#i like this version -- 'to know the worst leaves no dread more'

[cor-ardens-archive]

Emily Dickinson

[writingseaslugs]

Savanaclaw: When You're Sick

Y’all I have such a soft spot for Ruggie now after writing that fic for him. Seriously he’s one of my little meow meows. I will protect him at all costs.

The intro of the headcanons are all the same, so if you’ve already read Heartlabyul feel free to skip the intro.

Disclaimer: All characters in this series are aged up. For more information about my version of this world and the type of reader you can expect, please click the “Au Information” below!

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Savanaclaw: When You’re Sick

The worst thing to ever happen to you while attending Night Raven College had to be, hands down, getting sick. You were alone in the dorm with only ghosts and Grim to keep you company, and as much as you loved them, they couldn’t take care of you when you became sick. This meant you had to make do and hope that everything was alright. Normally if you were under the weather, you’d just suck it up and go to class so as to not worry anyone. This time however, that wasn’t an option.

You woke up with every muscle in your body feeling sore and aching with even the slightest movement. Your stomach churned something fearsome and you had a runny nose and cough to boot. You had no idea what illness you had fallen to. Having so many symptoms…you could only assume it was the flu or something akin to that.

Still, there was no way you were making it to class like this. So begrudgingly you told Grim you weren’t feeling good and needed to rest, and to go to class and get your homework so you could do it later. The demon cat was grumpy about not having his henchman, but eventually gave in, leaving you alone to rest in your room and hope that whatever you had would go away.

Leona Kingscholar

He’s one of the biggest liars when it comes to saying he doesn’t care that you’re sick. Ruggie will probably be the one to bring it up after Leona notes that you weren’t around and bugging him like always. Ruggie is going to be smug while saying he heard you had a horrible cold and couldn’t make it out of bed, and how you were all alone since Grim didn’t know how to take care of humans. He’s going to just brush it off and pretend like it doesn’t matter as it’s “Not my problem.”, but Ruggie can see the annoyed tail twitch of his as he stews in emotions.

Leona, as most would assume, sucks at taking care of others. He is a spoiled prince through and through, as he was always being pampered when he was sick. He at least knows the basics though, so he isn’t dreadful. Just don’t expect him to be very capable. He’ll probably be getting the school nurse to do most of the work to make sure you’re okay. After all, it’s better than him trying to do so and making your situation even worse.

When he’s taking care of you, he only does the basics. Make sure you've eaten and have your meds. Anything else and he’s getting the school nurse to do it so you’re properly cared for. Still, the grumpy lion will lay down next to you, even if you protest about him getting sick if he’s too close. He’ll just say it’s quieter here since nobody is going to disturb you while sick, so he’s taking advantage of the opportunity. Thankfully you do need a lot of rest though, so you two will be asleep for most of it until you’re finally better and on the mend.

Once you’re all better, he’s expecting a “thank you” since he helped make sure you were better. He won’t do this for just anyone, so you should feel grateful. Of course he is relieved that you’re feeling well again, but he’s going to make sure you’re well aware that he won’t be doing this again. So you better not be getting sick anytime soon or else you’ll be on your own. Another lie he tells, since everyone at the school knows damn well that Leona would help you again the moment you have a slight cough.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie is just going to assume that Grim is, once again, being dramatic. He has more important things to do than taking care of someone for free. Still, he can’t stop the small nagging feeling in the back of his mind that maybe Grim wasn’t being dramatic about the situation. It’s going to distract him and he will mess up things he normally wouldn’t, and Leona is eventually going to get annoyed and tell him to just go check on you so he can stop being so scatterbrained and do his job well again.

Good news is Ruggie is pretty proficient in taking care of other people. Growing up how he did, it was a skill that was needed to survive. Of course normally when he was sick he dealt with it himself, but when someone he cares for is sick he goes full nurse mode. The moment he sees just how bad you are, he’s going to go from 0 to 100 real fast. He might even tell you that you’re an idiot for not contacting him earlier when you were this sick, even though you explained you could barely get up, let alone message him. 

He already knows what to do with making sure you’re better, and the good news is the school nurse gives medicine for free. Perks of going to an esteemed college…and Ruggie may or may not have taken extra medication “just in case”. Still, he’s going to be by your side the entire time, taking care of you and doing anything you ask. If you need help standing, say no more. He’s picking you up already so you don’t have to worry about walking. He’s an excellent nurse, but he will note that you owe him later.

Once you’re finally feeling well, Ruggie is going to be reminding you that you owe him. If you previously took care of him in the past while he was sick though, then he’ll say you guys are even. He might comment that next time he has to be your nurse, he’s expecting payment. Just tell him thank you and ruffle his hair and he’ll be quiet real fast, leaning into your touch and accepting the praise. Sometimes you wondered if he was secretly a puppy beastman.

Jack Howl

Jack is already on high alert when you don’t show up to school with Grim; you always show up to class with Grim. Even when you were feeling under the weather you’d drag yourself to classes; and he always knew when you were sick since people always smelled a bit sour, so not coming in because you were sick was worrisome. After hearing from Grim that you couldn’t even get out of bed this morning, the feeling only amplifies. He excuses himself from class and rushes over to your dorm, feeling dread in the pit of his stomach.

Jack is pretty neutral with taking care of someone when sick. He’s not amazing, but he’s not bad either. He knows what needs to be done for the most part, and he’s not afraid to grab the school nurse to check in on you as well. After finding out the best care treatment for you, he’s going to be following it. He’s also not leaving your bedside until you’re better as he doesn’t trust you not to get up while sick to try and do school work…which granted was something he should be worried about because magical homework was actually kind of fun.

Again, he’s not leaving your side, and he’s not letting you lift a finger while you’re sick. If you need something, you best tell him so he can grab it for you. He doesn't want you over exerting yourself since it’ll take longer to feel better. He also does a good job being a guard dog and making sure nobody disturbs you while you’re trying to get better. Running off Grim and Adeuce is now part of his job, not wanting them to accidentally rile you up and send you into a coughing fit.

He’s going to be more relieved then you are to be better. He has dark circles under his eyes from not resting properly as he keeps an eye on you. You’re going to have to drag him to the spare room at the dorm to make sure he rests now. Even while half asleep, he’s going to be trying to make sure you’re really better and not just saying you are so he’ll go to bed. Assure him and he’ll pass out the moment his head hits the pillow. Wake him up in a couple hours with something home cooked and he’ll let you know you don’t owe him anything for helping him out.

[sourbinnie]

☆ wish i could forget.mp3 ☆ [hit me where it hurts pt.2]

/ the sad ending /

♡ genre ¿? ♡ -> double the angst ♡ pair ¿? ♡ -> ot8!skz x gn!reader ♡ plot ¿? ♡ -> words that left scars on you are not easy to forget. ♡ warnings ¿? ♡ -> cursing ; arguments ; no happy endings ♡ request ¿? ♡ -> yes!

first part -> hyung line | maknae line

a/n: so before you read, there’s gonna be a make up version of this reaction. i decided to get the sad one out first because it’s the one i could write rn :] but seriously i am overwhelmed by the support and the love that i have received. i gained so many followers and likes/reblogs that it’s insane to me. thank you all for everything and enjoy the heartbreak! unless you wanna wait for the happier version.

chan ✉

as chan took every step to your shared apartment, everything felt like it was crumbling apart. he couldn't sleep, he felt like he was suffocating in the dorms so he spent most of the night at the studio. exactly the opposite of what you would've wanted and that led him to think the worst of the worst. he knew he had messed up big time, he knew you were only trying to help him and this is how he repays you?

putting the key in the lock, he felt dread in his heart as he walked in. everything looked too perfect, like you weren't even there but as soon as his eyes stopped looking around, he saw you. you were standing there, bloodshot eyes as you finished... packing.

"please don't tell me this is what i think it is." he said and you just looked at him. a sad look in your eyes, as he tried to process everything that was happening and what he was gonna say but nothing was coming out. oh god, he was panicking, he did not want you to leave. "please (y/n) i'll do anything." 

"i made my decision. i would rather not be here if i'm not wanted and if i am gonna be treated like this. i'm sorry but there's nothing you can do that's gonna make me stay." you said and if he didn't feel broken and obsolete before, he was feeling pure numbness now. 

"we can work this out. this was a one time thing!" he said and this time oh did the tears fall from his eyes.

"it's not the first time chris and i think it's not gonna be the last time either." you said picking up your suitcase and heading towards the front door as chan looked in horror at the scene unfolding. "i'm sorry it had to end this way."

"i should be saying sorry, i fucked everything up." he said clearly and you just got close to him again, pressing a kiss to his wet cheek and wiping away the tears. 

"you'll be okay." no, no he definitely wouldn't be as he watched you leave from the apartment you two shared so many memories with and now they're gone. taken from him just like the power in him to stand up, as his legs gave out and the knot in his throat got tighter.

minho ✉

another award and you weren't there. this time for a good reason though and he still couldn't process his words, the ones he spoke with such cruelty and the instant regret that hit him when he would try to call you and would lead to voicemail. when he got off stage and the first thing he did was check his phone to see no messages, he felt like crying right then and there. he was not one to cry at all but since the fight, he felt like he could feel the tears coming in at any minute.

he knew the boys were all still confused about what happened and wondering why you didn't show up anymore. he didn't know how to explain that he was the one who messed up. he felt such disappointment in himself and carried it everywhere with him, he just couldn't function without you. 

he checked his phone again, texting one more time but this time they wouldn't send. no, that could not mean what he thought it meant right? that's not what he's thinking. he decided to leave without explanation and not care about his image or the professionalism of it all, he just wanted to see you and talk. as soon as he found himself in front of your door, he knocked and waited for you to come out. as soon as he saw you in front of him, no words were coming out of his mouth.

"minho? what do you want? i already left your things at the dorms." he didn't even have time to check that and it felt like everything was suddenly drifting away from him. "i know i didn't say anything but i think the things you said were enough for this to happen right?".

"i can't leave you (y/n), i know i fucked up immensely and that you don't want anything to do with me but please i'm asking for another chance." he said and felt his world crumbling when he saw you shake your head. 

"i wish i could forget what you said but i don't think i ever will. maybe it's stupid of me to do this and i will regret it later but right now? it feels like the right choice, goodbye minho." you said as you closed the door and left his figure standing there. 

changbin ✉

chan and jisung decided to go with him to the dorms as they were still trying to figure out what happened. they knew changbin didn't have the biggest temper but they never saw him get mad at you. he eventually said what happened exactly and he could sense the disappointment in his bandmates as he explained it but they were still there to support him through it all. even with that, he felt completely lost and heartbroken, he couldn't seem to forget the look in your eyes.

he decided to try and call you, maybe you had calmed down by that point. maybe you were ready to yell at him for what happened. maybe you wouldn't pick up at all and this would be the way you two drifted apart.

luckily you picked up but not so luckily he would have to hear some heartbreaking words.

"hey bin. i know what you're gonna say and i'm gonna say it before you. i don't think i can forgive you for what you said and i think it's better if we go our separate ways. like you said i get in your way too much and maybe someone else would be better for you." before he could answer, you were hanging up and leaving him absolutely speechless. he didn't even sense the tears coming out of his eyes as he tried to dial your number again and call you but it looked like you turned off your phone.

the fact that he made you feel like this, was gonna haunt him. he wanted to go to your apartment so bad but he found himself like he couldn’t move as he wiped the tears but they did not seem to stop. the part where you said he should be with someone else when all he could think, dream and feel was you. all he wanted was you and yet a part of him knew that after what happened you deserved better.

he sat down eventually and waited for someone to push him out of that state he was in. thankfully felix was there with him as he had no words but at least he held him as he still repeated your words in his mind.

"there's no one better than them lix. there's literally no one." he said as his friend tried to console him but there was no cure for a broken heart.

hyunjin ✉

as much as he insisted he was fine, he was far from it. he didn't know what he was doing most of the time as he expected for you to walk in. he wanted to see you so badly yet he was scared and as the days passed he was sure that this was the end unfortunately. he was tired of waiting so he headed to your work one day, being done with going back and forth and in circles around this fight. he didn't know what he was gonna say as he waited outside but he surely did know that he had to do something before it all fell apart.

"hyunjin? what are you doing here?" you asked and he could already sense by the tone of your voice, you did not want to see him.

"i wanted to talk to you, about what happened and about us." he said and you crossed your arms 'cause the last thing you wanted to do was to fight again with him outside of your work. "listen, i know i should've called you or showed up earlier but-."

"but you didn't and now it's too late. i really don't wanna hear it." you said as you headed towards the opposite direction but he grabbed your wrist before you could walk away. "let go, seriously what the hell hyunjin? you hurt me and then leave me all alone, expecting for me to hear you out?"

"i don't know why i didn't contact you okay? i was a fucking idiot. but please i'm here now and i want to fix things, it's been hell without you." he says honestly and raising his voice. he wasn't mad, he was just frustrated and tired of the fighting but this time he knew he deserved to go through this 'cause what you went through was worse. 

"well i don't want to. i'm done with you and i don't want to see you ever again." he let go then and felt a lonely tear fall from his eye. you went away, far from him and the pain he brought. you didn't want anything to do with him anymore and he knew this would be the last time he saw you so he stood there as he watched you. walk away from him and his life forever.

jisung ✉

you in fact did not come back to jisung. it's been so long without you, he started to forget what being with you was like. every love song turned into a sad heartbreak song in the lyrics he wrote, every step he took was in direction towards your apartment but he couldn't go back there. he felt so alone and broken, how could he be so careless? how could he say that stuff to you? those words kept repeating in his head over and over.

you were never too much and you definitely didn't make his life difficult. you made everything so much better, right now it just felt like it was all crumbling.

"jisung? i'm sorry, i was just packing my stuff." he didn't even know how he got here, he must've confused himself again and thought he was going to the dorms. but here you were standing in front of him with boxes upon boxes of stuff that you had packed. you didn't take the photos or the presents that he gave you and that left a sour taste in his mouth.

"it's okay, it's not like i come here anyways." he said and that left you confused but then you realized that yeah it was hard to walk in here. too many memories that blinded you and saddened the atmosphere. "can we talk?" he asked and you didn't know what there was to talk about.

"i think it's better if we don't. before we say things we regret again." you said and that was a dagger to jisung's heart. of course you were still mad, what was he thinking? that you were gonna give him a second chance? that everything was gonna be alright?

"i will always be sorry (y/n), please know that." he said and you nodded, not believing a word he said. he sighed as he left the apartment, hoping to never come back. he wouldn't see you in it again so what was the point right? no more future that held you two, it was just him on his own again. and that was worse than anything he had ever felt.

felix ✉

he was already calling you as soon as chan got home from dropping you off. he didn't know what came over him when he pronounced those words but he was surely gonna make things up even if it took him everything. he knew you needed distance right now but he needed to know how you were (and guess who's clingy now?). 

"baby, listen i know you don't want to talk to me right now but please i hope you know that i didn't mean a thing i said. i was just in a bad mood but it's not an excuse for what i said and-." he knew he was gonna get cut off, he was just rambling but everything that you said cut through him.

"so that's what you came up with? listen i don't know what gives you the right to use an insecurity of mine against me but i'm not gonna tolerate it. it was a low point for me that you did that and i don't think i'm gonna be able to move on past it especially after i told you that those kinds of comments still hurt." you said clearly, there was no sadness or anger in your voice. it was just plain and simple what you said yet felix felt like falling apart right then and there.

"i know love and i'm deeply sorry. i won't insist on it but please if you reconsider, call me? i know i shouldn't have messed with that. i truly do love you forever and ever." he said but you did not want to hear it so you hanged up and left him right there, with no more words coming out of his mouth. chan who witnessed the whole scene and expected you two to make up but it looked like it was from reality.

"lix, i'm so sorry." he said as to which the other nodded and sighed. he didn't want to cry in front of his hyung but it was inevitable when the tears were just rolling freely through his cheeks. he was wrapped in chan's arms as he let go of what he feared the most and started to think how he was going to handle his life without you in it. 

seungmin ✉

ever since he said those things, everything changed. you two were still together but it was never the same, it felt like he was trying to compensate for the hurt of his words with material things, sweet words and dates. it was enough for him to realize that he was never gonna be able to completely make it up to you because he didn't know how to solve what his words did.

so when he saw you packing even if it hurt so fucking much, he had to let you go. he had to actually live with the reality that you were not be with him anymore, no more fake smiles or pretending to be fine. you weren't okay with him and it showed. 

"i'm sorry it had to be like this. i wish i never said those things to you and we both could be okay again." he said sadly and with a cloudy vision. it felt like all the air was taken from his lungs and like he was trapped in a room with no way out. 

"i wish i could forget them." you said calmly and gave him a little smile as you hugged him one last time. he held you tightly not wanting to let go because this moment would be one that he never forgot. it just pained him that he hurt you so deeply that it made you want to leave. it scarred him that he made so much damage that nothing could repair it even if it wasn't the best solution, he was still trying right?

"i love you (y/n)." there was no response, just your broken smile as you looked at him again and left. it finally broke him that there was no more, no more love, no more relationship and no more holding on. he didn't know what he was gonna do without you and picking up the pieces of what you had been was not the solution. he had to grow up and be better next time in his next relationship. yet he didn't see that happening, he just wanted you and will always want you.

jeongin ✉

did you talk later? no, he wasn't ready to have the conversation. you also weren't ready to confront him about his words. it felt like the perfect picture was ruined immediately when you heard him mutter his cold and harsh words. he felt like he did everything wrong, it was hard to get him out of his room because all he wanted was to close the door and never come out of it. he wanted to see you but everything was stopping him, he truly thought you deserved better this time.

when he finally saw you because you were the one who decided it was enough and you two needed to talk. he felt like falling right then and there in your arms where he belonged but he couldn't do that, at least not again.

"i'm sorry (y/n)." he said and looked at you for a response. he knew he should say more but he couldn't find the right phrasing of things to go with it so he just said the words that came out of his heart. "i should have never said that and i'm deeply sorry that i hurt you."

"i'm sorry for not being what you wanted innie. it's okay, i guess it was gonna happen. i hope you'll be okay after this and that you grow from it." ouch, you didn't know how much these words would be kept in his head like a mantra. he wanted to grow from it now, he wanted to be better right now for you and for you guys to be okay but this was more like a goodbye than a hello.

"please don't go." he said and you just kissed him to shut him up one last time. his hands met your cheeks as he deepened the kiss not wanting this to be your final one but knowing all too well that it was. you would stay there, standing in the living room looking at each other for a while to then let go and leave him stranded like you two just didn't share the most precious and hurtful kiss. it wasn't okay, none of it will be okay without you in his life and as much as he would want to move on, everything would bring him back here again.

[ronearoundblindly]

The Dignity of His Choice (abridged ending)

Speedy version of Reflections Part II & III (see previous or series) Steve Rogers x wife!Reader

Alright, this may not be conventional, but I'm crippled by guilt over this story. There are so many elements that hit brutally close to home based on a personal experience this past year (arguably this past decade but whatevs), and so I have sifted through 28 A4-sized pages, front-to back, and 17 smaller pages, front-to back (save one sheet), as well as a typed-up 7k, in hopes of grasping this magical redemption arc that exists in my mind and falls flat everywhere else. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of loving this story so much that nothing is good enough, and I'm sick of hoping to offer a conclusion that never f***ing comes. Welp, today you can know the conclusion--or the gist of it at least--because that is my Christmas gift to myself. I'm washing myself of the guilt. -> What follows is an extremely unedited and maybe slightly poetic summary of the finale. God, I hope you enjoy it, but really, I just want to feel like I *can* finish something. Sorry if that's dramatic; that's just...the situation of 2023.

Thank you in advance for your understanding, and I hope this serves up some sort of holiday cheer! (No real warnings because smut is reserved for the full-length version. This tale, as always, is 18+ due to very heavy themes.)

The thing is Steve doesn't regret his choice. How can he regret anything that ensured you were here, alive and happy, by his side? That's not an achievement he'll ever be ashamed of; there's no guarantee in the multiverse that he could have done better.

You spoke of being lucky. You felt guilt that of all the servicemen and women to lose their lives, yours came home in the end.

Steve doesn't see it that way. Yes, you and he are very, very lucky, but overall, Steve won.

In every war, there are battles. In battles, there are fights. In fights, there are shots taken, punches thrown. You don't need to land every punch to win a war. There are always losses.

Steve Rogers tends to win because he understands this.

He knows the value of strategy. He knows the value of hope. He especially knows the value of planning for the worst.

And so he's surprised--as he often is with you--that he hasn't lost more.

You accept the loss as well as the win. You endure more gracefully than he ever imagined possible during those long months alone and away.

