#i won’t assume he is dead until i see his funeral with my own two eyes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ayuki-ikuya · 3 years ago

Note

I come bringing ideas and headcanons.

OK, so we all already know what The Three oldest archons abilities. So I’ve come up with my own ideas we could use for the younger archons! (And yes I’m grouping Ei, Venti and Zhongli as the older siblings since Ei Is 1000 years old Venti is 2,500 and Zhongli is 5,000-6,000 and the other archons are still in the hundreds I think)

Again these aren’t canon just stuff you can use for future Requests for Twisted wonderland x Teyvat God! Reader

For Dendro archon!Reader

Definitely a Bow User. And Is a Healer. But the their Ult can cause damage

I have a theory That during the Archon War The dendro Archin created the Regisvines to fight for them, and only two were left. I also Headcanon The dendro archon can bring plants to life and overwrite what each plant can do. (Maybe even bring mushrooms to life 👀).

Maybe They can create a giant plant from the ground that spreads Healing energies and since this is a god where talking about can Cure Curses (Ahem Vils Curses Ahem) and major Diseases and what not.

For Their Ult maybe a giant plant monster (kinda like how Gouba and Oz exists ) that will attack for them (could make for fun combos with different elements like if the dendro archon was wet Hydro Plant monster)

For Hydro archon!reader

Polearm or sword (theirs way too many Hydro Catalyst) Healer and Dps, Why? Cause I say so.

You’ve mentioned how Hydro archon summons a giant wave? I’ll do you one better and their E skill summons a giant sea creature of your choosing to soak the fighters (A cool visual is their polearm turning into a big dream catcher then going swoosh and Baam Maybe like A giant Water Koi fish finna drown your ass *ahem ace ahem*)

Now mihoyo likes to reference Their character form honkai impact into genshin impact (and since they took a characters look from Honkai and another characters abilities with the whole Dual ego thing for Raiden shogun and Ei) I’m gonna base this Ultimate Skill From a character from Honkai (for research search up Herrsercher of Sentience)

Since the Hydro archons whole thing is about Justice. Now here me out here. WATER WHIP. Just a giant whip of water that can go on for miles (maybe it’s salty maybe it’s like fresh water depends on our readers mood lolol). Like, It’s whip of water strong enough to cut diamond or whatever it would be very cool (Kalim would wanna see if he could do something like that with his UM Que jamil trying to stop him)

Maybe their hair turns into water too.

Pyro archon! Reader

Claymore. A Big strong war god needs a big strong weapon. Dps and Defense.

Now It’s not just one claymore, It’s DUAL-CLAYMORE, why? Cause it’s a war god that’s why!

I like to think the shield is like Xinyans and XiangLings combined and it’s constantly sending off tiny Fire Discs. Or just symbols shooting fire like what the Pyro Abyss mages can do

For Ultimate I like to think it’s like Childes Daggers but Bigger and on fire just a huge sword made of fire.

The pyro archon doesn’t think just BURNS. and STABE

Cryo archon! Reader

I can’t really come up with much for Cryo archon. But maybe a Catalyst that can summon a giant blizzard that drops down giant ice swords (kinda like Ganyus)

Definitely a sub DPS.

Maybe a healer too since The Tsaritsa is The archon of love?

What do you think about these abilities? Since you mentioned that the students and staff would assume their just strong mages I tried to be very creative with these abilities.

Also how I think the lore could go is maybe somewhere after leonas overblot and before azuls, Crowly has found a way to send Yuu home reluctantly. Yuu, grim and the aduece duo, and maybe some of heartslaybul or savana claw whoever you want come with them to the office to send them home. But Yuu is contemplating whether or not they WANT to go home now. But something goes wrong, maybe grim messes up the spell for the portal to work becuase (although he doesn’t want to admit it ) doesn’t want Yuu leaving, and their greeted with a surprise guest. Now this gives Yuu time to decide if they genuinely wanna go home and when teh archon finally has the materials they need to create a portal Yuu will tell them to leave the portal open (maybe put it into a tiny pocket mirror like the how we have the teapot) because they wanna stay for a little while or just until grim graduates (Que a happy fire cat ) and the archon whose grown attached to some people here was like ok “let our friends visit whenever they want, only if their headmaster allows it”

Now onto the headcanons

Anemo Archon! Reader and Mondstadt! Yuu

Everyone expected a lot of things not a person with Green eyes and (H/C) hair with green highlights. And an odd thing about them was the glowing stone on their person, Yuu didn’t have that?

Everyone’s freaking out because they’ve accidentaly taken another person from Yuus world.

And since Venti Is a well known famous bard In teyvat let’s say or Dear (y/N) is also a known bard and is not at all freaking out about what’s going on in fact let’s say our dear reader recognizes Yuu! And so now (Y/N) is now a new student (and a new headache for Crowley) in the ramshackle dorm! Yup! Just an ordinary human bard, Ehe~.

I’ll leave the rest of this up to you, Where Yuu has to explain what the world of teyvat is like (and why Yuu doesn’t have a phone (and a vision) because Twisted wonderland is far more advance in Technology and teyvat has JUST invented the Camera)

Also I head canon that people with Visions can summon their weapons and object with their visions, ok? Ok. To make things make more sense when reader pulls out a lyre from floating glitter.

Geo archon!reader and Liyue! Yuu

Same things happend here, but hey! We’ve summoned a Funeral Consultant! A very (ahemATTRACTIVEahem) Wise funeral consultant at best!

Our dear Friend (y/n) is very calm about the situation as well. After all everyone and liyue knows their god was killed and The Adepti are watching over them

So Our dear reader is seeing this as a free vacation 😊

Electro Archon!Reader and Inazuma!yuu

Since the god of Inazuma isn’t “Dead” or hasn’t left and the people know what their beloved archon looks like, Yuu will definitely Be Freaking the fuck out

“YOU DIDNT BRING ME HOME YOU JUST SUMMONED MY PEOPLES FUCKING GOD OH SHIT”

insert the meme of the womens face that gets zoomed in on the second panel “the. WHAT.” 😃

And y’know how Eis “Hello” voice line where she makes the traveler her guard she says the same thing to Yuu except “I recognize you are one of my people as your archon I shall be your guard and keep you safe from any danger in this Foreign world” and let’s say The puppet will not be used and Reader will be in control becuase they don’t have to worry about erosion right now so the puppet will be resting while (Y/N) is in control protecting their Precious Inazuma citizen is ok.

Well until They can get the materials they need to open a portal. I’ll let you figure out the rest, but congrats ramshackle you now have a god in your abode 😃✨

-Plot Anon 💗

PLOT ANON-SAMAAAAAAAAAA ILY!!!!!!!!! Thank you for your hard work sob

Anyways, for skills of the archons-

Dendro Archon

I think they'd use a sword or a catalyst tbh, if the skills you listed, it makes a little more sense to have them be more of a catalyst

For their elemental skill, I think they'd summon/throw something similar to Klee's and Aloy's elemental skill except they heal if someone in your party is nearby, their healing could scale by their EM or ER.

For their burst, I like your head canon for the Dendro Archon, so I might go off from that and your idea for their burst, just more tweaking. The dendro archon would be able to summon a large plant that heals AND deals Dendro damage by sapping mobs hp. The amount of life sapping it does and the healing would scale off their original HP (artifacts that give hp won't be of use)

Hydro Archon

I agree with hydro polearm or sword. Too many catalysts

Mmm... To be honest, I think you should have the burst be her skill... The whip idea is intriguing, but I think it would work more for a skill which can allow them to use it several times before waiting for the CD to go down. I think the whip skill would work better with Crit as well.

AND AS FOR THE MENTIONS OF WAVE AND A SEA CREATURE, I'LL DO YOU ONE BETTER BUT FOR THEIR BURST!!!! They summon a large tsunami which takes form of a monster/animal and lunges at the mobs (similar to Zhongli tossing down a dumbbell), however the amount of damage the burst can do is depending on if they are afflicted by the wet status the mobs are afflicted by. If already afflicted with hydro, the mobs would receive double damage while those with other elements afflicted on them would receive the element combination DMG and normal DMG while those that aren't affected by an element, they would receive normal damage. The amount of damage the burst does is scaled by EM.

Pyro Archon

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA CLAYMORE

Hmmm.... I think the skill would be they set an AoE with magma, mobs will receive damage from it and will continue to receive damage if they stay on it, but those who are in party, they will receive an ATK boost that scales from HP.

For the burst, I think I'll use a character from Honkai Impact with their special move which is Murata Himeko in Vermilion Knight: Eclipse battlesuit. Pyro Archon uses their claymore and another claymore but made of pyro and is far more larger and their cut scene has the Archon raise the pyro claymore above their head and slam it down to send pyro erupting from the ground (similar to the pyro axe wielding hilichurls)

Cryo Archon

I agree with catalyst

Mmmmmm.... I'd say her skill would beeeeee... Trapping several mobs or so in ice. They can either do 2-4 ice traps depending if you got their c1. (The ice traps are similar to Mirror Maidens traps BTW but it deals or affects the mobs with cryo)

For burst, I like the idea of summoning a blizzard/swords, but it's similar to Ganyu's. SO I'LL DO YOU ONE BETTER!!!! Cryo Archon will summon a blizzard which freezes mobs without having to use hydro, the freeze status lasts for a total of 15 seconds or higher if you got their c3

Hmmm... I like the idea, but imma tweak it a bit. The archon was in fact summoned through that portal because Grim decided to mess it up just for Yuu to stay a little longer, and so the Archon now resides in Twisted Wonderland as well in order to aide them until they can return back to their world. That way it makes more sense and makes it more fun.

Anemo archon

Yuu would be a bit jealous about them because they got a vision.

Crowley needs to hide his money

Sam has been strictly told to not give them wine that Sam stores in his shop...

Vargus is conflicted about them because they legit float without magic

Trein recurved a major headache

Divus is praying to whatever god existing to take them back

Ehe

EHE TE NANDAYO!?

Geo Archon

Yuu feels awkward meeting the consultant of the funeral parlor having to meet the Director...

Crowley is praying for dear god for them to go away.

"STOP TAKING MY MONEY YOU GORGEOUS FIEND" - Crowley

Train + Crewel + You = Besties

Sam was literally threatened to not joke around with you with business.

You legit did not fuck around with people when in contracts.

"Osmanthus wi-"

"SHUT THE HELL UP" - everyone

Electro Archon

Yuu is literally terrified in "your" presence.

Shogun malfunctioned due to being in an entirely new world so you had to disable Shogun's rules and create new ones regarding this world.

Yuu is still unaware of Shogun being a puppet

Crowley is no longer safe.

The staff (specifically Crewel) is supporting Shogun/You to beat Crowley's ass into shape.

Only the Diasomnia dorm knows your predicament with you and your puppet(s).

You are the definition of Queen/King/Royalty of the school. If you search up NRC, your picture literally plastered on it as the definition.

#twisted wonderland #genshin impact #twisted wonderland x genshin impact #archons #NRC

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years ago

Text

Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader) Pt. 3

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for blood/violence and language Genre: Action with a lil bit of fluff Warnings: Lil bit of blood Notes: There's an unnamed character in here who may or may not end up as recurring in my stories. I don't really have anything in particular planned for her, she's kinda just here to fill a role/allow for some easter egg type shit in the next chapter. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1, Pt. 2

{Wounded Love 3: Bloody Valentine (No, not that Valentine)}

“Mother Miranda, I must insist, if these lycans stray any further they might start feasting on the village as well! Pray tell, who will you use for research then? We can’t just-... Forgive me… Mhmm. Yes, I understand. Of course… Have a good night, Mother Miranda,” Lady Dimitrescu said, before setting her phone down with a loud thunk. Her hands shake a little, and for a moment you worry that her vanity won’t survive the coming moments. Then you make eye contact with her reflection, giving her an encouraging smile, watching as her gaze softens. “I’m afraid there’s nothing she can do, my dear. I cannot allow Heisenberg’s negligence to go unpunished, but we will have to take care of it on our own, without Mother Miranda’s support.”

“Is that wise, love? To go behind her back like this? I can’t imagine she’ll be terribly pleased if we cause chaos for one of her favored few,” you replied, clicking your tongue as you thought things over. Again you see anger cloud Alcina’s face, though she makes sure not to direct it at you.

“We are not the ones who started this mess,” she reminded you, through clenched teeth. “But we will be the ones to end it, one way or another. I don’t care if I have to gut that wretched man-thing and bring Miranda his corpse as proof of his incompetence! He has shown his lack of loyalty hundreds of times… and now he will pay.” Gulping, you rise to your feet, wanting to comfort your girlfriend. While you had understood that your injury angered her, you hadn’t (until this moment) realized the sheer intensity of that rage. How much blood would be shed before this was over?...

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

Crimson drips down the beast’s side, across matted fur, before hitting the wooden floor. A stench as awful as you had ever found filled the air, only made tolerable by the nearby presence of scented candles. What a mess, you think, glad that you wouldn’t be the one to clean it up. Why had the girls insisted on bringing the damn thing inside? Couldn’t they have simply snatched a few teeth from its jaw as a prize? Somehow you doubted that the thought had even crossed their minds. Violence was a passion of theirs, and they preferred their trophies to be as large as the effort they put into getting it.

“How close to the path did you find it?” You asked after finishing your examination of the lycan. Next to you, the eldest daughter is rapidly taking notes in a leather-bound journal. Both of her siblings stand near the fireplace, hands held out next to the flames, needing to warm up after being outside for so long. It wasn’t even that cold of a day, with temperatures averaging around eighteen degrees celsius. All the snowfall from the prior week had now melted. While you knew of the family’s weakness, you also knew that they had bundled up before leaving, and had even taken a torch with them in the hopes of using it on a lycan. Their powers had taken somewhat of a hit, temporarily, but not nearly enough to prevent them from killing a single lycan.

“Heard it howling almost as soon as we left the castle. We couldn’t smell it until halfway to the village, though. Once we could we tried to track it, only for the stupid thing to come charging at us. Must have been eight, maybe ten, meters away by the time we collided,” Cassandra answered. There’s a bit of a shiver to her voice, and you can’t help the rush of sympathy you feel in response. Being out on the path, wearing little more than a dress and scarf, had been absolute hell for you. Even if it was warmer outside now, you imagined that being weak to the cold just about made up for the difference. “There was a little more howling once we started walking back here. Louder, if not closer. Heisenbitch isn’t even trying to keep these fucking things in check.”

“Cassandra, language!” Came a voice in the distance, making everyone present look up at once. Strutting down the stairs was a clearly miffed Alcina, eyes narrowed, body tense. “Did you three really have to bring the mutt inside? Surely you advocated against this, Bela? Or did you think I wanted new bloodstains right by the entrance, where everyone can see them?” Next to you Bela winces, but doesn’t respond, too worried about angering her mother further. “And you, my dear, what on Earth are you doing on the floor? You should be resting, in an actual chair, if not lying in bed awaiting my return. There’s enough for me to worry about without you limping around on a useless leg!”

Now it was your turn to wince.

“Please, love, I know you’re stressed, but I can still help. Given enough time I could help ascertain these things’ weaknesses. At the very least I could pass on what I learned during my fight with one,” you pleaded. Then you tried to stand up, wanting to prove yourself, only to stumble, barely avoiding a faceplant- and only doing so because of Bela’s quick reaction time. She helped you to your feet, letting you lean on her, then lead you towards a bench. Begrudgingly you sit back down. “You’re only doing this because I got hurt. Helping you in your endeavor to avenge me is the least I can do.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Alcina snapped, now just a couple meters away from you. Even with that space between you, her presence was intimidating, and you almost felt like a child being scolded. “Were you to get hurt again, how would we avenge you? If you fall by your own hand, there will be naught I can do other than lock you away somewhere without any dangerous elements. What sort of existence would that be for you? I simply can’t allow it, no exceptions.” At this you pout, feeling rather disappointed. It’s not as if you were asking to carry a gun and shoot Heisenberg yourself! Not that you would be opposed to doing so, of course. “Try to put yourself in my place, my dear. Could you live with yourself if you failed to protect me?”

“I suppose I could not, love. Very well, I shall simply root you on from here, and kiss away any injuries you return with,” you replied, at last giving in. Then you found yourself smiling… and on the receiving end of a very soft forehead kiss. “Nothing will separate us, my love. None can tear apart that which the universe has stitched together.”

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

“Like I said, my Lady, I already want him dead. Did you really think that your family was the only one to suffer because of his machinations? I know half a dozen people who would love to put a bullet in that fucker’s skull, bare mims,” the huntress said, white teeth showing in her half-smirk. There was an odd coolness to her voice, like this whole ordeal was just another job, and you couldn’t help but feel uncertain about her. Could she really be the solution to Alcina’s problem? You couldn’t even judge her arsenal, considering she had been instructed to come unarmed. After all, she was a hunter of monsters, with a sizable history to her name. If not for her hatred of Heisenberg, you would never have felt comfortable letting her come within two hundred meters of your girlfriend.

