged personality. 

His two personal bodyguards also shivered at their boss’s creepy voice singing such a normal, happy, cliche song. Even after serving him for years and watching him do this every year on the same night, they are always freaked out by his sweet persona. It was creepy, and worse than his actual demonic personality. 

“Want some cake?” The demon offered to his guards who shook their heads. “I insist.” The warning was clear in his voice. They gulped and took up the offer. 

Smiling, the man ruffled his electric blue hair and turned to the naked women. Setting himself on her thighs, putting most of his dead weight on her naked body and the chair beneath her, he cupped her gagged face in his hands. 

Slowly but surely, he removed the tape and the stuffed gag which turned out to be her blue panties. As soon as the gag was off, the women sucked in deep breadths of air into her lungs, trying to regulate her breathing. 

“Enjoying baby?” He teased, with a strange glint in his eyes. The girl whimpered. 

“S-suga... p-please let m-me go. I-I’m sorry. I-I’m really—“ 

“Stop...” He cut her off, by thrusting the panties back in her mouth. “You talk too much, baby. I don’t like my dolls talking too much.” He grumbled, shaking his head like a child. In reality, that’s what he is. A crazy, insane spawn of the devil. He’s worse than the actual youngest among his brothers. “Here, have some cake, baby.” 

The young man forced a rather large slice of dark chocolate cake into her mouth. She gagged on it because he hadn’t removed the panties and had thrusted the food deep inside her. 

A wicked smirk graced his lips as he watched the women struggle. He even applied a bit of pressure on her windpipe as a cherry on top. The reaction was instant. The women’s face had turned a bright red. Her struggles had turned more fierce. 

“Do you like it baby?” He mused, running his cold, slender fingers on her bare shoulders, sending cold shivers down her back. The light pressure on her windpipe was still there. “It’s chocolate. Princess’s favourite flavour.” 

“Mmmhhh...” the women tried. She really tried to spit out the gag and the stupid cake in her mouth. But she couldn’t. It was stuffed in too deep, almost blocking off half of her air ways in addition to his thumb. 

“Do you know why I don’t like you, baby?” He continued, ignoring her struggles. He started dropping wet, sloppy kisses on her neck. They slowly reached down to her chest, through her moulds before making their way back up to her neck. “Do you know why you’re in this... predicament?” 

The childishness has vanished from his tone. It was now dark and low. 

“Because you have something that belongs to my Princess only.” 

The venom in his voice was strong and piercing. It mentally shocked the helpless women. All this time, she thought she had just stumbled into a psychopath by accident but his words seemed to indicate that she was sought out. 

“Not to mention, you practically tried to rip off a very important part of me, even though I gave you ample of warnings to keep your curiosity to yourself.” 

The kisses on her became more aggressive. His hands were now squeezing and twisting her big leverage, causing her pain and an unusual sense of pleasure. 

“Joonie tried to stop me.” At this, his voice went back to that child-like whining. “But I couldn’t help myself.” He suddenly bit her neck with his sharp teeth. The women flinched. 

He slowly brought his soft lips closer to her ear shell. 

“I wanted to have some fun.” 

And with that, the cake knife was suddenly slashed across her shoulder blades, drawing out the first blood of the night and the first set of screams that will echo in the quiet, empty house. 

The next day, a new headline was broadcasted on all the channels across the nation. 

‘BANGTAN HAS STRUCK AGAIN!’ 

Tag List: @demonic-meatball​

[catalinaroleplay]

Gender & Pronouns: Cis woman, she/her

Date of Birth: April 17th, 1985 (35)

Place of Birth: Manhattan, New York City, New York

Neighborhood: Ventura

Length of Residency: Since January 2020

Occupation: Co-owner of VP Records Recording Label

Face Claim: Megan Fox

BIOGRAPHY

TRIGGERS: Alcohol, Drugs, Infidelity.

Vivienne was born to Theodore and Malina Stanhope on a rainy Spring morning in Manhattan. Unbeknownst to her, she was born into a very wealthy family. The Stanhope’s family company started in oil and shipping many years ago, but had since evolved into acquiring failing and bankrupt companies and revitalizing them, pushing the Stanhope family into higher and higher socio-economic status.

Her childhood was typical of a rich child. Boarding schools in Europe. Trips around the world. Shopping sprees whenever her mother felt the need. Yet, Vivienne was never interested in those things. She was more interested in the sounds around her, more specifically, music. She had always been sensitive to music. Music was the only way her parents could get her to sleep when she was a baby. It was what stopped the tantrums when she was a toddler. It was what soothed her when she felt feelings she could not express. She heard the violin for the first time on an outing to the orchestra with her parents and grandparents. She was three years old and sat quietly staring into the orchestra pit as they played song after song. She was mesmerized by the sounds it could make and knew she had to learn to play that instrument. As they all piled into the limousine that would take them home, Vivienne could only talk about the violin and how much she wanted to play it. They put her in lessons instantly and she learned the instrument remarkably quickly. She had it mastered by the time she was seven and had composed her first musical piece at the age of nine. The family realized they had a musical prodigy on their hands and trained her with several different tutors and music teachers to encourage this talent within her. She loved her ability to practice music and create it. It became her passion as she grew older.

As she grew, Vivienne learned the viola, cello, bass, piano, and guitar. She is proficient in all string instruments. She was never interested in the harp, but would come back to it every now and again trying to find her enjoyment with it, but it would never come. She became a show pony at her parents’ and grandparents’ parties and events. They pushed her on the stage to play, but she most enjoyed playing for her little sister, Catherine, whenever she could. They did not start off very close as Vivienne was always going away to school, but once they were able to go together, they were inseparable. It was this way until high school started for Catherine. Her family wanted Catherine to complete high school in an American private school in New York so she was whisked away and Vivienne was alone to complete her junior year in her European high school. She had a handful of friends who were musically inclined as well that she enjoyed, but it wasn’t the same as her sister. It would be the following year that Vivienne would be called back to America herself and her life would change.

Catherine was turning fifteen and participating in the debutante ball. She was the apple of their grandmother, Josette’s, eye. They had big plans for the perfect girl so they needed her in America. Catherine was soft, eloquent, gregarious, outgoing, elegant, and mannerly. Vivienne was quiet, observant, curious, reserved, and sarcastic. Catherine was the obvious choice to bring even more recognition to the family name. She was going to be part of a union with another large, wealthy family. The Calloways. The Calloways had an abundance of sons and one of them was Philip. Philip was charming, determined, ambitious, with a bit of edge that they believed Catherine could calm. Their first dates had been at gala tables, where both families sat them next to each other purposely. He was Catherine’s date to her debutante ball. He had escorted her in and caught eyes with Vivienne and the look never faltered. It was instant. Vivienne felt it too, though she tried to avoid him as much as she could. She knew he was not meant for her, but for her sister. However, it turned out, Catherine was not very interested in Philip. He did not move her as he did Vivi. She was glad to have nothing to do with him. Though it surprised the rest of Vivi’s family when he showed up the day after the ball with a bouquet of flowers for the older Stanhope girl.

Vivi and Philip were a bit awkward on their first date. They were quiet until Philip mentioned music and unlocked the key to Vivi’s heart. They spoke for hours about music, losing track of time and having both families wondering and in a panic as to where they were. The days after, they met up and played music for each other. Philip, on his guitar, Vivi on her violin. They fell in love over music. And Vivi knew what she must do. She graduated from her boarding school and applied to Julliard. She earned a full scholarship and majored in music composition and performance. She needed to be in America to be with Philip. He only attended Julliard for one year, before taking his chances on a music competition show and winning the entire thing. It had been a shock, but Vivi knew he would do well. It thrusted Philip into instant stardom and he took Vivi along for the ride. There were concerts, tours, and interviews. Tons of fans screaming his name. Vivi was happy for him, but the hustle and bustle of a famous musician wasn’t something that she felt comfortable with so they agreed that she would stay in New York while he traveled the world with his band.

They spoke pretty much every day and continued to foster their love. Vivi landed a job as a violinist with the New York Symphony after graduation and things were good. On her twenty-third birthday, Philip proposed to Vivienne and she happily accepted. Their families were not thrilled, but they accepted the match, starting to plan a huge wedding that would take over Manhattan for an entire week. Vivi stayed quiet during most of the planning, but Philip could see it was eating her up. She didn’t like being the center of attention without an instrument in her hand and things with the wedding were getting bigger and bigger. After months of cold sweats and nightmares that Philip had to calmly talk her down from, the pair agreed to elope. They took a flight to Vegas and got married by an Elvis impersonator in a Little White Chapel on The Strip. Their families were livid when they saw the wedding on TMZ, but relented that at least they were married and the union was secure.

After a week of a honeymoon on the Calloway family’s private islands, Philip and Vivi were back to their regular lives. Philip was gone on tours and appearances, while Vivi continued in the symphony and waited for him to come back to their Manhattan brownstone. Things did not slow down for Philip until two years later when he had to record another album which brought him home. In the time that he completed his second album, he had also managed to get Vivi pregnant which made their families extremely happy. To everyone’s surprise, Vivi had twin boys, Peyton and Presley, at the age of twenty-eight. Juggling the symphony and twin babies, while Philip went off to promote the album was a bit stressful for Vivi, so she decided to take leave to raise her children and help Philip with his career.

His second album did extremely well and sent him off and away again. Vivi was sad to see him go, but happy that at least his music was successful. But it seemed that fame got to Philip’s head, he began indulging in all the things that were offered to him: sex, drugs, and alcohol. Vivi worried about him as she got frantic early morning calls or could hear girls in the background. Then there were the tabloids where there was video and photo proof of his infidelity. Philip flew home immediately and apologized up and down for his behavior promising that he would not do any of it again. He went to rehab and they went to counseling. They did not want to abandon their marriage and they had young children to think about. Philip convinced Vivi to come on the road with him to promote and tour. She agreed, wanting to keep an eye on him. However, the constant movement of tour life was not conducive to raising two toddler boys. It took a lot out of Vivi so for the second leg,  she made the decision to take herself and the boys home. This time, Philip bought them a house in California so it would always be summer and they could have fun. She appreciated it and began to make the California house a home.  

Things were going well for a while. They had even embarked on a joint venture, opening VP Records. A recording label that they both owned so they could help other artists and so Vivi wouldn’t miss music so much. It kept them strong and together for a few more years, before it all fell apart again. The cheating, drugs, and alcohol began again. Vivi began visiting Philip randomly to get him to focus and keep him on the right track, but it would not work. On one random trip, Vivi had brought their sons to the penthouse the label had rented for Philip. It was a surprise for their wedding anniversary that she was even there. They called out for him, searching the suite all over until Vivienne found the bedroom. She opened the door to find her husband passed out between two naked women with several bottles of alcohol and drug paraphernalia all around the room. That was the last straw for Vivi. She caught the next flight home and began packing her and the boys’ things to move out and move back to New York. However, she found out she was pregnant and thought again. She confronted her husband and told him about the baby she was carrying. He insisted that he would do better, but she was not a fool again. They separated while she was pregnant and she filed for divorce the day after their daughter, Victoria, was born. The divorce was messy and highly publicized. Yet, Vivienne won primary custody of their children, fifty one percent of VP Records, and half of their assets including the California house. She knew that she could not live there so she sold it and used the money to move to the quiet island of Catalina to rebuild and restart her life with her children.

PERSONALITY

Positive: Musically-inclined | Observant | Resilient

Negative: Sarcastic | Reserved | Cynical

Vivienne Stanhope-Calloway is portrayed by Niki.

[kashimos-hajime]

come undone | q.b.

summary: “you a hero on this earth, too?” “is it bad to say that i actually prefer the term vigilante?” two months after the battle of earth, quentin beck meets the avengers-level threat he’s been dreaming of.

WARNINGS: endgame spoilers, manipulation, illusions, unable to tell what’s real and what isn’t, some not-that-explicit banging, lying, intense situations, gun violence, swearing, angst, unstable reader, trust issues, low self-esteem, etc. lmk if i missed anything pairing: Quentin Beck x fem!enhanced!Reader, past Steve Rogers x fem!enhanced!Reader word count: 15.7k

a/n: written for layla, my love @wxntersoldiers. my prompt was i’m a vigilante and you’re a hero. that never works out well. as always, i go the weird, unorthodox route. this is a post-endgame au. old!steve doesn’t come back. instead, he’s just gone. peter’s been with the avengers for a while (even though not technically an avenger until infinity war). there will be a prequel featuring this reader and steve rogers and how she got her powers!! it’ll be posted some time next week :)  prequel can be found here (x). for some vibes, the song undone by ffh 

gif credit (x)

Quentin’s read the tabloids, and he’s read government reports, and he’s read every little thing about her.

He knows exactly who the pretty thing sitting alone at the end of one of New York’s finest bars is.

The music is loud, deafening and the people in the room aren’t even dancing on the floor. Thrashing and jumping, they spill their drinks and grind in the heat and Quentin wonders how long it’ll take before the pretty one joins.

She doesn’t.

All night, she nurses some monstrously pink drink Quentin thinks is named Jersey Sunset. She doesn’t take part in the celebration of the return of the Blipped, and the only life in her face is when someone comes up to her, asks for an autograph or picture. Otherwise, she stares at the bottles of wine lining the walls as if she wants to drain every single one, and her eyes reek of grief.

He smiles.

Taking his scotch, he saunters along the bar and scans her figure, at the way her ankles cross on the foot rest of the stool, the hoodie and tight jeans she wears. If she had been trying not to catch attention, it had failed on him. In the strobe lights of the bar, the dark canvas punctured by red and blue and green, she glows.

“Do you want a picture?” she asks without even looking at him. His smile doesn’t waver as he slides into the stool beside her and sets down his scotch.

“No,” he says carefully, and she finally looks at him. Despite the sharp edge of her eyeliner and the blood red of her lips, she looks minutes from crumbling. Reaching over, Quentin brushes a loose strand of hair away from her cheek, knuckles grazing her skin, his thumb brushing over the rouge of her mouth. She’s perhaps one of the most stunning women he’s ever seen, and if Steve Rogers truly is missing, he’s missing a phenomenon. “You looked sad, and I wanted to make sure you were okay

She smiles, and it’s soft, tired, strangely charming. “That’s sweet, but it’s easier if you just ask for an autograph and photo and go.”

“I don’t want a photograph. I want to know if you’re okay.” His eyebrows raise when she doesn’t answer, and she turns back to her Jersey Sunset, pinching the grass-colored straw umbrella and twirling it between her fingers. In the dark light of the bar, he can barely make out the shadows of her face when she turns to her drink, and the only glimpses he gets are when the strobe lights spin their way.

She scoffs, smiles disbelievingly, and lets the umbrella fall sideways. It lands in the crushed ice of her drink. She holds out her hand and he notices her long slender fingers, calluses where she had grabbed a gun, and a healing cut along her wrist, disappearing in the sleeve of her hoodie when a red light runs darkly over her body. 

“I think we got off the wrong foot,” she says and he takes her hand, trying not to let his smile grow from his carefully constructed concern. “I think you know who I am, though.” 

Quentin knows she’s clearly expecting ‘Steve Rogers’ fiancée’ but he says, “You’re Viper, of course.”

“Right.” Her smile is small, stunning, gorgeous and Quentin frowns, hand limp in her strong one. A sort of feeling tumbles in his stomach and she withdraws her hand as he blinks. “And you?”

“Quentin Beck.” He remembers himself, and she doesn’t seem to think much. She’s probably used to starstruck fans, he thinks with a repressed scowl. But he’s always been one to stick out.  “Thank you for your service in the final battle. I heard it was a hard one.”

“Yeah, well, that’s war,” she says loosely, grabbing the black straw and sucking down the rest of her Jersey Sunset. Quentin flags down a bartender and gestures for another for his new partner. 

“And I’m sorry for the loss…” He pauses to catch her attention, and as soon as he gets it, he twists his lips into a sympathetic smile. “The loss of your friends and fiancé.” She laughs then, but it sounds hollow and it echoes in his chest. 

“He’s not dead.” She stabs her straw through the crushed ice just as the music switches, and Quentin’s gaze drifts, disinterested in the dance floor. Not dead. So Steve Rogers is still alive.

That puts a pin in his plan.

“At least, the Steve you guys all know. Steve I know?” She scoffs, her breath whistling between her teeth. “Long gone.” Her black straw bends under the force of her stab, and her lips have quirked into a deep scowl. Blinking, the Viper turns to look at him and she shakes her head to herself, as if embarrassed. “Sorry, uh, it’s just been hard without him.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to pry, it’s just… uh, can I let you in on a secret?” he whispers, and she frowns, nodding. Leaning over, he twists his ring around his finger and swallows. “I… I actually approached you because there’s talk around here. I read that you can manipulate reality?” He feels every inch of her stiffen, and stifles his own smile. “That you’re the reason there was a tear between realities?”

She pulls back as if burned, and a myriad of emotions flickers over her face before she gives him a freezing glare. “No one’s supposed to know that. I… I fixed it as soon as I could.” Her voice trembles, and her finger traces the swirls in the wood. ”How did you know?” 

The corner of Quentin’s mouth quirks up and he drains the rest of his scotch. “Two months ago I was sucked into a multidimensional tear from my world and landed here,” he says and she smiles again, bitter sympathy twisting on her face. He can’t tell if she believes him yet or not. Quentin leans on his bar by his elbows. “I realized that your Earth is much different than mine.”

“Like?” She narrows her eyes but he can see the breaking in her eyes. The vulnerability — the guilt. Oh, how fragile she could be in his hands, and how powerful. Another startling pink drink is placed before her, an orange slice wedges on the edge and the empty glass is taken away as he swallows. “I’m sorry if it’s something you don’t want to talk about it.”

She grabs the drink and Quentin notices the distinct lack of the ring on her left hand.

Perfect.

“No, it’s - it’s okay. My Earth… my home, we call it Earth-833. Where I’m from, this is Earth-616.” 