His sacrifice may have played a factor in your safety, but in the end, it just came down to you. You fought for yourself. You battled for your beliefs. You warred for your convictions.

Steve can understand that. He admires it.

He plans to make this dreadful mess up to you, he hopes for the time to do so, but before he can strategize how, your bubble of isolation is burst by a knock at the door.

"Open up, Rogers. Please," Sam Wilson requests anxiously over F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s speaker.

He could simply mean you since you are a Rogers and neither of you have heard the okay that the world knows Steve's alive. Although, Steve still doesn't have a phone again, and you haven't exactly been checking yours during recent...activities... (Not to put too fine a point on it, but Bucky's little gifts aren't going to miraculously last eight days and nights.)

Steve stays in the corner of the kitchen, drying his hands from the dishes you two were washing together, while you answer the door.

It swings open in the direction that still hides Steve.

"Hey--" Steve hears the soft pause in Wilson's voice "--I think...I may be out of line here, but Stark ordered personnel to vacate the compound."

You cross your arms over your chest, nervous. "Do we need to leave? I--As in, you and I? Are we included in that?"

"No," Sam says flatly. "It's just...suspicious--look, can I come in?"

"Sam, wait!" You push to make a wall in the doorway, meaning Steve can no longer see you or what's happening while a silence, an extremely pregnant pause, stretches.

Afterward, there's a whisper.

"Is he here?"

Your reply is only a stutter of unfinished words, but that's enough. Sam's stepped past and halted a few feet inside before his scanning gaze lands on Steve.

Steve's not sure what he expects his friend to do. He's misjudging reactions left and right these days, so he can't presume that--

"Gym?" Sam ticks his arm, thumb pointing back out to the hall. "I'm going for a run."

He has to convince you and Steve that the whole place really has been cleared before Steve changes clothes.

The string-light and garland-lined corridors remind Steve that his apartment remains devoid of any festive touches. You two have been too distracted to realize it's the day before Christmas Eve, so the 'evacuation' will likely draw no attention from the average employee.

Stark is just adamant they have the holiday for family. That's all. The only people who live there are Avengers.

The smell of the rubber floor when they walk onto the track spikes nostalgia in the back of Steve's brain, and in his utter joy to be there again, he starts sprinting like old times.

His blood pumps and his lungs stretch, but it's too hard, too fast. His blood thunders in his ears and makes his head swim. His lungs burn fiercely and seize. He collapses, gasping through his weakest asthma attack yet, but it still happens.

Things are almost, almost the same. Things are still different.

Without taking the opportunity to gloat (too much), Sam uses his powers, skills he's had all along, to divine Steve's real fear:

Steve changed things, and he may have changed things so much that it's all ruined. He can't go back to being Cap because he showed his colors: he chose you over everything else. What if you can't go back to being his wife because of that same choice?

Sam helps Steve off the floor.

"You walked the same circle for a long time, buddy. Instead of getting off the track entirely, try one lane over. Baby steps."

Steve snorts. "Ya know, she said something similar."

"Yeah, well, some of us filled in the stoic charm while you were gone."

"Comes naturally to you, doesn't it?"

Wilson turns to walk backwards, flashing pearly whites. "The outfit is growing on me, and I think the press were just about to stop calling me Black Cap." He playfully punches Steve's shoulder. "We'll see how far this sets me back, huh?"

After realizing he has to take it easy, Steve enjoys a long, mostly quiet run beside his friend, never once passing him. Though Steve asks about returning tomorrow, Sam has to decline. Christmas Eve is for Sarah and her boys, and Sam's sister will raise hell if crossed.

Just before leaving the gym, Sam hugs Steve, the length and intensity of the embrace telling Steve all he needs to know. Sam--like everyone else who knows so far--is happier than he is hurt, and that stifles Steve in a torrent of humility.

He doesn't deserve the strength of this family built around him, but he is grateful.

Steve also doesn't expect to find Natasha and Bucky in his apartment when he returns. He was hoping to put up some decorations with you, bring a touch of joyous spirit to that place you've been emotionally entombed for months, but he outright frowns when seeing the box they brought.

Between you and Nat sits the bin of intel the Keepers gathered on you and left behind at a raided facility. You're pouring over the dirty details of horrible intrusion to your private life, both you and Steve's, and he can't help but watch your face closely.

You do look horrified. You look furious for minutes on end, file after file, until you finally ask, "who's had stuff like this on you guys?"

That's the thing. That's the part eating away at Steve's shame. It's why he can't be beyond a superficial level of sorry for what he's done.

"The Red Room," Nat replies softly.

Buck shrugs. "Hydra...among others."

Steve knows what that intel could have been a precursor to; they could manipulate more than just him. You could have been used, you could have been changed, and it would have been his fault. Extremes are most of his life, so Steve goes to extreme measures to keep his life separate from all of that.

Blurring those lines--bringing you closer to the fray of this scary and violent world feels irresponsible.

You continue to ask candid questions about what Nat and Bucky were doing this whole time. The response is grueling, a complex web of taking out targets without signaling an ulterior motive, every interaction carefully executed to seem natural, all the while knowing that Steve waited to come home and you waited for...well, the truth.

The way Natasha describes it makes Steve sick to his stomach.

He never wanted this, but he has to live with the consequences.

You thumb over a few stalking photographs in your hand and simply say, "that was quite a commitment."

Something triggers in Steve, and suddenly, his next move is crystal clear.

"I'll--I'll be right back," he blurts.

All three of you startle in confusion, sat around the coffee table like it's the most normal thing in the world to share so much. You've had top clearance for twenty-four hours. You're already a pro, and that makes Steve's idea that much more perfect.

He races through the building, glad he doesn't have to hide, and pounds on Tony's door.

As soon as Tony opens up though, Morgan rushes past his legs and lets out a blood-curdling cry that ends in a sobbing, "you're alive."

The little girl flings herself into Steve's arms, refusing to let go the entire time he asks Stark--all the Starks--for a favor.

You wake up the next morning to find a note from Steve and a dress of yours hung by the tree you put up after a long meal with Nat and Bucky.

Important errand, the note reads. Expect Tony to come by at 11. Wear this, please. I love you.

It's the dress you chose for your first date with Steve, the date that kinda never happened because the compound was invaded and you had to kill a guy. Odd memory to resurrect, but you do adore that dress.

You're not surprised when Tony arrives in one of his signature suits, nor when he makes a show of walking you through the halls on his arm. He has the uncanny ability to chat about nothing using the maximum number of words. He's delightful that way.

Your first real clue is Morgan, standing outside some double doors to one of the flex rooms, like the ones changed for training different abilities, like the ones used for therapy circles. In fact, it's the same room, the exact same double doors as years ago.

The girl looks fit to burst, clearly told to keep her cheers to a minimum as she clutches a wicker Easter basket in her hands, crouching as if ready to spring into action.

Pepper stands close by. Nat and Bucky whisper conspiratorially a ways down the hall.

Then you notice.

Tony has on a black suit with red pin-stripes, Pepper a blue dress with a white belt, Natasha a red dress with a white belt, and Bucky a navy suit with a black-shirt underneath.

"We did our best on short notice," Tony rambles off, guiding you to a stop in front of the party.

"This is for you," Morgan squeaks, ripping a colorful bundle of pipe cleaners out of the basket. There are buttons woven to the tops of each 'stem.'

Pepper quickly adds, "wild flowers were...a bit scarce, as you can imagine."

You brave a single question.

"What's going on?"

Everyone just beams at you, falling into a pattern of pairs behind Morgan before Tony winks and tells you to follow his lead.

The doors open, and there, at the end of the aisle, stands Steve--your Steve--in his old Captain America outfit minus the cowl. His hair is still long and darker, but his beard is properly trimmed.

All you can think is how you'll tease him about that.

You pinch at the leather sleeve in curiosity, and Steve leans over.

"This is the last thing I'll ever do in it," he says before kissing your cheek. "Promise."

"Says the guy who's stolen it twice," Tony mutters from his place on the other side of Bucky.

"He has a point," Nat chimes in.

The poor priest clears his throat and bellows, "dearly beloved..."

He keeps his promise.

At a press conference just before New Year's, Steve is announced as one of those rescued from "an enemy base" in an undisclosed location.

The crowd of reporters erupts in a chaos of inquisition, but all Steve will give them, standing there in a simple sweater and slacks, is his official resignation of the title Cap.

"What do we call you then?" someone shouts from the back.

"Just Steve. I am Steve Rogers, that's all." He looks to his left for the comfort of your face. "And this--" he grabs your hand "--is Mrs. Rogers, my soulmate."

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @fangirl-swagg @georgeweaslysgirl @austynparksandpizza @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @claireelizabeth85 @patzammit @supraveng @1950schick @jamneuromain @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @spectre-posts

A/N: and yes, the full-version will be written eventually.

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[youaremyhome]

Pieces of the Night: Resisting the New Moon

Warnings: Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader, 18+ NSFW, smut, HEAVY non-con/dub-con, drug use, possessive behavior, blackmail, manipulation, DARK. More to add. Read at your own risk!

Notes: 3.0k words. I just to thank everyone that has been patiently waiting for my updates and i am SO SORRY for how long this took. Bad news: this is pretty plot-heavy so no smut, good news: next chapter is Rafe's POV! so i really hope yall like it so tell me if you do or don't, i just wanna hear from ya'll!! it means so much to read what you guys think as you read and i find it just as entertaining as writing the series lol

Taglist: @belcalis9503 @ACRAZYBIOTCH374 @fangirlwithlou@malfoytargaryen @RAFECAMERONSBADUSSY @takin-care-of-business@watersquirtpewpewboomm @magnificantmermaid @mk15x @abbybarnesstuff @lavenderhue

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! (And I’m sorry if I missed you, I love you)

Coming home should be relaxing.  

Instead, a ball of dread sits in your esophagus as you turn the key, inching the door open. Silence greets you, shoulders dropping with the weight rolling down your back. You’re truly alone now, with no greedy hands or nipping teeth to get you.

It was a struggle to leave Rafe’s apartment. A wake-up call of kisses and an encore of his performance in the alley started your morning off, followed by an insufferable breakfast with his roommates, Topper and Kelce. Both boys seemed confused as you sat at the dining table, dressed in Rafe’s t-shirt and boxers as he placed the coffee in front of you. The boyish leers and whistles followed you down the hall when you excused yourself, their eyes pinned to the various bruises scattered on you like exploded stars.

Rafe tried insisting on you skipping class with sweet promises that escalated into whispered threats. Fortunately, you were able to escape. It costed you another pair of underwear.

Dragging yourself to your room, your body and mind argue about who’s more exhausted.

While muscles felt strained and bones felt weak, your mind had no inner voice for once. On autopilot as you change, dumping your things to the ground. A muted consciousness fogs your senses, moving like a sim controlled by a child; clumsy and aimless. Collapsing on the bed is the last thing that happens before the screen turns black.

“Get up!”

Your name is being yelled in layers, crusty eyes peeking open as your friends storm in like an army brigade. Andi squeals and jumps into your bed as their voices overlap.

“How could you keep this from us you bitch?!”

“Everyone’s talking about it –"

“Talking about what?” Your sleepy voice cracks.

“You and Rafe, duh!”

Springing up, an instant flush blisters your face, the girls hitching up an octave as they point it out. Their eyes and questions are like needlepoints poking at your skin.

Rubbing your face with both hands, you press the heels to your eyes. “It just sorta… happened.” Little specks of black and silver sprinkle your vision once you’re done squishing your eyes. There’s no point in lying to them. Well, more than you have to.

Looking between the three of them you ask, “How’d you even know so fast? I left his apartment this morning.”

“Oh, please.” Dan huffs, flicking her wrist. “Those frat boys are worst gossips than us. I heard from Mary, who got a text from Liz whose sleeping with Matt, that Topper told him how you did the walk of shame straight to your class."

Louise strikes out, pulling the neckline of your sweater down, revealing the fresh bruises on your skin. They titter, the girls settling on your bed as you pull your knees up, hugging them tightly to your chest. You tell them what they want to hear.

How Rafe had been persisting you in class while you secretly – hated – loved it, cautious because of his reputation. Leading him to beg for a date and the modified version of the dirty details. As you weave the story, struggling is replaced with play fighting, crying with giggling. The lies stumble through your dry mouth, but they assume it's from your shy demeanor.

“So, do you like… like him?” Louise asks with an impish grin and wonder in her eye. Ever the romantic.

“Personality-wise?” You can’t help the grimace on your face. “He’s alright, I guess.”

Clearly, it isn’t the answer she was hoping for; she shrugs, saying people start dating from being fuck buddies nowadays. Controlling your bodily reaction to your relationship named as that is difficult, a weak nod is all you give.

You can see the excitement they hold for you like little offerings you’re supposed to lap up. In any other case, you would be squealing along with them, maybe even having butterflies in your stomach with fuzzy wings instead of knives.

They probe for more intimate details, something you all do after a new boy. Only this time feels…dirty, that these details should never see the light of day for how dark they are. Further despising Rafe for another thing he has unknowingly ruined: the enjoyment of gossiping with your friends. You’re holding back now and it doesn’t feel right. You should be telling them how you cry at the sight of him, not that you orgasm every time (though that is begrudgingly true, too).

“Just be careful, okay?” Danielle says after the conversation winds down. Reaching over, she lays her hand on yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. It’s a simple caring gesture that has you almost breaking. The touch is innocent and good-natured, something you haven’t felt in weeks.

It reminisces the first time you had told them about Rafe. Danielle always had a better judge of character than you. Repeatedly telling you how there were some people that rather burn than put a fire out. Now, you were encircled in a hellish blue fire that licked at your skin.

You hold eye contact, a wall trembling to fall but you reinforce it with a smile. “Of course.”

Over the course of the next couple weeks, other Greek life people you knew were asking about you and Rafe. You knew the community was big enough to not know everyone, but small enough for word to spread like a slow forest fire, contained in an area before it latches onto a lingering branch, lighting its way through the whole campus.

Questions of if you were dating seemed constant, a hardy no was always the answer. Not understanding the fuss of a random frat boy sleeping with a random college girl. Frustrated with it, you had asked a sorority girl that shared the same class with you and Rafe why it even mattered.

“You’re kidding, right?” You frowned and shook your head. “Everyone knows the rich, crazy VP that loves partying more than girls has never had a girlfriend. Especially one so nice.”

You repeated to her and anyone with ears that you and Rafe were absolutely not dating.

That didn’t stop him from heightening the rumors, walking you to and from classes, a kiss hello and goodbye. Arm stretched behind your chair during lecture, playing with the ends of your hair. Public displays of affection that curdled low in your belly. It only reminded you of the leash he has on you. So taut, that with any wrong move, he’ll turn it into a cage.

Even parties weren’t as fun anymore, Rafe making an appearance more likely than not. Those nights usually ended with you drunk, high, fucked out, or a combination of the three. It didn’t matter if you tried hiding somewhere in the packed houses or fought with him there, it ended with you in his bed.

Today you were especially ticked off.

Hungover and crabby, you’re grumbly and feeling like all over shit. You don’t know why your body hurts more, from your intense hungover or the way Rafe had slammed you down to the bed last night. He was already up when you awoke, only in sweats as he ruffled through his desk drawers. He gave you a distracted morning as you got up and dressed. Though you’ve been appeasing him as of late, you don’t bother with a response.

The sound of sharp inhaling has your eyes rolling to the back of your head in annoyance. After a few moments, you feel his stare as you push your last night's clothes into your bag.

“Wanna bump?” He thumbs his nose, lounging back on the chair. “Make you feel better.”

“Yeah, no thanks.”

The words are clipped and maybe a little sarcastic, focusing on getting everything you need so you can leave. Easily ignoring him as you round the bed to head to the bathroom.

“It’ll get that stick outta your ass you woke up with.” He mutters, but you know you’re meant to hear it.

Mild annoyance flicks into anger. Anger that has you whirling back to him, letting it dominate you like he has done so many times. Arm lashing out, you swipe the rest of the cocaine off the desk. The collected powder floats into a cloud of dust as its disturbed, satisfaction thrumming through you.

“What the fuck?!”

Rafe’s up in a blink of an eye, chair clambering back to the floor. Your delight dries up when livid eyes pierce you, and before you know what you're doing, you're running away.

There’s shouting of your name, bare feet slapping the floor as he gives chase.

The hallway between his door and the entrance narrows before you, distorting into something longer, inescapable. You don’t know where you're going to go with being shoeless and phoneless but you need to get out of here before –

You’re pushed to the side, inches from the front door and your temple bounces off the wall. Hands spin you around, facing Rafe with his eyes wide and skin taunt as he gives you a jagged shake.

“You stupid bitch –"

“Fucking jackass –"

“Hey, woah!”

You both freeze.

As Rafe turns his head to look behind, you cock your head to the side. Topper stands at the small dining table, dimpled chin hanging low and a bowl of cereal sitting in front of him. Bewildered eyes asses the way Rafe is hunching over you, the twisted grip on your upper arms.

“Rafe, man…let her go,” Topper says calmly, one hand lowly reaching out. Something akin to concern filling out his expression.

With a grunt tickling your ear, Rafe releases you, his chest still pressed to yours. He commands under his breath, “go back to the room.”

If it weren’t for the essentials you left, you would’ve disregarded him completely. Glowering, you check shoulders with him as you go, Topper’s worried questions echo down the hall.

Fear, anger, and misplaced embarrassment from the witnessed scuffle rattle up your head down to your chest. The scene plays in your mind’s eye over and over, a loop that changes only in perspective like a movie. One that doesn’t happen to you, only to a girl that’s looking for her lost voice. She had it before.

Only once under the shelter of being in public does relief settle over you like a cool mist. You don’t know what would’ve happened if Topper hadn’t been here.

🌙

“So, what are your plans for spring break?"

“Um, to go home?”

Confused, you tilt your head to stare down at the phone, Lauren combined with numerous heart emojis displayed on the screen. Your laptop is set on your knees as you complete homework while chatting with her. Hair still wet from your shower and Rafe’s texts unanswered. Apologizes filled the text history from him, all left on read which led to missed calls and increasingly agitated texts.

“Uhhh, no.” The crinkle of fabric as Lauren packs for an upcoming trip accompanies her words. “Dad didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“He and mom are gonna go back to that little island we stayed at for Christmas.” Your heart drops, your oblivious sister continues, “…yeah, apparently Dad and that Wade guy hit it off and they’re doing business.”

Your dad’s a commercial architect, designing retail and office spaces across the west coast. He sometimes takes the odd job at the beginning of the new year so your family would be able to enjoy your summer in a new city. It usually took months of permits and construction to fully finish the project, your dad liked to stay with them till the end. You don’t even know what Ward does, just that he must’ve made a good impression, yet you can’t remember because you had a nuisance sitting beside you.

A gnawing pit opens at the bottom of your stomach, feeding on the fear that drips like a broken faucet. If this deal with Ward goes through, you’ll be spending your summer in Kildare, possibly longer with no job lined up for yourself.

A summer of Rafe. A summer of suffering through all the shit he’ll pull. No doubt he’ll be hearing of the news soon, having been privy to the calls with his dad, wanting to be a part of the business.

Before now, you’ve resigned yourself to placating him until May, until graduation and then you’d be across the country, far away, and never looking back. As Lauren’s voice hums in the background, your eyes stare at the keyboard in thought. A hand grazing over the tender spot of the side of your head.

This changes how you’ve been dealing with the situation. Handling Rafe like a spoiled child, giving him limited access to his favorite toy. It was the best strategy you had, believing you had an end date to this mess. However, with summer looming towards you with its long shadows and unrelenting heat, you know you can’t do it any longer. You can’t deal with the constant touching, the faux sweet gestures, and the rough treatment. It makes your head flutter with sickly butterflies just thinking of it, your chest feels light as you breathe in deeper.

You need a new plan, now. One that frees you from the shackles of Rafe Cameron. How you were going to do that…you had no idea. Once he learns of the deal, he won’t let it go. He won’t let his dad say no to it, and won’t let you say no to coming with.

The rest of the phone call is a distant thing, the laptop closed and you don’t even know if you saved your work. Amongst the quiet of the night, you drift into your mind, visualizing an alternate world.

A world where you never saw Rafe on the beach that night, or even went to the Outer Banks at all. How after winter break, you still would’ve had a class together. Still had that fated reunion. With no pogues around to deface him, you might’ve liked the attention from him.

Played it coy, compelling him to make the first move, maybe after lecture one day and walk you home. Having a nice, normal conversation with him. How you would’ve agreed to see him again, to have sex with him again.