“How can I be sure that you’ll succeed? The last thing I want is to have that wretched man-thing come crawling out of the filth he lives in, angry and coming for vengeance,” Alcina responded, scrutinizing gaze locked on the huntress.

“Didn’t Duke give you my file? Or at least read the good bits out loud? I’ve been in my fair share of scraps, with all sorts of bioweapon mutant freaks. Besides, I don’t plan on leaving any receipts behind. If he manages to survive, which is already one hell of an if, there’s no way he can prove that you asked me to do it. Considering he’s already seen my face, and knows I want him dead… yeah, he won’t bother accusing you, not when I’m in the picture, and certainly not when you’ve got such a big reputation for following Mother Miranda’s word down to the very last letter. So, you gonna make this official, or what?” The huntress asked, gesturing her arms wide. Although you’re still not convinced, Alcina nods quietly, seeming ready to make her decision. Regardless of how you feel about the stranger in front of you, you’re more than willing to support your girlfriend in whatever she planned.

“Very well, huntress. Show us just what you’re capable of.”

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

Flames licked at her heels, even as she charged forward, tickling like hot breaths against her skin. Behind her half a dozen lycans roared and screeched in unison. Smoke and ashes flew upwards, into the air, but could not poison her lungs, not when she had come prepared. Still, the mask was not as easy to breathe in as she had hoped, making her chest heave with effort at each intake of air. Good thing I’ll be gone soon, she thought, sparing a glance behind her as she ran. Dozens of trees were aflame, and countless glowing eyes watched from between the branches. They wouldn’t be there for much longer, not with what she had done.

Soon enough an explosion would shake the Earth. Then, finally, both the lycans who had killed her father and the man who desecrated the remains would be dead. And if a certain countess happened to pay her for her services? All the better, really. Funerals could be expensive, especially in such a remote village. More than that… there was no guarantee that she’d be able to outrun Mother Miranda on her own. A little money would make the flight out a hell of a lot nicer.

Assuming she made it that far. There was another scream behind her, this one more human, though somewhat warped by mechanics. It wasn’t a pained cry. No, it was filled with rage. Clearly Heisenberg had come out of his lair, hearing the fireworks, finding his scrap metal and werewolf army in chaos. From the sound of things- metal against metal, electricity crackling- he was coming her way.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” She muttered, desperately trying to get to higher ground. Even if the lycans succumbed to the overwhelming fire, it wouldn’t be hard for their leader to overcome. But the huntress was still too close to her explosives to risk activating the detonator. Just a bit farther, she thought, ignoring the way her lungs ached. Rocks kicked up with every step, loud enough to be heard from a distance, and made traction harder to keep. In the end she had to scramble to get up the side of a short cliff. A few scrapes appeared on her hands, making her curse under her breath.

But with one last movement, pulling herself up with both arms, she was finally far enough to be relatively safe. In one clean second she turned around, pulled the detonator out of its pouch and clicked the trigger. Just like that, a forest blazing turns into a mushroom cloud of pure hellfire. The setting sun makes for a beautiful backdrop, and the sight almost brings a tear to the huntress’ eyes. For a few moments she just enjoys the view. Then, without hesitation or remorse, she starts to walk away, mentally congratulating herself for a job well done.

Until something shoots past her head with terrifying speed. Before she can react another sharp piece of metal flies past her, grazing her arm, and there’s a blood-curdling roar from behind her. Then she’s running, fast as she can, pulse pounding harder than it ever has. One hand goes to the rifle on her back, pulling it out as quickly as she can. The area is rocky, with plenty of outcrops, perfect to hide behind (assuming there weren’t any hidden metal deposits). Quickly she ducks behind one, crouching to keep her head out of sight. Mere milliseconds later another metal spike slams into the ground just beyond her cover.

In the distance, more screams pierce the air, and something heavy drags itself across the ground. It almost sounds like a tank rolling through the woods. The thought alone worries the huntress, but she had never been one to let her fear control her. So she double checks her rifle, adjusts the scope, and pops out of cover. Less than a second later she has her target in her sights. It’s Heisenberg, for sure, more metal than man, but dripping with red. One press of the trigger sends a bullet straight for his ugly head. Unsurprisingly, it’s not enough to pierce his cranium, instead making him mad as hell.

Which is why automatic guns were invented, probably. The huntress holds the trigger down this time, though briefly, before dashing to the next piece of cover. She repeats the process a few times, hoping to kill the man before he could climb the cliff she stood on. If he managed to get up there with her… no, she couldn’t think about that, not now. She had to focus.

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

Hidden among the trees, the Dimitrescu sisters watched as plumes of smoke rose in the distance. Even though they had been aware of the huntress’ plan, they hadn’t expected this much carnage. It was certainly exciting! But they really couldn’t see much from where they were. Getting closer was probably a horrible idea, and yet Cassandra shared a meaningful look with Daniela. A split second later they were forming a swarm, rushing into the trees, leaving their elder sister to yell after them.

“Mother’s going to kill me,” Bela said, before rolling her eyes and following. Maybe she could at least keep them out of trouble?... Probably not.

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

Metal hands wrap around the huntress’ throat, squeezing hard, but do not twist or otherwise break their prey. No, Heisenberg does not intend to end this that quickly. This rodent had taken so much from him, set his plans back by decades. He was going to kill her slowly. When she still fights back, pulling a knife from her boot and trying to stab whatever she can reach, he does little else but laugh. It’s a crazed cackling that echoes through the surrounding rocky hills.

Just barely loud enough to drown out the sound of insects buzzing.

“Fuck that guy!” Someone shouted, right as a sickle descended upon the monstrous Heisenberg’s neck. The first slice isn’t enough to sever the connection, which is why it’s immediately followed by a second, from another sister, then a third, from the eldest, that finally does the job. Just like that the hands release from the huntress’ throat, and she gasps for air. Coughs leave her distracted as the sisters move to surround her. “Good thing we wanted to see the show up close and personal, eh?” Daniela asked, twirling her sickle with a little giggle.

“You idiots are just lucky I followed you,” Bela added, glaring at her sister. Internally, she was relieved that the end result was a success. Still, she worried about what her mother would think, and certainly didn’t intend to voice her satisfaction at delivering the killing blow. “Now let’s get back, before mother assumes the worst and comes to get us herself.” Sighing, she extends a hand to help the huntress up. Though their mutual enemy had been defeated, there was still much to be done. Who knew how Mother Miranda would react? Who, if anyone, would take Heisenberg’s place? There was plenty to be unsure about, and Bela let her mind wander the whole way back, hoping that things would only get better from here...

#lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina x reader #I know the reader didn't have a big part in this #but don't worry next chap will have a bigger part #partially cuz reader's leg will actually be a bit better by then #gotta give time to heal!!!

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bumbleklee · 4 years ago

Note

Could you make a fic based on the song Moondust By Jaymes Young? With Xiao or Zhongli? It’s fine if you decline, I enjoyed your Lonestar fic a lot! Also, thank you in advance if you do this! ^^

after this, i decided im a monster. this is so sad, like so so sad. i don't know if this is what you had in mind but since the song is basically about learning how to live/love without someone, i went down a death route. i also went w xiao. pls enjoy (and grab a tissue)

before reading: ANGST!!! you literally die and are a ghost the entire time. mentions of injury and blood as well as self-harm and suicidal thoughts. word count is around 2.1k (under cut for length)

I'm building this house, on the moon Like a lost, astronaut Lookin' at you, like a star From a place, the world forgot And there's nothing, that I can do Except bury my love for you

Death was quick.

You know instantly that you’re dead the second you open your eyes. You can still remember the feeling of the Fatui pyro agent slicing his knife across your throat and if you think about it enough, your neck tingles. You remember falling to your knees, being laughed at, and then you saw nothing.

Well, you saw blackness.

And then when you came to, you were standing in the middle of Liyue Harbor. The world seemed duller but it was real. No one paid any mind to you, so you assumed you were a ghost.

It’s nice to still be able to watch the sun rise high above your hometown.

There’s no panic, no rush to find out what’s going on, you don’t need to. Your hands travel to your throat and the horrific wound is gone. In fact, all of the scrapes and bruises and imperfections on your body were gone. Death brings solace, you humor.

Your peaceful moment was interrupted by two frantic voices. They catch the attention of everyone in the area, including you, and you spin around quickly.

Xiao.

“Break the contract, please, Zhongli-” His voice is frazzled, filled with a sadness the living can’t understand. “I can’t live without them.”

You looked down at your left hand, heart shattering at the absence of the jade ring. Right. You were going to marry Xiao later that year. Not anymore.

A hundred thousand memories of sweet kisses and long nights flooded into your mind. They caused you to hold your breath, too many emotions crashing through your tired form. You felt like crying but couldn’t (ghosts didn’t have tears, you guessed).

You’re standing right in front of the love of your life and he can’t see you.

Maybe it’s a good thing he can’t see you because Xiao already looked wrecked. His eyes were puffy and red and his hair was disheveled. Unhealed scratches wound his arms like ribbon. You had been with Xiao for years, through the good and the bad, and never once had you ever seen him in this state.

He’s pleading still and Zhongli has an indescribable expression on his face. “I can’t,” His voice is barely a whisper, “You know I can’t.”

Xiao wails, falling to his knees. Zhongli feels his pain, you know he does, yet he won’t put him out of misery. You watch as Zhongli bends down and lifts the adeptus into his arms, swiftly walking away from the crowd. You follow ensuite and Xiao’s eyes are hazy, staring through you over Zhongli’s shoulder.

“I’m right here.”

But he doesn’t hear you.

The brightness of the sun, will give me just enough To bury my love, in the Moondust I long to hear your voice, but still I make the choice To bury my love, in the moondust

You begin to follow Xiao around. Not that he goes anywhere, too heartbroken to move, but you keep watch of him like he once did for you.

He resorts to staying in Zhongli’s apartment. The consultant isn’t around most of the day and Xiao rarely leaves his bed. His tears stain the satin pillowcase and he curls upon himself. Sometimes you stand in the doorway and stare, other times you muster up enough courage to go and sit on the unoccupied side of the bed.

The first time you touch Xiao again is at night. He’s crying and without thinking, you wrap your body around his. His chest is pressed against yours and you press your lips to his shoulder.

It’s not warm anymore. In fact, it feels like nothing.

But still, you hold Xiao until he’s asleep. You don’t let go all night, opting to watch your beloved finally get some rest. You wonder if this is how it’s going to be for the rest of eternity? Would you follow Xiao around aimlessly for centuries more?

Or maybe you’re just stuck here. You recall a saying from an elder in Liyue years ago, “Spirits with unfinished business can’t move.”

You decided then that you were going to help him move on, help Xiao bury his love for you.

Nothing can breath, in the space Colder than, the darkest sea I have dreams about the days, driving through your sunset breeze But the first thing, that I will do Is bury my love for you

There’s no book about being a ghost. You have to figure it out on your own and you’ve never been more grateful no one can see you go straight through the wall for the third time that hour. Over time, you create your own handbook in your mind, jotting down anything you discover as your time as a dead person entails.

Within the first week, you understand that no one can see you, hear you, or feel you. And while you can vaguely touch objects and people, the sensation is different than when you were alive. Every human trait was thrown out the window - you don’t need to sleep, breathe or eat and drink anything.

You attend your funeral exactly a week after your body was discovered and someone propped your sword against your casket. You try to grasp it, to pick it up, but you only manage to push it over with a gust of nonexistent wind. It clambers to the floor, the funeral parlor growing silent, and you take this as your cue to leave.

You wondered if Xiao, or anyone of that matter, could sense you at least. Even if Xiao couldn’t see you, just him knowing you were there would ascend you to the afterlife (right?).

You also find out you can’t leave Liyue. There’s an invisible border keeping you trapped in the country and, frankly, you don’t mind. Xiao won’t leave Liyue so you don’t need to leave Liyue. But sometimes you get anxious that one day Xiao will leave Liyue and never return. And if you haven’t accomplished your goal yet, would you truly be stuck as a monster among men?

The brightness of the sun, will give me just enough To bury my love, in the Moondust I long to hear your voice, but still I make the choice To bury my love, in the moondust

On particularly good days, Xiao talks to you. Zhongli was gone early one morning and Xiao pulled himself out of bed and to the living room, opting to open the blinds and see sunlight for the first time in weeks.

You sit on the coffee table with your legs criss-crossed as Xiao mumbles desolate words.

“I keep just wishing I would wake up dead. I miss you so much.”

You frown. “I’m here, I’m right here.”

But he can’t hear you. “You aren’t here to make me laugh at your stupid jokes anymore. And I just...I should have been there! I should have-”

His voice cracks and you move off the coffee table, wrapping your arms around his quivering body. You try to press yourself against him, squeeze your arms so tight that he’ll feel you, but you can’t. You can’t kiss his chapped lips and move your bodies so he’s curled into the crook of your neck.

Sometimes, you watch Xiao hurt himself. He digs his nails into his arms or thighs until he draws blood, only to push it all away and scream into the ground. You want to snap him out of him, tell him to stop doing that to himself, but you can only sit and stare.

You were nothing to Liyue - a common human who added nothing of importance to society. Yes, your death was sad for many people but the world kept turning. Xiao, on the other hand, was so special. He was the Vigilant Yaksha - the people of Liyue needed him forever.

“I miss you. I love you. I miss you.”

I'm a cast away, and men reap what they sow And I say what I know, to be true Yeah I'm living far away, on the face of the moon I've buried my love to give the world to you

Xiao goes out sometimes. It’s either to patrol the city or on a walk with Zhongli. It’s not much but it's an improvement. Like always, you follow him.

He’s started to have nightmares, waking up in a rush. He used to comfort you when you had nightmares and it pains you that you can’t return the favor. You try, by God, you try. You run your hands down his back comfortingly but Xiao only cries harder.

When Xiao sees Ganyu for the first time in months and she gives him homemade almond tofu, he smiles. It’s small and quick but you see it.

Growing up, you had thought that the living mourned the dead. When your grandmother died, you felt broken for a while, but that pain was minimal compared to this. Having to live endless days as an invisible soul while the living grieved was unbearable.

When no one is around, Xiao breaks down. He hurts himself, insults himself and wishes for you endlessly. When Xiao tries to jump off the roof of the apartment complex in the middle of the night and survives with only an injured arm, you realize he’s pushing his body. He’s trying to kill himself.

So, you scream.

Every waking hour of the day you scream.

“I’m right here, Xiao! I love you and I’m right here! I’m sorry for being careless and getting killed but you aren’t ready to join me yet!”

You know he doesn’t hear you, he can’t hear you, and yet Xiao slowly stops hurting himself.

The brightness of the sun, will give me just enough To bury my love, in the Moondust I long to hear your voice, but still I make the choice To bury my love, in the moondust

It takes a year for Xiao to finally begin to cope with your death and you know your journey will be coming to end soon.

He still talks to you except now it’s hopeful and filled with acceptance. On the anniversary of your death, he travels to the Dragon-Queller early in the morning. He sits down in the spot he used to take you to and rubs the grass softly, as if motioning for you to sit down next to him.

You do.

“I’m leaving Liyue next week.”

A million feelings run through your veins. You want to throw up, scream, cry. Is a week enough time to get Xiao to move on from you? Had he already moved on? There were too many questions you couldn’t fucking ask.

You can’t bear to listen to the rest. Your feet travel on their own, taking you far away from Xiao and back into the heart of Liyue Harbor. You didn’t know where you were until you heard a voice call out for you.

“Hey, you!”

You were imagining voices now. You felt sick to your stomach.

“Y/N!”

A short, young woman came into your view and you finally looked up. You had walked right into the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. Hu Tao was staring at you, not through you.

“I knew you were still here.”

Hu Tao could see you.

It didn’t make sense but you didn’t have time to make it make sense. Without thinking, you cried out to Hu Tao and begged her to help you save Xiao, save yourself.

“I want to go with him,” You say.

“But you can’t.”

“Then he’s going to forget about me.”

Hu Tao chuckled softly, “You think Xiao would forget about you?”

You don’t answer. Maybe it was you that didn’t want to forget about Xiao. Either way, it hurts. “He’s going to fall in love with someone new and-”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

It was. You wanted Xiao to be happy without you, to learn to love again. You wanted him to bury his love for you so you could both be free.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Hu Tao says, “Xiao will find you again one day.”

She clasps her hands together and reaches them out to you. You look down and see a moving image of Xiao. He’s still talking softly, this time with a small smile on his lips. You close your eyes suddenly, not wanting to see anymore. You step outside of the funeral parlor and whisper “I love you” into the wind.