“And… what happened on your Earth?” She sounds so tentative, so sensitive to his feelings, that Quentin knows he’s picked the perfect little hero to play his leading lady. Clearing his throat, he watches the bartender refill his glass. The liquid amber swirls in his glass in the dark corner of the bar as a red light causes it to glow in his hand.

“It got destroyed. I was… I used to be someone like you. A hero, I guess, but most would define me as a vigilante because of the methods I employed. I tried to stop the Elementals who destroyed my home, but… I failed and I was nothing more than a failure, too.”

“Oh, my god. That must be terrible. I’m so sorry.”

His smile wants to grow and it wants to sink its claws into his cheeks as Viper raises the glass and directs the straw between her lips to give herself a reason to look away from him. He instead nurses his drink, drains it away and lets it swim in his head.

“I mean, it lead me to you, didn’t it? And… there’s so much life here, even after such a terrible battle. It really is something else.” His smile softens as he places a hand gently atop of hers. “You are something else to bring me here.”

She sets the drink on the counter, but her fingers linger on the glass, and she turns to him, a glint in her eyes he hadn’t seen before. It changes the way the light plays in her face, changes her to look less like prey, more like the predator he knows she is.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” Her smile is an endless bottle of rich red wine, and Quentin’s knifepoint grin carves into his face. “But maybe I could show you around, if you’re interested.”

“Becoming friends with you?” he asks like it’s an out of this world feat, and it is, but Quentin Beck has never been the one to be stopped by the impossible. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Oh, arranged, hm?” Her eyes spark with life, and Quentin’s smile grows impossibly. The black straw slips between her lips again, and her cheeks hollow as she sucks down that Jersey Sunset. Her eyes don’t rip away from his, and his smirk is hidden behind his glass of scotch as he tips it back. His glass clatters against the counter, and she waves to the bartender. “Another for the gentleman here and a line of shots.”

“Right away.”

“My treat.” She shrugs when he tries to protest, and her hand slips into her tight jean pocket, pulling out a hundred dollar bill pinched between her middle and index finger. “How many shots do you think a hundred dollars can buy?”

“What’s wrong with…” He gestures to that pink monstrosity, and she chuckles.

“My Jersey Sunset?”

So he was right. 

Quentin smiles sheepishly, trying to pretend it’s not an offense to the eyes and to the body, but the Viper simply chuckles and pushes it away from her. “Yeah, I’ve had three of these and they really don’t do the trick.” Shot glasses line the counter as the bartender fills each one up, alcohol overflowing. 

“Three?”

“Yeah. And it’s getting kinda revolting. I just need to get drunk,” she sighs and he watches as the bartender lines crystalline little glasses behind the bar, tipping a full bottle and running it over the ten — he counts — glasses. He overfills many of them, no doubt doing so for the Avenger sitting before him, before leaving to attend to other patrons. 

“Any occasion?”

“Besides the big traumatic battle and half the universe coming back? Uh, I don’t really have a fiancé anymore,” she says, and he knows it’s in confidence by the way her eyes flicker around for reporters or paps. He scoots closer and she sighs, leaning until their shoulders brush. If she realizes she did this, Quentin doesn’t know. “He left me for some other girl.”

Quentin nearly screams in elation, because this is better than he could’ve hoped for. Now this is perfect. A scorned lover, rather than a mourning one. Bitterness, anger, all much more powerful than grief, and a dashing hero to save the day and restore her faith in love — oh, how has life set him up to be a leading man in his own private drama? “That’s awful. Why would he ever do that?”

“Yeah, well, I want to say it’s not my fault, but you already know what my powers can do, so maybe he thought I was too much, or I was too hard to be with, or something. Maybe in the five years I was gone, he realized how much easier life was without me.” When she turns to look at him, he can taste the oranges she’s sucked dry hours before he’d joined her, and he wants to kiss the fruitiness off her mouth, taste it for himself. A drum pounds in his stomach when her eyes flicker to his lips, and his mouth curls into a sly smile. “Does it freak you out?”

“Not at all. In fact, I find you intriguing.” He’s honest, then, because he truly does find the woman sitting before him a mystery. A mystery he can’t wait to crack. “The powers you have must be difficult to control.” 

“They are, but I like to think that I’m doing well in keeping it under wraps. The press don’t know that I could literally end our existence as we know it, which I always count as a good thing.”

Quentin chuckles, unexpected but still welcomed, and he catches the slight curl of her mouth as he glances at her pink monstrosity of a drink. He nudges her with his elbow, nodding to the Jersey Sunset and she pushes it towards him. He braces himself for a moment before taking a sip, and a fruit cocktail explodes on his tongue, sweet yet tangy and brain-burning cold. “How about you?”

“What?” He doesn’t understand.

“The ring on your finger? You’re married, so why are you here chatting it up with me? Don’t you wanna see her when you somehow figure out a way to get back?” Her tone is fledged with a teasing note but underneath it all, he knows she accuses him. He looks down at his ring, forgotten since he’s arrived, and puts on the softest, saddest smile he can muster. And to the passerby, it’s enough to break someone’s heart. His eyes downcast, he twists the ring along his finger and sighs quietly.

“My wife died,” he says, barely audible over the pulse of the music. “I couldn’t save her from the Elementals, and I…” He swallows, and his eyes begin to burn as he looks up, the smile digging further into his cheeks like a grieving widower, a man trying to be strong for his new companion, a man wearing a mask. “I guess I wear it out of habit.”

“I get that. Sometimes I make coffee for two and I wonder what the hell I’m doing.” Her fingers wrap around his wrist, just underneath the sleeve of his shirt and, unadulterated, a shiver runs up his spine. When his eyes meet hers, he feels like he’s on cloud nine at the tender smile that curls her lips. “I’m so sorry, Quentin. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay. It’s nice to know someone who understands. Even if it’s more bitter and resentful on your part.” He’s reaching to make her smile, and it comes through as a success when she chuckles. But then, her smile slips away and he twists his wrist to take hold of her hand, squeezing. Eyebrows knitting together, a sympathetic smile swells on his face. “And, maybe if you’re still in the habit of making coffee for two, I could help with that?”

She lets go of his hand, tucking hair behind her ear with a shy smile, and nods. “I’d like that. Really, I would.” She drags her Jersey Sunset back towards herself and takes another small sip. When she speaks, she sounds remarkably more somber. “It’s kinda weird, living alone again. I thought when Thanos was gone, things were supposed to be happy.”

“You’re awfully sad for a hero who saved the world.”

“Guess heroes can’t have any fun, but maybe you would know about that.” 

“I find the answer is simply you’re just hanging around the wrong people,” he murmurs, fingers brushing over hers as he reaches for a shot glass behind the bar. The sharp smell of vodka bites at his sinuses and Quentin wrinkles his nose, tossing one back. It burns on its way down, and he clears his throat as she laughs. This one comes easier, lighter, and he fights back a smirk at his victory. Taking a shot for herself, she lets it go down as easy as water.

“Maybe I am.” 

“Well, let me see if I can fix that.” 

Glasses clink. Vision blurs, and heads spin as two lone figures stumble out of the bar at the witching hour. The moon is covered by grey satin clouds, the alleyway nothing but shadows and dark and everything that hides during the day. By the kitchen exit, there’s no paparazzi, no one in their tiny vodka glass of a world, and Quentin lists all the things he could do here in his head, everything he could.

“This might be stupid,” she whispers, and her breath tastes so delightfully sinful that Quentin barely holds back his groan. His hand trails along the bare skin beneath her hoodie, and he sighs as she tugs him flush against her. Her fingers dig into his neck, and her lips snag on his as he feels her pulse in her throat. It beats in her mouth, and his blood rushes to his head and feet, utter lava causing his head to spin — or maybe it’s the alcohol. 

In the darkness of the alleyway, he barely knows what she looks like drunk, but when a car drives past, her face flashes silver. Ironwire in her bones, stardust in her eyes, he has never seen a nebula quite so stunning. 

“You’re an Avenger. You can do whatever you want,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the waistband of her jeans and she inhales, a quivering little breath that steals from him. Her eyes meet his, and he smirks, his other hand following the curve of her neck. “You’re the most ravishing woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

Instantly, the tenderness in her eyes melts and a strength floods her body, her smile becoming crooked. Quentin nudges her legs apart and and pushes every inch of his hips against hers, relishing in the gasp that escapes her lips. Her hands shoot through his hair and her lips seek his for a moment before he ducks down and finds the strong cord of her throat. The taste of sweat and sugar pushes into his mouth and he nearly bites down before fingers tug at his hair, rip him away from her neck and push him into searing lips.

“You said you could fix this,” she whispers against his sloppy mouth. His seeking kisses never falter, from her mouth to her cheeks and jaw and neck. His fingers pull her zipper down, spread her wide and he pulls away from where he is sucking a mark onto her neck to meet her eyes. Her pupils are blown, and her lips, once swiped with red, are parted. “You better be packin’, because I wasn’t expecting company.”

“You’re trouble,” he whispers, and her fingers trail through the roughness of his beard, brush over his lips. “Rogers was a fool to leave you.” She narrows her eyes, and he smirks, rolling his hips hard against her heat. The Viper merely crumbles in his arms, and she closes her eyes as his lips swallow her whole. He tastes her drunken sigh, feels it swirl in his own spinning head. 

Her hand searches for his wrist, and when he feels her gunmetal fingers wrap around his skin, he swallows down her plead for comfort, her plead to soothe the ache he knows festers in her heart. “Beck, please,” she cries into his mouth and she urges his palm flat against her stomach. Her other arm wraps around his neck and he smiles into her needy mouth as she trails his hand down her skin, his fingers brushing against the hem of his jeans before pushing past even that, and against the warmth of her. 

Everywhere he touches burns, and it is delightful. 

He has her open and panting and easy within moments, and all goes perfectly well.

That is, until his pants are barely shoved beneath his hips and he’s cock-deep in the Viper, and she whimpers out Steve. 

Hot-white rage fills Quentin to the point that he barely sees straight. The alcohol drowns out his senses, and he growls against her neck. Teeth grazing her tender skin, his hands grip bruises into her hips, and she whispers thank you, like it was merely a temporary lapse in judgement. Like she doesn’t even remember, and maybe she doesn’t, so Quentin merely smiles. Merely pretends he didn’t hear, pretends it never happened. 

It’ll only be a matter of time before Steve Rogers is nothing but a pile of ash in his wake, and if that means Quentin has to suffer his new lover calling him another man’s name, then so be it.

.

You are the Viper.

The tabloids would rather call you Mrs. Steve Rogers, and despite his many promises that it means nothing, that it’s not like that, you’re starting to feel like it’s more true with every passing moment. You may be a hero, but it was always up to Steve to convince you you weren’t the villain.

Steve, who didn’t love you anyway. 

Fucking whatever. It doesn’t matter that you’re basically the newest celebrity ‘widow’. No one except your colleagues know where Steve’s gone, and the media can speculate all they want. 

The truth will always hurt way more.

“Hey, you’re awake?” 

You drop your phone from where it’s been blasting bluelight in your eyes for the past hour as you scrolled through Instagram and look over at the man beside you. He twists in the darkness to switch on the lamp on his nightstand, and immediately you blink at how bright it is. The dottiness of your vision fades slowly, and you turn off your phone screen, sinking into the blankets beside him. Quentin rolls over onto his side and the soft smile on his face makes your own surface. He props himself up on his elbow, head resting in his palm as you turn to toss your phone onto the nightstand on your side of the bed.

You can’t remember the last time you smiled until now. One of his hands moves to touch you tentatively, and you offer your hand. His fingers lace with yours and he gently tugs your knuckles to his lips as you turn onto your side. With your free hand, you weave your fingers through his messy hair and lean over to snag his lips in a morning kiss.

“Good morning.” Your murmur is lost in another one of his kisses and you feel yourself smiling as his knuckles brush over his cheek.

“This is a nice way to wake up,” he chuckles and rolls away. Tossing off the blankets, he sits on the edge of the bed and stretches, the muscles in his back catching the golden light of his lamp. “What time is it?”

“Quarter past six. Way too early for a Sunday but you can use the bathroom through there.” You smile to yourself, unable to help the little victory fistpump your brain does when he grins in thanks. You note the ridges of his shoulders, the gentle slope of his back and the heat that seems to radiate from his very being as you nod your head to the adjoining bathroom in your flat. He turns to flash another grin before getting up, nude as the day he was born, and walking around the bed. He leans over to kiss your forehead, hand cupping your face warmly before brushing your cheek with his thumb. Reaching up to take hold of his wrist, you lean into his touch as his lips stay for a moment.

When he breaks away, you nearly melt at how gauzy and soft his blue eyes are as they meet yours. “I’d be happy for you to join me in the shower.”

“Noted.” 

He smiles then, and drags himself away, showing his figure without even trying. You cross your arms over your chest as your heart flutters in your throat. He was nothing like you’ve ever sexually encountered before. Kind and giving, yet he’d been insatiable, a predator hiding underneath his charming little facade, and nothing at all like Steve, who was nothing more behind what one saw. You got everything on the label. There were no secrets with Steve and— 

Steve.

Just the mere thought of him makes your tape-and-glue heart want to crumble again, and your smile fades.

Two months. He’s been gone for two months, and you’ve just started to let go of the hope that he might be back. Might come back to you. Might help you heal — heal with you. A sort of guilt weighs heavy on your shoulders and you throw off the blankets, disgusted. You don’t know whether it’s with Steve or yourself.

Had it somehow been your fault? 

The rational part of your brain wants to say no. It isn’t your fault the Snap took you. It isn’t your fault Steve seemed to forget you in those five years you were apparently gone. It isn’t your fault you, fiancé and girlfriend of five years, didn’t matter more to him than some woman from the 40s he knew for a year, if even that.

But maybe it is.

You want to sink into the earth and disappear forever, but you don’t. You’ve had enough with disappearing for what felt like forever. You’ve had enough with not existing. You’ve had enough. Feeling like a second choice, feeling like not enough, feeling sick with the thought that Steve never really loved you.

Your phone vibrates on the table and you move to grab it, letting out a tiny squeak when you feel something inside you tighten.

You’re sore. 

Quentin Beck really was the best lay of your life. 

Picking up your phone, you spot Bucky’s profile picture and sigh, picking up.

“Hey.”

“Hey. Missed you at the bar last night. Did you go home early?” Bucky doesn’t sound that concerned but you know it’s because he’s still reeling, too. No doubt the same doubts run through his head whenever he thinks of Steve, and with the paparazzi flashing in your face every moment you step outside the compound, neither of you are in a supply of patience. 

“Uh, yeah.” You can hear Quentin’s shower running and the thought of a steaming shower pelting your skull nearly makes you sigh. “I hooked up with someone, and I brought him back to my place.” Your thighs press together as a shiver runs down your spine. Hell, when did the room get cold?

When he left it, your battered heart teases, and you roll your eyes to yourself.

“Oh.” You can tell Bucky’s either not impressed or too shocked to say anything else. “You’re safe though, right? Do I need to come pick you up?”

“No, I’m fine. He’s…” from another Earth wants to spill out of your mouth, but instead you say, “a good guy. I’ll manage fine on my own.”

“Okay, well, we have a meeting so be at the facility by nine. Parker’s coming back for the first time today.”

“Really?” You haven’t seen Peter since the funeral, and although you've tried to reach out to him, you know space is what he might need. You’re more than aware that everyone who’s returned is fucked up, but you also know the kid took the worst of it. He’s only sixteen, coming back only to have Tony die. And Nat’s gone… You don’t want to think about what you’ve lost anymore. “Shit. Shit, he didn’t tell me. That’s really good.”

“Yeah, well, he’s taking it slow, so it’d be good if you’re there with him. You know, familiar face and all. I don’t think he’d want to see me after I tried to punch him in the face with my bionic arm.”

“Yeah, well, he thought your metal arm was cool.” Neither of you laugh, but you think you can hear Bucky’s tiny smile despite the silence. “I’ll be there.” You press your lips together and swing your legs off the bed with a slight grunt. “And Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it fucking stupid to ask if Steve’s triggered any of the markers?”

Bucky is silent for a long while, and you close your eyes, wondering what Steve is doing now. Enjoying life without you, no doubt, or maybe he’s trying to get back. It causes a vile taste to flood your mouth and your head aches at the thought. 

“You know he hasn’t. He’s gone for good, Vipe. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I thought so. I’ll see you soon, Buck.” Tapping End Call, you set your phone on the nightstand and plug it into a charger conveniently by the stand before standing up. Your whole body feels ravaged and a satisfying warmth floods your stomach as you get your legs to wobble over to the bathroom. For the first time in months, you feel like someone really wants you. 

Wants you. Not some rosy-tinted dream, not some utopia out of reach.

You.

“Quentin?” You knock on the bathroom door before pushing yourself in and the mist that hits you immediately coats your skin in wet kisses. 

“Hey.” His voice echoes against the tiles and you pull open the glass door as he turns around, his hands midway through his hair. “Glad you could join me.” Shampoo foaming in his fingers and his body shining with wet, he looks delectable with his half-hearted smile.

“Well, it was a tempting offer, Mr. Beck.” You take his proffered hand and step under the stream of bullet water as he closes the glass door behind you. He snags a kiss and you find yourself kissing back before remembering the phone call. “I’ve gotta head out after this. I’m sorry I have to cut the morning short.”

“You don’t have to lie, y’know? You could just tell me straight to my face that you find me strange and kick me out,” he drawls, and you chuckle, your heart stitching itself together at the sly curl of his lip. Looping your arms around his neck, you press a kiss against his mouth as shampoo foam runs over your skin.

“Well, in my case, I think strange is good.” Kissing his chin and jaw, you run your nose along his cheek. “And I want to see you again,” you promise, and his smile against your lips is everything. It’s addicting, kissing him like he’s the only man in the world. Something about Quentin Beck makes you feel wanted. Something about him pulls you out of whatever state Steve Rogers had left in, and although your gut twists every time Quentin touches you as if it’s wrong, you know in your heart that it is right.