This other you gets the Rafe you had first met. A jerk, yes, but one that listened to you, that had self-control. Was soft with you. She gets the normal progression of fuck buddies to a situationship. Because despite all the faults he clearly has, other you would’ve been able to look past them. Giving him leeway with his transgressions, not considering it a big deal since it wasn’t a serious thing anyways.

Other you has weeks and months to see the red flags rising up, one by one. The excessive drinking turns him nasty, the blow that levels him out and becomes emotional. Other you would’ve ignored them, chalked it up to typical college behavior until he eventually hurt you. You’d like to think other you would immediately end it, no matter how much he had manipulated you into liking him.

It's at this point of the dark tale where you know the universe is out to get you, an age-old revenge set upon your very soul. Because if other you tried to end it with him, would he have turned just as vicious as before?

Yes, you think, yes, he would in a heartbeat.

Separate paths: one with a smooth, sandy trail as the other grapples with high seas. These two lives are so separate, so unlike the other but still converging in the end, the same destination. A desisted beach with just a blond boy, ready to meld hands and bodies together. No path to take and no boat to ride on.

Gusts of wind brusquely whip around you like nature herself is propelling you forward, toward him. A warp of stumbling and muted colors as the rough waves crash to the shoreline, deafening and ferocious. The blond stays there, waiting. As if he knows you’ll be coming to him, even though you don’t want to. Like he knows no element will stop this journey of yours deeper into the sand.

You can’t see his face but fright ghosts over you like a disembodied entity. You want to go the other way, back to what was before.

The sand starts to flow, gentler than the water, luring you nearer to him, closer to what you know is bad, bad, bad. You think you scream, or maybe there’s another roaring of the waves as your arm's length away now. Details filling out his face come into a sharp focus, the edges around him blurry as Rafe smiles at you.

He seems unaffected by the storm happening viciously around the two of you. Spontaneously, you’re in his arms and you’ve never felt so small. Resisting only seems like it's the sand moving your bodies to and fro, not the intense effort you give. There are words being eaten around you, Rafe telling you something with that giant grin of his.

What? You mouth, your voice is sucked into the vacuum of noise and boomerangs back at you.

YOU’RE MINE. Rafe shouts with a manic glee like a god’s voice booming down below from the heavens. His laughter pushes the waves closer, sand and sea mixing together.

Terror is all you know, from the beginning of time to the end of your days. Rafe’s hold feels more like tentacles than hands, squeezing and capturing you tight. There’s merely the scream of delight by the ocean and the sob of horror from you.

Just as you’re there, you’re not.

Woken in a slick sweat that coats your hairline to the back of your knees. Your heart sputtering from the nightmare and the harsh yank back into the conscious world. After taking a moment that this is reality, that you’re not being swallowed into the vortex of Rafe; do you relax back into bed. Smothering your face back into the pillow, you whimper with the ruminants of irrational fear. That little nub in your brain is lightened up, alarming you that there is real danger near you.

A danger you have to face head-on.

[sapphic-scylla]

First Impression Best to Worst Boss Fights in Shadow of the Erdtree

DLC has been out for a minute and I’ve done my initial runthrough and taken as much as I could from it. Suffice to say, I did love it a lot and thought that it has a solid amount of staying power. This list covers the main bosses only (and a few notable side bosses) and as usual, unless you don’t care about SPOILERS, I recommend not reading past this point:

Midra, Lord of Frenzied Flame: Now, already, I feel like people are gonna disagree with me. Hear me out. When I first hit this fight, I was like “they integrated a PVP-centric status condition into a boss fight. How is that fair?”. And then I thought about it for a second. No fight style makes this fight easier. No weapon, no spell, no armor makes this fight easier. It is as you see it. This man’s attacks can cover almost an entire room, snipe you from a thousand miles away, his melee attacks hit like a train, and builds up your Frenzy, which can leave you vulnerable and chunk your health and FP. But, he also is easy to stagger, he doesn’t move very fast, and his attacks are telegraphed a year in advance. It’s perfect. He doesn’t have a ton of health, but he is absolutely savage. He’s what difficulty SHOULD be and the sigh of satisfaction when you beat him is REAL. You can’t really cheese or simplify this boss beyond KILL HIM and it’s so refreshing to find a boss that no matter your choice of loadout, Midra will keep you on your toes in the most horror game-like way. Also lore wise, the vibes in this entire area were unsettling and immaculate and the “Eyes of Sauron/Winter Lantern” enemies actually made me jump in that horror game fun way and I adored it.

Messmer, The Impaler/Base Serpent: Now, this was the fight I forced myself to learn through sheer force of will. I literally slammed my head against this man for a day because I knew that the only thing that was killing me was my own arrogance and IT PAID OFF. By the end when I finally beat him, I adored this fight. This man lets you fucking have it, but at no point did it ever seem unfair or bullshit or, hell, even free. This fight is a perfect mix of cinematic, difficult, and a riot to learn and improve at and I genuinely look forward to this fight each playthrough now.

Rellana, Twin Moon Knight: A scaled-up version of my favorite base game Dark Souls 3 boss and she didn’t disappoint. Incredible fight, solidly learnable, and definitely one of the highlights of my first runthrough.

Bayle the Dread: The quickest love-hate relationship I’ve ever had the pleasure to wade through. In my first ten tries, I could not help but think “this is the worst. What can I do against this man except die?”. But the more I fought him, the more I enjoyed it and the more fair I found it. He is overwhelming, yes, but his tells are obvious and when you recognize the areas his attacks affect, he becomes a lot less oppressive. He also has the greatest phase 2 transition of all time. I mean my love for Placie has grown over the past few months, but I think Bayle edges out for Second place in best Dragon fights in Elden Ring. Fortissax takes first.

Scadutree Avatar: This fucker seems easy at first, and then he starts driving around. I severely underestimated this boss at first due to how much damage he was taking compared to everything else. Then he hits second phase and until then, I’d never been jumpscared by a sunflower before. Still not the hardest boss by any means, but definitely checks you at the door.

Romina, Saint of the Bud: I mean, outside of the obvious, I don’t know why I enjoyed this fight. Her rushdown is legendary and she deals in Scarlet Rot, so you’d think I would hate this fight. But her tactics ended up being fairly straightforward, her Rot wasn’t as oppressive as I thought it would be, and she really is such an aesthetically pleasing fight.

Putrescent Knight: The goofiest looking creature on this list by far, but this dude kicked my ass several times. He definitely came with his fair share of surprises, but he never felt overly obnoxious or overstayed his welcome. Not the most fun fight, but definitely worthy of more praise than scorn.

Allies of Miquella: Debated putting this in here because it’s more of a PVP standoff than a boss fight, but I feel it’s worth a mention. Nothing particularly exciting, but it definitely is much more of a marathon than I was expecting and a very difficult one at that. Come prepared here. These people don’t pull punches.

Ghostflame Dragons: More a mention than anything. Nothing unique, but it did force me to rethink how to fight dragons a la Darkeater Midir which I enjoyed.

Metyr, Mother of Fingers: Well, we had to hit the lower half eventually. Metyr doesn’t have a ton of health which puts her up here, but I generally dislike bosses that remind me of The One Reborn where it feels like no matter where you hit the boss, you’re still being dealt damage just for walking up to it which, I’m sure, incentivizes spellcasters, but frustrating nonetheless.

Promised Consort Radahn: Malenia without all of the charm and enjoyment. Malenia, I still firmly believe takes the cake in terms of hardest (and best) boss in Elden Ring, but Radahn did not skimp on the difficulty round two. That being said, his move set is far less enjoyable to learn than Malenia’s and often, it just felt the impressive amount of health and the absolutely unhinged amount of capable range this man has is unjustifiable. Plus, Malenia invites aggression and allows for so many ways to contest her despite her making you work for it while Radahn just hurts. Pain for the sake of improvement is great. Pain for the sake of pain is a lot less fun.

Ancient Dragon Senessax: I did not think that the thing that would make me hate a fight like Lansseax or Fortissax would be just setting the damn thing in a pool of water, but here we are. The lightning AOE’s in this fight are ruthless and are a lot less avoidable for how much they stagger on a regular day. Definitely not the worst, but not a fun development.

Golden Hippopotamus: This thing definitely killed more innocent players than real hippos do every year in real life. This thing SUCKS to fight. Camera monsters in general are just a pain, but when half of your screen is covered in porcupine quills (yes, YOU HEARD ME), this thing becomes substantially more of a drag. That and this abomination punches above its weight class and I just generally found this fight as entertaining as a mosquito bite.

Commander Gaius: Fuck this man. I’ve never had a dude kill me so consistently or so consecutively in the first 5 seconds of the fight. It’s been a minute since a boss legitimately made me yell at my TV screen and I did not welcome the experience. Also, this man had absolutely no right or privilege to ride my ass this fucking hard unless he bought me dinner first. Will not enjoy revisiting this dude.

Divine Beast Dancing Lion: Brace yourself. This is gonna be a long one. I apologize in advance. *breathe in* *heavy sigh* I’ve never actively thought any boss in any Dark Souls game was purely unwarranted or worthy of true hatred. Despite all of the bosses I dislike fighting across all FromSoft games, I always attempted to find a bright side or something like lore or environment or something to justify its existence and I had succeeded. Until I met this fucking thing. This menace didn’t have the most kills on me (that goes to Malenia and Messmer) or did anything in particular that actively exploited my playstyle (like Maliketh, Mohg, or the Crucible Duo). This cockroach merely existed and it was enough. Its body is a giant blob. Its hitbox is horrific. It punishes aggression. It punishes passivity. This thing has ranged attacks, melee attacks, magical attacks, passive effects, movement patterns, retaliatory tactics, and even him just looking at me hits like a goddamn truck. He is so hard to read and does so much damage and does the most unhinged, wtf follow-ups that I’ve ever seen with the most hairpin trigger aggression I’ve ever experienced in my life. He does frost damage, lightning damage, physical damage, I’m pretty sure there is fire damage in there somewhere, emotional damage, and mood damage. And, to top it all off, THERE’S A FUCKING SECOND ONE OUT IN THE BOONIES THAT IS EVEN FUCKING WORSE. Basilisks have been in the Soulsborne conglomerate for as long as I can remember and I’ve tolerated their existence until FOUR OF THEM WANDER INTO THIS FUCKING FIGHT AT THE BEGINNING OF PHASE 2. THIS LION HAS A DEATH BLIGHT PHASE. You know, the one status effect in Elden Ring that INSTANTLY KILLS YOU. And the best part? If you don’t kill him fast enough, HE CAN DO IT AGAIN. It would not surprise me if the same sadist that came up with the Double Gargoyle fight came up with this one. And like I said, he doesn’t have the most health I’ve ever seen, but it doesn’t fucking matter. The only thing that matters is how fast you can remove his health because he WILL kill you if you give him any leeway. I fought this thing twice and I know about as much about how to fight this thing as I did the first time I walked into its arena. I succeeded twice by SHEER DUMB LUCK. I despise this thing and if I could actively avoid it, I would not hesitate.

[defectivevillain]

this broken design, ch15

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: That familiar analytical gleam in your eyes lives in Hannibal’s mind as he sinks his teeth into his prey. Despite your departure hours ago, Hannibal sees you sitting across from him at the table. Dining alone has never bothered him; yet, right now, he can’t help but desire your company—your scintillating conversation, your sharp wit, your clever smirk. Indeed, his table feels uncharacteristically empty. Hannibal stares at the chair across from him—the same chair he’s grown accustomed to seeing you sit at—and takes another bite. Flavor explodes on his tongue, yet you are what dominates his thoughts.

Your experience in criminal profiling means that you've met a wide variety of people from all different walks of life. You've stared down hardened criminals and fought for your life against people hellbent on killing you. Even so, something about the FBI's new target, the Chesapeake Ripper, seems to elude you.

Then you meet Hannibal Lecter: an enigmatic jigsaw of a man with jagged corners and misshapen pieces.

Fortunately, you've always been rather good at puzzles.

read from the beginning here.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

typical warnings apply.

The Chesapeake Ripper stares at you, his crimson eyes boring into your skin and sending a horrible dread itching up your arms.  

You stare back, despite knowing you shouldn’t. You should run, hide, do anything except remain standing before him like this. You’ve never been more aware of your gun’s weight on your belt—the only reassurance you have in this office. The air almost seems to buzz in the silence. You don’t know if you should break through the tension or leave it to fester. It takes every ounce of resistance you have not to make a move for your gun. You know the gesture would ruin any process you may have accrued from this session so far, any fleeting conviction that you wouldn’t hurt Hannibal.

You don’t know anymore. Would you hurt Hannibal? You’ve had plenty of opportunities to do so, but you’ve never followed through. You can’t decide if you’re cowardly, cruel, or compassionate. Perhaps you’re a mix of the worst qualities, rolled up into an agent with too little morality and too much apprehension. You’ve labeled all your interactions with Hannibal as investigations into his character, but you’ve left each of those encounters knowing more about yourself than you could ever wish to know. 

“You knew,” Hannibal says. There is nothing more to be said, it seems. And perhaps, for the first time since you met Hannibal, you have the upper hand. You are the one possessing knowledge, and he is the one to be wounded by ignorance of it. Better people would not have been satisfied or satiated by this realization, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about yourself through this process, it’s that you’re not a good person. For someone to serve as a complicit accomplice, allowing the murders to continue… you are just as bad as Hannibal is. 

A small part of you is more forgiving. A voice in the back of your mind—one that sounds far too similar to Hannibal himself—keenly reminds you that you had no choice, that accusing Hannibal without sufficient proof would’ve had devastating consequences. This voice caresses your skin with a shadowed touch, with a gentleness that you know you do not deserve. 

“I suspected, yet…” Hannibal breaks off.  It’s extremely unusual for him to trail off in the middle of a statement; the man is normally extremely articulate. You raise an eyebrow, gaze still narrowed in on him. You can’t look away for even a moment. A second’s hesitation is practically a hand-wrapped gift to the Ripper. “It appears you’ve rendered me speechless.”

Hannibal takes a half-step forward. You pull out your gun, pointing it at his temple. He stills, before raising his hands in the air in faux surrender. It’s an act—it’s all an act. He is not threatened. In fact, Hannibal looks excited, amused. He is not afraid. The Chesapeake Ripper does not feel fear, you have to remind yourself. He once choked a nurse to death, and his heart rate hardly fluctuated. You swallow hard. Hannibal may not be afraid, but you certainly are. The irony is not lost on you: you have the gun, yet your heart pounds in your chest all the same. Normally, you are the prey and Hannibal is the predator; now, the roles are reversed and you’re left anticipating another reversal. 

“Will you do it?” Hannibal asks, his voice cutting through the static in your ears. 

You take a step forward and jam your pistol into his temple, hard enough to bruise. “Do you want me to?” You ask, your voice disturbingly calm. The mad gleam in Hannibal’s eyes suggests that he may actually want you to kill him. His pupils are blown wide and the smile on his face almost looks to be carved into his skin. Do you want me to kill you? Are you really, truly apathetic towards death? I don’t think so. I think, deep down, you are just as afraid of death as everyone else. You’ve grown so good at lying that you can even deceive your own feelings, Hannibal. The conscious deceives the unconscious.

For a fraction of a moment, you contemplate killing Hannibal Lecter. You imagine pulling the trigger, shooting a bullet straight through his temple. Your mind conjures images of Jack Crawford arriving at the scene, clapping a hand on your shoulder and reassuring you that you did the right thing, that no one else has to die. You imagine washing the blood from your hands that night and sleeping fitfully, roused from slumber every so often with the reminder of what you’ve done. 

Was it all for nothing? It’s a worthless thought, but that doesn’t stop your mind from contemplating the notion. Was all of this just one giant game? Were you always meant to be a pawn—easily manipulated and weakest alone? You want to think that your time with Hannibal thus far was to serve some great purpose, but, in reality, you were ensnared by the trap he laid for you. You fell for the same charismatic visage that his past victims did. What gives you the right to be the one to survive it, to survive him? 

All of these feelings, recognitions, and memories assault you in the split second after Hannibal asks if you will kill him. Then your trigger finger twitches. The split second of contemplation does not go unnoticed—that fleeting moment is all it takes for him to spring into action. One moment, you’re staring at each other. The next, Hannibal is lunging at you. You just barely manage to dodge, throwing yourself to the side in a rather harsh movement that nearly sends you falling to the ground. In the blink of an eye, Hannibal holds a deceptively sharp antler, ripped from the decoration sitting in an open-faced exhibit case. The movement is fluid and performed with ease. Did he plan for this? Hannibal admitted that he didn’t know that you knew. The confidence in his frame as he encircles you tells a different story and you’re brutally reminded that he is a practiced killer. He has killed before; it’s foolish to think that you will escape with your life. 

Still, you do have an advantage. You’re likely the first of Hannibal’s victims to be prepared—to be armed with the knowledge that he is immensely dangerous. Therefore, you’re not taken off guard by Hannibal’s sudden assault (although you’re certainly disturbed by the smooth nature of his movements). You squint at the weapon in his hand, only to realize that it is a sharpened knife. The decoration must’ve encased a weapon within it. Even so, you’re holding a gun. It doesn’t take much thought to determine which weapon will win between a gun and a knife. 

Knowing this, you run a few paces towards the side and duck behind his desk. Your heart is racing in your chest but your hands are steady. You wait a moment before popping up and firing your gun. Somehow, you miss. The bullet just barely rips along the top of Hannibal’s shoulder, grazing the skin before rocketing into the wall in the distance. He hardly falters in his approach and you duck back for cover behind the desk. A second’s contemplation leads you to roll under the ample space under the desk and come back out on the other side. It’s a good thing you trusted your instincts, because as you move, Hannibal is leaping over the desk with ease. You stand up, only to find the desk creating a boundary between Hannibal and you. You point your gun at him, but he doesn’t stop moving. Startled, you fire another shot, only for the shot to hit his left shoulder again. Fuck. You try to reload, only to find that you have no more ammunition left. How did you forget to reload your pistol? You’re momentarily distracted by your self deprecating thoughts, so much so that you neglect to notice Hannibal approaching until he’s practically right on top of him. You drop the pistol and try to throw a punch, but Hannibal bends to the side and bodily throws you to the floor. 

Hannibal is quicker than you expect him to be. Before you can begin to get up, Hannibal is kneeling over you with his knife pointed down at you. Except… His knife isn’t pointed at your throat or heart. It’s hovering above your face and inching closer, closer, closer. You immediately put all your strength into pushing Hannibal’s grip away. Unfortunately, from your positioning, Hannibal has a momentum advantage. He exerts more force and the knife kisses your skin, cutting right through the scar you thought to be healing. You can’t stop the pained hiss that escapes your lips. The knife is nearly tracing the skin around your eye and you knee Hannibal in the gut, leaving you an opportunity to shove him off of you and get to your feet. 

Blood is dripping down your face now, coloring the left side of your vision a rosy pink. You wipe at the newly-opened scar with the back of your hand, slightly perturbed when you notice there’s enough blood to turn the top of your hand crimson. Adrenaline is the only thing keeping you upright, you think. Your heart is racing out of your chest as you stare at Hannibal. He stares back unflinchingly. You’re satisfied with the fact that his left shoulder is bleeding and that his clothes are rumpled. 

You’re circling one another—on the hunt once more. Who is the predator? Who is the prey? Who is the hunter? Who is the meal? Who is the murderer, who is the victim? Your lines are blurring together, creating a horrible haziness through which you can’t find where you end and where Hannibal begins. You don’t know how to feel about that, nor do you know how to feel about the man in front of you. 

“Do you truly wish to fight?” Hannibal asks, assessing you. There is nothing in his eyes except restraint, nothing on his face save for the mask he always wears over his emotions. You don’t know how to navigate this moment. You don’t know what to do, what to say, how to feel. Maybe you should have just shot him in the beginning. Perhaps then, you wouldn’t be agonizing over the past like you are now. 

You don’t answer his question. Hannibal’s lips tug into a slight smile, but it’s a dark and wry thing. The distance between you has never felt so little, and the feeling is only further compounded when Hannibal steps forward. Then he takes another step closer. And another. You’re certain your heartbeat shouldn’t be so loud in your ears, nor should your chest feel so tight. You’re staring death right in the eyes and meeting his shadowed scarlet gaze. 

Hannibal reaches out and you flinch. His hand slips to the nape of your neck and your skin prickles. For a moment, there is nothing between you except unnerving silence and unflinching eye contact. He looks as if he’s going to swallow you whole, ripping the skin and tissue from your form until you’re left a bony skeleton. You wonder if Hannibal can feel your pulse at your neck, hammering away in an attempt to warn you. Stay awake, you tell yourself. Stay alive.  