The sun is shining high in the sky when Teyvat begins to disappear from your vision.

Maybe in another life you and Xiao will spend forever together. You’ll have a grand wedding, start a family, and grow old together like you should have. But for now, you’ll see him from the moon.

#genshin #genshin x reader #genshin self insert #genshin angst #genshin writing #genshin impact writing #genshin xiao #xiao x reader #xiao #zhongli #hu tao #im sorry for this

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cipheress-to-k-pop · 4 years ago

Text

Being Peter Parker’s Little Sister Would Include

Even as a young boy Peter knew to protect you with his life

He hated seeing you upset

So, he always made sure you were happy

Sure, he was the kind of brother that would tease you to no end

But he was also the kind who would hold you when you cried

He’d help you while you studied

Always gave you first pick

And he made sure you’d never feel a lack of love or acceptance

Him along with Uncle Ben and Aunt May made sure your childhood was a happy one

You were lucky enough to be so young that you don’t remember your parents

But you felt guilty for it

That you couldn’t remember the people who gave you life

So, you were always asking to hear stories about them

You and Ben would be curled up on the couch while he told you about your mother and father

You and May would bake and cook and clean together, always trying out new things and forcing the boys to eat it

Even though your life didn’t have such a good start

It was perfect

Until one day

A burglar broke into the house and held you at gun point, telling Ben he’d shoot you if they didn’t show him whatever was in the house

Your uncle Ben tried to reach for you but you heard a shot by your ear

Even though you shut your eyes you still saw the bullet hit Ben and felt his blood on your face and heard his body hit the ground

May and you saying your goodbyes to him, crying on the floor, covered in his blood

When Peter came home you were wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the edge of the ambulance where they were loading Uncle Ben

The next few days passing by in a blur

Crying in Peter’s arms while he tried to stay strong for you

One day after crying your heart out you managed to fall asleep in Peter’s bed

Seeing your face, he just broke down apologizing for doing this

You met Spiderman a few days after the funeral, at Uncle Ben’s grave

“I’m so sorry, if I had stopped the burglar before then this wouldn’t have happened to you. I promise I will find him and make him pay.”

“It was.... horrific. I saw it with my own eyes. That someone wouldn’t need to blink before taking someone’s life. That someone lacked so much humanity that they broke into a home and killed someone’s family. He’s a monster.”

“I’ll make him pay for what he did to your family.”

“If you kill somebody then you’re no better than he was. Don’t blame yourself, Spiderman, Uncle Ben wouldn’t have wanted it. Blame yourself for a very short time, but in turn, remember it forever. Don’t forget about him.”

“I promise.”

Just as Peter was about to leave, you spoke up again

“Uncle Ben always used to say that there wasn’t a point in becoming a new you if you forgot who you were.”

Suddenly Peter felt extremely nervous and sweaty and you turned to him with a small smile

“I’ll get my life together, I have my aunt and my brother, but I won’t forget who I used to be with Uncle Ben. You should do the same.”

He smiled awkwardly under the mask but you obviously didn’t see it before leaving without another word

You watched him shoot a web and swing away, chuckling

“Come back home safe tonight, Peter.”

Things get better after that

The man who killed Uncle Ben was caught and turned over to the police

And you begin to start paying attention to Peter’s alter ego

Being quick to accept his half-baked excuses and even giving better reasons to Aunt May

Sometimes you wonder just how stupid Peter thinks you are though because he expects you to believe these excuses of his

Always coming to the rescue when he forgets to do something because he was so busy

When he left Aunt May and you waiting at a restaurant for him, you conveniently remembered how he had a school project right when you saw Spiderman swing by the window, trying to catch a few criminals

When he forgot to bring Uncle Ben’s cake home, you picked it up saying that you took the reminder off his phone because you were planning to choose the best looking one

When you saw Harry waiting at the library for him, you told him that Peter got sick so he went home early

Keeping the first aid kit always stocked should Peter need anything

Teaching him to sew but telling him it was part of a home ec exercise so he could learn how to stitch up his own suit

Always silently looking after Peter

Whenever the three of you see a news report about him and Aunt May says that he’s awesome

You chuckling and saying

“Behind every amazing man there’s an equally amazing woman.”

Peter totally agreeing and then being nice to the two of you for the rest of the day

Things take a turn however when an Osborn gone crazy trying to get his hands on Peter finally turned his head to see you

And in his twisted goblin brain, he finally gets an idea

Peter’s DNA is too difficult to get his hands on because he has super powers and has been mutated because of the spider bite

But yours?

Blank slate free for him to manipulate

And you couldn’t fight back

It was all too easy to pluck you right out of their hands and bring you to his lair

Peter goes crazy trying to find you

Begging Nick, nearly in tears to help him find you

And Nick is actually kind of worried because he’s never seen Peter this way

Dispatches as many troops as he can afford trying to look for you

And as per Spiderman’s daily routine, he begins blaming himself

If you got hurt because he wasn’t there to protect you again, he’d never forgive himself

When they find you, you’re in a stasis chamber, nearly dead

There were vials of blood all over the place, and you looked severely malnourished

Peter definitely cried when he saw you

The team trying to comfort him, trying to get him to eat something while you’re in the med bay but him not moving

Although one day they notice something weird

Your heart rate suddenly spiked for some reason and you began tensing and struggling in the bed

Peter tried to get you to relax and immediately called a doctor

When they tried injecting you with a tranquilizer however your body was covered with a blue slime before slamming the doctor against the wall

It wasn’t difficult to figure out

You had been infected by a symbiote

It wasn’t long after that you woke up

Peter and Aunt May cried when you opened your eyes

They told you that Spiderman and his team saved you and even though you wanted to meet the team something told you that Peter was reluctant to get back in the suit

So, you continued to pretend you had no idea of his alter ego

Even though regular coma patients have to go through physiotherapy to get back their physical strength

You never had to do anything of the sort

They S.H.I.E.LD. doctors assume it’s because of the symbiote

You noticed how closed off Peter became and one day sat him down

“What’s going on with you?”

“I don’t deserve to be in this family.”

“What?! How can you say that?!”

“All I do is bring bad luck and people end up getting hurt because of me!”

“It wasn’t your fault Peter. How could you have known that the Goblin would have taken me.”

“It is my fault. Because of me, Uncle Ben was killed and because of me, you could have been too. I bring misfortune to everyone I ever loved.”

You see the way his face falls and your heart breaks

To see him blame himself this way and hate himself

To see him questioning his identity

The reason he became Spiderman was to make sure no innocent ever got hurt but because he was Spiderman his baby sister nearly died

So, you gently took his hand in yours

“I already told you, didn’t I? Blame yourself for a short time. But remember it forever.”

His eyes widened, remembering what you told Spiderman nearly a year ago

“You knew?”

“I’ve always known. I can’t tell you how proud I am of you, Peter. You risk yourself every day to protect other people.”

“And I couldn’t even protect you.”

“I’m okay now. I know how you must feel but I hate seeing you like this. Uncle Ben would’ve hated it too. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m responsible for keeping my family safe.”

You didn’t know how to help him

You knew he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders and that it was difficult to live a life like this

‘With great power comes great responsibility’

But sometimes things are out of your control

So, you don’t say anything else and just pull him into your arms

The way he did when Uncle Ben had passed

And gently rubbed his back

“I love you, bro.”

And he just breaks down in your arms, apologizing for everything and you just held him tight and trying to calm him down

And in the middle of his crying he managed to stutter out an ‘I love you too.’

And then the two of you become the Spider Siblings

Dance Parties on the ceiling and swinging around town in the morning because you both slept in and now you’re late

Swining races that he claims to let you win

Talking about life while hanging from the side of a building

Going to Uncle Ben’s grave to keep him updated and tell him not to worry because now there are 2 superheroes there to protect Aunt May

Him training you and being extra hard on you during training because he wants you to be better than him

But also becoming sugary sweet after training and offering to piggyback you home because you’re so tired

Will let you take naps in the corner of the training room while he trains

Hates it when you get along with Sam

Also gets super stressed out when you’re on the field and tries to double the amount of people he fights so you don’t have to

But he knows you can hold your own

And gets really proud when you do but won’t tell you

Always makes sure you’re eating well and sleeping well

Now if you ever brought a boy home you never know what to expect

Sometimes he just teases you to no end

Or he completely freaks out and goes totally papa bear over you

In conclusion

Peter Parker as a big brother isn’t the type to be completely like a guardian

He has a lot of things going on in his life so he ends up relying on you a lot

But you wouldn’t trade him for the world

#Ultimate Spider-Man #ultimate spiderman #ultimate spider man #ultimate spiderman x reader #ultimate spider man x reader #peter parker #peter parker headcanon #peter parker sister #peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #spider man x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #USM #usm x reader #USM x you

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emwritesstuff · 4 years ago

Text

as the world caves in | ch. 5 | bucky barnes x reader

synopsis: You are a ghost story. A former Air Force pilot who had her plane shot down by Germany in 1945, but here you were in 2023, alive and frozen in your 25-year-old body.

You haven’t seen Bucky since the 1940’s, before his fall, before you went on a suicide mission only to come back alive. You aren’t sure reliving those memories – and being a living memory of everything the man has lost – is the best for him.

But you and Bucky won’t be apart for long.

This will loosely follow the plot of TFATWS - so spoilers ahead, specially regarding episode four. Thread carefully!

masterlist | AO3

notes: I was going to make it only one chapter with the plot of episode four but it ended up HUGE, so I'm splitting this one in two. I’m posting the next one very very soon (probably tomorrow), just need to finish reviewing it sksksk

(warnings: mentions of death, gunshots, blood) (word count: 4K)

five: funeral

Ayo considered you for a moment, then turned to Bucky. “Eight hours. Do not forget.”

You exhaled slowly after she was gone, allowing yourself to return to a more relaxed state.

“You know Ayo?” Bucky said, after he made sure the door was well closed.

Sam mused from behind you.

“And you speak Xhosa!”

“When King T’Challa opened Wakanda to the world, I ended up leading the relations between our countries from our side. Learning the language was the least I could do.” You shrugged, smiling fondly when you remember the awkward phase where you still mispronounced everything, and how astoundingly lenient the King had been during it.

“Accomplished. It was sweet of you to defend me, at least.”

You raised an eyebrow at the glass of water you’re drinking, grateful that Zemo didn’t speak the language. If only he knew.

Well, you had a feeling he would. Eight hours. T-minus-fifteen.

“Hey, you shut it. No one is defending you. You killed Nagel.” Sam bit at Zemo, and you put down your water and took your phone.

It had been blowing up since the signal returned after your flight to Latvia, every single person who ever had your contact was looking for you. Understandably. It was your first “vacation” in a long time.

You swiped the notifications away, and your eyes met Bucky’s while Sam and Zemo squabbled.

“You shouldn’t be good at that. It’s not fair.”

“It’s just a phone, Buck.” You smirk up at him, and a corner of his lip tugs upwards in response. “And I’ve been around long enough to know how to deal with the ever-changing technology.”

“Does that mean you’re the older one now? I’ve been frozen.”

“Do I get older privilege?” You asked, not looking up from the screen. The news feed caught your attention, and you were quick to scroll past the one talking about The Winter Soldier’s appearance in Madripoor.

“…No.” Bucky pushed his bottom lip forward, shaking his head. You bit your lip to refrain yourself from telling him just how much of a child he was, but couldn’t hide your grin.

The next headline made the grin fall out of your mouth, it being replaced by a frown. You slid the phone to Bucky, you two sharing a concerned look as soon as he read it too.

“Sam. Karli bombed a GRC supply depot.”

You rubbed your temples and started pacing as Bucky explained to the other two men the situation. Three dead. Eleven wounded. Your heart wrenched, and you pressed a fist to your chest when you imagine how dire the things have to be for that to had become the latest desperate measure.

Wars have civilian casualties. People are bound to be caught in the crossfire. You knew this. You’d seen it. This was a deliberate attack, and it was a different time and conjecture, but you felt almost the same as you did when you walked through the rubble made of Europe, 80 years ago.

Seeds for a new war. You’d hoped you wouldn’t get to see it sprout again.

You finally looked up as Zemo questioned the three of you about having the will to complete the mission.

“She’s just a kid.”

You moved to rest a hand on Sam’s shoulder, but in the end, you might have been more looking to ground yourself than anything. He nodded at you either way, and you could see Bucky’s eyes on you from your peripheral.

“You’re seeing something in her that isn’t there. You’re clouded by it. She’s a supremacist. The very concept of Super Soldier will always trouble people.” Zemo spoke with certainty, as if he was a professor and the three of you his pupils.

“I doubt she sees things that way.” You raised your finger as soon as he opened his mouth to retort. “Not everyone has the chance to be studying politics and understand how revolutionary movements can become extremism. Most people are just fighting to get to see another day.”

You wondered if Baron Helmut Zemo would ever understand that, the struggle. The uncertainty that wakes up with you and goes to sleep when you do, only to pose itself the next morning.

“It’s that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers.” His next line seemed to be enough of an answer. You let your hand slide off Sam’s shoulder, realizing you had it in a tight grip the whole time, and resumed your pacing.

You doubted Karli Morgenthau had much chance to reflect on the long-term consequences of her mobilization. She was helping people, people who needed things right away; she was providing immediate relief. The world only had given violence in return.

“She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her. Or she kills you.”

“Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo. The Serum never corrupted Steve.” Bucky retorted, but that obviously wasn’t enough to shake Zemo’s convictions.

The ache in our chest grew just a tad stronger, and you sank on the large sectional couch; Bucky seemed to have sensed your wariness, because soon enough he was bumping knees with you on the empty seat to your left. He radiated irritation, squared shoulders and head thrown back.

You laced your arm with his, nodding along with Sam as he talked about his aunt, understanding his plan when he reasoned that they might be doing a funeral ceremony for Donya. Bucky seemed to have loosened it up a little, and you agreed with him. It was worth a shot.

“You doin’ okay?” Bucky whispered, adjusting his arm so yours could have more room.

You raised your eyes at Zemo, stopping for a few seconds to observe the golden embroidery of the couch behind Bucky’s head before looking at him.

You squeezed his bicep. You mustered a small, strained smile.

Bucky’s eyes did not leave yours the entire time, two pools of blue and warmth and comfort that made you ache with how much you’d missed them all of these years.

“Jus’ fine.”

Bucky nodded.

“Liar.”

You flicked his ear with your free hand, which made him grunt. You giggled as Bucky shook his head and muttered something about you being such a child, and you could feel your nervousness easing up.

“Don’t be so grumpy, old man.”

---

You parted ways as Sam, Bucky and Zemo went to the displacement camp, and you went to the GRC office in Riga in search of information. You hadn’t been seen with them yet, so you took the chance of still being considered just a diplomat on a trip, seeking to maybe be of assistance in trying times.

It hadn’t been the most productive of mornings. The people at the office knew as little as you did of Donya Madani, or any of the other displaced people, which was appalling at the least. All they had was some half-assed records of when the camp had been formed, and that was months ago. Who knew how many people had joined by then. No wonder the Flag Smashers were at large, with more people joining and supporting the cause every day.

John Walker and Lemar Hoskins walked through the building’s doors, just as you were ready to leave. Hoskins recognized you immediately, whispering something to the new Captain America before both men approached you.

You shook their hands graciously, but your eyes remained on the door, you not wanting to waste precious time with the two. Especially Walker, who seemed to wear the shield on his back like it was a badge of honor, or even a safe-conduct to back up his moves.

It didn’t sit right with you, and not just because the man who wielded the shield before him was unreplaceable to you, and the man who stood before you seemed to have been handpicked to step inside Steve’s shoes, same size and all. His height, his built, his set jaw, the blue eyes, the blonde hair; as far as looks went, the perfect impersonator. It was the way he carried himself that set you off though, proud of himself and his own privilege. And you had barely any interaction with him aside from watching him perform in front of cameras, and, well, now.

“I’m very sorry gentlemen – but I should get going. This detour of my vacation is already on borrowed time.”

Hoskins nodded solemnly, but Walker took another step towards you. “I know about your previous work with Steve, it would be nice to have you on your side too.”

“Like I said, I’m off duty. Try not to make a mess out of it.” The lie slips off your lips easily, and you offer them an apologetic smile before turning to leave.

“There’s some Avengers on the hunt for the Flag Smashers too.”

Hoskins’ voice stopped you in your tracks, and you studied the two, wondering just how much they actually knew.

“Just think about it, okay? If you’re gonna help someone, make sure you’re helping the right people.”

That’s exactly what you were doing, but you weren’t about to tell him that.

“Hoskins. Cap. Have a nice day.” You nodded at them, not looking behind you as you take off to the cobblestone streets.