“Really? A hero wants to meet me again? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

“Yeah, well you’re pretty impressive.”

His smirk blinds you as he presses you against the cool tile. Goosebumps track up your arms and you shiver as he nudges your chin up and his breath whispers where tiny bruises litter your neck. His arm barricade you, one a dominance along your hip. His thumb runs soothingly over the bruised skin and your stomach pushes at his touch. You’ve nowhere to run, and you don’t want to run anymore One of your hands runs through his sopping wet hair, and you giggle when he kisses a trail up to your mouth, lingering around your lips but never quite meeting. 

“Say it again,” he murmurs, low in his throat and your stomach flips. Your heart slamming in your throat, you feel something curl inside you, something you always stomped down. You can feel yourself beginning to purge the thoughts and you sigh as Quentin shoves you against the wall. No matter how much you want to just break the chains barring you back, you can hear some voice in your head stopping you, some voice in your head that whispers no, do not unleash the monster. And so you listen, because it is all you know how to do. Listen to the voice in your head.

“You’re impressive,” you whisper and he chuckles, a sound that echoes deep in your chest as his hand runs down your slick skin, grabbing fistfuls of your flesh as his hips roll into yours. “I bet you like hearing that.”

“You have no idea, honey.” His beard brushes against the tender skin of your neck as he nips at the plane of your shoulder, and you smile, running your hands up his back, into his hair and holding on as tight as you can. His hips meet yours, every inch of him hot against yours as your knees begin to buckle. “Let go. C’mon, let go.” Your eyes slip shut, you can feel hot rain slip over your arms as more skin slides against the cold tile. His hands leave tracks of fire and he squeezes your hips teasingly as he slowly guides himself in between your legs, tantalizingly slow. “C’mon, nice ‘n’ easy, honey.”

His soft voice, deep, insistent, prys you open like a book, and you let out a soft whimper when he presses against the darkest mark on your neck with a kiss.

“Beck, I…” Your breath catches in your throat and you can feel the smirk against your collarbone as he hitches up your legs, pinning you against the wall. Your arms shoot around his neck, pulling him as tight as you can towards your chest. “I’ve gotta go soon.”

“No worries, darling. I’m somethin’ of a miracle worker myself.”

“Is that so?” you whisper, and he raises his head, slick rain trailing down his cheeks. His searing heat makes you light-headed and you suck in a hot breath as he presses a sloppy kiss against your mouth.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” The words push into your mouth and you let out a gasp when his tongue licks at the seam of your lips before pushing in. Your eyes close, and in the darkness, you see his porcelain blue eyes burning in the shadows like flames, unquenchable, hungry for more, and you are the forest fire he shall feed on.

.

The Avengers leave you and Peter alone in the rec room. You’re fidgeting with your phone in your pocket, the slip of paper Quentin had pressed into your hand before you left bending beneath your fingers, and Peter has calculus spread out before him.

You’re wondering if he’ll text first as you nurse your massive hangover. Peter’s pretending to do his work while he sneaks glances you pretend not to notice. It sounds like the beginning of an awful joke.

A Spider and a Viper walk into a room. The Spider turns to the Viper and says:

“So, how’s it going? A-around here, I mean.” 

You look up from your steaming mug of coffee that you’ve used to chased down some aspirin, and spot the boy sitting on the edge of the love seat he’s picked as his perch, pencil rolling over the textbook and onto the glass. Peter looks pitifully awkward and you want to reach over and hug him tight, but you feel like the boy before you craves something you can’t give him.

Tony.

Just the thought of your friend makes you feel it all over again. Your body aches, your head spins, and you suck down the coffee like it’s your lifeline. Letting the heat simmer behind your eyes, you close your eyes and set down your mug, leaning back as Peter pretends to work on some calculus equation you know he already knows the answer to.

“Peter, you don’t have to pretend like you’re okay. None of us are, anyway,” you murmur, leaning into the sofa and hugging a cushion to your chest as you regard the teen. He grabs the pencil, rolls it between his fingers, dark eyes not meeting yours. “And you’re just a kid.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” He closes his calculus workbook with a sigh, taking a sip of the glass of water you’d poured for him when he first arrived. “How… how are you doing?”

You smile softly, wearily at how tender his question is and you know he is far too kind for such a world. You still remember him, just nine and already braver than most men are staring down a Hammer bot with his plastic gauntlet — his little mask that was too big for his face.

How much you wish it was still 2010, you cannot even describe. You may not have known Steve then, but you wouldn’t know the trembling heartbreak that wrecks your body, the complete and utter shambles your mind is crushed beneath. It’s strange to think how young you felt then — just a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent partnered with the Black Widow. And now… now you’re something else. Stronger, broken, unstable, unbreakable, so many oxymorons and paradoxes you barely remember who you were before the Reality Stone altered every little thing that used to make you normal.

“I’m doing okay, Pete. Missing Tony a lot. And Nat. Feels weird without them but we’re getting by.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He doesn’t say anything about the absence of one name, despite it showing on his face for just a moment. He sets down the glass a little harder than you think he intended, and you squeeze the cushion to your chest. “I… I like a girl, though.” His words, timid and quiet, part the storm clouds nesting in your head.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Her name is MJ. She’s pretty, and smart, and she’s really funny, in a really twisted way.”

“Sounds like my type of girl,” you quip, scooting up against the couch and sitting straight. Tossing the pillow aside, you lean forward on your knees. Taking out your phone, you check it with a quick glimpse before setting it on the coffee table. “You should go for it. Do something normal for once, y’know?” Peter grins then, and you know that smile. It’s a smile of mischief, of a sixteen year old who’s being just a teen and in this moment, you don’t mind. “You have that school field trip coming up this summer, right? Make a grand gesture in Paris, the most romantic city in the world.”

“Yeah, but Mr. Harrington isn’t sure it’s going to go.”

“Oh, why?” 

“Not enough supervisors, and just a whole bunch of other stuff. I dunno,” he mumbles and you reach over to grab his arm, the warmth of him startling. It’s different than you remember, something stronger yet softer, a hearth that’s been burning longer than you realized. 

“Maybe I could chaperone, or pull a few strings. Just tell me if you need anything, okay? I think one of us needs a win.” His dark eyes meet yours and you grin, trying to pull his own smile out of him. “Come on. Can you imagine telling her how you feel on the top of the Eiffel Tower?”

“That would be pretty romantic.” 

“Yeah, it would.” Your hand slides down to take hold of Peter’s and you squeeze his palm. “Pete, you know Tony wouldn’t want you just… just living like a ghost.”

“Yeah.”

You let go of his hand and reach up to stroke at his cheek, your small smile growing when he ducks away from your hand like a tough little nine-year old. Letting your hand drop, you hear your phone buzz and two sets of eyes dart to your lit screen on the coffee table. Your eyes barely scan the notification before your screen turns off again, but you know who it is and you know Peter saw.

“Quentin? Who’s that?” Peter’s innocent question rattles in your skull, and you paste on the most sincere smile you can. Your mind scrambles for an answer, and underneath Peter’s stare that looks all too much like Tony’s in some respects, you fail.

“The guy I hooked up with last night,” you mutter, grabbing your phone. Unlocking it, you read his text as quick as you can and your thumbs hover over the keyboard, eager to reply. “Uh… what should I say? Oh, god, I never really dated anyone before.”

“Are you sure? Because you used to be engaged.”

Shooting Peter a dirty look, you elaborate, “Yeah, well, we bonded over work. This is a guy I met at a bar, and it’s different.” Turning off your phone, you tell yourself you’ll find a quiet time to compose a reply that makes sense. “He’s really nice, though.” 

Your phone buzzes in your hands again and it’s embarrassing how fast you go to check it.

Quentin Beck: Good morning. Sorry that you had to miss out on breakfast. I went to Starbucks and got a croissant.

Quentin Beck: Attachment: 1 Image

Swiping open the notification, you let out a sigh at the smug smile of Quentin Beck and his croissant of ham and cheese and a latté — breakfast that sounds undeniably scrumptious after a night of drinking.

“Anyway,” you mutter, clearing your throat, “it’s nice having someone outside of us treat me like I’m just a normal person. Most people are freaked out when they meet me because they think I might destroy their perception of reality or something, or they, like, ask me to do a tiny trick on them, and I don’t know which is worse. Because I really could just fucking destroy the universe, Pete, and I don’t even know how to stop it.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter’s voice is soft, quiet. You set down your phone. “I’m really glad no one knows who I am, because the things they’d do if they found out, I’d… I can’t imagine how it must be for you.”

“It’s okay. You’ve got a lot on your plate already without having to worry about me.” You think you smile, but it comes out uneasy. You want to cry, but you’ve no tears left, and you want to scream, but your throat bleeds at the thought. You want to shelter Peter away, but you know he’ll never listen. Curse a hero’s heart, you think bitterly, curse every single one’s. The world would be hell, but at least Tony would still be by his side. At least Nat would still be by mine. And Steve… “It’s fucking awful, isn’t it? Living with the world on our shoulders.”

Peter smiles, then too, and it’s a warrior’s smile. One forced to the surface, not quite meeting the eyes, and torn in all the wrong ways. One too old for such a young face and you wonder when it’ll be enough. When will the world have enough heroes so children won’t have to fight our battles? When will our battles stop being theirs? 

It’s later that night when the waves crash onto you as they have every night since the Battle. You hold a pillow to your chest again, another underneath your legs and one beneath your head as you stare up at the ceiling of your room in your flat. You never slept at the compound, not unless you had a reason to stay.

You don’t have a reason anymore. You’d driven Peter back to his aunt’s place and now, with nothing left to do except prepare for a new day, your mind wanders.

It’s the empty nights that make you miss Steve the most. It’s the darkness in your room, the laughter echoing against the walls, what could’ve been and what should’ve been haunting your every waking hour. But tonight, it hits differently.

Tonight, guilt sinks her teeth into your body and tears out your guts. Tonight, it carves you out hollow, makes your stomach deflate, makes you feel sick. Because Steve’s not supposed to be so ingrained in your head. You shouldn’t love him still, and you’re quite sure you don’t when the sun’s beating down on you and the morning wind kisses your cheeks, but at night, you can’t recognize being lonely from being in love.

You want to throw up.

Turning onto your side, your stomach slides uneasily into your lungs as you tug your blankets up to your chin. The smell of something cool stings your nose and you bring your blankets to your nose, inhaling deeply. Quentin. His smell still lingers in your room. It chases away the gut feeling and you bundle yourself, cocooning in the scent as your phone lights up.

Reaching for it, you squint at the blue light in the black of your room to see Peter’s text of thanks. You smile to yourself, typing out a quick response before exiting the conversation to the list of your texts. Right beneath Peter’s name is Quentin’s with an empty profile picture.

You’d replied earlier to Quentin’s texts with a simple ‘Wish I were there. I’m starving. Looks like today’s gonna be a bit busy.’ and left it at that to give you an excuse to reply late, but it seems like he’s had a busy day, too. Probably wandering around NYC, taking in Earth-616 in. He’s left read receipts on so you know he’s read it, but other than that, conversation has stalled.

Weird, since conversation never stopped until he fucked you in the back alley of a bar.

Just the memory sends a delicious pulse up your legs and you grab your phone, rolling onto your stomach. Fingers tapping away, you don’t give yourself time for second thoughts before you press send.

You: Is it weird to feel guilty over the stupidest thing?

His reply is nearly instantaneous.

Quentin Beck: About what?

You: Guess I’m still not used to sleeping alone.

Quentin Beck: Are you feeling okay? Do you need me to come over?

You: I dunno. It might make me feel worse. I feel like I need a vacation to like Paris or somewhere like that. Europe sounds fun and my friend is going with his school during the summer and I’m thinking of chaperoning.

Quentin Beck: That sounds fun.

Quentin Beck: Also not at all what you want to talk about so I’m all ears

You bite your lip, an urge in your chest telling you to keep going as your thumbs hover your keyboard. The fact that he can read you, even without hearing your voice, seeing your face, makes you feel both unnerved and warm inside.

You: It feels like I’m cheating on him with you, but it doesn’t make sense. 

You: He didn’t love me enough in the end.

You: Maybe I’m just an idiot.

Quentin Beck: You know he’s the idiot, right?

You nearly laugh, and it sounds thick in your throat as just the mere expression you can imagine so easily in your head the cock of Quentin’s eyebrow, the inflection in his voice. You can hear him so clearly saying it that it fills you up inside.

You: He wasn’t.

Quentin Beck: He was in leaving you, and I swear I will prove it to you no matter what.

You: You’re really sweet, but are you sure? Everybody wants to date a superhero until they date a superhero. 

Quentin Beck: Then, they’re missing out. I really enjoyed last night, and I was wondering

Quentin Beck How about a date? Saturday, Le Bernardin at 6.

You: Expensive. You think that off the top of your head?

Quentin Beck: It was what I was doing today.

Quentin Beck: I researched many, MANY top ten lists of attractions and restaurants to come up with a plan to see you again that didn’t seem too clingy.

You: Oh, really?

Your heart thuds in your throat as you try to imagine living a life without Steve Rogers. A life without your rock, the man who helped you learn to control your powers, the man who helped ground you when you were lost in your head, the man who told you you’re more than an atomic bomb waiting to explode.

And then your brain reminds you sharply that you’ve done it before, and that you can do it again. It’ll be different, new, and maybe Quentin….

Quentin Beck: Did it work? Or did I come on too strong?

Quentin could be your new anchor, if he’s willing to.

You: Not at all. Of course I’ll go on a date with you.

Quentin Beck: Great. I’ll pick you up?

You: Sounds perfect.

.

The date goes perfectly fine. And so does the next, and the next, and suddenly it’s been a month, and five dates in the past two weeks, and you barely remember the last time you’ve smiled this much. 

Peter certainly notices the difference. 

You’re in the middle of manipulating the massive illusion you’ve created in your flat for his plan to confess his feelings to MJ, and the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower is breathtaking. The magic flows warmly through your veins, fizzling easily between your head and heart.

Sitting next to Peter on the railing, you let your legs swing and twist your wrist, turning the bright morning to a dusky sunset. The boy beside you gasps, and you turn to him, the wind playing at your face. 

“Like it?”

“Yeah. This would be perfect,” he sighs, leaning back and suddenly the rail is wide enough for him to do so. You make a mental note to remind him to both a, not to sit on the rail of the Eiffel Tower’s balcony and b, not to lean back. “So, how are you and Quentin doing?”

“Oh, it’s been going good, actually.” You feel heat rush to your cheeks at the very thought. He’s much different than Steve, but at the same time, has the same qualities that make your heart melt, and just the very thought of him makes you excited. “We’re meeting up later tonight for dinner at my place. He’s shopping at Rockefeller and apparently he’s going to cook me dinner? I don’t know.”

“You’re inviting him to your place? It sounds fun,” he says, grinning from ear to ear and you nudge him with your elbow, staring into your lap.

“I really like him, Pete. How about you? How’s MJ?”

“She’s good, too. Caught her staring a bit, but I dunno if that means anything,” he mumbles and you laugh, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He leans towards you and you bend your arm, fingers running through his hair. “Maybe this is all stupid.”

“No. It’s not stupid, Pete. You’re just a kid. It’s worth it to try.” A bird chirps and you glance to your side to spot a little pigeon wobbling on the railway. Extending your free hand towards it, you let it hop onto your finger and transfer it to Peter’s lap. “And hey, maybe a pigeon will shit on you if things go awkward.”

Gawking, Peter raises his head from your shoulder and narrows his eyes. You can’t tell if he’s offended or relieved, but an impish smile curls your lip anyway. “You wouldn’t.”

“I could.” You shrug and snap your fingers, letting the illusion dissipate with a wave of red. The corners of the room start to appear, the TV and your couch and fridge coming into view. Sunlight streams through your glass balcony doors and you hop off your kitchen counter, checking your phone. It’s nearly lunchtime and May’s out with Happy doing…

Whatever May and Happy do.

“Wanna head out for lunch, kiddo?”

“Yeah.” Hopping off too, Peter walks over to the couch and grabs the hoodie he had tossed carelessly over the back. He pokes his head through the old MIT hoodie that you think Tony must’ve left in his lab once. Your smile softening, you watch as he fiddles with the hoodie strings, tying it tight in a simple little bow. Nat used to do that all the time, and you wonder if he’s picked that up from her. You let him fix his hair in the bathroom mirror as you begin to turn off all the lights in your flat. 

Grabbing your keys and wallet, you shrug on a jacket and head out to the balcony windows that let warm sunlight stream through your living room. Standing by the window and looking at New York skyline, you let your gaze drift off. 

In the distance, you can see Brooklyn and your smile slips away all together. 

You’re furious with yourself, but you can’t help how your body seems to react to any hint of Steve. You’re so tired of missing someone when you’ve met someone new.

Digging out your phone, you try to distract yourself from those thoughts. You scroll through your notifications as you listen to Peter mutter to himself about his hair from the bathroom, and you sigh as your phone buzzes, the banner at the top of your screen revealing a text from Bucky. Without thought, you frown as you read through the message.

Bucky Barnes: Shooter at Rockefeller. Unknown casualties. Weapon of mass destruction.

Rockefeller. Your blood turns to ice, and you feel like you might throw up as you stare at the message.

“Okay, do I look okay?” 

Peter’s voice jerks you out of your daze and you blink, typing your message, sending it, and pocketing your phone without a second thought. You push out the thoughts of what could be when you arrive at the tourist center, and instead swallow everything down. You lock everything you feel into a cage and throw away the key, trying not to imagine Quentin shot, Quentin dead, Quentin with a blood-soaked box of chocolates as he bleeds out on the floor of Jacques Torres Chocolate.

You: On my way.

“Pete, I need you to get me to Rockefeller.” You turn around to see him standing there with his hair all swept to the side and make another note to yourself to apologize for lunch as you throw off your flats and shove your feet into boots. Although you know how much it must break his heart, you can’t afford to delay. “There’s a shooter at Rockefeller Center. I… I need you to take me there.”