Hannibal pulls you toward him and you know you’re powerless. His eyes glitter in the low light and you can almost see the shadows pooling around him, threatening to encompass you in one fell swoop. You hardly have the chance to react before he’s tilting your head and pressing a kiss to your lips. The gesture is swift, but the pressure of his grip still digs into the junction of your shoulder. There’s a buzzing sound in your ears as you stare at Hannibal, the Chesapeake Ripper. Time seems to freeze as you’re left to cope with the sudden onslaught of feelings: apprehension, remorse, anticipation. There is an unspoken finality lingering in the air. 

Quick as lightning, Hannibal strikes. The knife in his hand catches the light and winks at you, before he smoothly stabs you in the side. You gasp at the blinding pain and Hannibal’s vice-like grip keeps its hold on you, forcing you to remain standing. Even so, you’re bending forward, trying to cope with the intense spasm rippling through your skin. Hannibal places a hand on the back of your head and pulls you into his chest. You don’t have the strength to do anything, leaving you entirely pliant in his arms. His hand slides to the nape of your neck again and it feels as if he’s cradling you. His other hand grips your shoulder with bruising fervor, digging into the skin and ripping through the bone to send shivers down your spine. Hannibal is flaying you apart in his arms, picking through your skin to find the precious organs for his meal. You take a shuddering breath in, thrown off by the chill spreading across your body. You’ve never been so cold. 

Any remaining strength promptly seeps out of your limbs, and even Hannibal’s grip isn’t enough to stop you from falling to the ground. Blood escapes from your abdomen, dripping down your skin and coloring your shirt with an expanding crimson stain. You try to keep yourself sitting up and shoot out a hand to brace yourself against the floor. It’s nearly impossible to pick out any thoughts from the rushing in your ears and the pain crawling up your side. Despite these overwhelming stimuli, you still see Hannibal crouching down from the corner of your eye. He places a hand behind your neck and guides you to lie on the floor. There is kindness in the gentle manner with which he lays you to rest, yet all you glean from the gesture is smug brutality and victorious pretense. 

“Alea iacta est,” Hannibal murmurs, looking down at you. It takes a few seconds for your pain-hazed mind to recognize the Latin phrase and another moment to translate it: The die has been cast.

It is clear that Hannibal is not anticipating a response from you and, truly, you have nothing to say. There is no word that will ever describe the confusing maelstrom of betrayal, anger, and self-loathing rushing through you as you slowly approach death. Your fingers twitch with the desperate, visceral need to do something. Your vision is swirling around you, until Hannibal is nothing more than a blurred visage in your eyes.  

Suddenly, there’s a hand on your cheek. A thumb wipes the fluid—blood or tears, you’re not sure—from your left eye. You’re so disconnected that your eyes don’t even flutter at the close contact. The Chesapeake Ripper’s face hovers above you for another moment, as if he’s looking for something, before he gets to his feet. He makes his escape, leaving you to the wreckage.

You fade away slowly. Looking up to the ceiling of Hannibal’s luxurious office, a bubbling laugh crawls its way out your throat. The familiar coppery, metallic taste of blood sits on your tongue. You’re going to die, you realize. You idly wonder who will find your body. It may take a little while for anyone to realize you’re missing. Perhaps Jack will be the one to trace your phone’s signal and find your corpse in the office of Dr. Lecter. You can already see the tight pull to his lips, the determination stitching his form together. Beverly, Jack, Alana… All of them will move on from your death. It won’t take them long, you think. Dying in the field isn’t a rarity. A peaceful, quiet death is a luxury afforded to very few agents at the Bureau—and it’s a luxury you don’t think you quite deserve. No, this is a fitting end for someone like you. 

Memories flash before your eyes. You had so many close calls, dodged death so many times that you began to think yourself immune. You survived Gideon. You survived countless sessions with Dr. Lecter. You survived Garret Jacob Hobbs. Yet now, as you lie on the floor of Hannibal’s office, you are forced to come to terms with your own mortality. You will not escape this encounter unscathed. 

The blood leaking from your side is beginning to pool on the floor next to you and the sight sends your vision into a dizzying spiral of colors. You let your head fall back against the ground and close your eyes, trying to calm the patterns racing before you. There’s a bone-deep exhaustion settling in your chest, beckoning you closer by the moment. Shadows are pulling the curtains across your vision and, despite your best efforts at resistance, your world soon fades to black.

next chapter (final chapter of Act One)

“The conscious deceives the unconscious” is a direct quote from Celeste’s speech at the end of Chapter 3 in Danganronpa. Her whole dialogue is: “Are you asking me to feel guilty? That’s a pointless endeavor. I think nothing of sacrificing others for my own ends. I feel nothing. That’s all there is to me. That’s what makes me… complete.” and then: “Hmph. My ability to lie is unrivaled, and I take pride in that. It’s not just other people—I can even fool my own emotions. The conscious deceives the unconscious.” I couldn’t fit that entire thing in the text obviously, but I like it, so I’m throwing it here. Y’all know me… if I like something, I will throw quotes anywhere I see fit. I’m annoying like that. 

I changed Hannibal’s desk, yes. We’re going to pretend that it’s the same one as in canon, except with more room under it—so that it has enough space for the reader to duck, roll under it, and come out on the other side of it without hurting himself.

“Stay awake, you tell yourself. Stay alive,” is a direct callback to the first chapter. If only the reader knew how far he would come… 

Rationalization for the reader’s behavior and the fight, if you’re interested…: The reader is both intimately aware of the danger of Hannibal Lecter, while also being overconfident about his abilities and the evidence of his survival so far. Furthermore, he consistently characterizes the Ripper as a separate entity from Hannibal, which shows how much he struggles to connect the two as the same individual. By separating the Ripper from Hannibal, he excuses Hannibal’s actions and only attributes responsibility for criminality to the Ripper. The reader’s continued relationship with Hannibal and his subsequent hesitation to wound him in this chapter are both manifestations of this “othering” and focused displacement. Since the reader has the two separated in his mind’s eye, he is unable to connect the Hannibal in front of him with the Ripper. This also overpowers his perception of Hannibal, to the point where the memories they’ve made together dominate over any of the reasonable doubt, fear, and guilt that should be dominating his psyche. It isn’t until the reader is faced with direct evidence (*cough, cough*) that he is able to connect the dots and truly see Hannibal as the Ripper. 

Ultimately, Hannibal & the reader’s relationship is different from Hannibal & Will’s relationship. I’m realizing now that this reader is definitely more on the morally grey side of things. Will’s perception of Hannibal was largely motivated by an unexplained feeling of suspicion—Will wasn’t quite able to pin down that feeling until later on. The reader, on the other hand, has known from the beginning of the story that Hannibal is the Ripper. This knowledge, in layman’s terms, fucks with his head. Hence, the climax of Hannibal & the reader’s encounter is noticeably different from Hannibal & Will’s encounter. Hannibal knows Will can and will turn him in, and he sees Will’s brief hesitation to join Abigail and him as a violation to their trust. On the other hand, Hannibal is unsure about the reader for a moment, because of the new context that his knowledge provides on their interactions. The reader could have left the moment he knew, but he didn’t—and this *briefly* sways Hannibal.

There are a number of different answers for the question of Hannibal’s motivations in stabbing the reader. One could argue that this conflict was motivated by Hannibal’s frustration at the thought of the reader knowing something and not telling him; from what I’ve gleaned of Hannibal, he thinks knowledge is power. He could be “betrayed” at the reader’s confirmation that he knew the entire time. It could also be argued that Hannibal isn’t the least bit accustomed to the feelings the reader incites within him and, therefore, decides to kill him instead of attempting to untangle the giant webbed mess of his conflicting feelings for the reader. I think it’s also somewhat reasonable to say that Hannibal isn’t used to the thought of someone knowing his true nature and simply went on the defensive before the reader could kill him (a sort of black-and-white mindset, like “I’ll kill you before you can kill me”). Lastly, if you want to look at this chapter in a more metaphorical sense, you could say that killing the reader is Hannibal’s method of forgetting his past as he “moves on” with his life as a wanted fugitive (since the FBI will be after him soon enough). There are more reasons that you could attribute to Hannibal’s actions in this chapter, but these are the few that immediately stuck out to me. 

Chapter 16 (next chapter) will be the last chapter of Act 1. I originally said this was supposed to be the last chapter, but I’m a liar. Sigh. 

hannibal taglist: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer

[cattonicdragon]

How about monkey tigress and viper x a lion reader that's a guard at Chorh-Gom-Prison(bonus if the reader was there during tai lung's escape and go injured but lived).

monkey,tigress and viper x lion chorh-gom prison guard reader

I rlly like this idea anon!

I accidentally added abit of angst but it's all good so :D

Proofread

Monkey

Monkey is very happy that you got such a big role and very proud of you for managing it

Though he wont deny how worried he is

Your trying to keep a highly unstable and powerful individual from escaping

And if that prisoner is tai lung it's no easy feat

He worries that if he breaks free then you probally wont survive

So rationally,once he hears the news he immidatly feels dread overwhelm him,what makes it worse is that zeng saw you lying on the ground after tai lung the the explosive

Although he wants to believe your Alive he fears that your gone

That is until you burst into the jade palace scratches and burn Mark's littering your body as you heave out heavy elongated breaths

Monkey barely manages to catch you as you pass out

He leaves you in the care of shifu whilst he and the rest of the furious five confront tai lung.

Once crane returns with the furious five paralysed you've woken up

You and monkey reunite and hug eachother,but the moment is short lived as you must evacuate the valley.

Before the two of you split he promised that once this is over you'll have a proper reunion.

After the fight monkey would probally never fully get over the nightmares of you in his hands passed it

The thoughts and nightmares haunt his dreams

But once he sees you fine and safe it seems to feel the growing anxiety his has even if just a little

Tigress

Tigress is very prideful and often closed off,letting very few people in her personal bubble

You were one of those people

She had told you many times how worried she was for you,aswell as how proud she is

She dosnt want to worry,because in return you'll worry for her,and that cant happen when your keeping a highly dangerous individual contained,

She tells you shes worried as her way of saying to be careful

Her worst fears become a reality once she catches wind of tai lung escaping,at that moment she wasnt be able to mask her emotions,dread quickly chewing at her from the inside

The night were she and the furious five go to confront him shes filled by pure unfiltered rage

However on the way to the bridge the furious five find your battered form,barley able to walk as they stop dead in their tracks

Tigress wastes no time as she takes you into her arms hugging you tightly

You huff out and tell her an abbreviated version of what happened and that he was soon going to be there

Tigress hushes you as your finally able to rest

She quickly takes you to the nearest infirmary promising you that once everything is over you can talk about it more.

When tigress comes back she looks almost as battered as you,she helps you up and informs you that they are evacuating

After the fight she has alot of guilt

She feels like there was a way she could have helped even if deep down she knows she wouldn't have been able to

When you reasure her that she did what she could she feels abit better

After all the thing that matters is that your still here

Viper

Ik I keep using the same gif for viper but I cant find any better ones

Shes so proud of you for having such a trusted job

She does have a deep fear for something bad happening to you

Viper is wise,she knows that tai lung cant be contained forever

However she fears that you'll be hurt in the crossfire

Which despite best efforts her hunch was correct

Once she got news of tai lungs escape she immidatly wanted to see if you were somehow,by some miracle alive

Of course,shifu wouldnt allow her,not only that but tigress wanted to stop tai lung at the bridge,meaning that there was a small chance she would get to see you if you were taking your dying breaths

It's not until shes been bested by tai lung and evacuating the villagers that she finds you

You stumble through the crowd looking for the snake

She cant contain her joy as she launches herself at you wrapping herself around you in a tight hug

You eventually pass out from the exhaustion,either one of the furious five carry you or a villager who lends a helping hand

Once you wake up again the fight is over and vipers imbracing you in a warm hug

Viper will most likely check on alot,this is due to the fact that she feels something bad could happen to you at any moment,she will calm down abit after a while but the fear of losing you will never truly leave

[whilmsy]

hello miners and crafters it’s me silly guy back with another scar post <3 this is heavily inspired by and written for the beloved @stiffyck and their double life art of green scar meeting himself as a red life! i am very normal about him <3

-

In a dream-like world, Scar awakens. It’s nothing dramatic: a soft huff of the exhale that leaves his lips, feeling distant and there all the same. There is no fear, no dread; what there is, is a forest.

Trees wind and loom above him, adding to the unsettling feeling that sits heavy in his chest as the night stretches far and wide in the sky above. The moon is small. It’s obvious that something or someone had passed through earlier, because there are tracks that mark the ground, both horse and human. Quietly, with a frown on his face and a furrow of eyebrows, Scar glances at the world around him. It doesn’t take him any time at all to know that he’s never seen this place before.

A cold dread crawls down his spine, he feels watched.

Maybe it’s a prank? The thought comes suddenly as soon as he realises his heart starts beating a little faster, as if trying to keep himself from panicking makes him panic more. It has to be a prank, it has to be; but Scar looks down, and he doesn’t remember ever wearing something like this.

The outfit he wears is… well, it seems like something he would wear - he guesses so, anyway. It’s a cream coloured shirt that’s buttoned up and a green bandana tied up on his right arm, dark cargo pants and a satchel that crosses over from his left shoulder and rests against his hip.

Weird, he muses, but not the worst thing that’s happened to him.

Then, Scar looks back up again, and someone else stands in front of him, leaning against a tree.

They look eerily familiar, too familiar.

Green eyes meet red eyes, and Scar realises this:

They look familiar because it’s him.

He doesn’t know if seeing himself from another perspective is better or worse.

It couldn’t be easier to know it was him, he’s seen his reflection enough times to know that it is. But as the figure takes slow steps forward, something akin to dread grabs his heart and squeezes it. For a moment as he watches, Scar thinks his heart stops in his chest. This version of himself has vibrant red eyes that gleam with a familiar sense of losing control and giving in to the blood-shed, and that makes him feel cautious; he’s never seen himself as red, but Scar knows what his mind is like when he is red.

This version of himself grins in a way that makes Scar feel a prickle of danger and he finally understands what other players of these games mean when they talk about him being unhinged as soon as he hits red. This red eyed image of himself is paler, wearing a black shirt that stays unbuttoned (Scar is not, at all, surprised by this) with a red heart embroidered on the front (a warning and foolishly brave: a warning of red and bloodshed, foolish in a cry of I can die at any given moment), and darker pants. The boots they both wear are the same, although his red state has boots that are stained with ash, dirt and blood.

And as they move closer, Scar feels that cold dread turn into an icy fear when he notices more about the person walking towards him.

His red life is covered in old cuts and bandages that look useless with the way they wrap too tightly around his arms, hands and neck, and he prays silently that he doesn’t know what they’re for. (Scar can see the faint bite marks on his red self’s neck as they cock their head to the side. His attempt at remaining calm ends with him feeling grief, and he knows that anguish is soon to flood his every thought.) There are new explosion scars, he notices silently, and he dreads it. His four ears are torn and cut at the edges, he dreads that too; they’re something he’s prideful of, he thinks he wants to cry just seeing it on this version of himself.

This version of himself looks dead, and Scar didn’t realise he could ever feel more scared of himself than he is in this moment. Sure, he’s had those red thoughts that stick around when the games are over, and it’s a little scary, but actually seeing himself as the thing he’s so numb to when it actually happens is… he thinks he’s allowed to be scared, in a way.

Scar has never seen what he’s like as a red, he’s lived it; there’s a difference. The difference is that you lose yourself, you lose who you are and you feel numb and the only time you remember really, truly, feeling absolute heart soaring joy is when there is blood on your hands and you are the one spilling it.

“Yeah,” the red life says - bringing him back from his thoughts - as if Scar’s panic is something they were waiting for, “you’ll get used to it eventually.” It sounds exhausted in a way, that sense of having given up long ago.

Scar doesn’t like it.

“No, I don’t-”

“Don’t what?” They bite back, emotionless. “Nothing you think to do will change this. It’ll happen either way.” The figure laughs hauntingly, unhinged. “You’ll still die, and Grian will still scream at you like that’ll do something to help.”

They both know the red life said the wrong thing with the way they grimace, with the way the tension drains and yet grows back stronger.

“…Grian’s with us?..” There is a shocked tone to the question, hopeful, and the man with the green bandana wrapped around his arm watches in real time as his red life’s expression grows from apathetic and into something more angry.

“It would’ve been better if he wasn’t. He barely sticks around anyway.” The red life sounds bitter and so incredibly sad and it all gets balled up into one emotion: anger. Their hands - bitten and scratched and covered in bandages - curl up into fists. “It would’ve been so much better if he didn’t just drag us along with him.”

Scar seems to shrink in on himself for a moment before remembering, again, that this is him. Softer, gentler, he says, “Maybe he was just scared,” because he knows that’s probably true. He knows that people react differently in different situations, has teamed up with Grian before; he knows Grian.

There is a huff of frustration from in front of him, and in a sudden sense of panic, Scar takes a step back; he has no idea where he is, and yet he wants to run from this blood thirsty version of himself very, very suddenly.

A hand grasping his left arm tightly dismisses that idea very, very quickly.

“Grian doesn’t care.” The red life version of himself hisses spitefully, says every word slowly - makes sure to drive home the idea of that sentence. There is an underlying sense of pain in their tone. Scar slowly feels the blood flow to his hand lessening. “I bet you that right now he’s off frolicking with that secret soulmate of his.” It doesn’t make any sense to him. His mirror image grimaces, eyes shining dangerously; Scar doesn’t know if it’s bloodlust or tears. “Grian doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about me. He doesn’t care about us.” Quieter, as if like a flame that is put out but keeps the remains still painfully warm, the red name says, “Grian only stays when it’s an obligation. They all do.”

Despite the fact that it rings true in his mind, Scar still knows it isn’t entirely true, isn’t numbed by an apathetic, blood-lusting red, but it still feels bitterly like denial. He says, “No-”

“You really think so?” The other version of himself asks, gripping Scar’s arm tighter when he tries pulling it away. “What about the first game?” desert sand and a home built from sandstone, trying and failing to avoid heatstroke, “The second one?” snow-capped mountains that echoed lonely lonely lonely, an enchanter and his lives being his best bet for someone to show up. “In one, Grian stayed because he killed you on accident. In the other, he couldn’t care less. He said it himself: The past doesn’t matter. He won’t bother to stick around if he doesn’t owe you something. Don’t get your hopes up for something that never lasts. It won’t be your gifts that he cherishes, but I think we both know that.”

Scar thinks of lilacs and poppies and he thinks yes he would, he would cherish them, he does- he did, he did he did he did he did. But then he thinks of that second game, of how Grian couldn't wait to take his life and flee with it. He doesn't like this.

There is something so painfully understanding in his reflection’s reaction, something that Scar both craves and hates, because it’s pity; as much as Scar wants to be understood and cared for, it hurts that it’s himself that’s being the person to do it. In a softer, pain-filled tone, as they move their head closer to his ear - still gripping his arm, although he’d already given up on trying to free himself from the red - they ask, “You see it now, don't you?”

Scar doesn’t give a verbal or physical response, frozen.

A moment of respite, the seconds of silence feel like everything and nothing; too much and yet too little. It feels weirdly like dissociating: his head empty of any thought or emotion he knows he should be feeling, despite knowing he feels weirdly numb and not all there. Maybe he is, just for a moment. He doesn’t yet realise that the hand gripping his arm tightly in place let's go, the blood flowing properly again and his hand looking more like his.

Those are his excuses for being the reason why he asks, “Do we have friends this time?” He hopes that neither of them can hear the longing in his tone, hopes that they both ignore how naive the question is.

“…We have some allies.” There is an obvious lie in the answer, they’re lying about something; what exactly, Scar isn’t sure of. It’s not a proper answer, not even a yes, and that makes the gaping void in his chest called loneliness grow larger, agonisingly slowly.

Scar laughs bitterly. “Better than last time.” Better than nothing stays unsaid. The red life in front of him echoes that same laughter, nodding in agreement. They seem to want to say something.

“You could put it that way, but… we did have someone. I think we did. I hope so, otherwise we really need to learn how allies and friends work.” They move back slightly, not taking a large step, but they move back enough that Scar doesn’t feel like he’s cornered anymore.

He doesn’t say anything in response, and so they keep talking, it’s the furthest away from that red apathy that they’ve seemed the entire time, and slowly that fear of his red self lessens. “It’s Pearl,” they say simply, soft in a way Scar knows he is when he’s red; when it’s a gentle care about llama’s and bee’s - about the little things that are so absolutely useless in the world where you fight for your life, but so important to him because it gives him that sense of comfort. “She…she’s a good friend.”