---

Sam and Bucky turned to watch you when arrived back at Zemo’s condo, closing the door gently behind you.

“Nothing.” You answered before they could ask, shaking your head slightly. From the defeated way they were sank on that couch, you assumed they were met with dead ends as well. “And Walker’s here, so expect things to get complicated.”

“You met with Walker?” Bucky asked, his jaw tensing up as he looked up at you.

“More like he met me. Offered me a job.” You chuckled humorlessly at the irony of it. Apparently you were now known for getting Steve out of trouble, and not for getting into it with him. How the tables turn. “He’s lacking intel as much as we are though.”

You threw your coat on the coffee table, and watched it slip down to the floor unimpressed. Bucky dipped to pick it up, draping it over the back of the couch while shaking his head and grumbling under his breath. Sam giggled, earning himself a glare.

Zemo approached your group with a tray of steaming tea. Bucky focused his glare on him.

“That little girl. What’d she tell you?” Bucky narrowed his eyes, a taunting tone to his voice.

Zemo paused, and his eyes jumped from Bucky, to Sam, to you, and the ground. The mood is restless, charged with tension, ready to spark like an open wire at the edge of water.

The Sokovian visibly relaxes his posture when he bends down to serve himself tea. “The funeral is this afternoon.”

It wasn’t not surprising to you that he was withholding information, though it was bold. His confidence was baffling, if anything.

“You’re on thin ice, Zemo.” You narrow your eyes at him, and he offers you a small, lofty smile.

Bucky looked at you and nodded before reminding Zemo of the Dora Milaje and demanding he kept talking.

“Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli.” He retorts to Bucky and hums, shaking his head. “There’s still much I want to know, including why an American diplomat is tagging along for an altercation against a group of Super Soldiers.”

Zemo looked at you, inspecting your form as you leaned over a tiled column. He lingers on, but you know you have the higher ground. You don’t look the part of super soldier, in the way like the Flag Smashers don’t also. It’s advantageous, it gets you to blend in with the rest of world. You were aware that Zemo has been suspicious ever since you walked through the heavy wooden doors the first time, though, and he was trying to carve information out of you through veiled threats.

“I prefer to keep my leverage.”

This seemed to spur Bucky on. He got up from the couch, stalking towards Zemo in a casual gait, only to grab the teacup from the other man’s grasp and throw it violently at another column.

Your breath hitched.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?”

It sounded almost alien to you, the venom that dripped from Bucky’s words. You definitely hadn’t kept that in your memories of him, and you remind yourself that Bucky was no longer just that gallant boy from Brooklyn, he had more wars and baggage than anyone should carry.

So did you.

Sam got to Bucky before you could get your legs to move. “Take it easy. Don’t engage him. He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

As if on cue, Zemo tilted his head upright.

Sam retreats to make a call, whacking Bucky on the shoulder as he left the room. The sound makes you shift, and you walked forward to put yourself between him and Zemo.

“Thin fuckin’ ice.” You snarl. Bucky disengaged by leaning on his heels.

“Want some cherry blossom tea?”

You huffed and nudged Bucky’s waist to prompt him to follow you, wanting nothing more to get him – and yourself – away from Zemo before disaster ensued. He still held the information you needed, though his bargaining chips were running out.

You had the distinct feeling that he knew that too.

“No, you go ahead.”

The room you found yourselves next is small, but just as luxurious as the rest of the apartment, with thick embroidered cushions littering a daybed and stained glass on the windows, casting colorful rays of light over the floor.

“You won’t go home if I ask you to, will you?” Bucky asked, and you chuckled.

“Absolutely not.”

A pained little sound left Bucky’s throat, and you sat down on the daybed to face him. He was leaning against the wall, eyebrows knitted.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all, Buck.”

“I do. That’s why I’m worried.” You rolled your eyes at him, making him look away from you, jaw clenched.

You sighed. “Bucky. I’m a highly trained super soldier.” Retired, too, and probably rusty, but you decided to not put that thought on his head. “I have more field experience than you, I bet. Don’t trouble yourself too much.”

His shoulders sagged, and you raised your hand to smooth the collar of his jacket, like you’ve done a million times before, back when you were still only a girl, and he was only a boy. The familiarity in those acts of intimacy covered you like a warm blanket, and you caught yourself wondering if Bucky felt the same.

“I worry about you too, you know. Why I’m here.”

Bucky turned his head to look at you, eyes roaming over your face. “How much did Sam tell you about Madripoor?”

“All of it, I think.”

There was torment in his eyes, that he tried concealing by looking at the floor. He nodded curtly, and the gesture propels you to leap forward and hold his face in your hands.

“Not worried like that.” You knit your eyebrows together, speaking firmly at him. “Worried about you throwing yourself into another fight. And losing you to it, again. So here I am, James, and stop trying to get rid of me.”

He either crashed into you or you into him, you’re not sure, but it barely mattered. Bucky had his arms firmly around you, his forehead resting on your shoulder. A hug that came eight decades too late, making you have to blink tears away.

“Don’t wanna lose you again too.” Bucky mumbled into your hair, and you squeezed him just a little bit tighter.

“You won’t. M’ here.”

I’m here. I’m here. You believed it, because you knew yourself. Keeping away this long, because you knew that once you were with him, you wouldn’t be leaving.

You hoped Bucky believed it, too. You’d tell him over and over, just in case.

The moment was short lived, though, coming to an end the when Sam knocks on the door. You pry yourself apart from him like a band-aid, and the door opens, leaving you and Bucky to compartmentalize and get ready for the next steps in your mission with your backs turned to each other.

“You guys good?” Sam asked, looking from you to Bucky, and you groaned internally at the sight of the slight curl at the corner of his mouth.

It’s not like that, Sam.

“Yeah. Are you?”

He quirks his brow. You quirk yours. His smirk is more out in the open, now.

“C’mon, old guard, we have a funeral to attend.”

You and Bucky shoot him a double glare and follow him back to the living room, then out to the cobblestone streets. Sam specifically said no weapons, no doubt intending to keep things civil, but you strapped a knife to your boot anyway.

Bucky smirked at you when he caught you red handed and showed you the handle of his own knife secured at his hip. It’s funny, how among so many things that haven’t changed at all, remaining intact as if eternized in marble, so many other things did.

It’s the caution. Having a plan B, C, D, up to plan Z. It’s knowing every possible exit points when you enter a room, and it’s strapping a knife to your body even if you’re going on a mission of peace.

You wanted to think that the years made to fade most of your scars, but the smallest things reminded you that faded didn’t mean gone. The weight of the blade on your left foot was doing that, as you walked through the streets of Riga beside Bucky, Sam and Zemo.

“Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit.”

John Walker and Lemar Hoskins jogged down the steps in your direction. Bucky opened his arms in irritation.

“Ah! How’d you find us now?”

It wasn’t really a question.

“Come on. You think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” Hoskins questioned rhetorically back, and his eyes land on you. You raised your eyebrows at him. “Y/L/N.” He didn’t sound terribly surprised.

“No more keeping us in the dark. You can start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.” Walker’s voice nearly overlapped Hoskins’, and his eyes traveled from Zemo to you.

“He did that himself, technically.” Bucky quipped, and shifted to your side slightly.

“I thought you were on vacation.” Walker sneered, making you shrug. You waved idly at the buildings.

“What? I’m sightseeing.”

“Oh, this better have an unbelievable explanation—” He raised his arms, taking a couple steps in your direction, but you didn’t budge.

You were resigned to simply rest your hands at your hips and wait for his temper tantrum to be over, but Sam clapped him on the chest and commanded him to not make things weird. Walker simmered down enough, which makes you beam proudly at Sam.

“I know where Karli is.”

You’d never be caught dead saying that out loud, but thank heavens for Zemo.

The new Captain America insisted on leading the action and turning it into a hostile one. You couldn’t stop staring at the shield on his back while he strutted ahead and turned, arguing with Sam about whether or not attempting to reason with Morgenthau was a good idea. She was indeed dangerous, but the echo of Sam saying that she was only a child earlier filled your ears.

It was risky, but Sam wasn’t reckless. You believed in him wholly.

“Is that why you roped a diplomat into this? There’s still time to change sides and save your job, Y/L/N.”

You didn’t doubt John Walker could and would get you to lose your job position, but you were aware of that possible outcome the minute you flew yourself to Latvia. That was the kind of inconvenience your future self would have to deal with. Sam looked at you for a brief second, forehead creasing with worry.

“Don’t threaten her, Walker.” Bucky warned him, and it was like you were fighting off a gang of bullies in an alleyway back home again.

“You’ll let him do this? Are you gonna let your partner walk into a room with a Super Soldier, alone?” Walker pressed on, holding Bucky’s stare.

“He’s dealt with worse. And he’s not my partner.”

You highly doubted that. These men were as hard-headed as you were, but you didn’t buy into the whole we-aren’t-friends thing. It was evident, in the way they checked on each other from time to time, and had each other’s backs.

“I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay? This is right in my wheelhouse.” Sam stepped forward, and Walker was quick to resume the argument. He was desperate for a win, any win, and you caught yourself wondering if he was truly ready for the role he was given.

Hoskins seemed to be the voice of reason he lacked. Walker gave in, reluctantly, and motioned at Zemo.

“We’ll deal with you later.”

You tapped your feet impatiently.

“Boys, there’s no time for this.”

“I’m sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion. My associate is just up ahead.”

There was a small girl waiting by the building in front of you. She guided the group to an abandoned factory of some sort, and Zemo announced that Karli was inside, and not long after he was being handcuffed to an iron vault door.

Sam stopped himself in his tracks while Walker manhandles the man, and you and him shared a look.

“You wanna come with?”

“No. It’s two against one, might set her off.” You shook your head, turning to look at Walker as he paced around. “You got this, Sam.”

Sam nodded at you and went in.

Ten minutes. You listened attentively for any signs of struggle, hoping things would go smoothly. Your knife felt heavy inside your shoe. Bucky seemed to be focused on the same task next to you.

John Walker grew more anxious by the minute, and you stopped listening to watch him pace around.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight.” Bucky sighed.

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me.”

Rich, coming from him, who seemed keen on doing just that to everyone else. Walker squared his shoulders and marched on, Bucky having to stand on his way to stop him. You got off your post on the stairs and blocked the rest of the way. Walker glared at you, then at him.

“This is all really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins.”

Of course, he would consider the serum more of a blessing than the true curse it was. You exhaled sharply, struggling to keep your emotions in check, watching Bucky’s back as Walker continued.

“Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?”

You could almost see Bucky’s resolve wavering.

“Bucky, don’t.”

“You really want a casualty that big, Ambassador?”

“You need to cool down, Walker. Sam is—”

You didn’t get to finish, because Walker is barreling his way through you and towards Karli Morgenthau. Hoskins is pushing you and Bucky back as you try to get to Sam and the girl before things blew up even further.

“Walker you can’t—”

“Karli Morgenthau, you’re under arrest.”

Karli knocks Walker down, and Bucky managed to shove Hoskins away to run after her.

“Y/N, ten minutes!” Sam said as the both of you ran off to join the pursuit.

“I know, Sam! There’s no reasoning with this guy!” You groaned. “I’ll go this way, cover more ground.”

Sam nodded, his concerned expression mirroring yours.

You split up as you take off to your right, passing through archways and enclosed cubbyholes, finding nothing but old industrial machinery and junk.

Gunshots.

You counted four, at least.

You managed to pick up the source of the sound after the third discharge, somewhere at the lower level of the building. It would take you forever to find your way down the traditional way.

You landed on the ground floor with a soft thud, and couldn’t help but grin as you look up at the window you had just jumped from. Not bad, though the impact was unexpected and almost knocked the wind out of you.

The sound of smashed glass prompted you to snap back to reality and run into the basement of the factory, the place holding massive iron pipes and boilers. Zemo had his back to you, gun in hand.

A flash of red curly hair poked from behind the last pipe. You tiptoed your way to Karli, crouching next to her. She was clutching her side, blood seeping through her fingers. The receiving end of the shots.

Karli looked at you with terrified eyes, then up, and your gaze followed hers to a man you didn’t recognize, but one of her friends without doubt.

“Get out of here, kid. Go.”

She wasted no time, clambering up the stairs and disappearing through a metal door.

Faster than you and Zemo could acknowledge each other’s actions, he was hit on the heat with flying metal, sending him unconscious to the floor. John Walker stepped into the light.

“Morgenthau?”

“Gone. I was too late.”

Walker appeared to believe you, or he didn’t care, eyeing with interest the shards of fine glass littered on the floor. Zemo had smashed every single vial of serum before being hit with the shield. You kneel next to him and check his pulse.

“Is he…?”

“No. Just out.” You breathed. Walker let out a disappointed hum, leaving you to attempt to waken Zemo by yourself.

Bucky and Sam entered through the door that Karli had escaped through, and Hoskins through the doorway you came in before.

“What did we miss?”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #will reblog w taglist

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labyrinthof-fan-fiction · 4 years ago

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We Were Happy

Sam Wilson X Reader

Summary: Sam’s ex-fiancee is a member of the Falcon/Winter Soldier duo, fighting alongside them. It’s all good, until the events of TFATWS Episode 4. (this summary sucks, but my brain is so wiped from writing this)

A/N: This one is not for the faint of heart. I was listening to Taylor’s “We Were Happy” on my drive home today, and for some reason my brain immediately just went to Sam, I really can’t tell you why. I don’t own TFATWS, its characters, or “We Were Happy”

Warnings: Major Character Death, Blood, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Gore, Death, Violence, Funeral Scene, Swearing.

Word Count: 2,665

Sam was shaking, Karli had threatened Sarah and the boys. He wasn’t thinking straight. “She overstepped.”

“Sam, you can’t take her on alone.” You said, pulling on your combat jacket.

“I agree,” Bucky said, as you both chased him down the stairs and onto the street.

Violence begins after page break.

You knew you were walking into a fight, but you hadn’t expected John Walker and Lamar Hoskins to show up. You should have known they were tailing you. They always were. All hell broke loose, then you heard Lamar’s body hit the column next to you. You glanced down and knew he was gone. John ran and checked his pulse, but you knew he wasn’t going to find anything, then you saw his eyes turn black. You had seen that look before, “John, don’t.” You started, the Flag Smashers in the room shifted uneasily, then they started to run.

John snarled and chased one out the window. For a fleeting moment you glanced back at Sam, he was shaking his head. You closed your eyes and ran headfirst out of the window, your wings caught the breeze and you landed on your feet, chasing after the man clad in red, white, and blue.

He tripped the man he was following and threw him into the fountain, the shield raised above his head. You picked up your speed and slammed into the Flag Smasher, pushing him out of the way and putting yourself directly under the shield. A scream fell from your lips as the first blow landed on your chest. Your head fell to the side and you saw people gathering as John continued to deal blows to your body, cellphones filming.

“John.” You managed to say, but you looked up and saw the unhinged look in his eyes and you knew, this was your last fight. You glanced over and saw Sam run up with Bucky next to him, Bucky grabbed onto Sam’s shoulder. Tears fell from your eyes as you saw the panic rising in Sam’s eyes, you focused on him, just Sam. Maybe just staring into his eyes would be enough to save you.

Sam was frozen in place as he watched John deal the final blow to your chest, horror washed over him. Bucky’s grip on Sam loosened and he ran to your body on the steps. “No, no no,” He chanted as he fell to his knees at your side. He tried to not see the blood that was pooling under you, tried not to think about how bad it truly was.

“Sam.” You murmured weakly, reaching your hand for his. He clasped yours tightly.

“You stay with me, you hear me dammit? You’re not going anywhere.” He said through a clenched jaw, tears were falling down his face. His eyes traveled down to the wound from the shield and he saw the engagement ring hanging from your neck. He pressed his spare hand against the wound, trying to stop the blood.

“Couldn’t get rid of it.” You said before a cough shook your body.

“Baby, please.” He whispered, “Please hold on, we’ll get you to a hospital, they’ll save you.”

Your eyes closed as another cough ripped from your lips. “Sam,” You murmured. “I love you.”

His other hand moved through your hair to cradle your face. “I love you too, baby, so much. Hold on. Please, hold on.” He chanted, but he heard your breath growing weaker. He gently placed his forehead against yours, “Please, God, not this.”

Your eyes met his as you felt the rattle in your chest grow stronger. “Goodbye, Sam.” He watched as a small smile came across your lips and your eyes closed, he felt your hand grow slack in his.

“No, no, no!” He shouted through his tears as he pulled you close to him, resting your head against his chest as your final breath left your body. He could see the cellphones all pointed at him, he couldn’t take it. He cradled your body against his chest and found himself eye to eye with John as he stood.

“Sam….” John started, Sam’s eyes fell on your blood on the shield, he refused to meet the man’s eyes.