“Quentin’s at Rockefeller,” Peter whispers, and you let out a shuddering breath as you feel yourself short-circuit. Your whole body burns and Peter nods to himself, tugging the strings of his hoodie and pulling it off. He taps the watch containing all the nanoparts of his suit and it begins to spread over his skin as he flings the hoodie off in some random direction. “I can get you there.”

Nodding, you shove open the glass door to step out on the balcony, and you tie your hair back.  The wind buffets at your face and you breathe in as deep as you can until your chest aches. Bracing one foot against the railing, you tie your boots as tight as possible.

Quentin dead, another funeral, not enough time. 

The other shoe now, and you tie it tighter before you take hold of the railing, and push off the balcony. Balancing atop the edge of the world, you look towards Midtown Manhattan, stepping along the rail until you are at the corner of your balcony. 

Spreading your arms wide, you step off the railing, letting yourself fall as Spider-Man jumps after you, and together you swing through New York as you’ve practiced before.

You reach Rockefeller in a break-neck speed that would have made any citizens’ heart burst, but you simply unlatch from Peter and run towards where the NYPD Commissioner stands by the tape, hand on his radio. 

“Commissioner Kelly,” you greet shortly, nodding to Bucky who stands on the opposite side of the tape. He’s geared up in an NYPD vest and a pistol is gripped tight in his flesh hand. “What’s the status on the shooter?”

“We have no eyes on them yet.”

“Casualties?”

“Twenty racked up so far. Three officers.” The air squeezes out of your lungs and you sigh, taking the bulletproof vest an officer offers you and strapping it on quickly. “We’re ready on your signal.”

“Barnes.” You nod to Bucky who takes hold of a radio and walks off to gather the teams. You can hear his voice rallying troops like he must’ve done back in the War, and you turn to Peter who lingers behind. “Spider-Man, I need recon. Get me eyes on the shooter. This is a big fucking place.”

“Right away.” He fires two webs, catapulting himself towards the building as you duck underneath the police tape. Walking towards the building, you pull out the wireless comms unit and stick it to the backside of your ear, activating it with a simple tap. It latches onto your skin, and you hear it’s tiny beep telling you both the com unit and the tracker are online. 

Your magic sizzles at your fingertips and you suck in a breath, trying to calm down your frazzled nerves. The last time you were in combat was the Battle, and although you don’t like the nightmares that come with that day, it’s all you can think of now. You can’t remember what was a dream and what wasn’t as it blurred into one gaussian memory, and you can’t control your thoughts. They’re scattered, tipping you to one side or another, making your head spin.

What you can remember is worse than what you can’t, and it’s taken you four years to come to terms with the fact that your powers are very, very real, and universally dangerous. The world pulling apart in your hands, reality paper-thin, like clay between your palms, being barely able to distinguish reality from the illusions your head makes.

You wonder if it would’ve done the universe a kinder favor if you’d died alongside Tony Stark.

.

Red smoke curls over your skin as you step over the tile. Your heart in your head, you can hear almost everything — a pin dropping, the subtle shift of glass, the faint echo of movement. Your boots almost squeak at how slowly you roll through your feet, your eyes darting across the empty floor. You hear something topple and you turn with a slight scuff of your foot. Your eyes flicker over the dead body by the women’s restroom and you mouth a silent prayer before moving on.

“Hands up!” a rough voice pierces the ear-shattering silence and you raise your wrist to your lips. “Hands up where I can see them.”

“I have the shooter,” you whisper, falling into a crouch as you run towards a nearby column. “Converge on my position.” 

“I’m not going to listen to you,” another responds, and you furrow your brow, lips barely parting as you catch a flash of brown hair and blue eyes. The sunlight streams through the broken windows, shards littering the floor. The floor is sticky where you hide and you glance down at the spilled soda pooling around your feet. Shit. Pressing yourself against the column, you take a deep breath. “You know I can help you, Gargan.”

Quentin. Shit, what is he doing on this floor? Despite your hope that he could’ve evacuated, only now does his words the first night you met him ring in your head.

“I used to be someone like you. A hero…”

Shit, shit, shit. Your mind racing, you try to ignore the ache that begins to fester deep in the core of your brain. 

“Really? ‘Cause the Avengers ain’t fucking coming and you’re not some fucking hero.” 

“Think again.” Swinging around the column, you raise your arms before you. The voice that speaks is not yours and although you recognize it as the Viper’s, you haven’t heard it in so long that you almost want to stop talking. “Put the gun down, now.”

The shooter turns around and you stare into the face of the Scorpion.

As if the day hasn’t had enough surprises. Your arms falter for a moment, but then you catch sight of the gigantic silver weapon he holds in his scarred hands. It gleams in the sunlight, shifting with every move Gargan makes, and you let out a groan as the ache in your head grows.

“Oh, great, they allowed you out of prison?” you hiss, squinting your eyes against the pain.

“Who said ‘allowed’?” Mac Gargan smirks and the scar on his cheek stretches as he raises the weapon. He’s got a new nasty scar above his eye, and he looks like utter death — pale, with dark bags pulling underneath his eyes and all the meat scooped out from his cheeks. A hollow man. 

Purple energy hums in his hands, bathing the silver gun in a violet glow, and you take a step back at the wave of nausea that hits you when he points it at your chest. Narrowing your gaze at the Chitauri core, numbing cold begins to bite at your fingers as a cold sweat crawls down your back. “You wouldn’t believe what happens in prisons, Viper. Wouldn’t believe what they did to me.”

“I really would.” Your magic burns and you meet eyes with Quentin over Scorpion’s shoulder. Jerking your head for him to run, you widen your eyes. Blood is smeared all over his face, and his white shirt is stained maroon that drips down to his pants as you try to see if he’s hurt. He shakes his head minutely, and you let out a tiny sigh of relief before your gaze focuses on Gargan again. “Let Quentin go, and I promise I’ll go easy on you.”

“Go easy on me, huh?” Gargan adjusts his grip on the gigantic silver weapon. The more you look at it, the more it looks like a grenade launcher but from your angle, you have no idea what’s going to happen if he pulls the trigger. “So your little boyfriend can go free? What? Wanna save him from another incident?”

“Stop.”

“Come on, Viper. Your old boy toy couldn’t take it, so what makes you think this one’s gonna be different?” The nausea swirls in your head, adding to the knot of pain in the center of your head as you let out a shuddering breath. Your eyes burn and a red flash makes you squeeze your eyes tight as metal clacks. “There’s a lotta little tools on this bad boy here. I can make you suffer.” Prying your eyes open, you cradle your head in your hands, fingers digging into your skull as if you can rip the pain out of your head. Through your burning tears, you can nearly taste the energy that wants to sink into your flesh as Gargan pulls the handle on the side, whirling around to aim the launcher at Quentin. “Or should I force the truth outta Beck here instead?”

“What?” Quentin’s voice pierces through the muddiness in your head, and you reach his wretched blue eyes. Mouth opening, you try to force out a sound but it catches in your throat. You blink, another stream of tears tracing over your cold skin as red, blood-like mist spills out of your eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t think I don’t know about your warehouse on Long Island?”

“You talk too much,” you breathe as the ache festers deeper inside your skull. It’s almost as if someone took a jackhammer and stuck it into the center of your brain. You feel the metallic taste of blood flood your mouth as you carefully bring yourself forward. If you can just get close enough, you’ll be able to disarm him as quick as you can. The edges of Gargan’s form flicker red and you pause. “What?”

“Having doubts too, Viper?” Gargan turns to look at you and you blink, lips pressing together as you reach forward. His image fizzles and you let out a sharp breath, eyebrows knitting together as another jackhammer stabs into your brain. 

“Stop, please—” Your voice cracks as you take another step forward, but with every step you take, you watch as everything shifts. You see doubles, red outlines of every little thing that it blinds you. Two Gargans grin back at you like the Cheshire Cat and you close your eyes tight, trying to push through what you know can’t be an illusion. 

Can it?

“I have nothing on Long Island.”

“Just like you don’t have a dead wife.”

“What?” Your eyes open, jerk towards Quentin and he tries to speak, but all that comes out is silence. “What is he talking about?” Quentin fizzles in and out of view like a faulty hologram and you let out a groan, your hands raking through your hair until they’re right before you, glowing with untapped energy. Red mist spills from your palms as you tear your gaze to Gargan. “What are you talking about?” 

“Your little boyfriend isn’t from another Earth. Like that fucking exists,” he spits, the words rattling in your skull, sucked into the vortex of agony that nearly pulls you to your knees, and you inhale sharply. Whatever is in the Chitauri core is causing the pain to multiply by tenfold and with every step you take, you can feel your skull breaking. “Isn’t that what he told you? Earth-833, his little sob story about being a hero. It’s his fucking fantasy, Viper.”

“Beck?” Your eyes dart to him and Quentin shakes his head, blood dripping down his cheek. “Is it true? You… you lied?”

“No. You don’t understand. Gargan is confused—” Quentin takes a step forward towards you as a rush of searing heat burns through your arms. You can feel the energy surging into your head as a shout echoes throughout the empty floor. 

“No, no, you’re not real.” The whispered words barely push past your teeth as you clench your jaw. Quentin moves to run towards you, his red shadow behind him crackling like a broken TV screen but Gargan whips around, his launcher pointed straight at his heart. 

“You don’t call the shots here. Stay where you are.”

“Let me reach her, or we’re going to die.” 

Lies, lies, lies.

“Was it all a lie, Beck?” You take another step forward. You watch as the image of Quentin seems to flicker in and out, the hologram of him breaking, and you let out a breath, blinking as hard as you can. Your hands trembling, you try to make sense of it all only for Gargan to point the launcher at you and pull the trigger. A purple beam shoots out of the weapon, bringing you to your knees instantly. A scream tears its way out of your throat, ripping it raw as you hunch over, tucking your head into your knees. Your hands take fistfuls of your own hair, nails digging into your skull and you can barely hear yourself think as a high-pitched ringing echoes in your head.

Everything hurts, it hurts, oh god, make it stop— 

“Gargan, we’re going to die if you don’t get out of here, and let her go!”

“She needs to know the pretty little lies you’ve told her, Beck. Come clean with her or break it off, ‘cause you know we can pull this fucking masquerade off without her. She’s a loose end.”

“Shut the fuck up, Gargan!”

Heat begins to blister in your head and you let out a whimper as the blood mist pools around you. The ground begins to tremble and you let out a gasp as it begins to split beneath your fingers, fissures spreading with every passing second. Slamming your palms hard against the tile, you desperately try to grab hold of the glossy floor.

“Shit!”

“Not my fault you got attached. Suppose you both deserve each other.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Look what you made her do! Viper, honey, listen to my voice. You can do this, okay? Close that tiny tear and we can go home.”

“Cut the vigilante bullshit, Beck! You’re a fucking pyscho and you’ve gotta make a choice. You better make the right one, because one wrong move, she dies, and I’m taking all that tech with me.”

“Home. I want to go home,” you whisper, trying to usher the split close. A dark void stares back at you through the beginnings of a red seam split open and you feel a hand take hold of your wrist as it cracks wider.

“Hands up!” Bucky’s voice tears through your mind-splitting agony and you hear something clink just as you wrench your head up. “Hands where I can see them.”

Turning around, you meet his gaze and let out a cry as tears trace down your skin, slip into your mouth and fall into the void torn below you. “Bucky?” As you stare at the man, you sob at how his eyes — eyes you know are blue, eyes you know don’t look like a snake’s — flicker to yours, blood red and venomous.

“Hands up where I can see them now,” Bucky orders, tearing his eyes away from you, and you let out a pathetic sob, turning to stare back at the void you struggle to sew shut. The hand grabbing your wrist is alien, something that sends a wave of cold shock up your burning skin, and you rip your hand away, uncaring of the claw marks that drag over your flesh. Blood gushes forth, flowing warmly, thickly down your skin and you let out a harsh gasp.

“Don’t focus on them, honey. Focus on my voice, okay?” Quentin catches your attention again and you look at him, flesh colored and solid like nothing else. His very image, the eye of a hurricane, calms the storm that beats in your heart as you try to fight the urge to rip the seam wide open. You nod as another surge of tears crawls down your face. “You can do this.”

“Fuck you, Beck. You’ve fucked this up for the both of us.”

“Mac, do not shoot!”

“No, no, no.” You let out a desperate whimper as the tear widens and you grab uselessly at the tile as you wrench your head up to stare at Quentin. “I can’t. I can’t close it!”

“Yes, you can! Just focus on my voice. Trust me. I’m real, you don’t have to be afraid, okay?” Quentin forces a smile onto his face and you try to smile as Gargan switches the aim of the beam from you, to Bucky. Red smoke covers the floor and you let out a shaky laugh as the ground knits itself back together.

“Hands up, now!”

Something clicks.

You can hear the hiss, the sizzle of energy as it burns through the air and you look up from the split ground. Time seems to slow before your very eyes as a purple blast sends a shockwave of dust through the floor.

The Chitauri core spirals through the air as it begins to crack, burning azure and dark satin purple spilling from the cracks in blinding rays of light. Throwing out a hand, you grab at the air as red smoke shoots towards the ticking bomb in tethered cords, wrapping around it and snuffing out any kind of light. As soon as your magic coils around the energy core, time resumes its pace and you hear the frantic shouts, screams to take cover as you take hold of the rope.

Yanking towards yourself, you catch the Chitauri core and it sends spears of pure, frying energy up your arm before you look down into the void and throw it as far down as you can. Your veins burning beneath the surface of the skin, you dig your fingers into the tile and push the tear closed as the explosion rattles in your head. You feel as if you’re being blown apart, torn from limb to limb as blood, the same blood that gushes down your wrist and floods your mouth, begins to leak from your ears.

You hear the words of someone yelling ‘Get down’.

You don’t have time before you feel yourself begin to tear.

Everything goes black, and for a moment, it is silent. 

And then, someone takes you by the neck and throws you forward, and you can hear so many voices you can barely register them all. You hear Tony’s, Nat’s, Steve’s even, and other voices you don’t recognize. You watch as everything flickers like a hologram, like Tony’s last message to his family, like the fragments of reality you can barely keep hold of.

“Then again, that’s the hero gig. Part of the journey is the end.”

Your mind’s eye is knocked through portals of your own making and you let out a gasp as darkness surrounds you, then orange light, squirming cells and bacteria, the deep violet, and a face you can barely make out, a name whispered: Dormammu. You fly through golden cities, a planet like your own except you are nothing more than a ghost and you want to scream but the wind has been knocked out of your lungs as you plummet through the universes. Plummet through the multiverse.

The knot in your head unwinds.

Your arms are washed in ice, and you jolt as you’re thrown back into your body. The red staining your vision oozes into sharper, defined edges and colour and you blink, trying to get rid of the dots still blinking in your vision. You’re on your side, coated in ash and blood as you raise your head, only for it to fall heavily to the ground. Quentin is running away from you, tackling Mac Gargan to the ground and you glance down at your hands, black with smoke and still sizzling from red magic and blood and lilac energy. You hear soft groans and your eyes dart towards the sound as you reach up dazedly to touch your head. It pulses beneath your fingertips and you brush blood away from your ear as it trails down your neck. 

“Viper, hey!” Bucky, crouched beside you, reaches to grab your shoulder and you jolt back, blinking as you try to catch your breath and Bucky’s eyes, blue and round and wide, stare back at you like you’re a wild animal. Trying to push yourself into a sitting position, you feel pain lance up your arms and wince. “Hey. You’re awake.”

“Stay away,” you murmur, shaking your head. The pain in your head, although fading, comes back stronger and you let out a whine when everything distorts, breaks like static.

Pushing yourself to a stand only for you to stumble, you try to catch yourself as you fall back and you shake your head again. Your head swimming, dizzy, you lean against a column heavily as you try to make sense of the scene before you. 

In a pile of bodies atop of each other, Quentin wrestles Mac to his back, and where you tried to contain the tear is where there is a massive pool of ash, fire and blood. Bucky stands by the shape of where your body had left in the smoke, his face ashen.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter whispers in your head and you turn yourself wretchedly to look at the kid as he lands beside you. You’re sure you look quite like hell, just barely catching your reflection in the nanometal of his mask and you want to pull away, something primal inside you urging you to run. But you’re too tired, too weak, too pained. Everything hurts, and all you want to do is fall asleep for a century as his hand floats above your bicep. Like he wants to touch you, comfort you, but knows something will happen if he does.

Shit.

“Are you okay?” You look at him, and the sharp question of ‘How can you even ask that?’ pounds at the roof of your mouth. Blinking when the red melds with the metal of the Iron Spider suit, you shake your head just barely. You’re not even quite sure he stands before you as he lets out a sigh.

“My head really fucking hurts,” you utter and you watch the SWAT team swarm Gargan. He growls like a cornered predator, thrashing and screaming, spitting venom at you but you barely hear him as you try to remember what had just happened. His weapon smokes red a few feet away as you begin to sink into a sitting position, looking at the thing dazedly. It’s stained with soot, the silver sheen lost and dull. 

Peter hovers around you in case you need help to slide down to the floor before he heads over to the weapon, mechanical spider limbs deployed to pick up the black market grenade launcher. He comes back towards you then, the mechanical eyes widening and shrinking every few seconds. He inspects it in his hands, turning it over to get a taste of what it’s standard use was before telling Karen to scan it. 

“Pete?” You catch his attention immediately, voice faint and he crouches beside you. “Was… did anyone—”

“People took cover. No one died, but it was a pretty big explosion so maybe some people got hurt,” Peter whispers under his breath. “Then, you kinda got knocked unconscious, and no one could touch you for a while, except Mr. Beck, just like how it didn’t touch Steve? Uh, I don’t know but your… your, uh, trick, prevented anyone else from touching you, so you’ve been out for a couple of minutes. Mr. Beck sat by you in case you hurt yourself until Gargan started running.” Your breath rattles in your chest as Quentin walks over to you, the red holographic outlines of his face fading away immediately as he comes closer and you smile weakly. Staring up into his battered and sweat-slick face, you swallow and reach for him with weak hands. 