There isn’t much information to go off, but he guesses that it makes sense in the bigger picture - probably not the best to know how everything goes before it starts, it might just cause more problems than what has, probably, already been set in stone. Vaguely, Scar tries to argue with his own thoughts; surely this can’t be real, right? This is some sort of sick dream that his mind has made up just for him. Surely this is a sad, sad hell of his own creation.

Distrustful, marked by the previous game like a shattered glass-stained window, Scar asks, “She doesn’t betray us?” Because it is so, so hard to believe it’s true. Above them, the night is slowly beginning to fade into dawn.

“You believe me anyway,” the red life answers knowingly, and the expression on their face says it all; the glint in their red eyes has faded to a softer, calmer glimmer. They continue speaking. “We both know how bad we want it, and it’s hard to believe it, but….even when Grian doesn’t want us around, Pearl does, even if she’s a bit unpredictable - so are we.” Scar knows that tone, knows the way his heart aches when he’s left behind, knows the way his heart soared when they left that world behind; he knows the tone that they speak in, and it’s something in between those two emotions.

Of being left behind, but not being entirely alone.

The smile on his red self’s face seems to fade entirely again, leaving a more.. calmer expression; sad, but at peace with it. Guilty, almost. “I’m sorry you have to find out this way,” they say smoothly as the sun continues rising through the trees, and the way they say have instead of had settles wrongly on his skin. Because Scar doesn’t want to learn this. He wants to wake up from this dream-like world. Wants to wake up from this nightmare and start his day shakily and work so hard on building that he doesn’t have to remember this dream. “But,” they continue, and Scar hopes they don’t realise how trapped in his own thoughts he is, “the only time Grian cares is when it keeps him alive.”

There is a second of silence, there are hands pulling him closer and for the first time since he’s been here, Scar doesn’t flinch when the red version of himself pulls him close and-

And hugs him. They pull him in, arms cradling him close as if to hold him together - a way Scar likes to be hugged, because it’s grounding, a pressure. They hug him, and the sun shines brightly in his eyes, and they say, “I’m sorry that you’ll see it soon enough.”

And-

And the world changes.

There is a pressure holding him close, and then there is nothingness. The trees of the forest he was in, in that dream world, are gone, and Scar hates to admit that his breath is shaky and stuttering at the sudden change when he opens his eyes.

He misses that warmth, even if that version was deader than him, he misses that hug. Which is… embarrassing to think of, because that was a version of himself that hugged him and it’s this whole thing then, and-

And there’s a green bandana on his arm, and a satchel by his waist and-

“Scar?”

And there is a mark on his forearm, where he was grabbed and it still tingles, similar to pins and needles-

“Scar? Hello? Anyone in there?”

His gaze finally breaks from staring at the handprint left of his arm, forcing himself to stop analysing the faint red mark left behind and forcing his gaze up and-

It’s Pearl.

Of course it would be Pearl.

Something makes him feel sick to his stomach, something foreboding and knowing.

“Well, hello there!” Scar says cheerily, a forced smile on his face and his eyes tightly shut in an attempt to really pull off the act. He looks at Pearl, and he realises that it’s not just the two of them.

There are more people, an even number of people that have been in previous games. He looks at Grian, Grian looks at him, and Scar hopes he doesn’t break eye contact too quickly.

The excited conversations fade to silence as Pearl asks him something again, but he can’t hear what she’s saying when he’s too caught up in the idea that everyone is looking at him, and he doesn't like the familiar sense of being watched.

His heart beats hurriedly, thumping much too fast for him, and he pretends that he’s still listening to whatever Pearl is saying.

“Hm? Oh! I’m fine.” Scar replies to a question he doesn’t properly hear, showing too much teeth in a too strained grin. Fake, Fake, Fake. There is a ghost of a hand that tightens around his arm, he pushes through. “Excited to see where this game goes!” He’s so quick to fall into that familiar act, that scheme, that teasing, that unpredictability. “Jimmy, it will be nice knowing you.” He says mournfully, teasing.

“Excuse me?!” Jimmy shouts, falling right into Scar’s easily planned trap; Scar laughs loudly, and everyone else joins in as he attempts to argue back. It’s easy to fall into that, something they all know, something to change what they’re focusing on.

He knows Pearl’s still looking at him, knows that Grian is still looking at him; but as long as the mask stays on, no one needs to know.

And soon enough, when a Warden shrieks and his last shared life shatters as his ears ring dangerously loudly, Scar drops from his horse, and he’s too exhausted to cry when he realises the forest he’s in where his last life fades from him is painfully familiar. It’s funny that he wasn’t the reason that they lost their last life, that he didn’t die from heartbreak.

[thepaintedlady00]

Ok cool! In that case can you write a Morpheus x reader where the reader hears about Morpheus other lovers and she feels unworthy and her mood plummets.Morpheus of course notices immediately and asks her what’s wrong and after a bit of coaxing she tells him everything that’s been on her mind and that even if she will be just one of the string of lovers he will have in the future she’s glad she got a chance to love him.Morpheus is understandably horrified that she would think that and in order to convince her otherwise they have a very intimate ✨moment✨😏 Where Morpheus tells her how much he loves her and states that she may not be his first lover but she will be his last and he proposes and offers to make her his queen and an endless of equal standing beside him (obviously she says yes)

One tender smut piece coming right up my friend! 🥰

You'd known there were others before you. You weren't naive. But knowing was one thing and seeing was another. As you stared in awe at the Muse Calliope you could feel a wave of dread and doubt settle in your stomach, twisting everything inside you into tight knots. She was far more beautiful than you, an immortal being of pure inspiration was going to be, but on top of that beauty she was so kind and so... Perfect.

Dream had made it clear that the two of them weren't meant to be, especially after the death of their son. He'd said some words, some things just could never be forgotten between them. Looking at the pair of them now though, it didn't feel like they'd lost an ounce of whatever spark of passion that had brought them together. It was painful for you, even though you'd trusted him and loved him and was happy that he'd agreed to open his realm to her.

You'd say none of this to him, of course, he wouldn't understand. It wasn't like you had any lovers that could even compare to the beautiful, powerful Dream of the Endless. But late that night long after Calliope had gone the weight hadn't followed her. You found yourself laying in your shared bed, thinking of how many lovers he'd had before you... Of how each of them were probably more beautiful and stronger and better than you could ever hope to be.

These thoughts would transfer to your dreams when you finally managed to sleep. And in your dreams these thoughts were ones that your lover could hear.

Dream was finishing his work when the sound of taunting voices began. They were dark and hushed, but they sounded like you. He followed them all the way into your dream, or rather your nightmare. It was hardly the worst he'd seen, but the fact that it was you made his heart clench. You sat in front of a mirror, images of lovers from his past hovering over your reflection, over accentuating your flaws. Behind you a shadowed version of yourself stood, claws digging deep into your shoulders as it whispered vile things in your ears.

"You will never be as beautiful as them."

"You will never be a goddess or muse. You will only ever be human. Dull. Weak. Boring."

"He loved them more."

"You're holding him back."

"You will never be them."

Dreams hands clenched into fists. "Enough, nightmare. Leave us."

The nightmare that had been perched on your shoulder turned and shifted back to its natural form, bowing to Dream and slithering away to whatever victim awaited it. You remained frozen in front of the mirror, tears staining your cheeks as he came to stand behind you.

He kissed the angry marks on your shoulders, cold hands smoothing up and down your back as he wound his arms around you. "It is over, my love. The nightmare has passed."

You shook your head. "It won't pass. It can't because it's true."

His brows furrowed as he looked at you in the mirror. "Why would you think such things?"

"I'm not..." You sighed. "I'm never going to be like them."

"I do not want you to be like them," he whispered. "You are perfect just as you are."

"Morpheus I'm-"

He turned your head and pressed his lips to yours, swallowing the words and lapping up the sour feeling they left on your tongue until all that remained was him. You were breathless when he pulled back and stroked your wet cheeks. "I'll hear no more of this."

Breathing in the intoxicating smell on his coat you sighed. "It's not that simple."

"Perhaps not," he agreed, turning you to face him. "Perhaps a demonstration is long overdue."

Your brows furrowed as you looked up at him. "Demonstration?"

Dream merely smiled. "Of course, I can think of no better way to show you exactly how perfect you are."

The dream faded, gliding across your mind like strands of silk until at last you woke up. Your lover stood at the foot of the bed, neatly folding his coat over the edge of it before turning to you with a tender gaze. Your heart beat wildly in your chest as he moved toward you, carefully kneeling beside you to take your hand in both of his and press a soft kiss to it. He moved up your arm slowly, purposefully kissing every inch of your skin before he finally reached your shoulder.

"Morpheus," you breathed out.

He smiled, as he often did when you said his name like that. "Yes my love?"

"What are you doing?"

"I am worshipping you." With one thought from him your clothes vanished leaving you trapped between the silk sheets and the silk of Dreams wandering hands.

Oh, this is what he meant. "Morpheus, you don't have to-"

"I am Dream of the Endless," he breathed against your skin. "The King of dreams and the ruler of the nightmare realms. Do you think I would do something I did not wish to?"

You shook your head, biting your lower lip to try and mask the way his voice alone sent shivers of heat and want through you. "No. But, I still wanted you to know this isn't necessary."

He chuckled at that. "On the contrary, worship is essential when hoping to please a goddess."

Those lips of his moved up your neck. "I'm not a goddess."

"You are to me," he whispered in your ear. "Now, no more words my dreamer. Just give me those sweet moans."

Your lips crashed together in a dance of opposites. The warmth of your skin practically hissed beneath your lovers icy touch as his hands explored the plains of your back. You pushed, desperate to meet his enthusiasm with that of your own, and he pulled willing to take everything you offered to him. Being touched, loved, by the Dream Lord was consuming in the best possible way.

Dream finally pulled back, cradling your head in his hands as he moved his lips down your throat, tongue darting out to taste your skin, as he made his way down your body. His chilled breath fanned across your nipple, bringing it swiftly to a peak as he wrapped his mouth around the hardened bud. It should've been considered a sin, the things he could do with his mouth alone that made you moan and writhe beneath him.

Your breaths were heavy as he moved his attention to the other breast, nipping at your skin lightly before giving it the same attention he'd given the other. "Morpheus," you whined as the sensation grew near unbearable.

He chuckled, running his palms down your sides to grip your hips tightly. "Worship cannot be rushed, my love."

"Could you just fuck me then?" you asked, the teasing in your tone almost vanished as he kissed down your stomach.

"I could," he admitted.

"But you won't?"

His hands slid beneath your thighs, easing them apart as his glowing eyes met yours. "Patience, my dear."

Your back arched off the bed when his tongue licked a long, languid strip up your core, brushing against your clit in a deliciously slow display. Dream smirked, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh before returning his mouth to where you wanted him most. Once again he brought you far too much pleasure with his tongue alone, spending hours between your thighs basking in the way your thighs trembled around his head and how you cried out his name and pulled his hair. He groaned as one of his fingers penetrated your hot, pulsing core, moving slowly and gently to help work yet another orgasm from your sweet lips.

Devotion was something Dream of the Endless knew well, he had yours and you had his, getting this chance to show you such was a blessing far beyond what he deserved. "Morpheus," you begged between heaving breaths.

"Is your head finally free of those horrid thoughts, my love?"

You nodded quickly. "Yes."

"Tell me, what thoughts have replaced them?"

"You," was your only answer, one that made pride flare within his chest.

His lips moved back up your body, kissing every tender piece of flesh that he knew drove you wild. "Good, let's keep it that way for a moment longer."

Magic rid him of his clothes with ease, leaving nothing between him and your soft heated skin. Dream kissed you, swallowing the sharp wanton moan that you let loose as he wasted no time splitting you open with his cock. Your body trembled beneath him, the waves of your previous pleasure beginning to stir once again. "Morpheus."

Burying his face into the crook of your neck he pulled his hips back slowly, drawing out another long moan from your lips as he too felt shivers of delight run down his spine. You were heavenly, mind body, and soul. These intimate moments with you made it difficult for him to keep his composure. "You are divine," he told you. "The way you sing beneath me could rival that of the most inspired composers."

Your hands latched onto him, finding purchase in his hair and clawing at his back. "Please."

He smiled down at you, caging your head between his arms. "Command me, my love. Tell me what you want and it shall be yours."

"Fuck me," you answered instantly. Your eyes, darkened with pleasure, met his as you pulled at him more desperately. "Please Morpheus."

Fuck you he would. The sound of his skin slapping against yours echoed in his room as The Dreaming seemed to swallow the sounds just as greedily as he did. Your orgasm came swiftly as did the one that followed as he continued to fuck you through it. You had no concept of time when all you could feel was him and every thought that occupied your mind was little more than prayers whispered in his name.

When his hips finally began to falter, his hands fisting into the sheets beside your head, you looked up into his eyes and arched your back. Your lips traced down his throat as he threw his head back, finally losing his iron-clad grip on that famous kingly composure and fucking you in earnest. You adored these brief moments where his power rolled off your skin like satin lightning and whispers of shadow. You adored the way his touch burned and bruised as he lost himself in the pleasure.

After you'd caught your breath and your body finally ceased shivering he stroked your skin, still wet with a sheen of sweat and gently asked the question that had troubled him so, "Why did you not tell me Calliope's presence made you feel such things?"

"Morpheus," you moaned against his throat. A shuddering breath left him as he moved his hips harder and faster into you. "Please."

It was amazing how one word whispered so reverently from your lips could make him come undone. Amazing how his body memorized the way it felt as you came with him. Amazing how such a primal thing as sex felt sacred now that he had you. He gently rolled off you, keeping you tightly tucked into his chest as the two of you silently recovered in the softness of his bed and each other's arms.

With a sigh you lifted your head to look deep into his star filled eyes and with a smile. "Because it isn't her fault, and it's not yours either. Calliope is someone you love, not in the way you did, but she's still important to you. Her visit was important for both of you and I would never even think of robbing you of that just because I was feeling insecure."

"Your feelings are just as important as mine," he insisted. "What can I do if these thoughts return?"

With a smile you shimmied even closer to him. "I think your demonstration was quite helpful."

Dream brushed his nose against yours. "Then, next time you feel this way come to me. Tell me that my perfect dreamer is in need of worship and I shall see to it."

"I love you."

"As I love you, dreamer."

[isabella-kr]

Prologue

THIS STORY WILL INCLUDE MATURE THEMES, PLEASE ONLY READ IF YOU ARE 18 YEARS OLD OR OVER.

IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE, YOU CAN READ THE WATTPAD VERSION INSTEAD AS IT WILL CONTAIN NO SMUT.

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION AND DOES NOT REPRESENT THE REAL ARMY!

Chapter Synopsis: Being locked away in a glorified prison isn’t fun. So, when she is given two dreadful options to choose from, she picks the one that will get her out of her own, personal hell.

Pairing: John Price x Female!Reader (This used to be an Original Character, and whilst I revised this chapter, I might have missed something; if you notice any physical description of the reader, please let me know!)

Genre: Enemies to Lover / Slow burn

Warnings: Swearing, imprisonment

Word Count: 1.1K 

Series Masterlist  I  COD:MWII Masterlist

Next Chapter

GIF not mine

The sharp tip of the shovel clinked against the hard soil. A stone bounced away. The shovel hit the ground once more, and finally broke through the surface before being pushed further down.  

A boot was slammed against the top of the metal, stomping it further and further into the almost frozen ground before turning the dirt over. The large clump of soil was kicked apart, the brown breaking into small pieces and flying in all directions. The shovel was moved further up the garden and the action repeated, creating a long strip of disturbed ground.  

She let out a deep breath as a drop of sweat rolled down her temple. Her biceps flexed with every hit of the shovel, a small grunt leaving her parted lips as the ground protested, the stone-like texture preventing entry.

Her breathing formed into small clouds in front of her face, the cold, early November prickling the skin on her cheeks. Her nose was beginning to turn numb, and her fingers had long lost feeling, but she paid the uncomfortable feeling no mind; she continued to abuse the ground as if it was her worst rival.  

It was only when she heard the sound of someone clearing their throat behind her that she turned around. Her eyes were narrowed and breathing hard – panting from the physical exertion – when she shared a look with the intruder.

“Laswell,” she leaned the shovel against the wooden fence, sarcasm lacing her words when she spoke again, “Whatever do I owe the pleasure?”

The older woman looked from her and down to the ground, brows raising at the sight, “Bit late for gardening, don’t you think?”

She let out a humourless laugh, “The soil needs to breathe, which it can’t do when it’s flat and frozen over, can it? Besides, what else am I supposed to do here, hmm?”

Kate shrugged, “Go on a walk?”

“Where?” She laughed, “Around the garden? D’you want me to walk in circles like I’ve lost my mind?”  

“Right,” she muttered, taking in a sharp breath, “How about we go inside and talk?”

She shrugged in return and gestured at Kate to follow behind. Wordlessly, she opened the back door of her home and let her in, the inside air immediately enveloping them both in a warm hug.  

“Shoes off,” she ordered.  

Kate obliged, swiftly pushing the shoes off her feet before following her into the living room. With a stiff smile, she sat down on the sofa and watched as she sat opposite her, making herself comfortable on the plush armchair.  

“Forgive me if my people skills are rusty,” she began, “I haven’t spoken to anyone except Bobby the cat in almost three years.” The smile on her face didn’t match the tone of her voice; the words came out harsh and spiteful, a certain venom lacing every syllable.  

Laswell opened her mouth to say something, but in the end didn’t comment on her remark. “They want you on the field,” she told her instead.  

She raised a brow, “Oh, did I become a burden?”

Kate didn’t beat around the bush. With a nod of her head, she confirmed, “Yes and no. You passed your Psych Eval - you’re permitted to go on missions.”  

She raised a quizzical brow, “I’m not a soldier, Laswell. And last time I checked, I was identified as a terrorist by the Government.”  

“You were – you are,” she corrected, “They want to put you to good use; your skills could benefit us.”  

“Right,” she hummed, “So it’s either I stay here in this glorified prison, or I go out there and risk my life for people who’d pay to see me dead?”  

“It’s a second chance,” Kate argued, “If you prove you’re with us – that you’re on our side – you’ll be pardoned for your crimes. And maybe, after a couple years, you’ll be able to leave this place without supervision.”  

She shook her head with a small laugh which lacked any humour whatsoever. She didn’t reply, a sour look forming on her face as she digested the woman’s words.

“This is the best I can do, A,” Kate leaned forward, a serious look on her face.

She knew it was true. She knew the woman before her couldn’t do much more to help, and yet she couldn’t help but feel disappointed, a part of her hoping she would be given a choice. But alas, it seemed as though she was destined to follow the path of death and destruction.  

“Alright,” she spoke quietly, in almost a whisper, “I’ll do what you ask; anything to get out of here. Who’ll be supervising me?”

“John Price,” Laswell replied.

Her brows furrowed. The name sounded familiar, and she was almost certain she had met the man before. Yet she couldn’t remember where. Perhaps he was one of the officers who often came to make sure she wasn’t up to anything suspicious, or maybe he was one of the Generals who sentenced her to this dreaded existence. Or maybe-

“He’s the one who caught you,” Laswell told her, “The one who was ordered to capture or kill you.”  

“Ah,” she leaned back, “The lieutenant?”  

“Captain,” Laswell corrected.

“Why him?” She questioned.

“He fought you once and won. He’s seen how you operate. He-“

It all seemed clear now, “He will know how to take me out if it comes down to it,” she said.

Kate took a small breath, pausing her words before nodding. “Yes. He was ordered to kill you the moment he suspects you’re planning to betray us.”  

“Makes sense,” she admitted, biting onto her bottom lip in thought, “Okay. When are we leaving?”  

“In 30 minutes,” Laswell suddenly stood up, “pack the necessities and meet me out front when you’re ready.”  

Kate was gone before she even had the time to answer. Left to her own devices, she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, a nervous feeling slowly creeping up on her.  

She rubbed her eyes – hard – until she began to see stars and colourful shapes behind her eyelids. She was unsure whether she should be glad to finally be out of the suffocating house, or devastated that her normal life – or as normal as her life could get – was about to be torn away from her.  

Returning back to the chaos of the battlefield wasn’t ideal, and she wasn’t excited to face the man she had almost killed during their last encounter. Yet a part of her was excited – not for the chaos that was bound to unfold, nor the disgusted looks she was sure she’d receive, but to finally get the chance to socialise with someone who didn’t purr or meow in return. Even if all she received was an insult, or a simple nod, she was just happy to be amongst people again.  

And so, with a small smile, she ventured to her bedroom and packed everything she knew she would need. She was out the door not even 10 minutes later, eagerly getting in the black car that was already waiting for her.  