Sam gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw, he knew that this was not the time to say what he truly thought of the other man. Not here, not now. He expanded his wings and took off with your body, not saying a word to John.

Sarah helped him with planning the funeral, honestly she did most of the work. Choosing flowers, the casket, making arrangements with the church. He found himself on the dock, standing next to the family boat. He stared out on the water, remembering when you both had been children and played on the docks while your parents worked. He could hear your laughter. He was broken from his stupor by Sarah coming up next to him.

“Are you going to carry her?” She asked gently.

Sam met her eyes, “I…” He had spent the past few days trying not to think about your funeral. “Yes.”

Sarah placed her hand on his back, rubbing a circle, comforting him like she had when they were kids. She looked down and saw the engagement ring he was twirling in his fingers. “She held onto that for so long. She was convinced that you were coming back.”

Sam chuckled, “Then I came back and fucked everything up.”

Sarah sighed, “I don’t think you fucked it all up, you both had the past few weeks together.”

Sam looked over the water, “There’s so much I wish I had said. I wish I had done.” The sun started to sink beneath the horizon. “And now, I’m not sure where I go from here.”

“You don’t have to have a plan right now. No one expects you to have everything together, after what you just went through.”

Sam scoffed and stared out watching the sun fade beneath the tide, wishing that you were next to him. John had murdered you, in broad daylight, with the shield that Steve had chosen him for. And Sam rejected it, gave it to America, and America gave it to the man who ended your life. He knew the reasons he gave it up, at the time, they had been the right reasons. But now, all he wanted was to go back in time and force himself to keep it, let it rust in a corner of a barn for all he cared. If he would have kept his nose out of any of the Avengers business, you would still be here.

Tears were streaming down Sam’s face as he carried your casket to your final resting place. He had remained silent through the entire funeral, Bucky at his side. Bucky had given him space and he was grateful, but now he was grateful for his support. Sam watched as they lowered your casket in the ground, Taps began to call through the cemetery, the shots of the salute felt like they ripped through his heart. He remained silent as they finished, then a man walked up to him with a folded flag.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He saluted, then placed the flag in Sam’s arms. Sam’s eyes fell on the small triangle that was meant to honor your memory, your service, then a sob broke through his lips. He felt his knees buckle and Bucky grabbed his elbow to hold him steady. The cemetery cleared and he was left with the flag cradled in his arms. Bucky removed his arm from his elbow and Sam’s legs gave out. Sam’s heart felt heavy as he sobbed at the pile of dirt that covered you, Bucky stood vigil with him until the sky turned to night and the stars sparkled against the black. Bucky accompanied him back to the house. Sam paused on the street, remembering the night he had proposed to you, right before you both had been sent to you assignments. The porch lights had illuminated the two of you, he put his hand in his pocket and thumbed at the ring. The two of you had been so happy in that moment, carefree kids, for just one moment.

A week later, Sam was alone in your apartment, he took in the sight of the kitchen, almost expecting you to step into it and chide him for standing there and doing nothing. He moved around the table and found an envelope with his name scrawled in your handwriting. It seemed so out of place in your kitchen, he thumbed at the edge, debating if he wanted to read it. What could you say? Did you know this mission would be your last? He sighed and opened the envelope, seeing multiple pages inside.

Sam,

If you’re reading this, I’ve gone and done something stupid. I don’t know if you’ll be the one to find it or if someone will pass it along to you. Maybe it will end up on a landfill somewhere, unopened and left to rot into the Earth. Either way, I’m going to assume you are reading this.

I’m sure you’re wondering, why a letter? We have technology, there is such thing as video recordings. Well, after the snap, I went to therapy. Yes, I know, hell froze over. But losing you, I dug myself into a hole and Sarah pulled me out, then left me on a therapist’s doorstep.

As a way to cope with loss she recommended that I write letters, to you, about you, put everything in writing. And I did, this won’t be the first one I wrote. I doubt you will find them, maybe you’ll be the one cleaning my apartment and you will find them. When I got the call to join you and Bucky I was surprised. Things between us hadn’t been the same since the blip, you barreled headfirst into work as an Avenger. Did I ever tell you how proud I am of you for becoming an Avenger? Baby, I am so proud of you. God, you’re amazing. I’m babbling, I know, but I’m probably dead, so let me get the last word in.

Remember when we were younger and we’d sit by the dock, watching the sunset over the boats. We hatched that scheme to buy back Dad’s farm, you’d have equal parts in the fishing business with Sarah, and we’d live out the rest of our days there. We were happy, weren’t we? I mean, on some level we had to be, I was going to marry you. You wanted to marry me. Then life got in the way.

I still wear the ring, on a chain around my neck, but it’s still on me. During the blip people told me not to hang onto it, he’s gone, find someone else and move on. But I couldn’t let go of you, not even when a crazy purple alien ripped you from existence. Because loving you was the happiest time of my life, I know you might not believe me, with how we left things that one night.

I don’t know how I’m going to die, I guess no one does, maybe you do, don’t the Avengers have the ability to time travel now? Ideally, I’m 99 and I’m sitting on Dad’s old porch, in the rocking chair next to you, watching that sun set behind the boats. We’d have lived a full life, had some kids, grandkids, kept the Wilson legacy alive. I’d like to think my last breath was taken, holding your hand the minute the sky changed to night. But I know, in our line of work, that’s not what happened. Don’t blame yourself, I expect that I knew what the consequences of my actions would be. I probably bet too much on luck. But that’s life, it’s a give and take, and eventually we all get the take end of the stick. Don’t turn to vengeance, I know you’re an Avenger, but don’t take that so literally. You are one of the best people on this planet, revenge would not be a good look on you, or Redwing.

The last thing I need you to know is that I never stopped loving you, I don’t think I will even in the afterlife, if there is such a thing, I’ll be waiting. I know I said harsh things that night, we both did, but that doesn’t mean I stopped loving you. I assume that I will end up in at least what is heaven, although thinking back to some of the things we did as kids, maybe not. But let’s say that I get to the pearly gates, know that I’ll be watching you, making sure you don’t meet me too early. Maybe I’ll see you in the clouds, but let’s not pull an Icarus, I don’t know if I’ll be able to save your ass. Do you think I could get my own pair of permanent wings?

One last thing, I know I’m longwinded, but c’mon, I’m dead, these are my last words. Remember when the circus came to town and we snuck in? Something I don’t think I ever told you is, that was the first day I realized I loved you. You wrapped your arms around my neck and pulled me in for a kiss. I don’t know what that kiss meant to you, but that kiss, when we were stupid teens, ruined me for anyone else. I wish I could have apologized to you, made amends. We both needed a break, to find ourselves, to remember who we were. The world changed so much after all those people snapping their fingers. Maybe if I was braver I have said these things to you before you read this, if not, I’m sorry. Sam Wilson, I love you and have always loved you. Even though we’ve been on hold, I always knew that we would make our way back.

I don’t want you to think that you have to hold a candle for me until the end of times. Find someone who cares about you, who loves you so much. Maybe move into Dad’s farm, and make a home with them. I probably haven’t told you yet, but I bought that old farm a year ago. It’s not in the best of shape, it needs some love. The deed is enclosed with this letter, along with my will. If you don’t want it, sell it, give it to Sarah and the boys, hell torch the place. But it’s yours, just like my heart.

Love you, forever and always.

Sam’s tears fell onto the pages, he moved them away and wiped his tears away. He’d be lying if he said that he moved on from you. You both had decided when he returned that taking a break would be a good plan, he was going to be focused on missions and you were trying to help others rebuild their lives. Then he asked you to help him with missions, with Bucky. It had almost felt like nothing had changed. It was great, until John got involved, until John killed you. His fingers tightened on the pages, wrinkling the edges. He sat down at your table, reading over the pages, looking at the deed in his hands. He had set the will on the table, keeping his eyes from it. The top corner that he could see had his name scrawled across it.

He glanced around the kitchen, and looked back at the letter, I’m so proud of you. “We were happy, baby. We were so happy.” He folded the letter, deed, and will and put them in the pocket of his jacket. He zipped the jacket and exited the building, Bucky was waiting outside, he raised his eyebrow at Sam. Sam simply tilted his head and the pair fell into step next to each other, walking the streets of your old town, intent on their next mission.

#sam wilson x reader #Sam Wilson Imagine #tfatws imagine #tfatws episode 4 spoilers #i don't know if i needed to tag that #oh well #violence #murder #blood #death #read the warnings #falcon imagine #i really don't know why my brain wanted to do this to Sam #need something fluffy for him now #god i'm so sorry #sam x reader #sam imagine #we were happy

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hellonoblesky · 3 years ago

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Happy Saturday it’s past 2am here’s Harbinger Angst. Because I’m up late and I’m havinggg thoughts.

So here’s my hcs about the Harbingers reacting to/dealing with the news of Signora‘s death :)

(CW For like. Mental breakdowns and guilt and general emotional instability because no one is having a good time here. Oh also cussing, anddd some familial angst in Childe’s bit? Also I am so sorry about any misspellings n whatever it is. Very late and I already have two other posts in my drafts collecting dust that are also HCs so.)

Dottore:

So if you don’t follow my art blog or haven’t seen my Harbinger hcs (which are under the process of some change with new info being released and whatnot), you don’t know this but I HC Dot and Signora to be like sorta just evil siblings

Now because death is such a commodity in Dot’s uh… specific line of work, he doesn’t register that Signora is dead until like two days after he hears the news

He picked up the phone (rotary perhaps?) to go call up Signora‘a office to see if she has any good gossip and then stopped halfway through dialing because it hit him that she’s never going to be there to pick up the phone on the other end. Ever.

He usually listens to music when he’s working but with the absence of Signora ranting he has to take up listening to the radio on top of the music

Problem is: the radio doesn’t have the same charm and cadence to it that Signora’s rants did, because normal people are boring and it’s going to drive Dot up the walls if he has to listen to one more commercial or one more anxious ramble about how cool and great the Fatui are from some stupid radio host trying not to overstep the Tasritsa’s favor like she listens to some boring ass radio station in her spare time!!!

HE HATES IT. But is forced to make do because if he shows weakness he will be torn apart (or so he thinks)

So this leads to him locking himself away in his office even more than he already did

Because he was already intrigued by the traveller after their actions in Mond and their victory against Childe, but them beating Signora in a duel before the Shogun? Oh now that kickstarted a whole new line of study

Especially because his only coping mechanisms are Be Destructive and Dive So Far Into Work You Don’t Think so within about three days he has a comprehensive analysis of everything he can possibly get his hands on regarding the Traveler (without interacting with other people) and is about to pass out because he hasn’t slept

Oh and the funeral was absolute hell for him.

Mainly because while he was barely conscious he agreed to play violin at the service and then promptly passed out and forgot about it so he woke up and was hit with the consequences of his own actions in the form of sheet notes

He endured, obviously, he’s not going to back down from playing something at the funeral of one of the few interesting people in the organization, that’s what tools and cowards do and this might be the Fatui but if he’d survived the wrath of dead gods he would make it through this

Went right back to locking himself away after that though

He actually got bad enough that the other Harbingers took notice of his state and MADE him come out of his labs and eat (mainly at demand of the Tsaritsa because she just lost the Crimson Witch as an asset, she wants the rest of her Harbingers in good health god dammit, the Traveler is becoming a genuine threat)

Broke down at dinner a week after the funeral

Swears that if any of the other Harbingers bring it up ever ever again he will kill their bodies and keep their consciousnesses trapped in a machine that he controls forevermore

Really he’s just glad that no one immediately pounced on one of his few shows of weakness

Maybe he’ll risk it again if it means he can cry it out for another hour but he wouldn’t dare say that out loud, won’t even finish the thought

But you know what he will do?

What he does best, of course

Look at an oddity in the world (in this case the traveller) and seek to pick it apart until he can put it back together without looking and still have it work

The only way he can actually get through his grieving is by finding something to take the edge off

And it just so happens that the traveller is a perfect candidate

Childe:

By no means has he ever liked Signora, in regards to personality or method, but her death still hit him

He had to travel back to Snezhnaya for the funeral, and it did absolutely cheer him up to see his family again and get to spoil them all silly, but with a mind whirling with thoughts it was genuinely hard for him to keep a smile up

Mainly thoughts about battle, because that’s really the only way he can interpret the world at this point

Like he keeps thinking about weather the Traveler was holding back with him, or if they had gained the strength to fight off yet another Fatui plot just in the month or so since Liyue? And if they had gained strength, how had they done it so fast? If they’d been holding back against him had he not shown himself to be a fighter worthy of their strength? Had Signora even faced the Traveler‘s full strength?

Overall his head is much too full of too many things, and it wears him out to the point that he ends up sleeping in late enough for his family to actually worry because usually he’s up before dawn training and they don’t see him until the afternoon

But he’s back on track as soon as he can, because the training helps him think, and once he can resolve most of his thoughts (or repress them so they don’t bother him too often) he’s absolutely alright and fine and ready to go! Totally. Fine. It’s fine.

The thoughts were very much There during the funeral, especially as the first harbinger read a (somewhat summarized version) of Signora’s life to the assembly of Fatui

(Oh and Pierro didn’t really care weather or not Signor wanted people to know her life after she died because she was dead now what was she going to do??)

The reveal that Signora had been fighting for the Fatui because her lover had been killed by the actions of the Anemo Archon, and she desired nothing more than to see him again… it got to Childe. It got to Childe more than he’d like to admit

Because suddenly the woman who he had always known as the embodiment of frostbite and frozen barbed wire fencing had someone she had cared about, genuinely cared about, to the point where she had become the Mondstadt legend, the Crimson Witch herself

And she had lost that lover to the actions of a fool of a God

He swore silently to himself that when the Tsaritsa‘s future came to pass he would make a little monument for Signora. Nothing big, probably a plaque on a nice stone where Mondstadt would have been before the Tsaritsa’s success, but a monument nonetheless

This promise was a spur of the moment thing, and later he would be like “Man she was a jerk, lost love or not why did I promise her that?“ but he doesn’t go back on promises

Besides, actually watching Dottore break down in a grief and sleep-depravation induced haze was also something that got to him because of course the two people he happened to simply Hate The Most in the organization were close that makes perfect sense but also wow it is weird to see Dottore cry and it feels Wrong because after murdering and tormenting so many people… Signora is gone and he breaks then??? What the fuck

Avoids most of the Harbingers after that, just heads home to Morepesok to spoil his siblings silly before going back to Liyue

Oh and his siblings can tell something is up, Teucer especially because when his brilliant big brother, the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya, is suddenly struggling to keep a smile even though they’re at home… he notices

Childe’s other siblings are all avoiding the subject, they heard about the death of Signora and all, they just assume the organization is going through it tight now and frankly most of them are a little afraid of him weather they‘ll admit it or not

Not Teucer though, he’s confused just because he still has grasped how Snezhnaya works yet, so he goes ahead and asks anyway

Childe just says he’s sad because he has to leave again so soon! And he hasn’t even been able to take Teucer fishing this time, isn’t that sad?

Teucer can tell that he’s lying

But Teucer is also beginning to sense the danger that lies behind Childe’s eyes, so for the first time? He doesn’t push it or say that they could go fishing now if they hurry

Just a grin and a “Next time!! Promise?” Makes it all better and he doesn’t have to think about why his big brother feels unnerving to look at sometimes

Childe is oblivious to Teucer’s growing awareness

He heads back to Liyue and makes himself focus on work

Scaramouch:

Now he didn’t particularly like Signora either, and didn’t really care about her life’s story, because blah blah blah we get it lady you lost someone, we all did, cry about it or whatever

But he does feel… he feels guilty for leaving her to face the Shogun

He had the Gnosis, he had finished Signora’s mission for her without even meaning to, and he had thought it would be funny to just let her face the Shogun without knowing that

To some extent, it’s his fault she’s dead

And it’s not the fact that she died because he didn’t go get her that weighs on him, it’s that he left her to the Shogun of all things

I don’t know if puppets like Scara can feel things like people and such do, but considering how the Shogun expressed frustration and stress when Ei disabled the majority of her functions, I’m going to assume they can

And because of the meddling of ‘some eccentric scientists’ his emotions are probably toned down a tad but he can still feel guilt all the same

And leaving Signora to the Shogun makes him feel guilty because he and the Shogun are essentially kin

Disowned and disavowed kin, but you know

He may have been able to easily counter the Shogun, or even help Signora prevail in her duel, but he. Ran. Off.

He happens to think that that was very cowardly of him

It causes a spike in his aggression which everyone unfortunately has to notice every time he walks by because the sheer static electricity that snaps in the air when he’s in the room now? Haha. Ouchie

Fun fact: he has no idea how to cope with guilt

He channels ALL of it into SHEER RAGE

Ever seen a couple hundred year old man go absolutely apeshit in the Harbinger‘s shared training arena? Well now you have!! It’s not a pretty sight!!