“Hey, you okay? Shit.” He collapses to his knees, wraps an arm around you, pulling your head to his chest as your arms fling around his waist. The sound of his heartbeat beats away the pulse in your head and you let out a whimper as he threads his fingers through your hair, gently shushing you. “Hey, okay, focus on my voice, honey. It’s okay.”

“Beck.” Your chest aches and your throat feels like it’s been choked within an inch of your life as you bury your face into his bloody shirt. “Oh, god. Why didn’t you just run?”

“That was the hero in me, I guess,” he whispers and you pull back, the blood in his shirt staining your cheek. He wipes away the tears tracking down your face as you let out a chuckle. He sits down and sends a nod to Peter who, still in his Iron Spider suit, lingers for a moment before you raise your face towards him.

“I’m okay. I… I think I’ll be okay with Quentin,” you murmur and Peter finally nods, following Bucky and Gargan out of Rockefeller. “Quentin, did I… did I—”

“You saved me. He would’ve killed everyone on this floor if you didn’t destroy the crystal, throw it into that multidimensional tear,” he whispers and you raise your head miserably to survey the scene. Black smoke, fires, blood and broken glass.

And you’re supposed to be a hero.

“Listen to me.” Quentin catches your gaze when he tips your chin up at him, and the warmth of him causes the tears to increase. Here he is, kind, gentle, when you’re nothing more than a destroyer. You turn away with a choked breath and he presses a kiss to your hair. With every second that passes in his silence, you note that the red fades away faster. “You feeling better? Just focus on my voice, okay?” 

“Okay.”

“Does it always get this bad?” he murmurs, and you close your eyes, fingers digging into him as tight as you can. You need to know he’s real.

“Worse. Last time I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t, it took… it took someone close to me to get me to calm down.” You can barely stand to mention Steve now, knowing that this time, there wasn’t a surefire way to disarm you. Knowing that this time, it could’ve ended differently, worse.

“I can’t trust myself, Quentin,” you mutter, eyes shutting even tighter at the very thought of what could’ve happened, “and it’s… it’s hard for me to get close to people, so I’m asking if I can trust you because you’re why we’re still here.” You sigh heavily as your heart rate steadies. The pain is nothing more than a dull ache, and you open your eyes to stare at the burnt skid marks beneath your boot. “If Gargan didn’t fire that weapon, I know I could’ve closed the tear, because of you.”

“I’m honored.” He tilts his head and you turn to look at him, a watery smile working its way onto your lips as he grins down at you. It’s soft, fond, and he kisses your forehead. “All I am now is just glad that you’re okay. You got some nasty gashes and burns here, so you need to get that treated, okay?”

“Sounds like a hero talking, Beck,” you murmur and his smile grows as he cups your cheek. His thumb brushing away any stray tears lingering underneath your eye, he presses his head against yours and closes his eyes. “You a hero on this Earth, too?”

“Is it bad to say that I actually prefer the term vigilante?”

“No. Gives you more room to work in, I guess. Maybe I should start working within those means,” you whisper and he presses a gentle kiss against your lips before pulling away. Breathing him in, you wrap your arms up and hold his shoulders tight to you, lifting your chin. “Thank you for grounding me, Quentin. It could’ve been so much worse if you weren’t here.”

“I think I made it worse by being there, didn’t I?” he whispers, and you half-smile in sympathy at how guilty he looks. “I’m sorry I made you worried.”

“It’s okay. That’s just the hero gig, I guess. Worrying about things you care about.” Your heart flutters at how he seems to melt in your arms. “And I care about you, Quentin.”

“I care about you, too. A lot.” His lips curl into a shy smile as you card your fingers through his hair. “Do you mind my asking what you saw while you blacked out, or is that too insensitive?” he quips and you chuckle against his neck, curling yourself into his body. He cocoons you in his heat, a constant that sends a wave of drowsiness to crash down on you.

“The multiverse. I guess the reaction with the Chitauri core and whatever was done to me all those years ago made for a fucking massive acid trip.” Sighing, you’re simply content to just sit there in a broken building until someone forces you out. “What was he saying about you, that you were lying about the multiverse?”

“Nothing, honey. It’s nothing.” His response is quick and you frown, eyebrows knitting together as you unwind yourself from his embrace. 

“Then, what’s on Long Island?” You want to know. You want to know because Gargan — the Scorpion — doesn’t do throwaway lines. You know it means something and somewhere deep inside you, you think you know that nothing he said was a lie. “What was the tech Mac was talking about and… and the sob story you made up?”

“Honey, I—”

“Just tell me the truth, Beck, ‘cause I trust you,” you whisper, fingers clutching onto the front of his blood-soaked shirt. His eyes are soft, dark as the void and just as intoxicating as your eyes flicker from those eyes to his lying little mouth. All you can hear is lies, lies, lies and yet you’d give anything to hear him speak. “It’s not like I can ever get rid of you. I’m terrified of losing you, if you couldn’t tell earlier.”

“Well, don’t worry. Your hero isn’t going anywhere.” He runs his hand through your hair, takes a deep breath, and then lets it all out. The smell of mint on his breath doesn’t fit with the burning glass and blood and smoke, but it’s so delightfully him. Clean and fresh in the midst of chaos, not a hair out of place. A perfect hero. “And… what Gargan said, it’s a lie. I’ve been honest with from the start."

Lies, lies, lies.

“The weapons… he must’ve thought I was someone’s supplier? I don’t know. Maybe there’s a version of me on this world that used to do that but I don’t know. You know I’d never lie to you. Not like Steve did.”

Lies, lies, lies.

“Right,” you whisper, and he kisses your temple quickly before getting up. His hand slips into yours as if it’s meant to be and he pulls you up, hoisting you into his arms. “Thank you, Quentin. For being the hero.”

“I just wanted to save the woman I care about, even when I couldn’t save my wife.” His voice weaves between your ears and you loop your arms around his neck, kissing him softly on the cheek.

“So you’re basically the hero of every Disney movie ever?” you tease and he laughs, turning to look at you as you ride the elevator down to the ground floor. Nosing your cheek, he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“I am, aren’t I? Oh, but, vigilante, remember?”

“Right, vigilante. Flynn Rider, then.”

“Who is… Flynn Rider?”

“You never watched Tangled?” you gasp and he chuckles, shaking his head. “What’s the last Disney movie that came out on your world?”

“We didn’t have Disney. I started watching them when I came here, and the last one I watched was WALL-E.”

“So what did you do for fun?”

“We had other movie companies a lot like Disney.”

Rolling your eyes, you mutter a ‘of course’ before explaining. “Well, Flynn Rider is this thief who is kinda a vigilante? I mean he does good but he’s selfish in the beginning, and Rapunzel is the hero. She has magic hair.” The elevator dings and he steps out. Your eyes cast to the destruction, you feel your smile begin to flicker, but then Quentin catches your attention again in an effort to distract you.

“A hero and a vigilante, huh?” He sounds amused, and you smile again, tired, but warm at his attempt to make sure you don’t see any of it. His blue eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, and you lean forward to rest your heard against his neck.

“A hero and a vigilante,” you agree. You can hear the shouts of reporters, the clicking and flash of the cameras just outside the walls of broken glass. You’re not quite ready to face them yet, and it’s almost as if Quentin can read your thoughts as he stops just by the escalator, “like that ever works out well.”

“Well, we’ll be the first,” he promises and you smile to yourself as he lowers you to the ground. On unsteady feet, you manage to wrap your arm around his and walk into the view of the paparazzi. They call your name, ask for his, and your head spins at all the questions they ask, but you and your new partner merely walk through towards the rows of ambulances. 

“I’m just a ticking time bomb,” you tell him once he’s seated on the edge of the rig, the blood cleaned off his face. Your arms are wrapped up, blood barely seeping through the bandages and your own blood has been wiped off your face as you kick a loose pebble on the asphalt. “And… having that power to bend the very laws of reality makes me really fucking unstable.” He holds a towel to his face, wiping off the sweat and he smiles, almost charmed by your bluntness. “So… I know you never saw it before today, but if you decided to just ditch me now, I wouldn’t really hold it against you.”

“I’m not like Steve, okay?” He reaches to grab your fingers, and you lower your gaze to your intertwining digits. “I’m not going to leave you just because things get hard when you need me. I’d never lie to you. I don’t… there’s no one who has captivated me like you have, and your power has brought us together. Don’t ever think I don’t want to be with you because of who you are.”

And somewhere in your head, a voice whispers, Lies, lies, lies.

But out loud, you say, “Okay.” You smile and sit down beside him, resting your joint hands on his lap as you lean over to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

“Of course. This new universe is terrifying, you know? What’d I do without my anchor?”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you let out a soft sigh, smiling against his cheek as he wraps you in a tight hug. “What would I do without mine?”

.

“Get some sleep, alright?”

“Yeah, I will.” 

Quentin pulls the covers up to her chin and brushes hair away from her forehead, planting a kiss between her eyes. Her burning, healing little fingers snag on his wrist and he leans down to kiss her rosebud mouth.

“G’night, Beck,” she whispers and he smiles, dragging himself away. Despite how much he wants to join her, sleep for months, he has work to do.

“Goodnight. Call me if you need anything, and remember to take your antibiotics.”

“I promise, Quentin,” she whispers and a genuine smile comes onto his face at how exasperated she sounds. Despite his original intentions, the warmth he feels, the rapid beating of his heart— 

It’s all very real, how much he cares, even if he must use her to his own ends.

Turning off the light, he double-checks to make sure her water is full before leaving the room. Dinner is in the fridge despite it being an already ungodly hour, and he makes sure that all the lights are turned off before he grabs his jacket and shoves his feet into his sneakers. He digs his phone out of his pocket as he exits the apartment and turns it on, walking to the elevator. Putting in Riva’s number, he steps out into the lobby and through to the fresh night air just outside and dials the number as he looks back and forth on the road. He still hasn’t managed to scrub the scent of smoke from his skin, and he needs to shower, but the red magic blasting in his head has yet to be an image chased from his mind. Picking at the sweater his new girlfriend had offered, he smiles at the mere thought of her. Her warm clean scent clings to the fabric, the smell of autumn, vanilla orchid and amber, flooding his nose on a spring night.

He is all smiles as he hails a car rolling down the street. Waving to the driver, he grins as he ducks into the front passenger seat and nods to Janice who barely stops before speeding away from the apartment building. Quentin grabs her phone to dial Riva, holding it between his ear and his shoulder as he fiddles with his own phone. Checking the news and media outlets, he smirks at every headline showing his face. 

“Hello?”

“Riva,” he greets cheerily, turning on the radio in the car. “Tell me the good news.”

“Well, they’re calling you a hero, sir.” Turning the radio volume up a notch, he listens as the news reporter, J. Jonah Jameson, sing his praises, recounting the day’s events like it’s breaking news. As his own interview plays over the news station, he rolls down the window and lets the cool night breeze steal into his lungs with a satisfied sigh. “Way to make the best out of a poor situation.”

Quentin sounds so grand, so official as he recounts his tale of the shooting on the radio and he can’t help the disappointment that nips at his stomach. Gargan could’ve been an asset to the plan had he not gotten so keen on his revenge on Spider-Man. He wanted his weapons too early, wanted to just jump into action. Well, Quentin knows all about patience, and if that means turning an unfavourable situation into an opportunity, then he’ll grab what he can get. Because he doesn’t want to destroy Spider-Man personally. 

He wants to destroy Tony Stark’s legacy.

“They want to know if you’ll be joining the Avengers soon, with very few who take the opposition.”

“Great. That is perfect.” Tapping his hand along the car door, he rolls up the window and glances at Janice, who sends him a look. “Meet me on Long Island, Riva, I have an idea.” On his phone, he opens up his messages and types a quick message to the woman he left in her flat.

Quentin Beck: Have a good night, honey. I’ll be back at your place in the morning for breakfast and to help with the burn dressings. Remember to take your antibiotics

Quentin Beck: And hey, I was thinking. You know how you’re thinking of chaperoning for your friend’s trip? Why don’t we go together like a vacation?

“What are you thinking, boss?” Turning off his screen, he looks out the window, at the night that whips by. 

“You’ll find out soon enough. Just make sure all our drones are operational, because I’m thinking of a vacation.”

“Where to, sir?” Janice asks and he shoots her a lazy look, the beginnings of a sly smile curling his lip.

“We need to go global if I’m going to be an Avenger. And I found just the threat to match their level.”

“The Viper, sir?” Janice asks, uneasy. “Don’t you think that’s a bit too far?”

“We could literally meet the Queen, Janice. This isn’t the time for doubt.” Clearing his throat, Quentin continues, “How do you feel about Europe, Riva?”

“Well, I always wanted to go there,” Riva says and Quentin lets out a sharp laugh. Perfect.

“Good. Because you might not enjoy it once we’re done with her. Stay in touch.” “Will do, boss.” Hanging up, he slides Janice’s phone into a cupholder just as his phone lights up, and he grins at the text notification, at who it’s from.

You: That sounds fun! I just got the forms from the school, so I’ll ask Peter to get you yours. Maybe we can hash out the details tomorrow?

Quentin Beck: It sounds like a date. I can’t wait to see the rest of your world with you.

You: I can’t wait to show you.

You: I’m glad that you’re here, Quentin. Even by unorthodox means.

Quentin Beck: I’m glad that I’m here with you, too. Now go to sleep. We have a vacation to plan.

[crackimagines]

Old Wounds (FE: Three Houses Full Fic)

All AU’s involved listed here!

School-Live! Paralogue

----

----

Garreg Mach is notified of new arrivals just outside of its borders. House Isekai and the others are sent to investigate. Megumi realizes that the new arrivals are people that she is familiar with. 

----

Prologue - Memories

KNOCK KNOCK!

This dream...

(???) “Let me go!”

(??? 2) Yuki-chan, stop it!”

(???) “Megu-nee’s still outside! We have to hurry!”

(??? 3) “It’s too late!”

KNOCK KNOCK!

Why...Why am I experiencing this again?

KNOCK KNOCK!

Everyone...

...

KNOCK KNOCK!

...

[Yasashii Megu-nee Arigatou - School-Live!]

Knock knock!

Opening her eyes, Megumi heard the sound of soft knocking.

Blinking as the sunlight softly filled the room, she realized that she was in Garreg Mach.

(Sara’s voice) “Hey, you up yet?”

...She was still in Garreg Mach. Not back in the school with her students.

This was her reality.

Moving her blanket, she reached for her head as she slowly got up.

Slowly Megumi headed for the door and opened it.

Sara, Towa, and Byleth were standing outside.

(Sara) “Morning, sleepyhead!”

(Towa) “Sorry, did we wake you?”

(Byleth) “...Megumi?”

(Megumi) “Hm? Oh, I’m fine.”

(Sara) “Hey, are you crying?”

Megumi felt her face and realized that tears were coming down.

(Megumi) “Ah, my apologies. I was having a bad dream I think. I’ll be fine.”

(Sara) “I see...Well, take your time in easing up then. We just wanted to make sure you were awake, classes are starting soon in about an hour and a half so make sure you’re ready.”

Sara patted Megumi’s shoulder softly and walked away. Towa bowed and followed Sara. Byleth stayed.

(Byleth) “If you don’t mind me asking, what was it about?”

(Megumi) “...You’re not doing anything are you?”

...

(Byleth) “So, your death is how you got here then. I remember you were covered in blood and some infection when me, Kazuma, Aqua and Alois found you.”

(Megumi) “I believe so. It’s...strange, to say the least.”

(Byleth) “How many people know about this?”

(Megumi) “Well...Kazuma and his group, Akira’s, Sara, and now you... Everyone else was teleported here, and they were all clearly alive beforehand. Why am I special? My students deserve to be here, not me-”

(Byleth) “Hey. Don’t say that. You’re one of us, Megumi. We’ll make sure you’re safe and sound so you can return to your students.”

(Megumi) “...Thank you, Byleth.”

(Byleth) “What are your students like?”

(Megumi) “Hah they’re mostly a bit calmer than yours and House Isekai’s. Oh, here!”

Megumi pulled out a photo that in her desk.

(Megumi) “The student to my left is Kurumi. Kurumi is overall an energetic, feisty, and cheerful girl. Chie reminds me a lot of her, actually! And to my right is Yuki. Yuki is a bit naive, but she is so easily excited! Despite that, she might be the most understanding of the group.”

(Byleth) “You mentioned one more student. Is she the one who took the photo?”

(Megumi) “That would be Yuuri. She is the most patient and caring of us. The two see her as a second mother.”

(Byleth) “Sounds like you have quite the group of misfits!”

(Megumi) “Hah, it doesn’t compare to the group we have!”

Megumi’s smile slowly started to fade.

(Megumi) “...I wonder how they’re doing without me.”

Byleth looked concerned for a moment at Megumi.

(Megumi) “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring the mood down.”

(Byleth) “I’d be surprised if you didn’t get sad at this, Megumi. Don’t worry about it.”

Megumi nodded and looked at her watch.

(Megumi) “Oh, I should probably get ready. Thank you for the talk, Byleth.”

(Byleth) “Sure thing.”

Byleth left the room and Megumi finally started to change from her sleeping clothes.

(Megumi) “Almost done...Ribbon, ribbon...ah!”

(Megumi) “Okay, time to start the day!”

Chapter 1 - Interruption

[Clear Sky - School-Live!]

Megumi sighed as the class descended into chaos. Doomguy crossed his arms and laid against a pillar.

This was going to take a while.

(Aqua) “WHAT?! HOW DID I FAIL?!”

(Emma) “P-Please settle down!”

(Ryuji) “Yeah, won’t lie, this was pretty damn hard!”

(Makoto) “Only because you didn’t study...”

(Chie) “So, I studied and still failed...”

(Junpei) “Same here! Jeez, what kinda war fanatics does this academy take us for?!”