Tag List (Comment or message me if you’d like to be added)

@jxvipike 

[da-mous]

She saw the world through 117 different eyes. A separate version of reality through each

Through one of her 117 eyes, all her friends scowled every time they looked at her, even if they otherwise seemed to like her. Through another, the world was full of shadows that might steal her life for one wrong move. In yet another the sun never set, and she could go for walks through the chill night air in broad daylight, where the shadows didn't exist. In only one of her 117 eyes did everyone else have as many as her

She spent most of her time with all but one eye closed, navigating just one version of the world through one eye

Some of her worst months were spent tiptoeing around shadows. Consumed by the way she could find them everywhere she looked, by how suddenly they could steal her life, her future, every tiny joy of living gone at once. She would turn over her apartment looking for them, demanding everyone to please listen, please watch out. "They're not real" her loved ones would tell her, but how could she gamble on trusting them? What if they were? What if she didn't warn anyone and they stole her only friends' lives?

She was convinced true reality had to be behind one of these eyes. She would sometimes have lengthy conversations with friends or her dad or strangers and come out of them convinced she finally knew which eye was right

She would find new friends every few years and then they would vanish suddenly, leaving her scrambling to figure out why. In these times she would fixate on the radioactive aura around herself that one of her eyes showed her. This must be the real one. Or no, it has to be the one where everyone scowls at her. What is she doing that's making them scowl like that? why don't they say anything? "Sorry, I think I figured out which eye is right finally. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I bothered you about the shadows so much. That was the wrong eye I'm sorry I'm so sorry. I see things so much more clearly through this eye. I apologize for being so radioactive"

In one of her eyes she saw the perspective of a worm eating her decaying corpse underneath the dirt. This one stayed shut

It should have been as simple as finding someone to describe 117 different scenes to and asking individually if each one matched what they saw, but in practice people never had simple yes or no answers. They would tell her about their perspective but in vague language she didn't know how to decipher. She would plead with them to just be direct with her, wracked with desperation to finally have it all figured out like they did, but this only pushed them away. "You'll figure it out," they would say, and then they would leave

It was a little relieving when people would leave before getting through all 117 eyes. She dreaded talking about some of the later eyes on her list, which she ordered from nicest to most soul destroying. Finding out that any of the last 60 or so eyes on that list showed true reality would surely crush her

Maybe she was so bad at keeping people because they somehow knew on some level about the eye she kept closed that could see everyone naked, their thoughts and feelings manifest as moving paintings all over their skin, vulnerable to her all-seeing eyes

After her girlfriend left, she stopped trying to have these kinds of conversations with anyone. Nobody needed to know she saw anything unusual at all. Why should she tell anyone about all the time she spent looking through the eye where the sun never set, and all her friends were still there, and her grandma was still alive. None of them had faces, but they were there, and she could see them whenever she wanted, even if they would phase through her when they gave her hugs

The eye that beheld scenes of her vision of the future had changed overnight. Where she once saw herself and her girlfriend facing the world together forever, there was now just static. Random noise she would now dedicate her time trying to tame into something tangible. She might never see her favorite person again. She may never figure out how she and the friends she took with her were all so well-liked. She could die unexpectedly tomorrow in a million impossible to predict ways. There was no way she could turn any of this into a real vision. Her north star offline once again

Whenever she slept, one eye, the second to last on her list, stayed open involuntarily, watching her dreams play out in front of it. She always had only one eye in her dreams, yet the world she dreamt of was a loud, cluttered, chaotic synthesis of the worlds from every single eye at once, and somehow she experienced them all as one through just one eye. Fortunately the memory of these dreams was normally gone by the time she woke up

When she did awake, this same eye could see that one-eyed mirror of herself, the self that traversed her dreams, floating a few feet in front of her gaze. No matter where it looked, this eye always stared directly into those of her mirror. She and her mirror had been friends when they were little, but the two drifted apart as they were hurt again and again until she kept this eye shut as often as possible

11:08 AM, staring into the empty space next to her on the mattress, viewing it through several eyes, one at a time. A faceless apparition. A field of static. A shadow in her shape. Nothing. Everything. A robin fused with the mattress. An angel. A demon. A bundle of raw nerves guarded carefully by a thin layer of sugary candy. Her mirror

She stared silently into her mirror's eye for what felt like an hour. The cacophony of 117 distorted versions of reality raged on behind it, yet her mirror was unnervingly calm

Deep breath

And again

One more time

"...I'm sorry we haven't spoken"

...

"It's just that I've been trying so hard to figure out which one is real. I'm sorry. I can't take all of this unfiltered like that. It's too much"

...

"I mean, one of them has to be--"

...

"I know I don't listen to you. I just--"

...

"What? I'd have a panic attack again"

...

"I know I need to trust you more but that's--"

...

"I..."

...

She took a deep, shaky breath

"......ok"

She held each and every eye shut tight for several minutes, taking deep, quivering breaths, each one getting a little steadier

117 eyes flung open and at once saw everything in a meaningless, chaotic, horrifying, overstimulating blend of every feeling at once

Some eyes took longer to start weeping than others. Some darted around in terror, fighting the urge to close again. Her dream eye stayed fixated on her mirror's singular pupil

...

"Why???"

...

She had to fight to keep her breath steady, but she gradually moved each eye to look at her mirror's. Or, where it would be if they all could see it. Slowly, through 96 tears, the pictures merged. A cacophony still, but becoming more unified, each perspective a drop of water in an ocean wave. Somehow familiar, moreso than anything else. All 117 eyes were weeping now

"Is this what you...?"

The eye at the center of it all blinked, and each of her eyes lost focus, careening back into disarray before she hastily shut them all again. She dropped her shoulders and sighed deeply

"...I'm sorry... If you can ever trust me again... I'd love to start spending time with you again. I want to be able to see the world the way you do all the time. I'm not getting anywhere with all of it separated out like this, all these scattered, irreconcilable, reality-distorting lenses"

...

"Oh... a gift...? I guess I never thought of it like that..."

The calm of a worm with a full stomach, ready to live another day

[baronessblixen]

AU where Mulder and Scully meet on karaoke night at a bar.

The other day I had an idea for a story and thought, don't I have a prompt for this? And I did. This story went in a completely different direction than planned: AU, a touch of magic, fake dating, first kiss, fate (wc: 1,655)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 26: I Saw Your Face In A Dream

He’s nursing a beer, listlessly playing with the edges of the label, tearing it off piece by piece. Neither of his friends notices his mood. Or they do notice it and decide not to comment. If that’s the case, Mulder can’t blame them. It’s been like this for weeks. Okay, maybe even months. A dark cloud follows him around, ready to open its gates and rain down on him.

Frohike would say that he’s full of bullshit and that the only dark cloud he has following him around is Diana Fowley, his girlfriend. His fiancée. He takes the beer bottle between his fingers, relishing the cold of the glass, the realness of it all. What doesn’t feel real is that he’s engaged to Diana. For all he knows, she’s planning their wedding right now, flowers and all. He takes a big gulp, trying to drown the feeling of dread he can’t shake off.

“Dude, stop staring,” Byers says, nudging Frohike. Mulder watches his friends and tries to find out what it’s about. Frohike’s eyes are glued to the stage where people are singing karaoke. That’s the whole reason they picked this bar; Frohike, Byers, and Langly can’t stay away from a karaoke night.

His job is to make sure neither of them gets too drunk and start a fight about which duet to sing before it inevitably ends in a discussion about songs sung by three people. As funny as they can be sometimes, Mulder loves his friends. And they stand by him, no matter what. Even if it means accepting Diana into their midst.

“I can’t. She’s magnificent.” Frohike is in his own world and Mulder can only chuckle. That is until he redirects his gaze to what – or rather who – has him so transfixed. The woman is small and if he weren’t so tall, he’s not sure he’d see her at all on this big stage.

She keeps shaking her head and laughing the cutest laugh in between her notes that she misses one after the other. She might be the worst singer he’s ever heard. He barely recognizes the song she’s singing, but he recognizes something else. A feeling of warmth spreads inside his chest. It’s hitting a home run, coming home after a long journey, and his favorite birthday as a child all rolled up into one.

“Now we’ve got two of them,” Langly laments. Mulder hears his friend, but he cannot look away from the woman on stage. She’s belting now, missing so many notes that it’s a miracle no one has booed her off yet. And yet, it’s his favorite version of Son of a Preacher Man. He takes in her appearance; her short, flaming-red hair, her perfect face, and the roundest eyes he’s ever seen. What color are they? He needs to know. Before this night ends, he needs to find out.

He’s never believed in love at first sight, even though he believes in everything else. Bigfoot? Of course, he exists. The Jersey Devil? Is surely out there. Love at first sight? Think again. That was until he laid eyes on her. There’s something about her that pulls him to her. Like something inside him was screaming, ‘Hey, I know you’. She's so familiar to him. As if they've spent a lifetime together already. She's not someone he's met at work. He'd know if she worked for the FBI. It must be something else. Something more like... destiny.

“I’m in love,” he murmurs, the words bubbling out of him while his eyes never leave her. She’s flinging her arms wildly and something tells him this isn’t like her at all. It makes him smile

“We know you love Diana,” Byers says. "We just don't know why."

“No, not her,” he says, without even thinking what he’s saying. He’s bewitched. Entranced. Completely out of his mind. Diana would hit him over the head if she were here. But she isn’t here. And with that vision in front of him, she slips from his mind quietly, without any fight at all.

“What are you talking about, dude?” Langly asks. “Are you serious right now? That woman can’t carry a tune and you two sit here like dogs.”

“I need to talk to her,” Mulder says. The song is coming to an end, and his heart is racing. He gets up from his chair and it almost tips over.

“I saw her first,” Frohike says, but Mulder barely hears him. One day he will apologize for ignoring him and for seemingly stealing the girl. He’s making his way through the tables, tipping over a bottle somewhere, but he fears that if he takes his eyes off her, she will disappear. Just like in his dream. It’s her. He knows it now. He's seen her in his dream. The dream he’s been having ever since he was a child. The flaming locks that surround him. That scare everyone else away but take him in, warming him, comforting him. He used to think the dream alluded to his own name – Fox. Now he knows better. Her. His heart can’t be wrong.

She’s standing at the bar now, her cheeks pink and flushed. She’s smiling, talking to a friend of hers. He keeps walking until he stops right in front of her. Her eyes, he realizes, are the bluest blue.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hi,” she says, mustering him. “Can I help you?” His eyes wander, taking her all in. Her form-fitting jeans that hug her curves most deliciously, and that shirt. Slightly too big on her, in a faded green, and an alien head prominently featured, sticking out its tongue.

“Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?” he asks.

“Logically, I would have to say no,” she says, her lips twitching.

“But your shirt.”

“Belongs to my sister.” She points at another redhead who is making out with a hot brunette. Mulder quickly tears his eyes away.

“It’s cool.”

“I’ll let her know.”

“Your singing was…” This is why he never does this. And he hasn’t had a chance to even try in a while. Diana seduced him. More than once. No matter how far he ran, or how hard he tried, she always got her claws back into him. Any moment now she’s going to decide he’s not worth it and walk off. His chance will be blown. He’ll never see again and his heart will shatter into a million pieces.

“I can’t carry a tune,” she admits. “I lost a bet. The only reason I’m here if you must know. I was just about to leave actually.”

“No,” he says quickly and she narrows her eyes. “I-I-I thought your singing was great or no I didn’t really but- I don’t know how to say this.”

“With words, I hope. Just say it.”

“I like you,” he blurts out. She huffs at him.

“You don’t even know me.”

“Give me a chance to get to know you. I saw you up there and I- this is going to sound crazy.”

“Everything you’ve said so far has sounded crazy.”

“I feel like I know you.” That gets him an eyebrow. “Not like that. Ugh, you must think I’m the world’s creepiest guy.”

“Maybe not the world’s, but…” She smiles at him, giving him a chance. All he has to do is take it.

“I think maybe our souls know each other.” He waits for her to laugh at him and walk off. She does neither. She regards him with a tilted head, probably trying to figure out what flavor of crazy he is exactly.

“That’s sweet, um, but I need to go home now. I'm starting a new job tomorrow.”

“Please.” It’s all he can say.

“I really-” she looks past him and he doesn’t know what she sees there, but panic flickers in her eyes. “Shit. Look, I don’t know you and this might be the biggest mistake of my life but you’re cute and my ex just walked in and it didn’t end well. I can’t believe I’m asking this but, can you pretend? For just a second that we’re… more than strangers?”

“As in-”

“Hey Dana.” A tall guy, older than her – and Mulder – walks up to them, certain of himself. Mulder stands up tall and feeling brave, loops his arm around the woman whose name he didn’t know until the guy said it.

“Hey Ethan.”

“Who’s this clown?” He stares at Mulder.

“He’s just- he’s-”

“This clown is her boyfriend,” Mulder says, his voice dark. “And if you bother her again, you will be very sorry.”

“Right,” Ethan says, laughing. “Listen, pal, Dana and I have history. We go way back.”

“You can go wherever you came from,” Mulder says. “But alone.”

“Let’s go have a beer, hm, Dana? Let’s talk.” Before Ethan can say another word, or persuade her, Mulder whirls her to him and she gasps when his mouth lands on hers. She melts into his arms, her own going around his neck. She presses against him, her kiss full of passion and questions. And Mulder feels the same. Something is happening. Something cosmic. When they break apart, Ethan is gone. They stare at each other with open mouths.

“Hello again,” Mulder says.

“I feel like… I feel like I’ve done this before. I feel dizzy.”

“Let me help you.” He takes her elbow and takes her to a chair.

“I’m Dana, by the way,” she says. “Dana Scully.”

“Fox Mulder. My friends call me Mulder. I think we were destined to meet,” he says. “Tonight, or any time. I recognized you. Or something in you. Destiny, fate. Call it whatever you want. You still think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“I don’t believe in destiny,” she says, “or fate, but I believe in choice.” She offers him a hand. Without hesitation, he takes it. “And maybe I do want to get to know you, Fox Mulder.”

[bitter-panacea]

Swallow - Symbiote and Goultard playlist explained

Listen to it here

- Help Me I Am In Hell Nine Inch Nails

No lyrics, vibes only. First contact, contamination taking hold. Hoping for help that will not come.

- Many Hands Lingua Ignota

In unforgiving night, God came. Plainly spoke my given name. The Lord held me by my neck. "I wish things could be different," he wept. Upon your pale, pale body, I will put many hands. And rough, rough fingers for every hole you have.

God loves you but will not help you. There is no escape from the torture. Is it all God's will?

But the kingdom and the power and the glory are yours. The cool and quiet darkness that surrounds you is yours. The fires that swallow up the silent mountains are yours. The floods that drown the deserts and the valleys are yours.

The promise that this suffering is righteous and will empower you (lie)

- Sugarbread Soap&Skin

Identity starts to fracture, slowly losing touch with sense of self, until death of his former self as the Symbiote makes Goultard his.

Ich spür' mich nicht mehr (I don't feel myself anymore). Try to break one's heart in perpetuity.

Lux perpetua luceat eis (may everlasting light shine upon them/ sung at funeral mass)

- Belly Oil Jim Williams Titane ost

No lyrics, vibes only. Not spoiling the movie this is from. An inhuman creature is growing inside the main character's body and black crude oil starts leaking from open wounds on her stomach.

- Ripe (With Decay) Nine Inch Nails

No lyrics, vibes only, title is self explanatory. It grows and consumes all.

- Intent or Instinct Pharmakon

All the Pharmakon songs in this playlist convey something very primal and sensory. A panicked animal with its paw stuck in a bear trap desperately gnawing on its own leg to try to free itself.

- Human Nature Gesaffelstein

No lyrics, vibes only. Dread and subjugation. Accepting his new natural state. There is no way out.

- In My Mouth Black Dresses

Trauma bonding and addiction, blurring the lines of where one stops and the other begins

I don't know what I am, but I want you to show me. I don't want to have the capacity to feel lonely. I want you to destroy me, so I'll feel better. I wanna put you in my mouth. Right in my mouth. Right in my head. I'll never let you out. I wanna become something better with you. I wanna fuck our bodies into broken shells. I wanna lose ourselves forever.

- Body Betrays Itself Pharmakon

Self-destruction in a desperate bid for freedom. To no avail. Internal conflict.

It gnaws on its own tail. Feeding into and upon itself. Succubus ouroboros. Chewing whole to self ingest. It takes what I can't give. The body betrays itself.

- Red Sex (Re-strung) Vessel

No lyrics, vibes only. False feeling of empowerment, ascension. Becoming something new together. Detachment and contempt for humanity. Indulging in cruelty and being feared and hated.

- Day of Tears and Mourning Lingua Ignota

A creature, a beast, a demon. Absolute rage and despair. Leaving nothing but death and destruction in its wake. A cry for help that goes unheard once more.

- Replay Lady Gaga (Dorian Electra version)

It's all a game

Every single day, yeah, I dig a grave. Then I sit inside it, wondering if I'll behave. It's a game I play, and I hate to say. You're the worst thing and the best thing that's happened to me. These demons, these demons, I must slay, I must slay. Never stop, like a song playing and I can't escape. On rewind, on repeat, incessant, all day. Spinning it like you're a DJ, torture me on replay

- Freak On a Leash Korn

Doomed to have everything taken from him. This freedom from society's adoration and expectations is all an illusion, he's still chained, on a leash.

Something takes a part of me. Something lost and never seen. Every time I start to believe. Something's raped and taken from me, from me. Sometimes I cannot take this place. Can't I take away all this pain? I try to every night, all in vain, in vain. Sometimes it's my life I can't taste. Sometimes I cannot feel my face. You'll never see me fall from grace. Feeling like a freak on a leash (you wanna see the light). Feeling like I have no release (so do I). How many times have I felt diseased? (You wanna see the light)

- Turbine Womb Soap&Skin

No lyrics, vibes only. The need for something, anything, to fill the deep dark void inside. Yearning for the warmth of the crimson dofus.

- Mr Self Destruct Nine Inch Nails

Goultard's self-destructive habits. Sort of self explanatory.

I am the voice inside your head (and I control you). I am the lover in your bed (and I control you). You let me do this to you (I am the exit). You let me do this to you (I am the exit).You let me do this to you (I am the exit). I am the needle in your vein. I am the high you can't sustain. I am the silencing machine (and I control you). I am the end of all your dreams (and I control you). I take you where you want to go. I give you all you need to know. I drag you down, I use you up.

- Eternal Nausea Black Dresses

Numbness and illness.

I live in nausea, eternal nausea. In a spotlight shaped like a spiral. I'm in the bible, God's (favorite) (secret) idol. Trying to see the world through the anhedonia. Feels kinda like my soul is burnt. Too late, too late, if only, uh

- Memphisto Depeche Mode

No lyrics, vibes only. Trying to escape is pointless. There is less pain in not resisting.

-Reptile Nine Inch Nails

The symbiote's utter obsession with Goultard, his need to consume him/be consumed by him, is an infection too. They contaminate each other, enable each other. Indulging in depravity.

She spreads herself wide open. To let the insects in. She leaves a trail of honey. To show me where she's been. Oh, my beautiful liar. Oh, my precious whore. My disease, my infection. I am so impure. Devils speak of the way in which she'll manifest. Angels bleed from the tainted touch of my caress. Need to contaminate to alleviate this loneliness.

- Primitive Struggle Pharmakon

No lyrics, vibes only. Desperately trying to purge the poison out.

- Around Every Corner Nine Inch Nails

No lyrics, vibes only. Paranoia. Eyes everywhere.

- The Severed Bond Ludvig Forssell

No lyrics, vibes only. Falling apart. Weakness. The symbiote is going to abandon Goultard.

- One Million Eyes Mansfield T.Y.A

Separated for the first time after 1400 years. Staring at each other from afar.

When you look at me. It's one million eyes. Staring at me at the same time. When you speak to me. I hear lots of voices. Drowning to my ears. When you go away. I breathe your dark shadows. Hanging around my sorrows

- Bitter and Sick One Two

Withdrawal and wanting him back

Shut out the light. Put me through hell again. I miss the fire. Let′s burn the other end. With no end in sight. Come on and break me down. I'll let you ruin my day. Flow through my veins. I need a fix. Bitter and sick. Try it again. Your fingers round my neck. Just how I like. Make me your mess again. Do it tonight

- Help Me Faith Hammock

Parallels Oh the Bliss on the Arty/Goultard Playlist. Arty saves Goultard and frees him from the demon. Arty is the one Goultard worships.