He’s crying and can’t tell why, which fuels his anger, which fuels stress as a fun side effect which just makes more tears and now he has to snap someone in half because he needs it to stop he hates it here he hates it here he hates it here

And in the beginning the guilt wasn’t even that severe for him, it was just so immensely magnified by his lack of coping skills that he very nearly broke himself down

He tried going to Dottore to get it disabled but Dottore had his doors all locked so Scara couldn’t even get a word through to him

Oh and the funeral was fine with him he just left early because he didn’t want to deal with looking people in the eye at the time because, again, his lack of coping skills with guilt magnified the whole feeling so it was almost unbearable

It’s a lot of fighting and breaking things before he’s able to resign himself to some semblance of how he was

#Genshin impact #genshin spoilers #genshin inazuma #genshin fatui #genshin Hcs #genshin headcannons #genshin signora #Rosalyne-Kruzchka Lohefalter #crimson witch of embers #crimson witch of flames #genshin Childe #Genshin Dottore #it is very late and my brain is abuzz #I have s’more thoughts about the Harbingers and Signora hut I’m already throwing all of this at y’all so #yeah #anyway #sad about her but also where Is Dottore hand him over mhy please

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notquitetwilight · 4 years ago

Text

THE CULLANOS: A TASTE OF BOSTON, PART TWO

The Cullanos continue taking care of business in Boston. Warning: this story contains graphic violence and sexual references (no smut, just truly cursed references). Previous instalment

Esme breathed shakily as she walked hand-in-hand with her husband past brownstone after brownstone. The street was deserted; it was just the two of them and the parked cars that lined their path. Her thoughts seemed to scream louder in the silence as she mentally willed that the daughter they left behind would be safe.

“S’like Brooklyn down here,” Carlisle said absentmindedly, keeping his voice low. When she didn’t answer, he looked at her, suddenly noticing her unease. “What’s the matta, baby?”

“I think…” she trailed off, unsure. She wasn’t used to being nervous. But she couldn’t shake the image of Rosalie’s wide eyes right before she had left her in the car. They were the same shade of blue as Carlisle’s, the type that seemed cold and piercing when narrowed, but inviting enough to swim in when widened. Though she’d never have admitted it, Esme knew she was afraid. And that made her afraid.

“I’m not sure we should’ve brought her.”

He frowned. “Rosie?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, our other child we were recently reunited with. Who else?”

“She wanted to come,” he said, raising a shoulder.

“So? If she said she wanted to do crack, would you let her?”

“Depends on whether or not she’d share,” he grinned.

“Carl, I’m serious,” she said, her voice cracking a little, which surprised both of them.

He squeezed her hand. “She’s a smart girl, Ezzie. She knows the drill.”

“Still, if somethin’ goes wrong—“

“It won’t.”

“If it does, I don’t…” she stopped in her tracks, feeling like she couldn’t take in air as quickly as her body needed her to. She closed her eyes as she tried to level her breathing. “If somethin’ were to happen to her, I don’t know what I’d do. I’d never forgive myself. Or you.”

She opened her eyes to find him looking a little wounded. “I thought this was what you wanted. Her here, with us.”

“It is,” she said, starting to walk again. “But all this is also why we gave her up in the first place, right?”

He groaned quietly. “Not this again.”

That infuriated her. She let go of his hand and made a great effort to keep the volume of her voice low in her response. “I’m sorry, is my fear for our daughter’s safety inconveniencin’ you?”

“I can’t keep doin’ this,” he said with a sigh. “Over and over, I keep tryin’ to make you happy, and over and over, I feel like I’m failin’. Because I don’t know what you want. Because you don’t know what you want.” He spoke so calmly, so matter-of-factly, without a hint of malice. She balked at him.

“What?” was all she managed.

“You want me, but you don’t want me. So I try move on. Twice. When ya do want me, I’m there in a heartbeat. You want our daughter, but you don’t want our daughter, so I give up my chance to be a dad to her. But then you do want her, but only from a distance, so we torture ourselves watchin’ other people raise her. Then you want her, fully want her, so I bring her back to us, and ever since I did you’ve been sayin’ maybe we shoulda left her as she was. I don’t know what else to do. I feel like I can’t make you happy no matta what. Maybe you were right, all those times ya said family life wasn’t for you. Ya seem a lot less happy since we became one.”

She gritted her teeth and glared up at him, ready to risk their cover in screaming at him. Yet her anger dissolved immediately upon seeing his face. He looked…sad. Truly, hopelessly sad, the type that usually only came with grief. Only she was allowed to see him this vulnerable, and only she had seen him wear this same expression just twice before: the day of his mother’s funeral, and the day they gave Rose up.

She had never considered how all of it might have looked to him, how what she said or did could be misinterpreted. She just assumed he knew where her head was at, because she always knew where his was at. But it suddenly occurred to her that she knew everything he thought because he spoke everything he thought to her. He knew her well, better than anyone else did, but he wasn’t a mind-reader. And while she believed herself to be a relatively good communicator, she knew she was nowhere near as good as him.

“There it is,” he muttered, interrupting her thoughts. He came to a halt and nodded to the dark grey brownstone a little ahead of them, the last on the street.

She frowned. “That’s...their house?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s attached to other buildin’s,” she said flatly.

“Guess that’s what silencers are for.”

He started for the Ivanov residence while rooting in one of his pockets, but she pulled at his arm. “Carl.”

He let her grip lead him to face her, but he looked at his feet, kicking the ground.

“Look at me,” she said softly. His head stayed down and his forehead remained creased.

“Baby?” she tried. He raised his head to meet her eyes then, and she couldn’t help but smile with relief. He was usually the one for terms of endearment, so the rare times she used them, she got his full attention.

“I’m not...less happy,” she started, unsure of how to explain herself.

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I am sure! Give me a chance. I’m much more happy, one hundred per cent. But I’m also much more worried. And maybe that’s what looks bad. Maybe I’m not handlin’ it right, I dunno. But I’m not used to bein’ worried. I’m not used to bein’...scared. And I am, Carl. For the first time in my life, I’m fuckin’ terrified. Almost 24/7.”

The line between his eyebrows deepened. “I don’t get it,” he shook his head the slightest bit. “Why? You’ve never been the anxious type.”

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to say,” she gripped onto his forearms and gently shook them. “I’ve never been scared because I only had myself to worry about. And I didn’t care what happened to me, or what kinda shit I got myself into. The money and the good time was worth it. Everything was carefree and I didn’t wanna be tied down. But it got to the point where I wasn’t...happy anymore. I think that’s where the Charles thing came from. You got married for the first time and I hated it. And it was my own fault, because I said no to you, but it was only when I saw what you had without me that I realised I wanted that, too. So I married that asshole and then that went to shit. Had me kinda believin’ I wasn’t meant to have that family life. And then it was back to square one; you askin’ me to marry you, me sayin’ no, you gettin’ married to someone else and me hatin’ it again.

“But I just continued doin’ what I wanted, not carin’, until that day she walked in on us in the kitchen. I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone the way I hated her that day. It was like, all of a sudden I realised that even though you were mine, you were officially hers on paper. She was the wife, I was the goomar. And I fuckin’ hated it and I fuckin’ hated her and I wanted it to just be fuckin’ done with already. And then she was dead and you were askin’ me to marry you again and it felt so right to finally fuckin’ say yes. And I think I started to feel a little bit like the stakes were higher after we made it official, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it is now. Not as bad as it’s been since Rosie came. We worked so hard for her to trust us, for her to want to stay with us. And now the three of us are finally together as a proper family. It might not be a ‘Brady Bunch’ scenario, but it’s us. It’s like, the last piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place, and now I’m waitin’ for it to fall apart. So you’re right, I’ve never been the anxious type. But I never had anything to lose. Now I do — I have everything to lose. And I don’t know what I’d do if I lost it.”

He wiped away a tear she hadn’t noticed rolling down her cheek and pulled her into him. She gasped for breath after rambling for so long. “Why didn’t you say?” he mumbled against her hairline, then kissed the top of her forehead.

“I dunno. Maybe I thought you knew already. Or maybe I didn’t wanna sound stupid.” She sighed and fully leaned into him, her cheek against his chest. This way, she was facing the Ivanov house, and it registered with her that there was the tiniest sliver of light visible through a gap in one window’s heavy curtains.

“That doesn’t sound stupid at all,” he stroked the back of her head. “It’s a relief, actually. I thought maybe you were gettin’ bored of it all. Of us.”

“Never,” she said, tearing her eyes away from the house so she could lift her head to look at him. “You’re my person, forever.”

“And she’s our person, that we made,” he smiled. “Isn’t that fuckin’ crazy, when ya think about it?”

“But isn’t that— doesn’t that make you scared? I’ve seen how much you adore her. Why aren’t you worried, like me?”

“I just...trust in my gut. And my gut says none of us are dyin’ for a long, long time.”

“That’s it?” she asked without snark. She was genuinely fascinated by his complete lack of concern for their safety.

“Yeah. I have faith in us. We’re not dumb, we’re not new to this, we’re good both as individuals and as a team. And like you said, there’s more to lose now, so there’s more to fight for. Think of how unstoppable you were when you didn’t give a shit. Can you imagine anyone bein’ able to stop you now that you do?”

“Guess not,” she said, feeling a smile growing across her face. She was still worried, but she felt much better. There was a lot of sense in what he said. His words did their job in comforting her, as they often did.

“I love you,” she said, pulling at his neck to bring his face down to hers. “You always know the right thing to say.”

She kissed him then, slowly and expressively at first. But she quickly began to lose herself in it, and her fingers found themselves running through his hair. He let out a soft groan before pulling away and grinning at her.

“Later, baby. We have a job to do.” He glanced at his Rolex and his face dropped. “Shit. We’re a lil’ behind schedule. Alice’ll be waitin’.”

She nodded and pointed at the house as the two of them began walking again. “Someone’s up, too.”

He squinted at the window as they both rooted around in their pockets for their earpieces. They stopped a little short of the brownstone as they put them in.

“You ready?” he whispered, taking her hand again and bringing it to his lips to kiss it.

She nodded once more, and the two of them turned on their earpieces.

“About tiiiiiiiiiiiime,” Alice sang the second they were connected. “You’re late. By five minutes!”

“A queen is never late,” Esme said, her speaking volume lower than Carlisle’s whisper had been. “Everyone else is simply early.”

“Did Madame Mafia just quote ‘the Princess Diaries’ to me?” Alice asked with mock shock.

Carlisle tilted his head and raised his brows.

“Rose showed it to me last weekend,” Esme answered defensively. “We were...bondin’.”

He smirked and turned away from her, eyeing up the house in front of them. “Okay Alice, how’re we doin’?”

“Strangely, no guards — not on the property, anyway. That’s not like them at all. I partly wondered if they were hanging around the area and you ran into a few, because you were late, but I guess not since you’re alive and calm. As for the Ivanovs themselves, two are home: Katarina and Garrett. I have eyes everywhere except the bathrooms, so unless the rest of the family and an army of cronies are hiding in showers, this should be pretty easy.”

The words were like music to Esme’s ears. Her shoulders immediately relaxed, and she finally began to feel excited. She beamed at Carlisle, who gave her a knowing smile and mouthed “see?” in return.

“That’s what I like to hear, Al,” he said. “And you’ll be able to shut their camera system down once we’re out?”

“Of course. Once you’re out and alive, it’s gone.”

“Great. So, they’re still up?”

“Unfortunately,” Alice groaned.

“Don’t worry about us Al, that makes it more fun.”

“I wasn’t saying ‘unfortunately’ because I don’t think you can handle them. I was saying ‘unfortunately’ because over the past half hour, I’ve seen some shit. And that’s saying a lot, considering I work for you two.”

Esme and Carlisle exchanged a look, the pair of them frowning.

“What do you mean?” she asked her.

“I mean I want a raise,” Alice grumbled, causing Carlisle to break into another smile.

“Ahh...they’re in a bedroom?”

“That idea, yes. But wrong room. The living room’s where you’re heading for. Second floor. The ground floor is more like an empty hall, kinda like those malls that don’t really start ‘til you go up the escalator. There’s an elevator, but obviously that’ll make noise, so you should take the stairs.”

“That’a girl. Did you see if they’re armed?”

“As far as I can tell, no. There’s a shit tonne of guns and what appear to be Molotov cocktails in the bedrooms, so don’t give them a chance to go running. I can’t see any weapons in the living room. But I mean you guys know, the likelihood that they’ve got something concealed somewhere — either in the room or on them — is 50/50.”

“Yeah, true. Thanks. I guess that’s our cue.”

“Alrighty. Good luck! I’ll be right here in your ears the whole time.”

The pair of them readied their weapons and clinked the tip of their guns together in salute as they always did.

“Ladies first,” he smiled at her, and he let her lead the way.

Back in the car, Rosalie leaned into her headrest after checking her timer for the umpteenth time. She had set it the second the couple disappeared from view and found herself checking it every minute or so since. There was nothing else to do. She didn’t want to get distracted by her phone in case trouble was around. She couldn’t play music, because she neither wanted to attract attention nor miss anything she’d need to hear. All she could do was wait in the silence, and every second that ticked by felt like an hour.

She almost jumped out of her skin when her phone noisily vibrated on the dashboard. She grabbed it in a panic as though it was loud enough to wake the whole street, but once it was in her hand, she simply stared at it. Royce. Of course. She should’ve known her on-again off-again boyfriend would be the only person to ring her at this hour. She let it ring out, then shifted in her seat to make herself comfortable. The second she did, her phone began to vibrate again. With an eye roll, she brought it up to her ear.

She was immediately met with loud sounds that caused her to wince and pull the phone back slightly. A baseline thudded, so she knew he was out, but the sound was too distorted for her to tell if he was at a club or a party.

“Hello?” she asked, beginning to wonder whether the calls had been accidental. A muffled voice finally spoke, though it said nothing comprehensible.

“Royce, is that you? I can’t hear you,” she tried, keeping her voice low. She wasn’t going to up the volume she had maintained just because he called her from a loud place.

“ROSE!” Royce boomed from the other end of the phone, causing her to wince again. “Come...c’mere. M’over...s’funnn.”

The combination of the loud atmosphere, poor connection and slurred words made it difficult to understand.

“Royce, I don’t know what you’re saying. You know I’m not even in New York or Jersey right now, right? Remember I told you?”

“M’over...” he said again before saying something intelligible.

She was losing patience. “You’re drunk again, and I don’t know what you’re saying. I can’t talk right now, okay? I’ve gotta go.”

He started shouting incoherently. The only thing she made out before hanging up on him was the word ‘bitch’.

She inhaled deeply and checked the timer again. They’d been gone seventeen minutes and 48 seconds. Esme had said to leave after the forty minute mark. She shuddered at the idea of having to drive off without them, wondering whether or not she’d be able to do so if that’s what it came to. It was hard to imagine life beyond them now, though they’d only been connected for a little over a year. She stared out the windshield, biting the inside of her cheek, and felt her phone vibrate again.

Huffing, she thrust it up against her ear. “I said I can’t talk!” she hissed.

It was dead silent. There was none of the noise of the previous call. For a split second, she wondered if she had accidentally hung up.

“Rosalie?” asked a clear, deep voice after a beat.

She paused. “Yes?” she said in a small voice.

“Oh, it is you, thank god!” Relief flooded her as she recognised the voice as Emmett’s. “I was a lil’ confused for a second there. Thought maybe I dialled the wrong number.”

“Sorry Emmett. I— I thought you were somebody else.”

“No prahblem, no prahblem.”

“Is everything okay? If you’re calling me because you couldn’t reach the lovebirds, they’re not back yet.”

“No, no,” he said. “I just wanted to check in and say hi while the two ‘a them are gone. Y’know, just makin’ sure you’re holdin’ up okay on your first big job.”

“Thanks,” she said, a little bitterly.

He must’ve picked up on her tone, because there was another pause. “Uh, sorry to bother you.”

“I’m not pissed at you, I’m pissed at them for thinking I need to be checked up on. I told them I’d be fine.”

“Huh? Nobody asked me to. I just wanted to.”

“Oh,” she said awkwardly, but the corners of her mouth tugged up.

“Yeah. It’s just, I remember how scared I was on my first big job.”

“I’m not scared,” she insisted, back to frowning.

“No? Then you’re a braver soul than I am. I was scared shitless.”

“Really? Carlisle never said.”

“Because he doesn’t know,” Emmett laughed. She didn’t know a sound could be so warm. “I held it together pretty well. But when all was done, he dropped me off at the corner of my block, and I waited for his car to disappear before pukin’ my damn guts up all over the sidewalk.”

She was the one laughing then. She leaned her head against the window as a silence fell over them.