(Elliot) “I mean, it IS a military academy...”

(Aqua) “BAH IT’S NO FAIR! You guys came from a world where fighting is second nature!”

(Darkness) “So do we.”

(Megumi) “Sara, p-please say something!”

(Sara) “Hey, if you fail, you fail! Not like it affects us any!”

Doomguy facepalmed and audibly sighed through his helmet.

(Ryuji) “Oh yeah, that’s right! We ain’t even part of this world! SWEET!”

(Junpei) “Kinda funny how I forgot about that, actually.”

(Yukari) “Are you stupid?”

(Yosuke) “I’d reprimand you guys buuuut, you got a good point! Hell yeah, no more studying for a while!”

(Minako) “Well, today’s going great.”

(Rean) “I feel like that’d make you worse once you do go back, right?”

(Machias) “Can we just get on with the class, Instructor?!”

(Fie) “Frankly, I’d be okay without studying history here.”

(Megumin) “Yeah, all I wanna do is cast some wicked explosions!”

(Naoto) “This is a disaster...”

(Megumi) “P-Please settle down everyone!”

Morgana popped his head out of Akira’s bag.

(Morgana) “Ugh, I can’t take all this yelling! I’m going outside.”

Morgana hopped and walked out of the class.

He sat outside and saw Teddie standing by the door in his bearsuit.

(Morgana) “Uh, what are you doing out here?”

(Teddie) “Well, I technically never was a student in either world, so I decided to just wait here till everyone’s done so we can play!”

(Morgana) “You have it lucky...”

The two began to chat until they saw Sothis phase through the doors.

(Sothis) “So...boring...”

(Teddie) “Oh, heya Sothy!”

(Morgana) “You too, huh?”

(Sothis) “We can all no longer be stuck to the confines of our wretched classes I see.”

(Teddie) “Something like that.”

The three laid against the wall, watching the birds chirp and wasting time together.

About half an hour passed before they saw a knight running towards the door of Byleth’s class.

(Knight) “Hey uh, you bear!”

(Teddie) “Huh?”

(Knight) “Tell your friends in House Isekai that we’re prepping for combat! Somethings been spotted outside of the Monastery!”

[A Dark Sign - Fire Emblem: Three Houses]

(Everyone) !!!

(Teddie) “U-Uh, right!”

(Morgana) “Go, Sothis and I will see what’s going on!”

Teddie nodded and ran into the room.

Morgana peeked around the corner as Sothis phased back inside.

(Knight) “Professor!”

(Byleth) “Hm? What is it?”

(Knight) “Sir, we have reports of an unknown force sneaking around the Monastery!”

(Byleth) ?! “Give me the full report on the way. Class, get the others alerted ASAP.”

Byleth and the Knight quickly walked out, with Sothis and Morgana trailing them.

Once the full report was over, Morgana and Sothis went to the house leaders of House Isekai and reported the situation.

After they were informed, they called the Blue Lions, Black Eagles, and Golden Deer.

(Edelgard) “Could it be bandits?”

(Dimitri) “Possibly, but the report said there were also demonic beasts present.”

(Minato) “The hell’s going on?”

(Claude) “Man, this is aiming to be a horrible day huh? Our lessons got interrupted by this of all things!”

(Kazuma) “Were you even paying attention?”

(Claude) “Not really, it just interrupted my naptime-”

(Rean) “Can we take this a bit more seriously, guys?”

(Yu) “There’s no telling what we’ll be up against.”

(Dimitri) “To be quite honest, I doubt with all of our combined forces, anything could be a challenge.”

(Akira) “Poor thinking. The moment we start getting cocky is when everything goes to hell.”

(Edelgard) “Akira is right, we should be on high alert like everyone else. Did they say anything else about what we’re up against?”

(Kazuma) “Nah, they just told us to get ready to deploy but that was about 20 minutes ago.”

(Minako) “Can’t say I’m not a little nervous.”

(Byleth) “I see everyone’s assembled.”

Byleth walked towards the group.

(Dimitri) “What is the word? Are we to march out?”

(Byleth) “No, first we’re taking a small reconnaissance group out. I need the quietest of your classes to accompany me. The Knights of Serios and you all will remain on guard here.”

Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude nodded, heading back to their classes.

(Yu) “What are we expecting to find out there?”

(Byleth) “I’m not sure. Just keep in contact with the Navigators.” 

(Minato) “Speaking of, Fuuka, Rise, Futaba, you copy?”

(Fuuka) “Y-Yes professor!”

(Rise) “Loud and clear!”

(Futaba) “Oracle copies!”

(Byleth) “Try and figure out what exactly is near the monastery. Prepare to move everyone towards the fight if it comes to one! Everyone, let’s get going!”

Chapter 2 - The School-Live Club

Byleth, Fie, and Akechi snuck through the forests of Garreg Mach, trying to find any sign of activity.

Fie scout ahead on top of the tree branches, trying to closely listen for any footsteps other than theirs.

Akechi kept his silenced pistol out while the others held onto the hilts of their weapons.

(Akechi) “Anything your Persona can read, Oracle?”

(Futaba) “I’m not sensing anything other than you guys.”

(Byleth) “What’s near Group B’s?”

(Rise) “Hm...Nothing’s near Leonie. Hubert and Ashe doesn’t have anything either.”

(Fuuka) “It’s like we’re being jammed...I can’t tell what’s out there other than your immediate vicinity.”

Fie made a quiet whistle, catching everyone’s attention.

(Fie) “Hey, everyone shut up for a second.”

A moment of silence passed.

(Fie) “Several footsteps going near group B!”

!!!

(Byleth) “Everyone move quickly, but quietly!”

...

(Leonie) “Tch, this place is pretty huge. I doubt we’re going to be finding anything.”

(Hubert) “This is hardly the time to be complaining, Leonie.”

(Ashe) “It’s kinda creepy, I’ll admit. Would feel a lot comfortable if the professor were-”

The bushes behind them began to rustle.

They all silenced themselves and brought out their weapons.

Leonie and Ashe pulled back the strings of their bow as Hubert readied a dark spell.

BARK!

[Mezame no Waltz - School-Live!]

(Ashe) “...Huh?”

From the bushes emerged a small puppy. It ran up to Ashe and started wagging his tail.

(Ashe) “Awww!”

(Leonie) “WAIT, THAT COULD BE A TRAP!-”

(Hubert) “YOU IDI-....ot...”

(Ashe) “Come on, look at him! Isn’t he adorable?”

(Leonie) “I mean yeah but...Who’s is it? We’re pretty far away from town.”

(???) “Taromaruuuu!”

Everyone turned to the voice which emerged from the same bush.

(???) “Oh, there you are!-...Huh?”

The girl stopped smiling as soon as she saw the three.

(???) “A-Ah! I’m sorry, did Taromaru cause you any trouble?”

(Hubert) “...N-No. He didn’t.”

(???) “Whew, that’s a relief!”

Ashe slowly handed the girl Taromaru, and kept a close eye as she hugged him tight.

(???) “Don’t do that, got it?! You’re going to get all dirty!”

The first thing the three noticed was that while she was speaking in Fodlan’s language, her mouth was moving in a completely different manner, as if speaking an entirely different language.

The second thing they noticed was her outfit.

(Leonie) “Hey, doesn’t her outfit kinda remind you of-”

(Ashe) “House Isekai!”

(Hubert) “Yes, the students from Japan do have a similar style...”

(???) “Huh? Students from Japan? Are you students too?”

(Ashe) “In a sense, yes.”

(???) “Are we in Europe? Oh, I bet the others will be happy to be somewhere else! Can we see your school?!”

The girl was uncomfortably close to Hubert, and he gently shoved her back.

(Hubert) “Just a moment. Who are you?”

(???) “Oh, I’m sorry!”

“My name is Yuki Takeya! I hope we get along!”

(??? 2) “YUKI-CHAN?”

(??? 3) “H-Hey, there she is!”

(??? 4) “Yuki-senpai!”

When Yuki turned around, Hubert got into a battle stance, but Leonie and Ashe shook their heads.

Three girls ran in behind Yuki before noticing the others.

(??? 2) “Yuki-chan! Thank goodness you’re al...O-Other survivors?”

The long brown haired girl examined them for a minute before the short haired girl stepped in front, putting Yuki back.

(??? 4) “Yuuri-senpai, they don’t look friendly!”

(Yuki) “EEEH?! M-MII-KUN, YOU CAN’T SAY THAT ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE!”

The black haired girl with pigtails pulled out a shovel.

(??? 3) “Heh, I don’t think they can pull anything on US!”

(Yuuri) “KURUMI, WAIT!”

(Yuki) “AAAAAAAAH! NONONONO-”

The three watched in utter confusion as the girls tried to calm Kurumi down and put away the shovel.

(Leonie) “...I’m so confused right now.”

(Hubert) “Agreed.”

(Ashe) “Same.”

(Yuuri) “We’re SO sorry about that! We’re just...a bit on edge is all. One moment we were in school and...next thing we know, we woke up here.”

(Leonie) “Seems to be reoccurring these days...”

(Ashe) “Listen, it’s not safe out here-”

(Yuuri) “You’re right...They could be out here...”

(Hubert) “They?”

(Miki) “...Huh? Have you not...seen them wandering around?”

(Leonie) “You mean bandits, right?”

(Kurumi) “No we mean...”

Kurumi took a quick look at Yuki who was distracted by Taromaru. She had to lean in a bit closely and whisper it.

(Kurumi) “Infected.”

All of them raised their eyebrows at the word.

(Hubert) “Is there a plague where you’re from-”

(Yuuri) “Hold on a moment...could you speak again?”

(Hubert) ? “I said is there a plague where you’re from”

(Yuuri) “You’re...not speaking Japanese?”

(Leonie) “So, you noticed it too. You’re not speaking our language either, judging by how your mouth is moving.”

(Ashe) “Er, this might be hard to explain but...You just came from your original world to ours. A lot of people have been teleporting here a lot!”

(Hubert) “Yes. In fact, we have a few er...Japanese, is how you say it? Japanese people at the academy as well. Whatever was happening in your old world, it has not followed you here. You’re dealing with our world’s problems now.”

The girls had a mixture of confusion yet relief on their faces, except Yuki, her face was nothing but confusion.

(Yuuri) “I...I’m sorry, what?”

(Leonie) “Er, we’re not exactly the best people to describe this sorta thing.”

(Ashe) “There’s a bunch of people who’s in your situation! We should head back and report to-”

[Tonariawase no Shi - School-Live!]

(Fie) “HEY!”

Fie ran over to the group and reloaded her pistols.

(Fie) “Another group that fell in, I’m assuming?”

(Hubert) “Yes, but what’s going on?”

(Fie) “Bandits are attacking! Crow and Byleth are holding them off, but we gotta hold out for reinforcements! Can you guys protect them long enough?”

(Miki) “Bandits?!”

(Leonie) “Count on us!”

(Fie) “Good. Now get out of here! Rise!”

...

(Rise) “On it, Fie!”

Rise looked back to the others in the classroom.

(Rise) “Just as we suspected, a group of bandits are about to attack! Send in the first wave, the rest of us will join behind!”

(Akira) “Roger!”

(Rean) “Class VII, move out!”

(Edelgard) “Everyone else, guard the entrances!”

Doomguy reloaded his shotgun and started dashing out while Morgana transformed into a bus.

(Megumi) “Everyone, good luck!”

Rise’s Persona started catching the background audio.

(Fie’s voice) “Hey, who’s the leader of this little group?”

(Yuuri’s voice) “I-I am!”

Megumi froze in place, slowly turning back to Rise.

(Fie’s voice) “Keep your heads down, got it?”

(Yuuri’s voice) “I understand!”

(Kurumi’s voice) “Yuki-chan, come on!”

(Yuki’s voice) “W-What’s happening?!”

(Miki’s voice) “Yuki-senpai! We have to go, now!”

Megumi’s eyes widened upon hearing the voices again.

(Sara) “Hey, Megumi? MEGUMI!”

Megumi turned to Sara with a newfound sense of terror in her eyes.

(Sara) “What’s the matter?”

(Megumi) “I...I HAVE TO COME WITH YOU!”

(Rean) “What? Megumi, it’s too dange-”

(Megumi) “I-I have to! Please! I...I know them!”

(Everyone) !!!

(Sara) “I’ll protect her, come on, we’re wasting time!”

Akira nodded as those going into the frontline hopped into Morgana.

(Morgana) “PEDAL TO THE METAL, JOKER!”

Akira slammed his foot on the gas pedal, and they flew out of the Monastery’s entrance towards the fight.

(Megumi) Everyone...don’t worry, I’m coming!

FINALE: Reunion

----

[As Swift as Wind - Fire Emblem Three Houses]

UNIT SELECTION:

Begin the battle?

>[Yes] No

Victory Conditions: Rout the Enemy

Defeat Conditions: Any of your units or allied units fall.

----

[Tearing Through Heaven (Rain) - Fire Emblem: Three Houses]

Ashe, Leonie, and Hubert led the group out of the woods and saw the field overwhelmed with bandits attempting to raid Garreg Mach. Taromaru jumped out of Yuki’s hands and ran towards the Monastery.

(Yuki) “TAROMARU!”

(Ashe) “D-Don’t worry! It’s heading towards the Monastery, we’ll find it later!”

(Hubert) “Goddess, there’s so many bandits!”

(Leonie) “Was this the group that the knights were talking about?!”

(Fie) “Yeah, we heard them trying to sneak up on you guys, but we managed to kill them before they could get the drop on you all. I gotta help the others, good luck!”

(Yuuri) “Did...you just say kill?!”

(Hubert) “Tch, not the time! Come on!”

Akechi reloaded his pistol and ducked behind cover as Byleth continued to deflect incoming projectiles with the Sword of the Creator.

(Akechi) “What son of a bitch decided to send this many bandits at us?!”

(Byleth) “Questions for later! Just keep at a distance until reinforcements-”

A van honking alerted the battlefield as Morgana barreled in, sending several enemy squads flying into the air.

(Byleth) “-Come in.”

The van’s door was slammed open, letting the vanguard spill out.

(Akira) “Mona, cover group B’s escape!”

Morgana drove off as the others charged in.

(Dimitri) “PROFESSOR, OVER HERE!”

Byleth dashed over to them, right as the bandits advanced.

Morgana’s bus stopped near the group, and Sara pulled out her pistol and took out any bandit trying to run to them.

(Sara) “COME ON!”

Megumi stepped out the van and her heart nearly stopped when she saw Group B.

It was her students.

It was actually them.

But there was no time for celebration, they were still in danger.

(Megumi) “YUKI-CHAN! RII-SAN, EBISUZAWA-SAN! GET IN!”

(Yuki) “Look, Megu-nee’s here!”

(Yuuri) “Yuki-chan don’t separa-”

[Yasashii Megu-nee Arigatou - School-Live!]

Yuuri froze and her eyes went wide open when she looked over at the van.

Kurumi was confused what Yuuri was staring at until she saw it too.

Megu-nee.

The world froze for Yuuri and Kurumi.

Megu-nee was at the van, yelling for them.

She was there to protect them again, even in a completely different world.

Even though she was dead.

...

(Yuki) “Let me go!”

(Yuuri) Yuki-chan, stop it!”

(Yuki) “Megu-nee’s still outside! We have to hurry!”

(Kurumi) “It’s too late! WAIT!”

(Yuki) “Megu-nee! Open the door, Megu-nee!” 

The last time they saw her, she locked herself out to protect them from a horde of infected that had gotten in.

She died protecting them. 

...

Defying all the logic in the world, she was in front of them again.

Yuuri found it suddenly difficult to breathe.

Was what she was seeing real?

Looking over at Kurumi, she appeared to have the same reaction.

Both of them completely at a loss of words.

Kurumi could barely speak.

(Kurumi) “M-Me...Megu-nee?”

Yuuri struggled to even process what she was seeing, and the fact it wasn’t a hallucination.

Tears started to form in both their eyes. They wanted to run to her and crush her with a hug. Tell her they were sorry for everything. Sorry that they couldn’t save her.

Sorry that she had to die.

(Miki) “YUKI-SENPAIII!”

Everyone realized while Yuki was running, Group B was busy with other bandits to see another one coming right behind her.

Megumi rushed towards her without hesitation, and grabbed her, and shoved her to the side.

(Bandit) “HYAH!”

(Yuki) “MEGUNEE!”

CRACK!

...

Blood started to drip onto the ground, Yuki realizing what just happened.

(Yuki) “M...Megu-nee...?”

Megumi felt blood on her back, it was all over in fact.

Everyone in the general vicinity turned to Megumi, eyes going wide.

But...there was no wound.

Megumi slowly turned around, seeing the bandit with a blade coming out the back of his mouth, with a choking noise coming out of him.

The blade slid upwards, splitting his face in half, and was about to fall on Megumi before it was flung backwards.

[Tearing Through Heaven (Thunder) - Fire Emblem: Three Houses]

(Megumi) “Slayer!”

The other houses quickly rushed past everyone, accompanied by the Knights of Seiros.

Bandits cowered in fear behind Doomguy, who was standing in front of Megumi’s students.

An archer panic fired, accidentally aiming for the students instead of Doomguy.

Doomguy’s shoulder cannon fired a grenade, making the arrow explode on impact.

(Bandit) “A-AH!”

(Megumi) “EVERYONE, GET TO THE VAN NOW!”

CHIK-CHIK!

Doomguy immediately charged for the bandits, blasting them into pieces while ripping a few of their limbs off.

Megumi did her best to block Yuki’s eyes from his carnage, and the rest of Group B came to help them escape into the van.

(Leonie) “Get out of here!”

Running across the field, Ashe, Leonie and Hubert provided cover fire as Sara made sure that they got inside.

(Megumi) “Is everyone in?!”

(Yuuri) “Y-Yes!”

(Sara) “Book it!”

...

Rean shot a wind attack out of his sword, sending several bandits flying into the air while Akechi shot them all midair.