I once was a child with innocent eyes. And my family swore they knew best for my life. And when I grew old. I was riddled with sin. Locked my soul in the dark. Never let the light in. Help me Faith, help me Faith. Shield me from sadness. Lead me to the Bliss.

[yan-snowcave]

🌹My Soulmate Turned Blue🌹

GN!Reader x Keith & Tenebris, Romantic soulmates

Word Count : 5.1K

Info : The chibi version of Keith/Tenebris is called Rosebud

E/C - Eye color

Y/N - Your Name

A/N : Some of the Chibi Soulmate information isn't mentioned here since it didn't really fit naturally into the oneshot. So I might make a seperate post about them is people are intrested.

Keith & Tenebris belong to @dualityvn

[Thanks to my Friend @hellomylovecomic who Beta read this oneshot]

With an exhausted groan you closed your laptop, head falling onto the desk with a dull thud. Next to you sat your beloved chibi, petting your hand while letting out a gentle, almost comforting string of chirps and squeaks. 

"I knew all of this shit already, why isn't there a website or some paper about chibis changing colours!? I mean, I can't be the first one to have this happen to, right!?" 

The little blond chibi simply shrugged, looking as helpless as you felt right now. It was the first time you saw your friend turn into this form, which was followed by one of the worst tantrums you ever had to witness.

At least it didn't leave any long lasting damages to the apartment, but it still didn't solve the issue at hand. The colour change? Form change? Whatever it was, it seemed that your companion couldn't change back. Instead he kept the blue skin, and two squiggly lines had grown from each corner of his mouth, only stopping shortly below his eyes. Not to mention those sharp teeth that had replaced the once duller, human ones.

It didn't exactly help that whoever you contacted, be it friends, doctors or even those that claimed to know more about chibis than anyone else, in a desperate attempt to get some answer no one could simply give you an answer to your problem. Some even dared to suggest bringing Rosebud to a research facility to study him. 

Of course, you refused those offers faster than they could type another message. You didn't want to risk strangers poking and prodding your soulmate for whatever scientific reason they had. 

"Guess we're stuck like this for a while…"

Squeak!

"Hmmm? What is it, something bothering you? If this is about the chocolate, you won't get more of it. Last time you had a sugar ru-"

Chirp…Squeak, squeak!

[E/C] eyes widened as your companion continued to jump around frantically, pointing at the clock that hung on the wall, ticking away in peace. With each tick, a slight bit of dread filled you as you realised that you would be late to work. And you still needed to figure out how to keep Rosebud hidden from the others.

"Fuck." 

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🪴 .⋅} ────── ⊰

Running through the rainy streets, you silently cursed whatever otherworldly being had it out for you today. A broken umbrella dangled from your right hand while the other was placed protectively over your heart. Underneath the thick jacket was a breast pocket where Rosebud was currently 'hiding' in. 

Growls and squeaks in protest were drowned out by the heavy rain. You knew that it probably wasn't the most comfortable place, but you’d rather not deal with a sick chibi and the form change. Could he even get sick in this form? Whatever, better safe than sorry. Who knows if getting sick in this form would be a death sentence on this lil' guy.

But, before your thoughts could slip deeper into this rabbit hole of worries, Rosebud silently and skillfully climbed out of the pocket. He clung onto your shirt as he scuttled around like a little rat, before popping out of your collar, wiggling with all of his might out of there and standing on your shoulder. He pointed at the nearby flower shop. 

Rosebud, since you could remember having him, had an interest in plants. His own name even originated from the time you found him napping near a rosebud, batting away your finger and grumbling whenever someone tried to touch the rosebud. It was almost like a dragon protecting its hoard. 

Shaking your head, your eyes locked onto Rosebud's big puppy eyes. An exhausted sigh left your lips, and your shoulders slouched. No matter how much you wanted to indulge your chibi, you couldn't. You were already running late, and getting chewed out by your boss wasn't what you needed today. 

"Not now, Rosebud. We can go after my shift is done to get some flowers, for now be patie-Huh!? Hey, come back you little-!" 

And just like that Rosebud was off, running through the wet street. He avoided puddles, nearby passersby and dodged your attempts of capturing him as if they would doom him to his death. All the while he would turn to see if you were still after him, squeaking encouragingly at you to continue chasing him into the flower shop.

You didn't know if this was some new game he made up or if he wanted to be a little brat, but whatever it was, he will be grounded and lose his Switch privileges. 

Bursting through the door panting and soggy from the rain, you looked frantically around for your companion. Walking along the potted plants, the sweet scent of the flowers flowed throughout the area, giving the little shop a peaceful, almost safe feeling to it, as if you could be yourself without having the fear of being judged. You double-checked the roses and forget-me-nots in hope of finding your chibi hiding behind those, but nothing was there. Not even any sort of trace like shoe prints. 

"Of fucking course this had to happen, this is why I shouldn't have given him these chocolate shards. Stupid, speedy thing, when I get my hands on him I will-" 

A cough interrupted your grumbling. Turning around, you came face to face with a strangely familiar face. Big blue eyes that seemed all too gentle, soft looking blond curls that just begged to have a hand run through them and that adorable, kinda nerdy outfit. Even the stance the man was holding himself in was oh-so familiar. And that's when it hit you right in the face. 

You have found Rosebud's counterpart who held his own smaller, blue skinned-self in his hands, who was purring up a storm as he looked between you two as if to confirm your thoughts. 

"Is this little guy yours, by chance? I found him hiding behind the peace lilies display."

"Yeah, he belongs to me. I hope he didn't cause too much trouble. You know how chibis are when they are in a playful mood, always causing some sort of trouble."

"Yeah..." A sad gleam shined in his big, blue eyes. His fingers ran gently through Rosebud's blond locks before he held him out to you. Something inside you told you to stay, to talk to him more, maybe even dare to ask him out.

After all, he was Rosebud's counterpart, he must have had your chibi around somewhere. Work could wait, it wasn't that uncommon for people who found their soulmate to be late to their job or meetings. It was understandable for most that once you find the one, you want to stay with them at least for a bit. Who knew if you would ever see him again after today? Life had already screwed you up too many times now, you couldn't let this chance slip out of your grasp.

"Oh, you can hold him if you want…Maybe you can show me the peace lilies he was at? He's a fan of flowers and botanics in general, so I might as well buy him one…If he promises not to run away again."

Squeak, squeak chirps…

Replied Rosebud as he refused to meet your eyes, grumbling silently as you took him back, letting him rest in the palm of your hand. 

The walk to the peace lilies was a quiet one, it didn't have the anticipated awkwardness of the moment. Instead it was a comfortable one; just being in the presence of the blond florist made you feel so at peace, as if you could simply walk for hours on end with him, no words needing to be spoken or even looks to be shared. The world could go under, fire could rain down upon you, but as long as you had him by your side everything would turn out fine. You just knew it. 

Is this what people meant when they said your soulmate would fill a gap that was hidden? To give you comfort and safety that promised peace of one's mind and soul? To set your heart aflame with a raging fire of love that would never dare to burn you?

"Here we are. Peace lilies are very beginner friendly so I think they would be great for you. Since they are in a pot, you would need to keep the soil moist and avoid direct sunlight. They also like warm temperatures since they are a tropical species. 

Then again some peace lilies can handle more sunlight than others, though generally if the leaves are pale and curled it means that it's getting too much light and it should be moved into a shadier location. 

Oh, and if the leaves ever get brown points it means that the air around them is too dry, a plant water spray should help out if that's the problem.

Also a good soil for peace lilies is a rich, loose potting soil that contains plenty of organic material. You might need to come back later to get bigger pots and such soil if these guys start to grow larger. But don't worry, once the time comes I will help you get the right soil to keep your plant friend happy and healthy.

Ah, during the winter season you should reduce the watering but watch out to not let the soil dry out. They also prefer a moist warmth, so you should avoid drafts and temperatures below 12°C (55°F). Their ideal temperature is generally between 18°-26°C (65°-80°F). 

Oh, but during the spring and summer, you should spritz the leaves every week with distilled water, since these plants thrive in higher humidity!

These beauties also can absorb benzene, formaldehyde, carbon monoxide and more! Simply put, they purify the air around you and can even prevent mildew. Isn't that interesting?

Also, did you know that peace lilies are not a member of the lily family? They are actually from the Araceae family, meaning that they are related to the philodendron, anthurium and alocasia!

Another neat fact about these beauties is their symbolism. While more often than not symbolism differs from culture to culture, these flowers are a symbol of peace in almost all of them.

They also represent healing yourself and sometimes even sympathy, so people tend to send these flowers when attempting to end an old feud.

Oh, but you should keep them away from children and pets, or in this case chibis. While they aren't lethal, they can irritate the mouth and stomach if someone chews or eats them. And considering how small chibis are, one should always be more on the cautious side.

Also, like most other plants, peace lilies have a few pest and disease problems. They can be easily fixed, though, by simply cleaning the leaves with a damp cloth.

But besides that, what type of peace lily would you want? We have many different varieties since these are very hybridised flowers. Our selection ranges from smaller lilies like the 'Power petit' which only grows to be 15 inches, to giants like the 'Sensation,' which will reach up to be 6 feet in height and have broad, long leaves. 

Another popular variant we have is the 'Starlight' peace lily variant. They are known for heavy, multiple blooms with as many as 20 flowers on a single plant.

…Oh, I'm so sorry! I was rambling again b-but as I said, these are very beginner friendly. I can highly recommend them for people just starting out!" 

Snapping out of your swooning, you nodded in agreement. Not wanting to admit that you didn't even hear most of it, being more distracted by those sparks of joy in his eyes, how his face brightened up as he spoke about these flowers. Oh, how you wished he would talk about you like this. To be as special as those plants in his eyes. 

"Is that all or do you need something else?" 

"Hmm? Oh, yeah that's all but I…Well, this might be a bit sudden and I don't wanna pressure you or anything, but could I maybe get your number?" 

A blush formed on his cheeks as his eyes averted from yours. It didn't do anything to hide the sad gaze that once again took over his face or how his shoulder slumped. 

"Don't take this the wrong way, I…I think you're good looking and you seem like a nice person, but having my number wouldn't be a very good idea." 

"Ah, that's fine then. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable or anything, thanks for all the information about these peace lilies. Have a good day, until next time."

Meeting your eyes one last time he gave you a gentle smile, hand waving as he wished you a good day. As you walked out, you didn't even realize how silent Rosebud was. Too preoccupied with the strained feeling in your chest, it soon got joined by a strong sorrowful longing and the feeling of being watched.

"Oh, Rosebud, I think this might be a one-sided soulmate link…Rosebud, you ok, buddy?"

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🪴 .⋅} ────── ⊰

To say your boss chewed you out would be an understatement, you barely got out of that room alive thanks to a sudden meeting. Otherwise he probably would have ripped you in two and force you to work overtime. Not to mention how Jacob overheard some of it and decided to try and pry more info out of you.

It was just so exhausting and it didn't even stop there, oh no. On your way back, you discovered that Rosebud was slowly changing back to the form you were familiar with. His eyes changed back to those big doe-eyes, most of his skin had turned back to a peachy colour, leaving only the occasional blue spots here and there. 

Currently, Rosebud was sleeping in your breast pocket. Nonsensical growls, huffs and chirps filled the silently stressed office. 

You couldn't even focus on your work, the mystery about Rosebud's new form always popping back up in your head. Alongside the florist you met—you really should have looked at his name tag. 

But that brought up a set of new questions. Why didn't his chibi make any noises? It's uncommon for chibis to not stay close to their partner, let alone be silent when they are seperated, and not to mention the looks he gave you. The way he held himself, something inside you just knew that he probably hadn't had an easy time with the romantic side of life. 

"Hey, where's your squeaky cuddle monster?"

"Oh holy fucking shi-! Jacob, don't scare me like that!" 

Holding his arms up in front of his chest, a nervous chuckle slipped past his lips. "Sorry about that, but really, where's your chibi? Normally that lil' bugger would have stolen my chocolate chip cookies already. It's a bit boring without him here, y'know?"

"He's taking a nap, we had an quite eventful morning today."

"That never stopped him before from becoming a cookie thief."

"Well today it does, now choo! We have work to do and I would rather do it while it's quiet."

Jacob shrugged before turning back to his own computer, the sound of keyboard clicking and phone calls soon becoming background noises to you. Slowly the sun settled and more and more people left the office. 

Until it was only you and a few others left, Rosebud still napped in your breast pocket. His skin had lost all of its blue coloration, his clothes had changed back to the light academy style he normally wore in this form.  

With a quick wave you wished the others a goodnight. Walking out of the building into the cool night you let out a small sigh. Your shoulders relaxed as you simply let yourself enjoy this moment. Yes, the day was rather stressful, but you got through and now you could relax, maybe Rosebud would even like to bake something. Then again, he probably would just demand to lick the spoon clean.

While your mind made up the image of a small, flour covered chibi sitting near a bowl and licking at a small wooden spoon covered in cookie batter, a shiver ran down your spine. The feeling of being watched had returned, and as you looked around you spotted him. Leaning against a wall was a man wearing a leather jacket. His overall style reminded you of a punk, but what caught your attention the most was the blue skin. 

Purple, small irises with aggravated sclera met wide (E/C) eyes. Not daring to break eye contact with him, you made your way towards the stranger. Curiosity about the familiar blue skin took over you, was it a sign for something?

Did fate decide to change your soulmate last minute? But why would Rosebud change back to his other form then? Maybe you were suppose to have two soulmates? Then again, others who were suppose to have multiple soulmates get multiple chibis…

You didn't even realize that you stopped a few short meters away from the stranger. "Ummm…I noticed that you were staring at me. Can I help you?"

"Sure you can. Give me your number." The man smiled. This wasn't really what you expected, but you didn't even really know what you would have expected. The day was just getting stranger with each passing hour.

"I can do you one better, handsome." 

"Handsome?"

"I will invite you into my apartment and then if we are both happy with how the day ends, I will give you my number, deal?" Taking the stranger's hand between yours you could feel a small, comforting yet anxious spark between you two.

The stranger blinked, eyes zipping from your hands to your (E/C) eyes. He looked quite flabbergasted as he questioned if you were serious about this.

"Yeah, why shouldn't I?"

"Well, most people when they see me normally stare, whisper or in some cases scream shit after me for how I look. Some even get creeped out and call me…Monster." A sour look took over his face, fist clenched and you caught a glimpse at those sharp teeth.

"You're not a monster, you're quite cute in my opinion."

"What?"

"Nothing!"

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🪴 .⋅} ────── ⊰

The walk back to your apartment was filled with side glances, nervous smiles and Tenebris’ blushing. Something inside you felt as if you saw him before—maybe you saw him on the streets? It does get quite lively around here during the morning and evening rush, so it wouldn't be that surprising.

"Well, here we are." Opening the door, you spread your arms in a dramatic way, grinning from ear to ear as the very plain looking floor was revealed to your guest. 

"Come in, come in, don't be shy. But leave the shoes by the door, I don't want the apartment to get dirty again." 

Tenebris nodded, stepping into the apartment he allowed himself to look around. The pictures and posters of game characters had apparently caught his eyes before he continued to look at the other decorations scattered around the apartment.

It was mostly filled with the aforementioned pictures, posters but also a few small knick-knacks. Shoes were thrown without a care near the door and the walls held the occasional small dent from Rosebud's tantrums.

Gently tugging on Tenebris’ hand, you led him to the living room, dropping yourself on the couch before gently tapping the seat beside you. It was kinda adorable, seeing the towering man slowly shuffle over to you. The purple blush had lessened, but from the close proximity you could still see it. 

"So, I kind of invited you here for a reason, it's nothing bad I swear. I just ugh, ok, something just happened today and nobody could help me. Even when I tried to find something online nothing came up! I was slowly losing hope but then I saw you," pointing at him your grin spread at his confusion.

"Me?" The man pointed at himself, eyes going wide. 

"Yes, you! You looked just exactly how my chibi does, or well, he looked like that in the morning. Now he's kinda back in his original form? I guess? But that's besides the point right no-"

Mrrp? Chirp, chirp…Squeak?

Rosebud slowly emerged from the pocket, yawning and rubbing his eyes as his fluffy blond locks fell over his face. Clearly still half asleep but wanting to see what all this ruckus is about. 

What neither of you expected was the hurt look taking over Tenebris eyes. His hands shook as he started to murmur under his breath, you barely caught some of the words he said.

"Keith said-

No he wouldn't lie-

Why should he!? No, this ca-

How, why!?

This fucking-

...Did you fucking trick him!?"

Rosebud let out a scared chirp before ducking back into his napping place, leaving you alone and confused to face a very pissed Tenebris who was radiating with bloodlust.

"W-who's Keith? What do you mean by tricking him? I wouldn't lie to you, Tenebris, please calm down." Slowly backing away from him, you gave him enough room to breathe, hoping that he couldn't hear how rapid your heart was beating against your chest. Adrenaline was coursing through your body. It felt as if you were caught with an hungry apex predator and you were his prey. 

"Who's Keith? Are you fucking kidding me!? Do you think I'm stupid to fall for this shit!?" He snarled, sharp teeth glistening in the cheap artificial light as he punched the wall next to him, leaving a large dent that reminded you of Rosebud's.

"And you tried to get his number, yet you also implied we would date, hah…Are you some sort of player? Is this some sort of fucking sick game to y-...What? No, not now! Let me deal with them! No, you won-argh!" 

Tenebris grabbed a hold of his blond locks, cursing and arguing with someone who wasn't there. Your worry only grew as he tugged stronger against his hair, something inside you wanted to get closer to calm him down. 

But your body was frozen in place, forced to watch as Tenebris blue skin slowly turned into a peachy colour. The mouth that once held sharp rows of teeth turned more human-like, the squiggly lines on the corner of his mouth disappeared. His shoulders slumped as shaking hands slowly removed themselves from the golden locks. 

And then you saw him, those big blue doe-eyes looking right at you, the florist who you met that morning. The one who said getting his number wouldn't be a good idea, the one you believed to be your soulmate, your one and only.

"Umm…Nice to meet you again? I guess I should introduce myself? I'm Keith and… Apparently one of your soulmates?" 

…

You had so many questions.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🪴 .⋅} ────── ⊰

"So just to recap, Tenebris isn't a demon, but some entity that has been with you since your birth? You two can switch between each other but the one who isn't in control can't hear or see anything beside the thoughts of the one in control. And people normally tell you to stay the fuck away after meeting Tenebris."

Keith nodded. "Yep, that's basically it…I'm sorry that Tenebris lost it, it's just, well…It was the first time we ever saw someone with a soulmate representing him. Someone who would-"

"Accept him for who he is and not run away screaming as if death himself was after their ass?"

Covering his mouth to block the light chuckle, the blond nodded in agreement, clearly amused by your word of choice.

"Well, if those people couldn't accept Tenebris, then I would say they didn't deserve to be with either of you. Both of you have a certain charm y'know? And I don't just say this as your soulmate."

Squeak, chirp! Chirp!

Pointing at the small squeaking creature with a puffed out chest you continued. "See? Even Rosebud agrees with me and he's a smart fella, at least he is when he isn't trying to steal a certain someone's snacks." 

Squeak!? Squeak!

"Deny it all you want, I know that an entire package of oreos can't move on its own, let alone open itself up and leave a crumb trail behind."

Squeak…

Rosebud looked a little ashamed before turning towards you with the biggest puppy eyes he could muster up, silently asking for your forgiveness and to not extend his 'no desert after a meal' punishment for yet another week.

Your shoulders slumped, followed by a tired sigh as you simply nodded towards the now happily purring chibi. The rather sweet scene brought another thought to your mind, one that had been buried under all of the hecticness that just happened in under 30 minutes.

Where exactly is Keith's chibi?

It couldn't be near Keith, knowing how slippery those little guys are they would have already met in the middle of the room to play. There also wasn't ever a sound of a chibi or even of small movements. Keith and Tenebris also don't seem like the people who would neglect such a creature, and that only brought one option to mind. 

'Time to ruin a lighthearted moment' you thought, taking a deep breath. You calmed your wild running thoughts, building up the courage before looking right at Keith's blue eyes. Your question burned on the tip of your tongue.

"This still does leave one question unanswered, you don't have to answer it of course if you're not comfortable with me knowing. I would never want ro pressure you into anything like this but…Keith, where is your chibi? You should've gotten one when you two turned 18, did something happen to it?" Keith's demeanour shifted, first he froze in place with wide doe-eyes. 

Then his gaze shifted to you, the floor and then at the wall; his eyes never stayed in one place for too long. A sudden concentrated, yet tense, look washed over his face, shoulders tensing up as his fingers fidgeted with the buttons on his cuffs. Occasionally a few words would leave his lips but they made no sense, your best guess was that he was currently talking with Tenebris and those words just slipped out unconsciously. 