“Okay, maybe I am a little worried,” she said quietly. “Time seems to be dragging by. Esme told me to leave if they’re not back within forty minutes. I obviously don’t want to have to even think about doing that.”

“Of course, of course,” he said. “Honestly though, I’m sure she said it as a precaution, and they’ll be back to ya in no time. You haven’t seen your parents in action. Let’s just say I’m glad I work for them, because I’d hate to be against them.”

“Thanks,” she said again, more sincerely this time.

“And it’s okay to be scared. It’s completely normal. The people who are never scared— those are the mad bastahds you gotta watch out for. Because you gotta be batshit crazy to never know fear.”

“Carlisle’s never scared,” she smiled.

“Well, there ya go, see!” Rosalie could hear the smile in his voice, too. “Case in fuckin’ point!”

She found herself laughing again. It came so easily to her when she spoke to him.

“I better get goin’, letcha get back to it.”

“Okay,” she said. “And thanks, Emmett. I think that helped.”

“No prahblem,” he said again.

“Unless Esme and Carlisle did put you up to this, in which case, no it didn’t.”

“I swear’ta gahd, Rosie, neither of them even know. I had to get your number from Alice.”

Rosie. He had picked that up from Carlisle. It was strange how much she’d come to like a nickname she initially detested.

“‘Kay. Well, thanks again.”

“You have my number now, too,” he said, sounding suddenly serious. “I’ll be right here at the other end of the phone, anytime you need me, ahrite?”

“Does that include if in twenty-or-so minutes’ time I have to decide whether or not to leave my long-lost parents for dead?”

“You betcha.”

“Great!”

He laughed. “Take care, Rosie.”

“Bye, Emmett.”

She hung up the call and resisted the urge to check the timer just yet. A new-found calmness had come over her, and she wanted to bask in it a little while longer.

“Is she beating him to death?” Carlisle whispered up at his wife as she reached the top of the stairs to the Ivanov’s second floor. Alice had been right, they ran into no extra bodies on their way in. And though she was several states away, she had disarmed the entrance’s security with ease.

“No,” Alice answered with a sigh before Esme could. “I think that might actually have made for easier viewing.”

“Don’t be such a prude,” Carlisle quietly teased.

“I’ll have you know, this isn’t your average spank session,” Alice scolded.

“Well now I’m curious,” Esme said, straining to listen. “Is this somethin’ I’m gonna wanna take note of?”

“Ugh, knowing you, probably,” came the answer in her ear.

Esme looked back to smirk at Carlisle.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Shoulda brought a pen.”

“I’ll take mental notes,” she promised.

“And if that fails, you can use the notes my therapist will have taken after I’ve word-vomited all this to her while rocking back and forth,” Alice announced.

Carlisle took his place beside Esme at the top of the stairs and slipped an arm around her waist. The long hallway ahead of them was windowless, its red and gold-patterned wallpaper interrupted by the occasional closed door. Still, it was brightly lit by the two massive chandeliers that hung from its high ceiling. To their left was the unit for the elevator. Carlisle waved at the little CCTV camera above it, prompting a laugh from Alice. Behind them was another set of stairs that led to higher floors they wouldn’t see. The Persian carpet that stretched the length of the hall floor would come in handy to muffle their footsteps.

“Up ahead, the second door on the left is the kitchen,” Alice told them. “It’s got a pass-through and an open plan door to the living room, so be careful.”

“‘Kay,” was all Esme dared to respond as Carlisle let her go. She crept forward.

The pair of them silently edged along the wall, the voices from the living room growing louder as they got closer. Esme stopped at the kitchen door and brought her pistol up to her chest. The pair of them concentrated on the voices inside.

“Alright, swap,” Katarina said. “It’s my turn to rest.”

There were two thuds, and then her voice mingled with a man’s as both began chant-like muttering. Esme couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Carlisle tapped her on the shoulder. When she looked at him, he mouthed, “praying?” with a confused frown.

She paused to listen and confirm, then nodded. He was right, though it left her no less confused. The muttering stopped, and there was some shuffling of feet. The sounds of slapping and groaning resumed, but this time they could tell Katarina was the receiver.

She nudged him and put her gun-free hand on the door handle. With his nod of approval, she slowly pushed it down and opened the door at an acute angle.

“You’re all clear here,” Alice told her, but she gave a quick glance around it anyway to get her bearings. The kitchen was reasonably small for such a big house, and it looked as though it had been home to a frat party. Mess, clutter and countless empty bottles of Absolut Vodka littered every surface. The pass-through was a few feet ahead on her left.

Tip-toeing inside, she immediately grabbed her other gun so she had one in each hand. Both of them made their way to the side of the pass-through as Garrett was saying something about Christ. They hunkered down, then crawled under it, and shimmied out of their heavyweight coats as quietly as possible.

Esme was about to rise slightly up when Carlisle touched her arm. “Only shoot if you have to,” he mouthed slowly so she’d get every word.

The two of them rose and peeped through together. Esme had been right; Garrett was sat on a chair with Katarina bent over his legs as he repeatedly slapped her backside. Still, he mumbled about “the Lord” this and “Jesus” that. Esme looked at Carlisle quizzically.

“Feel the hand of God,” Garrett suddenly half-shouted in comparison to his previous volume. “Who has the most lovin’ hand of all, Kate?”

“God, through you,” Katarina answered him.

“What the fuck is this?” Carlisle breathed, just about audible. “It’s like watchin’ Barbie get an exorcism.”

Esme pressed her lips together to contain a laugh, mentally cursing him. With Katarina’s long blonde hair and baby pink Adidas tracksuit, he wasn’t far off the mark.

“It’s called CDD,” Alice informed. “Short for ‘Christian Domestic Discipline’. The whole religion thing stumped me too when I saw them praying, because like, they’re not even the same religion, right? She’s presumably Orthodox and he’s gotta be Catholic. Anyway, I googled ‘pray spanking’ and found that. Apparently it’s a movement that started as like, a ‘women are inferior in Christian marriages and should treat their husbands like God himself’ thing, but naturally, it got turned into a kink.”

The two of them exchanged a look again and sank back down to their hunkers. Carlisle gestured out their route around the corner of the wall they were now up against and through the open plan door. He pointed to her and made a finger gun, then pointed to himself and pulled out a rope from one of his coat pockets. She nodded once and rounded the corner with her guns raised right as Garrett’s head looked in that direction.

“Don’t move,” she warned, one pistol aimed at his head and the other aimed at Katarina’s.

They both froze, his hand mid-air. Esme stalked closer as Carlisle moved behind them.

“Off the chair,” he commanded. “And putcha hands behind your head.”

They did as they were told and knelt on the ground. Carlisle patted Garrett down and began tying him while Esme came to Katarina’s side. The blonde swallowed tightly. When Carlisle was finished with Garrett, he moved onto her.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch her,” Garrett said as he patted, making Esme smile. As if he’d be able to stop them with his hands and feet tied.

“Whadiya take me for?” Carlisle asked. “I don’t hurt women.”

“Mhmm,” Esme agreed, tracing the side of Katarina’s face with the tip of her pistol. “This one’s all mine.”

Garrett helplessly flopped in Esme’s direction from his place on the floor.

“Easy now,” Carlisle said, finishing up with Katarina and moving to crouch down beside him. “I said I wouldn’t hurt your girl, and you repay me by goin’ for mine?”

Garrett stared blankly ahead. Carlisle tilted his chin up with his gun to meet his eyes.

“It wouldn’t be the first time you double-crossed though, would it? There was our Kiev deal, then the small matter of you murderin’ your own pal. Lettin’ his kid grow up without a father. What kinda person does that, huh? Ya know, I might be a lotta things. But I know where my loyalties lie. And I’d never betray a friend. Even people like us have rules, and that’s one of ‘em.”

“You wanna talk about the loyalty of friends?” Katarina piped up, prompting Esme to hold her pistol against her head. “You might want to look closer to your own circle.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Esme asked, her eyes narrowed.

“You haven’t wondered where the others are?” Garrett smiled. “They’re actually in your neck of the woods. Meeting with some of your buddies. Ironic really, isn’t it? You come all the way here hoping to kill Tati, only for her to be in your area.”

Alice gave a “hmm” as Carlisle’s eyes flickered to meet Esme’s, then settled back on Garrett’s face. Neither of them could tell whether or not he was trying to throw them, but both understood not to let him.

“We didn’t come here to kill Tatiana,” Esme said cooly. “Any single one ‘a yous woulda done. Instead we got two. I call that a success.”

“Do you?” Katarina cooed. “I wouldn’t be that confident ‘til all of us are dead. Especially if I had a daughter who didn’t know how to shoot.”

Carlisle felt the colour drain from his face. Esme immediately yanked Katarina down by the hair until her cheek hit the floor, then placed a knee on her back.

“What the fuck does your family know about my daughter?” She growled into her ear. “Tell me everything you know and how you know it.”

“It’s hardly a secret,” Katarina said, the words muffled against yet another Persian rug. “You’ve been paradin’ her — what’s her name, Rose or something? — paradin’ her all around New York and Jersey. Don’t tell me you didn’t think people would notice?”

“I hear she’s real pretty,” Garrett added. “And you know us bunch, we like our blondes.”

With that, Carlisle began relentlessly punching him. Garrett’s groans sounded different to how they had sounded in the hallway. Here, he was getting to know much less loving hands.

Esme pulled at Katarina’s hair again. “Tell me who told you about my daughter.”

“No.”

She shifted so she could better aim for Katarina’s kneecap, then shot it. The blonde let out an agonising scream, which woke Carlisle from his blind rage just long enough to look up and spot a marble urn on the fireplace.

“Tell me who told you about my daughter.”

“Fuck you,” Katarina moaned, writhing in pain.

Carlisle got up and grabbed the urn, dumped whatever ashes were inside into the fire pit, and made his way back to Garrett.

Esme flipped Katarina over and shot her other kneecap. Another ear-piercing scream blocked out the sound of Carlisle beating Garrett with the urn.

“Tell me something. Anything about what or how you know.”

Katarina simply whimpered. Esme pressed her foot against her knee, but the scream that followed was feeble. She would soon pass out from either blood loss or pain.

“You’re not gonna tell me anything?”

Katarina barely shook her head. Esme sighed and shot her between the eyebrows.

Carlisle was sitting still and staring at Garrett when she made her way over to him. “Is he dead?”

He shrugged.

She picked up the urn from the floor and gave Garrett’s body several extra beats to be sure.

“Is now,” Alice said quietly. Neither of them laughed.

Carlisle rubbed at his temple while Esme sat back beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“They know about Rosie,” was all he said.

She nodded.

“Guess there’s no goin’ back now. Even if she wanted to, there’s no way she can go back to the life she had.”

“No,” Esme agreed.

“I get it now,” he mumbled, more to himself than to her.

“Get what?”

“I think...I’m finally worried.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Alice awkwardly cleared her throat.

“Alice, what they said about our friends—” Carlisle started.

“I won’t say anything,” she said before he could finish. They both trusted that. If Alice was a betrayer, they’d already be dead.

“Thanks.”

He closed his eyes for a few seconds before standing up. Esme didn’t like seeing him so uneasy. He was her comforter, so if he needed comforting, things weren’t good. But he did need comforting, and as his person, it was her job to do so.

“Alice, could you mute us for a while?” Esme asked as she got to her feet. “And turn off the living room camera? We need a minute.”

Alice hesitated. “Alright. But watch the time, for Rose’s sake. And I’ll mute you, but don’t mute me in case I need to warn you about unexpected visitors elsewhere in the property.”

“Thanks,” Esme said.

“Okay, I can’t see or hear you now. So if you need my attention, go to another room.”

Esme tugged Carlisle’s arm. “Help me move the bodies out of this room. I want it to be just us.”

He looked at her with confusion, but did as she asked.

Rosalie stared at the numbers on her timer. Forty-eight minutes and fifty-three seconds, and still no sign of her parents. Her free hand drummed at the steering wheel the way her fingers had before they left.

“C’mon, c’mon,” she muttered at the windshield. She felt her eyes start to well up and blinked furiously.

“Fine. An hour,” she promised aloud to no one, in attempt to settle herself. “We’ll hang on ‘til it’s been an hour.”

She glanced back at the timer, but a noise made her look up again. There the pair of them were, running towards her, open coats flapping in the wind. She exhaled with relief and started the engine. The headlights lit them up as she drove forward, giving her a full view of them. Both were covered in blood splatters.

“Thank god,” she cried as each of them swung open a door and hopped in the back.

“Hey, Princess,” Carlisle greeted her as she sped off.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Esme chirped. “Thanks for waitin’. Sorry we’re late.”

Rosalie frowned. Her tone was...strange. In the rearview mirror, she found the two of them staring at each other dreamily. Then, she registered Carlisle’s messed hair, and realised it wasn’t a tough fight that had delayed them.

“You assholes!” she seethed. “Do you have any fucking idea what ran through my mind?! I thought you were dead! I thought I was gonna get myself killed waiting around for two people who’d never come, because they were dead!”

“Sorry,” they said in unison.

“That’s it? You scare me into believing you’re dead and all I get is a simple sorry?”

“You were scared for us?” Esme sounded pleased. Rosalie rolled her eyes.

“You’re right,” Carlisle added. “That was selfish. Worry isn’t a nice feelin’. And a simple sorry isn’t all you get for it. We’ll head down Fifth Ave once we’re home if you like.”

She did like the sound of that, but she didn’t want him to think she could be easily won round. “Fine,” she said with a sigh.

“Oh and Rose?” Esme asked.

“Yeah?”

“We’re teaching you to shoot.”

118 notes · View notes

honey-dewey · 4 years ago

Text

All the Write Places

Pairing: Javier Peña/Reader

Word Count: 3,041

Warnings: Mentions of canon typical violence, some use of (Y/N)

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

A collection of letters between the Reader, who is still in Texas with Javier’s family, and Javier while he’s hunting Escobar in Columbia.

Mi Amor,

It’s Javier again. I know it’s been too long since my last letter, but the DEA doesn’t want any of my personal information to be intercepted. Steve is doing well. He and Connie just adopted a baby. I think her name is Olivia.

I’m sorry I haven’t called in a while. It’s for the same reason I don’t write all too often. I can’t wait to see you again, I promise it will be soon.

Yours forever, Javier.

P.S. keep an eye out for a package.

———

My Javi,

I miss you so much my dear. Your last letter brought me to tears, and I’m over the moon about the package. The jacket is huge on me, but it smells just like you. You be sure to give the Murphys my love, and kiss their little girl for me.

Things are alright here at home. Your mother treats me like one of her own kids, and it’s very sweet. Your father has begun to teach me Spanish, and your cousins constantly ask about when their Uncle Javi is coming home.

We all miss you, but I miss you most my dear. I can’t wait to see you again.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Amor,

The Murphys insist I tell you Olivia is doing well and has received your love. The hunt is long, but the promise of you waiting for me at home is a sure comfort.

I apologize, but I must keep my letters short. Just know that I love you and I will be coming home. I promise.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

I know you must keep your letters short, but your mother insists you write more. She misses you dearly. I don’t think she understands the gravity of your job. Your father understands. He is worried for you, and his brother helped him rig his radio to listen to the Colombian news. Every time I hear that name, I shiver. He’s a horrible horrible man, and I cannot wait to see him rot in prison.

To keep this letter happy, I want to tell you your sister is pregnant! She’s overjoyed, and so am I. I know you won’t be home to meet the baby, but I’ll send photos, just as I always do.

I love you my dear. I’ll wait for you to return to me, no matter how long that is.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Amor,

The pictures were just what I needed. They are in my apartment, and I put the one of you and my parents on my desk so you’re always with me.

Tell my sister I’m proud of her and cannot wait to meet my niece or nephew. With luck, we’ll be home soon.

I’m sending another package for you and the family. I love you.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

The pregnancy continues to go well, and the kids loved your package. I’m glad you enjoyed the photos.

Unfortunately, I don’t know when I’ll be able to write again. I know it’s hard for you, but my mother just passed, and I’m headed back north for the funeral and to spend some time with my dad. I’ll give them your love, as always.

I wish you were by my side, Javier. The days seem so long without you.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Corazón

You shouldn’t have called me Javier. It was risky, for the both of us. However, I do so desperately miss your voice. I’m glad I got to speak with you.

I promised I’d write when I returned to Texas, and I am home beside your family once more. They’re all jealous I got to speak with you, but the adults understand. Your mother especially understood, and made me swear to tell you she wants you to call for Christmas.

Javier, if at all possible, please listen to that annoying American station on the radio, you know the one that’s obsessed with 50’s music? We listen every night during dinner, and it would warm my heart if I knew you were listening too.