Dimitri and Edelgard were fighting a heavily armored knight, with Dimitri using brute strength to keep the knight back as she kept striking at weak points in the armor.

With a final strike, Dimitri impaled the bandit through the stomach, as Edelgard’s axe struck him in the face.

Akira used Arsene to fly away from a magic barrage that was sent for him.

(Akira) “Damn! I’m pulling back for a moment!”

(Fie) “Understood!”

Claude and Fie covered his escape by firing arrows and bullets towards the bandits and keeping them distracted.

When Akira landed on a tree, he noticed several flocks of birds flying away, with the trees moving.

(Akira) “What the...?”

(Futaba) “JOKER, SOMETHING’S COMING! IT’S HEADED STRAIGHT FOR THE BATTLEFIELD!”

Akira looked at the direction the trees were falling, and it was going to come out right where the van was heading.

(Akira) “MONA, HIT THE BRAKES!”

Morgana stopped himself, which made everyone hit their seat with how hard it braked, only to see several trees fly out in front of them with a massive beast staring them down.

[Blooming Villain - Persona 5]

(Akechi) “You gotta be fucking kidding me!”

(Sara) “OUT, OUT, OUT!”

The doors flew open as everyone jumped out.

Morgana transformed in time and rolled sideways as the Demonic Beast flew forward, crushing several bandits in its path.

Dimitri, Edelgard, Claude, Byleth, Sara, and Rean ran to the beast, pointing their weapons at it.

Akira dropped next to them, joined by Akechi.

(Claude) “Bah, the one time we HAVE a giant beast for Slayer to rip and tear, he’s busy ripping someone else apart!”

(Edelgard) “Quit complaining! It’s going to attack soon!”

Kurumi clenched her shovel and ran up with them.

(Kurumi) “Megu-nee! Get everyone back, it’s my turn to protect you all!”

(Megumi) “EBISUZAWA-”

GRAAAAAAAH!

(Fie) “Hey. Cat-thing. Idea.”

(Morgana) “I’m not a-”

His frown quickly turned into a smile once he saw what Fie had in her hands.

Fie tossed Yuuri, Megumi, Miki, and Yuki several grenades.

(Fie) “Wanna make sure your friend doesn’t die, right? Then come with me.”

As the Demonic Beast tore apart the rest of the bandits, everyone waited to make their move.

(Claude) “H-Hang on, are you planning to fight a giant monster with a shovel?!”

(Rean) “I mean, we appreciate the thought but-”

(Sara) “You’re gonna need something more powerful than that!”

(Kurumi) “What, are you kidding me?! The shovel was the mightest weapon during the great war! In the trenches it got more than a thousand confirmed ki-”

(Akechi) “ARE YOU WANTING TO DIE, IDIOT?!”

(Byleth) “EVERYONE, HERE IT COMES!”

The Demonic Beast lashed its claws out, Dimitri blocking it with his brute strength.

With the attention on Dimitri, Claude rolled over to a good angle and let an arrow fly into its eye while Kurumi drove her shovel into its legs.

The arrow deflected off and the shovel barely left a dent.

(Claude) “Ah hell!”

(Kurumi) “OH CRAP!”

Edelgard and Rean swung their axe and katana into its other leg, but was deflected as well.

(Rean) “Damn, that hide’s tough!”

The demonic beast spun around and knocking Edelgard, Rean, and Kurumi back.

It grabbed Dimitri and threw him into a tree making it snap in half.

Dimitri barely stood back up, clenching his teeth with blood in rage.

(Dimitri) “IS THAT THE BEST YOU CAN DO?!”

The beast walked forward until it heard two voices.

(Akechi) “LOKI!”

(Akira) “ARSENE!”

Their Personas lowered its defense with a fire attack, making bits of its flesh drop off.

Byleth activated the whip function in his sword and swung it at the weak spots.

The sword sliced off several more chunks of flesh, making it roar violently.

It fired an explosive rock towards him, Byleth barely getting out of the way in time.

Akira used his grapple hook to get out of the way while Akechi dove for cover.

Sara shot it several times, catching his attention and faced towards her.

(Sara) “Jackpot!”

Using her Arcus, she activated what seemed to be a form of super speed, and flipped up onto its back.

Feeling her on its back, the demonic beast tried shaking her off, but to no avail.

Sticking her sword in deep where Byleth had previously hit it, making it scream out in pain. Her pistol shot the wound several times and then went on top of its head, shooting it in the eye.

After the fourth bullet, she had to reload but it had finally pierced the socket and blood started gushing out.

Jumping off, she saw Megumi and her students rush out.

(Fie) “Throw it now!”

Everyone tossed the grenades at its feet, which it stepped on when it was staggering from the attack.

The explosions made it reel back screeching at the top of its lungs.

Fie, Morgana, Akira, Sara, and Akechi all pulled out their guns and completely unloaded their ammo onto it, the bullets going deep into its flesh.

When it fell to the ground, Rean drove his katana straight into its head, where he was assuming the head was.

Edelgard cleaved it in the neck while Kurumi went for the other eye.

With a pathetic final roar, it went suddenly still.

[We Took Each Other’s Hand - School-Live!]

Everyone took a deep breath, before being startled by the sound of more gunshots.

Sara, Fie, Akira and Akechi double tapped it with another volley of gunfire.

(Claude) “Uh, I think you got it.”

(Fie) “Can’t be too sure.”

(Sara) “You alright, kid?”

(Kurumi) “Yeah, thanks.”

(Morgana) “Nice going, Claussell!”

(Fie) “Meh. I just saw my chance.”

(Yuki) “Did...that cat just talk?”

(Megumi) “You get used to it.”

Upon hearing her voice, the students looked at Megumi again.

(Yuuri) “Megu-nee...is...that really you?”

(Yuki) “Huh? She’s been with us the entire time, right?”

Everyone looked confused for a moment but Yuki.

(Yuki) “You managed to help us, just like you always do! Even when we got teleported here, it was you who kept us going!”

Megumi couldn’t help but feel a bit lost herself. She had no idea that they were even here until she heard the radio chatter from the Personas.

It was then Megumi noticed that Kurumi, Yuuri, and another student she’s never seen before had a dark expression over their face.

Deciding to pin that question for later, seeing Yuki’s smiling face started to overwhelm her with emotions.

Seeing her students alive and well was all she wanted.

And now, they were going to be able to live relatively peaceful lives in a world not crawling with infected.

It was too much for her to bear at once.

(Megumi) “Y-Yuki-chan!”

She started bawling as she wrapped Yuki in her arms, breaking down.

(Yuki) “Aww, Megu-nee, why are...you..c-crying?” sniff “...H-Huh?”

Yuki felt the tears coming down her face, though she didn’t understand why.

Megumi had always been with them...Back in the school, and even in this strange world when they first arrived.

...Right?

Yuki started to notice that she was crying as well.

The two were joined by Kurumi and Yuuri, who started to sob as well.

Everyone kept a respectful silence as they cried together.

Although Miki only knew about Megumi when she had to play along that she was here, she still felt a wave of relief washing over her.

Someone so dear to them was alive and well, albeit in a completely foreign world.

Her mind was starting to trail off into past memories, but Miki stopped herself. This was a time for joy.

Miki joined in the hug, but barely held back tears.

Even though Miki was a complete stranger, Megumi still hugged her as one of her own.

...

When Morgana transformed back into a van, he let them be the only ones inside beside Sara, who was driving.

Everyone else decided to walk back to the monastery.

...

Sara looked back at Megumi, who had the kids sleeping on her lap and shoulders.

It was clear they trusted her with their lives.

Sara chuckled to herself.

(Sara) “You lot couldn’t ask for a better teacher.”

...

(Dimitri) “Professor, you look a bit happier than normal.”

(Byleth) “Do I?”

(Sothis) “Yes, you have quite the stupid grin on, you know.”

(Akira) “No need to spoil the mood.”

(Sothis/Dimitri) “Sorry.”

(Edelgard) “Dimitri is right, it’s not that hard to see.”

(Byleth) “Well...Megumi told her about her students, and how those misfits will fit in with us.”

(Rean) “I’m looking forward to meeting them.”

Byleth’s smile grew even wider.

Megumi finally got her wish.

Epilogue

4 Days Later...

KNOCK KNOCK!

...

This dream agai-

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

...This dre-

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

...What-

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KN-

(Yuki’s Voice) “MEGU-NEEEEEE!”

(Megumi) incoherent mumbling

[Mezame no Waltz - School-Live!]

Opening her eyes and turning around, Megumi saw the ceiling of her room.

That was...Yuki’s voice. This must be the school.

Was...Was that all a dream?

(Towa) “A-Ah! Yuki, please calm down, you might wake up others!”

(Sara) “It sounds like you’re trying to break in, little lady!”

(Byleth) “I-It is a bit too early in the morning for something like that, Yuki.”

...She was still in Garreg Mach. Not back in the school. 

This was her reality.

And she was so happy it was.

...Well, she would be if she could think. Seconds after being woken up this way, the only thing that was in her mind was “why”.

She reached out for her table to answer the door.

(Megumi) “Mn...a-ah-”

CLINK CLINK!

(Megumi) “...Can...”

Not bothering to change her clothes to answer the door, she opened it to see a bright eyed Yuki.

(Yuki) “Morning, Megu-nee!”

(Towa) “Hah, oh dear!”

(Sara) “Nice bedhead!”

(Byleth) “Go easy on her, she just woke up. Well, more like Yuki woke her up.”

(Yuki) “EH?! I-I’M SORRY, MEGU-NEE!”

Megumi softly chuckled and rubbed her eyes.

(Megumi) “No it’s okay. If you didn’t wake me up, Sara would have.”

(Sara) “Hey, I do not!”

(Towa) “That’s because you make ME do it, instructor!”

Byleth sighed and turned to Megumi.

(Byleth) “Yuki insisted we wake you up. Said you’d already be wide awake by now.”

Megumi invited everyone in and got changed and readied up in the bathroom. After having a nice little conversation, they all headed to the classrooms. Yuki rushed on ahead while Towa tried to chase her down.

(Sara) “Man, I thought I brought the life of the party with Class VII! She’s so enthusiastic about school!”

(Megumi) “Hah, she wasn’t always that way about it. She was a bit more reserved before I became her teacher.”

(Byleth) “Well, I’m glad she and the other students managed to find a good home here.”

Megumi smiled with Sara and Byleth.

Her students were finally safe, and at a place they could call home.

[Yasashisa ni Fureta Toki - School-Live!]

Kurumi got along well with Leonie, Chie, and the other tomboys of the classes.

Yuuri fit in with the more motherly students.

Miki, though a bit shy, is enjoying herself with the more mature and goofy students.

And Yuki was having an absolute blast with everyone she met, being fascinated by Garreg Mach.

It was literally everything Megumi wanted.

...

(Kurumi) “Man, we have to get up so early here!”

(Yuuri) “Hah, it’s not so different from our old school life then.”

(Miki) “Since when did we ever have to learn magic in our old school?!”

(Kurumi) “Beats math!”

(Towa’s Voice) “YUKI, PLEASE WAIT!”

(Yuki) “TAROMARUUU, THERE YOU ARE!”

The three girls watched Yuki pass by and run into the classroom after Taromaru, seeing a bright light inside.

(Yuuri) “What is going on in there?”

When they walked in, they saw all of the houses inside with a relatively large cake.

(Kazuma) “Oh good they’re in!”

(Akira) “Everyone, 3, 2, 1-”

(Everyone) “WELCOME TO GARREG MACH!”

The four were shocked, but even more so was Megumi who walked in.

(Megumi) “H-Huh?”

(Kazuma) “It kinda dawned on us that you never got your own little party for coming in here! Heck, even we did, and we were the first ones to be in this crazy sh....crap.”

(Dimitri) “We had Mercedes make it, seeing as she’s our expert baker.”

(Mercedes) “Everyone pitched in as well! Money for the ingredients, the flavor, ideas what to write!”

(Edelgard) “Though we did have too many cooks...”

(Claude) “A cake or two was ruined buuut, what matters is we came on top!”

(Sara) “Hah, well this is for you and your kids, Sakura.”

(Miki) “T-Thank you so much!”

(Kurumi) “That looks great, thanks!”

(Yuuri) “Ah, thank you!”

(Yuki) “THANK YOU!”

Yuki hugged Dimitri, Edelgard, and Claude.

Megumi smiled and looked over at the cake.

Doomguy’s shoulder cannon shot out a tiny flame, lighting the candles.

“Welcome to Garreg Mach

Yuuri

Miki

Kurumi

Yuki

Megu-nee!”

Megumi shook her head.

(Byleth) “Is something wrong with the cake?”

(Megumi) “I thought all the students should know by now...

Don’t call me Megu-nee, it’s Professor Sakura!”

[Friend Shitai! - School-Live!]

[ironfidus]

grief (is a freight train)

Angsty post-Endgame Iron Dad one-shot. 

Read here on AO3 (@a_matter_of_loyalty).

———

Summary:

In the wake of Thanos’s defeat, the entire world celebrates the return of their loved ones. But there are some who do not celebrate at all. 

The years pass, and still there are some who cry instead of smile, when they remember the day Thanos died. The day Tony Stark gave his life.

(Everyone mourns Tony Stark. But none as much as the people who knew him as more than just a hero.)

———

Every year, the world rejoices, flocking to the streets to celebrate a world rid of Thanos, a world full of all the people once lost in the Decimation. 

Every year, the world takes a moment to be grateful for its fortunes.

And every year, there are some who don’t. There are some who grieve, who see the day as a curse instead of a blessing.

Every year, there are some who gaze upon the larger-than-life monument of Iron Man with sadness instead of gratitude.

Because every year, the world remembers Tony Stark as Iron Man, their hero, the man they have to thank for bringing back the ones they love. His family remembers him as more.

(Pepper remembers the man with the tired eyes and the unfaltering resilience; she remembers the man who fought so hard for a world of people who, before realizing he was responsible for reversing their nightmare, would have mercilessly judged him every chance they had.)

(Morgan remembers the warmth, the love, the selflessness. She remembers calloused hands running through her hair, holding her up, tucking her into bed. 

She remembers the father who let her eat juice pops even after she already brushed her teeth, who told her bedtime stories and kissed her goodnight every night without fail, who whispered I love you 3000, kiddo to her from beyond the grave.)

(Peter remembers the constant check-ins, the hourly snacks to accommodate his enhanced metabolism, the upgrades to his suit that kept Spider-Man even more protected than Iron Man. 

He remembers the genius who sat patiently with him as they worked through his pre-calc worksheets together, never once complaining even though they doubtlessly bored him to tears. He remembers the mentor who helped him grow into the superhero he is today.

He remembers the fighter who bore the weight of the world without protest, who gave everything for nothing, who cared too much but was too afraid to show it.)

(Rhodey remembers the witty kid with a thousand ingenious ideas who showed up in his dorm room, the all-nighters driven by cans of disgusting energy drinks and stacks of pizza boxes, the frat parties and drunk stories spilling through loose lips.

He remembers the kindness and selfless generosity his best friend hid beneath a veil of biting sarcasm and snide remarks. He remembers every dollar Tony threw around in an attempt to rid himself of his misplaced guilt, the list of charities he was knee-deep in growing by the week.)

(Happy remembers Tony’s patience, his compassionate hazelnut eyes, his supply of second chances. He remembers his boss and friend’s sense of humor, and all of the times Tony laughed at or with him.

He remembers Tony’s trusting side. He remembers what it feels like to be on the receiving end of that trust. He remembers thinking he never wanted to break it. He also remembers thinking, shoulder-to-shoulder with Rhodey at Tony Stark’s funeral, that he’d failed.)

And when everyone else smiles to think of the day Thanos was bested, they don’t. 

Pepper enfolds Morgan in her arms, holding her little girl tightly as the sun rises on another day without their missing family member, and prays that they won’t have to lose each other, too. 

Peter locks himself in his room and desperately clutches his mask to his chest as he listens to KAREN play recordings of Mr. Stark over and over again, pretending he can’t feel the tears spilling over onto his cheeks.

Rhodey stares blearily down at his certificate of graduation from MIT and imagines a world where Tony Stark wasn’t his roommate. When he can’t, coming up short, he drinks himself into oblivion.

Happy finds himself at his (and Tony’s) favorite gym and wears himself out in the ring, throwing himself at contender after contender, none of them Tony.

:::

Seven months after Tony Stark dies, Peter stumbles across the framed photograph of him and Tony grinning at each other, an upside-down certificate held between them. It’s sitting there on Tony’s desk for all to see.

Lying innocently next to the photo, so unaware of its own implications, is the blueprints for the time machine.

Peter’s heart stutters in his chest. Eyes transfixed on his mentor’s smile, he feels himself fall, fall, fall—

(“Why?” he remembers asking Pepper months ago, after Tony’s funeral. “Why did he do it? Why did he have to die for – for a world that never even truly appreciated him?”

Pepper freezes, her fierce stare fracturing for a brief moment, falling apart to reveal the tears that seem so natural to her now. 

She smiles sadly at him, shakes her head, and tells him not to worry about it.)

It was for him, Peter realizes now. All for him.

He’s the reason Tony Stark is dead. He’s why Pepper cries herself to sleep these days; why Rhodey no longer has his best friend; why Happy often stares off into the distance like he’s remembering every “Forehead of Security” joke Tony teasingly made at his expense; why Morgan lost her father.

He did this. He killed Tony Stark.

For the first time in almost a month (a record, Peter, May pointed out earlier that morning, lips smiling but eyes sad, so sad, let’s aim for the small victories), Peter braces himself against reality and cries.

:::

It takes him weeks to muster the courage to confront Pepper about it. In the end, it doesn’t matter because she finds him first, sitting with Dum-E in her and Tony’s garage, looking down at the photo cradled in his hands with red, dry eyes.

“Oh, Peter,” she whispers. “Put the photo down, kid. Don’t do this to yourself.”