It felt like an eternity as you watched Keith change through many different emotions, at first you thought that maybe they were at a standstill. But the longer it went on the more you started to worry that something worse was happening, especially when a few blue spots started to appear on his skin.

Not knowing what to do, you gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Smiling, you felt him jolt underneath your touch, eyes furrowed, looking towards the ground as his lips formed a frown. The squiggly lines slowly grew from the edges of his lips towards his cheekbones, the big blue doe-eyes were exchanged for small purple irises and the familiar aggravated sclera. 

With one blink, Tenebris sat once again in front of you. "It's my fault that we…That Keith, didn't get a soulmate thing. He probably would deny it but there isn't another fucking explanation for it, everyone got one except us! And what's the only diffrence between us and people like you, like them!?...Me, I'm sure I'm the god damn fucking problem here."

"Tenebris…" 

"Don't. Just, don't…I don't want your pity or the 'this isn't your fault' shit. What other explanation is there? Huh? That's right, nothing!" An ever growing shiver of rage ran down his spine, his face contorting into one of pure agony-filled anger at himself. Teeth clenched, free for all to see as tears built up in the corner of his eyes. You didn't know if they were of sadness, anger, maybe something else entirely—maybe it's a mix of them? 

Slowly the hand on his shoulder slid down towards his shivering hands. Intertwining them as your forehead rested against his own, you closed your eyes and solely focused on Tenebris and the support he needed at this moment. 

Your other hand gently rested on his cheek, thumb running along the squiggly line as gently as possible, not wanting to disturb or ruin the moment you two were sharing.

"Tenebris, listen to me. I won't pity you, but I also won't lie to you. I don't believe it was your fault for not getting a chibi, there probably are people who never got one and I'm sure they didn't share a body with one of your kind. 

Don't hate yourself for something like this, please. You're still my soulmate, chibi or not, you will always be part of my soul. You will always be one of my better halves, one of the two people who fate decided to bond with me and I couldn't be more happy about it.

And even if this soulmate thing didn't exist I am sure that we would have found each other. One way or another, this also doesn't just apply to Keith. It also applies to you, I would have found you and roped you into this relationship. You're both mine and I am yours, even if one day something tries to tear us apart. I will fight tooth and nail to stay by your side, death might tear us apart in the end but I think even then…We would find some way back to each other maybe in another life? Or whatever lies beyond death, I won't ever let either of you two dorks go, understood?"

Tenebris leaned into your gentle touch, eyes closing as he let out a hum of agreement. His forehead gently rubbed against your own before he let his head rest on your shoulder. Blue arms wrapped around you in a comfortable, protective hug.

"...Can I kiss you?"

"Sure thing, loverboy. But afterwards, I also wanna give Keith a little talking to and a kiss, you're ok with that right?"

"...Yeah, sure whatever. You said it yourself, we belong to you and you belong to us. I guess sharing you with him won't be that bad…"

"We can work things out in detail later, but for now, lift your head up and let me kiss those soft lips.~"

And as Tenebris lifted his head, your lips met his in a short, yet love-filled embrace. His cheeks turned a deep shade of purple, a silent purr building up in his chest as he enjoyed the moment between you two. He let Keith take over once again, startling him into the moment.

As you two parted, you barely held in your laughter at Keith's surprised look. Mouth agape like a fish's as Tenebris caught him up somewhat on what had happened. This also included some light teasing on his behalf.

"You ok there, handsome?"

"Yes…Better than ever, actually. Could I get another kiss? Please?"

"Sure thing, love~"

[abarbaricyalp]

Hi! If you're still doing the Sambucky romance ask: 🚨

You know I love a good 'mission goes awry' prompt. Sometimes Sam loses his clothes in those ones 😊 From this prompt list

This one got away from me. I don't even know what this is. CW: Mild violence, some monster things

🚨 When a mission goes awry

Bucky blinked and the giant lizard he'd been trying to choke out was no longer in his arms.

Oh no, this was not happening again.

He slowly got to his feet, squinting through the fog that was moving like it was alive. It was almost like the atmosphere of rolling around in arid dirt with the lizards, but wet where that had been dry.

"Sam?" he called out cautiously.

He was answered by an animalistic screech that had him covering his ears and turning tail.

He'd been here before. He hadn't liked it.

The multiverse had broken four days ago. Bucky and Sam had had nothing to do with it, thank you very much. They hadn't even known the multiverse was real until a handful of months ago. Bucky was still fucked up over the reality stone. He could not handle a broken multiverse.

Except that now, he had to.

If he'd thought blipping out of existence had been bad, blipping into another Bucky Barnes's existence was much worse. There did not seem to be a version of him that sat on a beautiful front porch at sunset beside Sam and watched the bees tend their garden while eating homemade blueberry pie. It was always some kind of fuckery.

This fuckery was vampires. The fog had kind of suggested it, but he was never going to forget that noise or the claws and teeth that came with it. How come vampire him was always fighting some kind of harpy?

Like he said, he didn't know anything about the multiverse. He didn't know how multiversal travel should work. Over the past four days, it had worked by swapping him and Sam with another Bucky and Sam every time they were in a fight. And Sams and Buckys got into lots of fights! The world-- every world apparently-- constantly needed to be saved. Actually, Bucky should talk to his therapist about that.

"Sam!" he called again as he ran, looking for any space in this dilapidated graveyard to hide. Last time, it had been a dilapidated castle. Much easier to hide in. Especially because he refused to jump into any of the wrenched open caskets in their upturned Graves. "Could really use some help, birdbrain!"

As if on cue, the harpy and another figure plummeted to the ground just a few feet in front of Bucky. It was a clash of talons and feathers--the worst bird fight Bucky had ever seen between New York pigeons escalated by about 100.

The harpy was a grotesque thing, half human, half bird, all demon. The man on top of it was disarmingly. Sam was always beautiful. It was just that vampire-Sam also had some bird mutation, which gave him huge wings, which grew from and encompassed the upper half of his arms and he had these bird eyes in this molten gold color that were uncannily round with the color spreading from edge to edge. When he was on the attack like this, he had a sharp break and talons instead of fingers.

Bucky was still very much into it.

The harpy wrenched itself away with another ear splitting screech and a trailing line of blood from a new wound on its gross scaly bird neck. It screeched one more time for emphasis and took to the sky, off kilter but still powerful.

When Sam turned to him, he was mostly human--or vampire?-- again. His gold eyes narrowed when he found Bucky. "You again," he groaned.

Vampire-Sam didn't like human-Bucky, Bucky had discovered last time he was dumped in this penny dreadful novel come to life.

"Have there been many others?" Bucky asked. "Have you been pulled away much?"

"Yes and yes," Sam answered. "I just got back from a cow farm in the 1900s."

Bucky grimaced. He could not fathom a cowboy version of himself. Cowboy-Sam had to be super hot though. "I think they're called ranches."

The vampire scoffed and waved a razor-nail tipped hand dismissively. "Leave," he ordered. "And bring James back."

Bucky didn't actually know how to leave, but the vampire had some ability to manipulate these crossovers.

Bucky landed in a new environment, which still didn't have giant lizards. "Oh goddammit," he growled and shoved himself to his feet again. "Sam!"

. . .

Sam landed face first in the sand. He pushed himself up and spit out wet sand before turning over onto his back. This was driveline the Gulf, he decided. No white sand beaches here and the ocean beyond was a tumultuous grey-green beneath the brilliant sunset painting the surface of it.

"Buck!" he called into the sky.

A few seconds later, the sounds of someone shuffling through the shallows interrupted the lapping of the waves. Sam looked over and felt his mouth literally drop open. He blinked against the shine of the sunset and watched Bucky come out of the waves, water cascading off of him like a commercial. He shook his shaggy hair out of his face and hiked a surfboard closer to his side as he hit the shore and had to drag it through the wet sand. He was all lithe silhouette and obvious muscle. He was missing his arm, no prosthesis in sight, and he looked like a walking advertisement. Sam's mouth was kind of dry.

He grinned a little at Sam, dropping the board into the sand to wave, and then jogged over. His pleased expression quickly fell though and he dropped to his knees next to Sam with a worried frenzy to his movements.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, man, I just tripped," Sam said.

"I would say so, yeah!" Bucky agreed. "Why do you have legs?"

Sam's brain shorted out for a moment. Normally, he had a response for everything, but he'd never been asked why he had legs. "Because I was born with them?" he hazarded.

But his response was lost in a flurry of movement and curses as Bucky got his arm around Sam's chest--wow, that was a nice feeling--and hauled him into the water. Sam futilely tried to get his feet under him, but Bucky was really strong and fast and the sand was at the soupy-sinking moment of a tide change over loose sand.

"The water will help," Bucky said in a way that suggested he was still trying to convince himself of the same thing. "Oh, God, what if it doesn't?"

Sam was more confused than he ever had been, and he'd seen people get really big and really small, talking raccoons, an assortment of aliens, rocks that altered reality, time, and space, and literal gods.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked. "Who am I here?"

Bucky squawked a little. "You're forgetting who you are? The Little Mermaid didn't cover that!"

Sam's eyebrows went up. "I'm a merman?" he asked in surprise. His mama had always said he was a water baby.

"Sam!" Bucky whined desperately.

Sam finally took total mercy on him and put a hand on Bucky's shoulder to keep him still. "Hey, calm down. I'm not your Sam," he said. "I guess you haven't had to deal with any of this yet."

Bucky stared at him, blue eyes almost orange in the sun, wide and a little naïve. God, he seemed so young. "Deal with what?" he asked

"The multiverse," Sam said. "I'm not your Sam. We swapped places."

Bucky's tanned skin drained to a more familiar color. "You have to switch back! He can't be outside of the water for long."

And, oh yeah. Shit. Sam didn't know how to control any of this. He wasn't sure how to intentionally swap out with a specific other Sam.

"Okay, okay, calm down, kiddo," Sam said softly. "These things are triggered by fights. Were you part of a battle or something?"

Bucky's face screwed to one side. "No. Why would I be? I was on the waves. But Sam wasn't with me. He could've been dealing with anything down there."

Sam looked to the expanse of ocean that Bucky gestured to. There was no way Sam could figure out where the other Sam had been, much less take up his fight again.

"Listen, I'll try my hardest," Sam said. "But I don't know how to bring him straight back. I'm not in charge of this."

"I don't care about any of that. I don't care about your multiverse. Make it bring him back," Bucky said. There was a familiar steel edge to his voice, the tone that came out when his own Bucky skipped worry and went straight to fury. The kind of emotion that usually led to Bucky making bad decisions.

"I'll try," he promised. "I need you to take a swing at me," he said, standing up and shaking water off of his arms. There was no way to wring out the suit, so that was just going to have to stay. Maybe multiversal travel came with free air-drying.

"What?" Bucky asked, looking askance. "I'm not hitting you."

"My adrenaline doesn't get right if I start it. You have to start it."

Bucky's eyes pinched in. "I ain't been in a fight in years."

Wow, Sam thought. A well adjusted Barnes. Who knew. "Come on, kid. Otherwise, I'm gonna go find a jellyfish to antagonize."

Bucky sighed, squirmed for a second, and then swung at Sam.

. . .

Bucky wandered around the great forest with deep skepticism. He wasn't sure what multiverse this was, but it seemed to be one that wasn't inhabited by anybody. What kind of fight had been happening here?

Up ahead, the dense, dark copse eased some and sunlight dappled the ground. He jogged over to it, hoping to shed some light on the situation. God, he wished there was a Sam around to say that to. The trees opened to a rolling hill and a sprawl of space that stretched on for forever.

Bucky rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes and blinked at the image before him. Despite the fact that he'd just walked out of a forest, New York City was ahead of him. The buildings were half destroyed. The other half of them had been taken over by the flora of the area. Vines seemed to be tearing apart concrete and rebar. Trees grew through the middle of roads. Flowers covered every ugly grey space available.

It was kind of beautiful, if not for the fact that this was Bucky's home and every childhood memory he had was now buried. Coney Island was underwater.

Suddenly, something wrapped around Bucky's ankle and yanked him down to the ground hard. He kicked his other foot at the binding, expecting a lasso of some kind or a rope trap. Instead, he found another vine, dragging him back into the forest and a massive bush that was growing by the second.

Bucky began to kick harder and reached for the knife strapped to his thigh.

"Wait!" someone called and suddenly a man was springing into action, dropping himself across Bucky's thighs, facing his legs. He began, not to hack at the vine, but to untie it from Bucky's leg. He made remarkably quick work of it. Bucky couldn't get his charger untangled that fast. He sat back as the vine finished coiling into the bush and let out a satisfied sigh. Then he glanced over his shoulder at Bucky and grinned.

How come they were always so handsome?

The other Sam stood and offered his hand down to Bucky to haul him to his feet. "Don't think too negatively about the plants here," he said. "They always know."

Bucky nodded his acknowledgement. He took in the look of the other Sam. This one had intricate gold designs on his face and down his arms. They were radial in nature, making him look even more like sunshine than usual. "You from around here?" he asked. "What is this place?"

Sam shook his head. "Nah. I was dropped here a while ago. I'm just a fast learner."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed, feeling just a little breathless after that close call. "I kind of figured with the whole--" He gestured to his face. "This seems like some future of the Earth I'm from. I know all those buildings."

Sam nodded. He walked a few steps out again, closer to the crest of the hill, and then sat down like the grass hadn't just tried to kill Bucky. "We're not even from Earth. I don't know how we keep getting caught up in Earth nonsense."

Bucky snorted. "Trust me, Earthlings get caught up in plenty of intergalactic nonsense too." His eyes went to the markings on Sam's arm again, thin, lovely lines sprawling from his elbow.

"Blue," Sam said, lifting Bucky's chin with a gold streaked finger. "Yours are blue." He traced a crescent shape around the corner of Bucky's eye. "You don't have as many. Have you ever seen yourself in one of these things?"

Bucky's face warmed and he gently removed it from Sam's touch, looking back to the death of one New York and the birth of another. "No. I think that's one of the rules. Only one of us at a time."

Sam nodded. "I've noticed that as well. But it usually begins to resolve itself when two people are in the wrong universe."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed again. "I've noticed that too."

Sam grinned at him. He was so handsome, it hurt. "I will be very happy to leave this planet again."

"Yeah, we kind of suck."

Sam reached up to trace another crescent along the joint of Bucky's right shoulder. "Maybe not all of it," he hummed.

Bucky blushed again and pulled out a knife as he turned away. "Let me go instigate something to get us out of here," he muttered. Even walking away, he could feel Sam's radiance

. . .

Sam did end up underwater, but it wasn't any kind of water a merman would want to live in. Maybe a bogman. He spit out marshy water and tried to ignore how many mosquito larvae were definitely in his mouth. There was a conveniently placed liana-type vine right on the bank and he hauled himself out of the water.

Sam was not a bayou man. There were enough horror stories in high school about idiots going missing at night and he'd been in the med-clinic waiting room once when someone had come in with an alligator bite that had taken half the meat of his arm with it. Sam did not like the bayous in practice. Which was to say, he had no idea where he was or how to get out of it.

A howl pierced through the quiet then, which only worked to send Sam's heart tripping in his chest in triple speed. He could totally use this vine to climb into a tree.

Actually, he had wings. He snapped them open and water gushed out of the pack.

Two water universes back to back, he thought with more irritation than he'd felt in a long time. Just his damn luck.

There was another howl then, much closer. Sam did begin to climb into the tree. He was stopped by a curious, "Sam?" and he looked down to find a familiar, uncanny face.

"Hey, Jamie," he greeted, relief flooding through him so quickly he almost went lightheaded.

The genetically-spliced, lab-grown werewolf looked at Sam with wide eyed curiosity. Actually, he was always wide eyed. He very much so had a dog's eyes. It had been a while since James and Bucky had swapped places in the middle of a battle (a precursor to this problem?) and Sam had ended up fighting next to the giant wolf instead of his partner. Bucky and a rougarou-Sam had shown up a while later and the fight was over pretty quickly after that.

"Is Sam around by any chance?" he tried.

"You know he isn't," James answered. It was difficult to read his expressions. He had a broad, flat nose that was as reactive as any puppy's, but usually only with disgust and anger. His pointed ears, too tall to be hidden behind his long hair, were under much better control. Sam had a cat. He looked at the ears for behavioral indicators. "I only just got back myself. I was on a planet called Venus, but not our Venus. It was...interesting." Now his nose scrunched and a cute little blush crept along his furry face.

Sam tried not to let his scowl show too much. This Sam had magic in him, which would move this all along much faster. Still, without sulking too much, Sam asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Like I could rip something open with my teeth. I've barely sat still for five minutes over the past week. I'm going from one fight to the next. Have you ever seen a fight on a planet of pleasure?"

Sam grimaced. "Yeah, I can't really blame you for getting mad. And I probably wouldn't stop you from going full wolf."

"As long as it's not towards you?" James finished, taking the words right from Sam's mouth.

"Wow, all Sams really are the same, huh?"

James grinned, showing off all of his long, sharp teeth. "I can send you on," he said. "Sam showed me how. I just don't know where you're going to land."

"Wow, look at you," Sam complimented. "Please do. I don't wanna start a fight with you."

"You haven't found another way for the quiet places?" James asked, raising his bushy brow. "And they say I have the anger issues."

Sam tsked at him and gestured for him to hurry up.

. . .

A galaxy stretched out below Bucky. It was like something from a painting, all swirling colors and bright spots of planets. Jewel toned galactic highways with actual jewels embedded into it. He sat in red dirt and traced nonsense letters beside himself because it kept him calm.

There was no one else up here. He'd never been sent somewhere where there was no one else. True, this was an entire planet, but it was also an empty planet and Bucky had walked for ages across barren plains and deserts before he'd finally come around one swooping crest and found this view. He'd given up at that point and decided just to wait for something to happen.

It was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. An entire cosmos swirled below him, full of twinkling lights and shining colors. He wondered what lived down there. What music did they listen to and what foods did they like and how did they sleep at night? Surely, something was falling in love at that moment. Something was laughing, something else was crying. He wondered if they were being affected by this multiverse bullshit too. Were there missing citizens? Was some version of Joaquin running around one of those lights trying to get back to wherever he belonged? Was something that lived here now fighting the lizards Bucky had been taken from?

Sam could be down there: a thought which almost made leaping off of this planet a feasible idea. He hadn't considered what would happen if he died in one of these places. Usually, all of the dangerous ones kept him too busy to wonder. The glitch would send him on before it got too hairy. The quiet ones, it was obviously not a problem. But if he did manage to leap off of a planet, would he just float aimlessly for eternity? Would he have to swim through zero gravity space to find some alien to duke it out with? Or if he did blip out with someone else, what would happen to them? Did they land on a planet again? Surely not every Bucky in the multiverses would do something as stupid as jumping into space.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," someone said from behind him.

Bucky whirled around, on his feet instantly. But all that adrenaline drained just as quickly. "Sam," he breathed. Then he was crossing over the red dust on silent steps and clutching at Sam--his Sam--as tightly as he could. It didn't matter how many times this happened; it always felt like this one could be the last.

Sam hugged him back tightly. "I knew this one was you," he said as he pressed his face to Bucky's hair. "You're always mopey-er than the others."

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he still laughed a little. "If you'd been here as long as I have, you'd be moping too," he promised. "Are you okay?" He pulled away to hold Sam's face gently. "Everywhere you went wasn't too bad?" He looked to be in one piece and the exhaustion on his face was par for the course at this point.

Sam smiled and turned his face to kiss the inside of Bucky's right wrist, feeling the flutter of his pulse for a few seconds. "It was pretty quiet. Didn't get dropped into the middle of any fights this time. What about you?"

Bucky shook his head. "I'm fine. I mean, it wasn't quiet, but I'm fine." He smoothed his thumb over Sam's cheek before stepping into his space again. "God, I missed you."

"You say that every time," Sam laughed. "From my experiences, all Sams are the same."

Bucky shook his head. "None of them are you."

Sam held him for a while longer, pressing half kisses to his head, before he finally said, "Come on, sweetheart. Let's head home."

Out of all of the nonsense about this multiverse glitch, the only fast rule was that universal pairs could send themselves home. It was like the glitch evened itself out when they found each other again. All was right in the world for those few moments.

Bucky had to agree. "Yeah, doll. Let's go home."

. . .

Back in the real Colorado, Bucky was instantly taken off his feet by a charging lizard the size of a minivan. Wheezing on the ground--the ideal position to watch Sam go soaring by above--Bucky had to at least admit, it was nice to be back where he knew the monsters and the people and the rules. At least he was home again.