He looks up at her and sees a woman who’s lost everything. His eyes drag to the ring on her finger and flinches; she might still be wearing the ring, but she’s a widow now—because of him.

Pepper must realize where his thoughts are spiraling to because she shakes her head firmly, tears splattering onto the concrete floor of her garage. “Stop it, Peter,” she begs. “I had to watch Tony go down this road, too. Don’t make me do it again.”

“He did this for me,” Peter whispers before he can stop himself. “He – he had you and Morgan. He had the life he’s always dreamed of, but he risked all of that. For me. Why?”

Pepper’s face is painted in grief, and Tony’s death is the artist. (Peter is the artist, because this is his fault, he thinks. His.) “He wanted you to have the chance to fight for the life you deserve,” she whispers hoarsely. “This,”—she sweeps her arms around herself, a gesture to encompass everything he now has—“this is the life you deserve.”

The photograph clatters to the floor, falling out of Peter’s shaking hands.

He knows she means the fact that he is alive at all. He knows she‘s talking about all the extra time he and Aunt May have together, about Ned and MJ and him banding together as the inseparable Three Musketeers once again, about all the reasons he has to smile nowadays—

“Live it, Peter,” Pepper’s voice is soft, a broken plea. “Tony can’t anymore, but you still can. So fight, Peter. Live. Make him proud.”

—But when he looks at his life now, when he takes stock of everything that is a part of Pepper’s all-inclusive “this”, all he sees is Mr. Stark’s absence.

:::

When Peter gets home that night, he thinks of Pepper’s words and considers it. He even manages to imagine it—living the peaceful life Mr. Stark would have wanted for him, full of joy and laughter, full of eating Thai with Aunt May and watching Star Wars reruns with Ned and debating politics with MJ.

But at the same time, it seems impossible. He can’t truly see himself reclaiming that life anymore—a part of him knows it’s because the old him died with his hero.

Happiness is miles away from him, a faraway dream.

But for so many people in the world, it isn’t just a dream. Thanos has been defeated, and the people lost in the Snap have been returned. Millions of people have gained their loved ones back.

And he knows better than ever now how fickle life is. 

Peter looks through his bedroom window, peering out at his neighborhood, and knows that the streets of Queens are as rife with crime as ever. There are girls and boys everywhere staring out the windows just as he is, wondering where their mothers are, wondering when their fathers will come home to them.

Mr. Stark is gone, but other kids still have their parents. (For now.)

Peter’s lost his mentor, but that doesn’t mean anyone else should have to lose their own families. That doesn’t mean he’s allowed to use that as an excuse and wither away, hiding from all of the screams for help.

:::

Eight months after Tony Stark dies, Peter Parker shakily lifts himself up to his feet, wipes away his tears and dusts off his pants, and finally lets his eyes fall onto his Spider-Man suit.

For the first time in eight months, he doesn’t recoil away from it.

And finally, finally, finally—Queens’ beloved hero returns.

:::

For a while, Peter loses himself in his crime-fighting. He takes down criminal after criminal and pretends he can’t hear the worry in Pepper’s voice when she calls to check in every few days, or the wistful longing in Happy’s voice when Peter admits he’s finally taking up the mantle of the mask again, or the sob caught in Aunt May’s throat when she asks after his injuries every night. 

He pretends he doesn’t hear Mr. Stark all the time, a ghost chiding him for his recklessness, pointing out every gang fight, and cautioning him against all of the gun-wielding muggers.

And for a while, it works. 

:::

Things get better. They get better—until they don’t.

:::

It goes like this.

Peter’s lost in his thoughts, walking absentmindedly down the sidewalk with his fists in his pockets and his head in the clouds, when all of a sudden a man crashes into him. Peter yelps, yanking his earbuds out of his ears, eyes wide as he stares at the dark pool of hot coffee spreading across his t-shirt. He doesn’t even register the pain until the stranger curses and apologizes profusely, his own hand red where the coffee spilled over his paper cup and scorched his skin.

Peter doesn’t hear him. 

He can’t hear anyone but Tony, laughing hysterically at him when Peter trips over an errant wire and takes Tony’s coffee down with him. He can’t see anyone but Tony, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation and waving for Dum-E to “clean him up, buddy.”

It’s not real. 

Peter knows it’s not real. 

But that doesn’t stop him from wishing it is.

:::

It goes like this.

Peter’s sitting cross-legged on the floor of MJ’s hostel room, his Decathlon teammates gathered around him in a messy semi-circle. MJ’s flicking through her flashcards, calling on them one by one and helping them revise for their competition tomorrow as the murmur of the television hums in the background.

For the first time in a while, Peter feels grounded in the present in this cramped hostel room, with his friends surrounding him and the room’s one light cheaply flickering on and off above them.

But nothing good lasts forever. Peter should know that by now.

Because twenty minutes into their study session, Charles looks up at the TV in awe, whispering something about a new hero, about how “he’s like Iron Man and Thor rolled into one,” and—

Iron Man Iron Man Iron Man – 

—Peter’s world comes crashing down around him for what must be the umpteenth time.

:::

It goes like this.

Peter’s at his first Thanksgiving dinner without Mr. Stark when it hits him.

They’ve been going around the table, giving each person a few moments to utter their gratitudes: 

I’m thankful we can all be together again, like this.

I’m thankful I got to celebrate my son’s birthday last week. I’m thankful he’s alive to grow older.

I’m thankful for this team we can all count on to have each other’s backs.

I’m thankful for all of you.

He has no idea what to say.

A part of him knows, objectively, that there’s a lot to be thankful for—he’s alive. So is his aunt, his best friend, his classmates.

But looking beside him at little Morgan, knowing she will never get to have another Thanksgiving with her father, realizing she’ll hardly even remember his face come a few years’ time...

What is there to be thankful for?

The world thinks they’ve won. Peter sees Morgan, fatherless at four years old, and asks how victory can taste so much like defeat.

:::

It goes like this.

He’s building LEGOs with Ned, listening to his best friend ramble about how Betty agreed to go on a date with him when Ned accidentally knocks over one of the Millennium Falcon’s laser cannons. The section lands on the floor with a loud crash as it breaks apart into its individual components, black and grey and white LEGO pieces bouncing away and rolling under his bed. 

Ned cuts off his endless chatter with a sheepish apology, but Peter just laughs and shakes his head, dropping to his knees and feeling blindly for the LEGO pieces. Eventually he gives up, tugs out his phone with a groan, and shines a flashlight into the darkness.

The light from his phone casts a bright glow over the scattered LEGO pieces. 

It also lights up the plastic Iron Man mask he’d cherished as a little boy.

Peter’s heart stops. His phone falls out of his grip, crashing to the floor with a thud. 

When Ned asks him what’s wrong, it takes every ounce of self-control he has to stop himself from saying: “Everything.”

:::

It goes like this.

Peter turns eighteen. Mr. Stark isn’t there to see it.

:::

It goes like this.

Peter walks into a bookstore with Ned at his heels, both keeping their eyes peeled for the type of book MJ might appreciate as a gift. 

He scans title upon title upon title, but in the end it isn’t a novel that makes him stop in his tracks, his heart lurching into his throat. It’s a little girl in the comics and magazines section, making animated gestures to her big brother, who smiles and nods indulgently at her, reaching up and picking out the book she‘s been indicating.

It’s an Iron Man comic book.

For a second—just a second—as he watches the little girl hold the comic book close to her heart—as he sees the effect Iron Man still has on the people who hold him up as their hero—Peter lets himself imagine Mr. Stark is still here.

(Peter wishes he could call his mentor up right now; wishes he could let Mr. Stark know that it is Iron Man who managed to bring a smile that wide to her face.)

But Mr. Stark isn’t. He’s never going to be here again.

Peter stumbles away from Ned and his friend’s excited babble of “look, she’s going to love this one,” and locks himself in the nearest restroom, collapsing against the toilet bowl and throwing up.

:::

It goes like this.

Happy is the one who ends up teaching Peter to drive. When they both finally manage to convince themselves to go through with it, Happy pretends he can’t see the way Peter’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel.

Peter pretends he can’t see the way Happy shoves on a pair of sunglasses halfway through the lesson, his choked voice the only sign that betrays his anguish.

The whole time, Peter remembers a far-off past, Mr. Stark’s eyes twinkling at him as he swears he’ll let Peter test-drive all of his favorite cars as soon as it’s legal (and maybe even before then, as long as you’re with me the entire time, alright?).

:::

It goes like this.

It only takes Morgan three weeks to get attached to Peter and start calling him her “big brother.”

It takes her eleven more months after that to tell him, “I love you 3000, Petey.”

He doesn’t have to look around the room to know that Pepper and Rhodey and Happy are all freezing in place, staring at Morgan with the thought of Tony in their eyes.

He feels the same way. He swallows down a sob, cradles Morgan to his chest, and brushes a soft kiss to her forehead. His mind chants Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark like a prayer as he whispers, “I love you 3000, Maguna.”

Morgan smiles innocently up at him. Peter silences the sound of his heart breaking before Morgan can hear it.

:::

It goes like this.

He and May are in the middle of having a quiet dinner in—the first in months, with May getting busier and busier at work and with him avoiding everyone he cares about in his grief—when he finally hears back from MIT.

May ends up opening the sealed envelope for him when she sees how much his hands are shaking. She takes one look at the letter and screams in delight, wrapping him up in a hug so tight he can feel it in his bones.

She lets him go eventually, eyes bright and full of joy, and Peter snatches the letter off the table. He knows what it must be, given May’s sheer enthusiasm, but—

He stares at the acceptance letter in disbelief, barely hearing May’s giddy laughter. 

He got in.

He should be happy. He should be thrilled. He should be jumping up and down out of sheer excitement.

MIT was his dream, after all. Still is, beneath all the misery.

For some reason, he isn’t. Instead of a smile, it’s tears that grace his face as Peter presses a trembling hand to his mouth, silent sobs rattling his body.

(If he’s honest with himself, he knows the reason. 

MIT is Mr. Stark’s alma mater. For months before the end of the world, Mr. Stark sent Peter brochure after brochure advertising MIT. When Peter asked, Mr. Stark’s only response was to wink cheekily.

Mr. Stark isn’t here for him to ask anymore.)

(MIT wasn’t just his dream for himself. It was their dream, his and Mr. Stark’s. It feels wrong, somehow, to hold this letter that contains some of Mr. Stark’s greatest hopes and aspirations for him, in a world where Mr. Stark can’t see it. It feels like betrayal.)

:::

It goes like this. 

Peter’s shaking his principal’s hand, looking at the certificate proving his graduation dazedly, when he makes the mistake of looking up at the audience. He catches a glimpse of Aunt May beaming at him proudly, of Pepper and Morgan grinning beside her, of the assortment of colorful heroes decorating the front row.

His eyes zero in on the empty chair beside Morgan, with only a tiny Iron Man toy figurine sitting atop it. 

His heart plummets to his feet. Blood roars in his ears, deafening him to everything but Mr. Stark’s first words to him, a lifetime ago—“Nice work, kid.”

:::

It goes like this.

Father’s Day arrives. Peter wakes up with an itch in the back of his mind, picks up his phone, and then nearly drops it when his eyes immediately dart to the date.

Mr. Stark.

Peter swallows down the memory of the first Father’s Day he showed up at Mr. Stark’s lab, a sheepish grin on his face and a clumsily-wrapped present in hand.

Today… today, though, he has to remind himself firmly, It’s just another day. 

But it isn’t, and he knows it. 

Because ever since that first time, all of his following Father’s Days had turned into movie nights with Mr. Stark, the two of them armed with an abundance of popcorn and soda and ice cream. 

This year, there’s no text reading ready for another movie marathon, kid? on his phone. There’s no one to pick up when he instinctively calls Mr. Stark, a cheerful Happy Father’s Day, Mr. Dad! burning on the tip of his tongue. There’s no friendly reminder from KAREN that Mr. Stark’s waiting for him in his home theater. 

(There’s just an empty lock screen, his and Mr. Stark’s mischievous grins beaming up at him from his phone wallpaper. 

There’s just his mentor’s haunting snarky voice and the familiar voicemail greeting of “You know who I am, and I’m assuming you know what to do, or you really shouldn’t be allowed to operate a phone in this day and age,” that leaves his ears ringing and lungs heaving and eyes stinging for almost an hour afterwards.

There’s just a quiet You have no new messages, Peter, when he finally manages to yank his suit on and pull the mask down his face, only to press frantically at the spider emblem on his chest and take it all off again, his stomach rolling with nausea.)

This year, Peter spends Father’s Day in bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling, eyes dry but still aching. 

(This year, Peter spends Father’s Day alone.)

Except he doesn’t.

Hours later, the Starks (missing one member, always missing one member) show up at his and May’s apartment, a watery smile on Pepper’s face and a subdued hey, Petey coming from Morgan. They’re each holding a bouquet of hydrangeas.

As soon as she’s close enough, Pepper offers him her bouquet, her smile stretching an inch wider. “You were his kid, too, no matter what your DNA says,” she whispers, and her voice is hoarse, like she’s spent all morning crying into her pillow. 

(At least, that’s what Peter’s been doing before they came.)

Peter opens his mouth to protest, but all it takes is one look at Morgan’s red-rimmed eyes and Peter knows he can’t say no. 

“Okay,” he breathes, even as he thinks thank you, even as he tries not to break down. 

(He fails.)

(That Father’s Day marks the beginning of a new tradition—one he dreads instead of looks forward to.

These days he spends every Father’s Day in a clearing in the forest that fringes the Starks’ lakehouse, holding Morgan’s tiny hand tightly in his own as she weeps into her father’s headstone.)

:::

It goes like this.

He’s sitting through a lecture at MIT when his professor quotes Mr. Stark.

He shouldn’t be surprised. He isn’t surprised. Anthony Edward Stark is a genius, after all, and this is a physics class. 

Still, it takes him back to the lab, to Tony Stark standing across him and giving him advice. He hears himself huff in annoyance and remind Mr. Stark that he’s hardly in a position to caution Peter about lab safety given his own infamous recklessness.

He strains to hear Mr. Stark’s response—strains to listen to his mentor tell him that the rules only applied to smart-but-stupid Spider-Kids with a penchant for self-sacrifice. 

But the words never come. In a flash, Peter’s back in Professor Johnson’s classroom, sitting in a cheap, uncomfortable chair that’s too stiff and nothing at all like the plush rolling chairs in Mr. Stark’s lab.

The rest of the world continues to spin on its axis, his professor continues to drone on and on about electromagnetism, and his classmates continue to whisper conspicuously amongst each other, but Peter’s world came to a standstill long ago.

The moment passes, but the breathless feeling never fades. Tony Stark’s perfected ‘Mentor Knows Best’ stare drilling into the back of his head, Peter struggles to inhale, exhale, in, out as despair strangles him, crushing his throat in a vice grip.

:::

It goes like this.

The first time he visits back home from MIT, Pepper asks him to take over as Head of R&D at Stark Industries.

He feels the color drain from his face.

She reassures him that he won’t have to drop out of MIT, that he’ll be able to dedicate most of his time to his education, that he’ll only have to put in a few hours and chip in a few ideas every so often.

She tells him she knows he’ll succeed.

Peter doesn’t bother correcting her. He doesn’t say that that isn’t what he’s worried about.

He doesn’t say that even though he knows it’s been ages, he still can’t fathom someone else taking up the mantle of his mentor’s job, even if it’s him. (Maybe especially if it’s him.)

He doesn’t say that he wishes no one would ever have to replace Tony Stark, in any and every capacity.

Instead, he forces himself to breathe and tells her he’ll do it.

:::

It goes like this.

Morgan grows up. She becomes a teenager, smart and gorgeous and full of life. 

Eventually, she meets someone. Tony isn’t there to greet her date with a firm shake of the hand and a piercing, intimidating stare the first time she brings him home.

Peter is.

Pepper thanks him when the night is over. Peter lets her hug him, and realizes with sudden, startling clarity that Morgan won’t have her father to walk her down the aisle one day.

The thought drives him to his knees, trembling, gasping, convulsing—

—breaking.

:::

It goes like this.

Peter is older now. He’s not the snot-nosed little kid who just lost his mentor (father figure) anymore. 

He goes to sleep smiling, heart full and content. He’s so sure he’s turning around, starting on a new path—beginning to well and truly heal.

Except—

Except.

He wakes up screaming, hands fisted in his sheets, tears already burning his eyes, and Mr. Stark’s dying, unseeing gaze is all he can see.

:::

So things get better, until they don’t. 

Even years after Tony’s death, Peter finds his grief violently, all-consumingly unpredictable.

Some days, it no longer hurts to breathe in a world without his hero.

Other days, it does hurt.

Other days, it takes next to nothing—a stray word, a picture in the news, a laugh that sounds too much like long days in the lab—to send Peter careening back into the past, into a time when he could simply take out his phone and text Mr. Stark about anything and everything—science fairs, birthdays, Decathlon competitions, cute dogs he ran into at the park.

Other days, it seems like anything can drown Peter, thrusting him back into the midst of his grief, a maelstrom of horror and shock and anger and misery ripping him apart. 

Other days, the littlest, most random thing can set him off, hitting him like a punch in the gut. (You’re terrible at this, Underoos. Who in the world taught you to fight—wait, no, don’t tell me. Was it Youtube? I bet you learned to fight from Youtube. Can’t even take a punch like you mean it, god. That’s it, I’m taking over—you and me, in the gym, 5:00 A.M. sharp. I’m just kidding, kid, stop looking at me like that. Of course I don’t actually mean 5:00. I mean, look who you’re talking to. God knows I can’t function before ten without at least two cups of coffee. Preferably three. I don’t even want to think about how many coffees I’d need to down if I wanted to be useful at the ass crack of dawn—Pepper would kill me, literally, and convince FRIDAY to help hide the body. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. Training. Let’s sat a date for 11:00 A.M. and call it a day, yeah?)

Other days, Peter fears he will never recover.

:::

The rest of the world moves on. 

Peter Parker can’t.