Give Murphy my love. Tell him I can’t wait to meet him one day.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Amor,

I apologize for the call, but you must understand why I risked it. I couldn’t have you grieve alone, not without me to help you through that pain.

I do know the station you wrote about, and I agree it’s annoying. The boys at the office like it, and it’s on while we work. Knowing you listen to it too, it makes my heart swell. One day, we’ll listen to those old songs together, I promise.

My letters will be few and far between, and I apologize. Things are getting worse here, but I vow to return to you alive and whole.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

You mother has decided our song is that Bobby Darrin song that plays every day. The one about the man who’s away from his woman and wishes he could grow wings and fly to her side? Beyond the Sea, she says it’s called.

Your father always changes the station when he thinks we’re all asleep. He listens to the Colombian news, and I think he prays. You said he doesn’t miss you, but he does. He absolutely does.

In other news, your sister is about ready to pop. She’s always complaining about how much her back hurts, and she’s adamant that the baby is staying in all nine months only to make her suffer. I’ve enclosed pictures, because we all painted her stomach and it was hilarious.

I hope to hear from you again before Christmas. The holidays haven’t been the same without you.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Amor,

And I thought my family decorated for Christmas. Columbia has some of the nicest holiday decorations I’ve ever seen. I tried to get Murphy to photograph them, but they didn’t turn out quite right. I’ve sent them anyway.

Tell my sister I cannot wait to meet my niece or nephew. I’m sure that tiny bundle of joy will be just what you need over the holidays.

The Embassy is allowing me to call on Christmas, and I’m allowed to stay on the line for as long as it’s safe. With the precautions they’ve taken, I might even be able to talk with you for hours, my love. I cannot wait. It will be the best Christmas present, being able to hear your voice.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

I don’t know when this letter will reach you, but the baby came today! Only a day before Christmas. Your sister is pissed that she’ll be spending Christmas in the hospital, but the baby, a beautiful little girl, is so cute. She’s lifted everyone’s spirits, and the promise of your call tomorrow is only making them happier.

I know this will be our reality for as long as it just be, but I want you home Javier. It sounds selfish, I know, but I want you beside me, no matter the price. Please come home soon, my love, or I fear I may forget you.

I’m eagerly awaiting your call. I’ll talk to you soon.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Amor,

Hearing your voice was just what I needed today. I assume I’ll be receiving a letter soon that tells me my sister had her baby, but I couldn’t wait to write.

My love, I have a surprise for you. Before you get excited, I’m not coming home soon. The fight only grows harder, and I don’t know if I’ll be home for years. But I found you a gift, one I know you’ll adore. I must be there to give it to you, in person. I know, how cruel of me to deny you your gift for what may be years. Just know, I will never forget it. It sits on my desk and Murphy teases me about it relentlessly. One day, I’ll give it to you. One day.

I’ll see you again, my love. I swear it.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

Your last letter stunned me Javi! You must’ve written that as soon as we hung up. As for the gift, it will be aging waiting for it. Am I allowed to guess? Will you tell me when I get it right?

Your mother was a bit disappointed you couldn’t be with us for Christmas. She made an absolutely heavenly apple pie that she said is your favorite.

The baby grows stronger with every passing day. Maybe one day, she and the Murphy’s little girl can be friends. I think they’d like that.

I’ll see you soon Javier.

Yours truly, (F/N).

———

Mi Amor,

This will be hard to hear. I’ve had trouble simply writing it, and I know it will be hell to read. I have to stop sending letters. One of the DEA’s men wrote a letter to his wife, and two days later he was found dead in a river. It won’t be forever, and I will still receive every letter you send me as long as you keep mailing them they way you are, but we cannot risk anyone finding me right now.

To answer your previous question, yes. Please guess what the gift is. I bet you’ll never be able to guess.

I’ll write as soon as I can.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

Not knowing whether you’ve received my letters will be torture Javi. But, as you’ve told me many times, I must remain strong. I will admit I cried when your last letter arrived, but then I imagined you sitting next to a radio, listening to our song at the same time I did, and it was like you were beside me. I miss you dearly Javier, but I will remain brave until your next letter arrives.

Until then, I will simply have to keep you updated. The baby is almost three months now and starting to be a troublemaker, just like her uncle. Your sister jokes her first word will be ‘Javi’ with how much we speak of you around the house.

I also heard, via phone, that Connie is back in the states with Olivia. She says Columbia was just too much, but promised to come and visit me. Give Steve my condolences, I know it must be hard.

Until my next letter, I love you dear.

Yours truly, (F/N).

P.S. Is the gift that book I spoke of over Christmas?

———

Mi Corazón,

Another month, another letter. Now, I make no effort to conceal myself when I listen to the Columbian news with your father and mother. Your mother cries, and your father prays. Sometimes I cry with her, and sometimes I pray with him. It’s hard, not knowing who’s reading this letter first.

Connie came to visit, and she brought Olivia. She’s such a sweet thing, and she adores your cousins. She told me about what she’s seen, what’s happened to her, and I wish for you home more than ever. It sounds horrible, her retellings coupled with the news I barely understand, it sounds awful. The price on your head, and yet you walk around anyway. Please, my heart, be careful. I cannot lose you.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

P.S. This guessing game is such fun. Your sister gave me an idea. Is your gift a camera? I doubt it is, but she wanted me to ask.

———

Mi Corazón,

I apologize for not writing for months. I was traveling to visit my father. He had a health scare and wanted me by his side.

The baby is almost eight months now! Her first word was ‘Javi,’ and we all had a big laugh about it. It’s painful not having you here, or at least having letters.

I listen to our song every night, whenever it’s on the radio. Your sister teases me for it, but I don’t care. It connects me to you. To makes me wonder if some day, we could have a future where there’s no threat, where we could be together.

Please promise me Javier, you won’t get involved with any of this dangerous shit happening in Columbia if you can help it.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

P.S. is the gift jewelry? Your mother thinks it’s a ring.

———

Mi Amor,

I have another torturous request. Please stop writing. Your last letter was intercepted by his men and it was almost very bad. Before I go, please know I listen to our song every night. Tell my sister I love her and her tiny troublemaker, my mother I wish I were home, and my father I’m grateful for the prayers. As for you, I miss you so much my love. I tried to delay the inevitable, but we must stop communicating. I love you, no matter how far apart we are. I’ll write as soon as it’s safe.

Yours forever, Javier.

P.S. No it isn’t the book, no it isn’t a camera, and yes it is jewelry.

———

Mi Amor,

Are you still the same person I wrote to years ago? How’s my sister and my niece, and my parents? How are you? And your father? Murphy and I are good, if a little stressed, because I know you’ll ask.

Things have gone maddeningly quiet. He’s gone, it seems. Disappeared, but I’m sure the radio told you. I know you asked me not to get involved, but I did, and I think I’m in trouble for it. Big trouble.

Anyway, I may be home soon, depending on how it all goes. I cannot wait to kiss you again.

Apologies for such a short message after years of nothing. I missed so much, you’ll have to tell me all about it.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Amor,

Please tell me these letters are reaching you. Are you still with my parents? Should I call? I think I will, at the end of the week. It’s Monday now. I guess I should tell you, right?

I received good news for you today. They’re sending me home. I know, he isn’t dead yet. But every action has a consequence and unfortunately mine are sending me home before my job is done. Murphy is understandably upset. Yelled for almost twenty minutes about how it wasn’t fair. I’d put my life on hold for almost a decade to catch Escobar, it was only right I was there when he was brought down.

But life isn’t like that, and I’ll be on a plane home in a week or two. I can’t wait to see you. I hope you’re still waiting for me.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

“Mi hija?”

You looked around, seeing Javier’s mother come out for you. The tinny radio playing your song flickered next to your leg. It was on repeat, on a CD Javier’s cousin had burned for you. You’d taken to sitting on the porch swing after dinner was over, simply to take your mind off things. The letters were stacked beside you, the newest one on top. You hadn’t had the energy to even open the new ones. What could you possibly say after years apart? Who would he be? Was he still your Javier?

“Mi hija?”

“Yes mamá?”

Javier’s mother sat beside you. “There’s a new letter in the kitchen for you.”

You smiled. “Okay.”

Standing and gathering your letters and the radio, you followed Javier’s mother into the kitchen. It was warm, and there was an envelope with your name on it resting on the counter.

Picking it up, you turned it over to see two tiny words scrawled across the back.

Open me

You popped the letter open, seeing a small card inside.

The porch. Hurry, before the sun goes down.

Confused, you headed back outside, where the sun had just begun to paint the sky. There was someone on the porch swing, rocking back and forth and humming your song, the same song that was playing from the radio by his side.

The creak of the porch door brought his attention to you, and you immediately put your hands over your mouth and sobbed. “Javi.”

“Mi amor,” he said, standing and wrapping you in a hug. “Oh how I’ve missed you. I promised I’d come home.”

“You did,” you said weakly, collapsing into the hug. “Oh Javier, my heart I’ve missed you.”

Javier kissed the top of your head, smiling as you pulled away a bit. “May I have this dance?”

You laughed, beginning to sway as Javier swayed, both humming your song.

Eventually, once the sun had set completely and the Texas stars were out, you and Javier separated, sitting together on the porch swing.

“Oh,” Javier said, standing suddenly. “Your gift!”

You smiled. “You forgot?”

“I was too busy with something else,” Javier said. “But I think I’ve made you wait long enough, mi amor. Close your eyes.”

You did, closing your eyes and hearing him shuffle in front of you. After a minute of silence, Javier spoke. “Open your eyes.”

Opening your eyes, you gasped. Javier was on one knee before you, holding out a gorgeous ring. “I knew,” he whispered softly. “I knew the minute I received your first letter that I wanted to marry you. If we had been married all those years ago, you would’ve been able to come with me, to have me by your side. And now, if you’ll have me, I want to remain here, with you at my side and with me at yours, for the rest of my life. No more letters, my love.”

You nodded, crying as you practically threw yourself into Javier’s arms. “Yes!” You said happily. “Yes!”

Javier smiled, sliding the ring onto your finger. A perfect fit. “Now we’ll always be together,” he said, kissing your knuckles. “Always.”

Kissing Javier firmly, you nodded. “Always. No matter what.”

And you did stick together. The day he got sent back, you packed a bag and boarded the plane right beside him, ready for whatever horrors would await you. He didn’t want you going, but you insisted. Together always, no matter what.

#narcos #Javier Pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

67 notes · View notes

wordsablaze · 4 years ago

Text

13/13 - goat string of fate

A Dozen Denials Soulmate-identifiers exist to make things easier unless you’re Jaskier, who’s equally as deep in love as he is in denial. But there’s only so many excuses you can make to avoid the truth… (aka jaskier’s soulmate is definitely a witcher, just not the one he first assumes)

A/N: what we've all been waiting for... undeniable red string of fate, but with goats for eskel's sake ;) @alllthequeenshorses @eskel-loves-lilbleater

previous chapter

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

Jaskier’s heart breaks.

He knows that Geralt isn’t lying because the words don’t show up on his skin and he knows that Geralt isn’t just saying that for the sake of it because his pulse is as steady as ever under his wrist and he knows that Geralt isn’t thinking with a clouded mind because he can’t feel any intense emotions at the back of his mind.

The only logical conclusion to make is that Geralt really means it.

“See you round,” he says, even though he’s not sure he will.

It’s nowhere near the first time he’s had his heart broken but somehow this time hurts so much more than every other time, probably something to do with the fact that he’s leaving his very soulmate behind as he walks away with blurred vision and wobbly steps.

He doesn’t walk very far, though; he just can’t bring himself to.

There is a building on fire.

And there is a witcher trying to help.

Nobody asked him to help and yet he runs into the building because he can hear the panicked heartbeats of four humans inside.

He hands over a frightened child to their mother and runs back in.

He hands over a man to his grateful sister and runs back in.

He hands over a crying girl to her father and runs back in.

There’s one more racing heartbeat inside the building but he can’t find it, it doesn’t belong to anyone he can see, and even though he tries his best because he can’t let anyone die - he just can’t - he has no choice but to leave when the roof caves in and smoke fills the air.

It’s only once he can breathe again that he realises the heartbeat has followed him out.

The last person wasn’t in the fire after all; they’re under his skin.

Jaskier doesn’t get the rest of the story from the others in the end.

He wants to - he’s a bard so of course he wants to - but he knows that his own story having just found such a bitter end means that he won’t do the dragon hunt any justice so he leaves its tale to the dwarves.

He’s tired and he kind of wants to cry and he doesn’t know which way he’s meant to go so he doesn’t even try to subtly follow the others back down the mountain. Instead, he walks and walks and walks and hopes he doesn’t fall to his death.

And he doesn’t. But he does stumble over nothing in particular and end up rolling over himself until he hits a tree, gasping for breath and curling around his lute because he doesn’t have any other source of comfort.

The last thought he manages before he drifts off - read: passes out - is that he’s incredibly glad his lute hasn't broken the same way his heart has.

There is a funeral.

And there is a witcher trying to mourn.

But there is something giddy in the back of his throat and something bright behind his eyes and something exciting at his fingertips and he cannot focus his emotions.

There is a fight.

And there is a witcher trying to concentrate.

But there is a puzzle in his lungs and a question on the tip of his tongue and a mystery in his every bone and he cannot tell if he knows what move to make next.

There is a festival.

And there is a witcher watching quietly.

But there is a heavy grief in his stomach and a heavy doubt inside his mind and a heavy pain within his blood and he has no idea why his body is telling him to be upset.

Jaskier wakes to the taste of oranges.

For some reason, it just makes him want to cry.

“We are not dying on some godsforsaken mountain,” Jaskier mutters to his lute but also to himself because if he is to die, it will not be at the hands of heartbreak.

A lot easier said than done, though, because he ends up lost. Horribly lost. So lost that he wonders if someone had moved him while he was sleeping because there’s no way he could end up so clueless when he’d been pretty close to their original path the day before.

And he’s not unfit but he must have bruised himself more than he can tell while tumbling because he doesn’t get further than the duration of half a dozen ballads before both his muscles and his lungs force him to stop and rest in danger of retiring altogether.

Still, he keeps going. He can’t find anything edible but he hangs onto the taste of oranges from his stolen dream as he pushes forwards, begrudgingly thanking Destiny for giving him at least that from his soulmate.

There is a town with a contract.

And there is a witcher who almost regrets accepting it.

The monster is easy enough to defeat, nothing that takes more than a day. No, the monster isn’t the reason he chooses to disappear for almost a month afterwards - that would be the mirror.

Or more specifically, what he sees in the mirror: one of his eyes is the wrong colour.

He thinks he’s delirious at first but one potion and two hours’ worth of meditating later, his eyes are still inexplicably mismatched.

His left eye is the colour of the sky. The colour of the ocean. The colour of a privilege that he was never allowed to have. And he’s read just about enough poetry to know how that means he has a soulmate out there somewhere.

All that does is drown him in a blue hue of guilt.

Jaskier has just started playing his third song on the lute when something crashes into his legs.

He yelps, springing to his feet and almost tripping over whatever it is that’d crashed into him, which turns out to be a goat. A goat, of all things.

“Right, well, if you could not do that whole attacking thing again, that’d be great. You have rather pointy horns,” Jaskier huffs, settling on the rock once again.

To its credit, the goat seems to listen, munching on grass instead of stepping on his toes as Jaskier starts playing again. Confused but not entirely against the company, he continues singing about whatever comes to mind until the sky begins to darken and the air turns cold.

He sighs, putting the lute away and gently reaching out to stroke the goat, smiling when it doesn’t just headbutt him and bleats happily before settling in his lap. “At least you seem to want to stick around,” he mumbles.

Too tired to find anywhere more sheltered, Jaskier pulls his doublet tighter around himself and hugs his new best friend as tightly as he dares. For a moment, the goat lifts its head and stares at him and he fears he’s about to have his eye poked out, but then it just burps and settles again.

This time, he falls asleep laughing.

There is a hearth.

And there is a witcher sat beside three other witchers.

And despite the warmth of the fire and the warmth of his family, he is cold.

He is colder than he ever is, colder than when he is submerged underwater during a fight or when he is caught unawares in a storm or when he is kicked out of a tavern because he brings down the mood.

There is no explanation for why he is cold because he is home and he is safe and he should be warm but for some reason, he is not.

He is rarely warm.

And if he is warm, he doesn’t understand why.

There is no explanation for why he is warm when passing ruins he’s never seen before or when camping in the middle of nowhere just to be away from people or when being told the last copy of the book he’d been looking for was just sold to someone else.

Eventually, he gets used to the confusion, pulls on a cloak, and moves on.

Jaskier is probably losing a few of his marbles.

With nothing better to do, he follows the goat as it travels along a seemingly random path to find nothing in particular, stopping every so often to munch on something or the other.

“I can’t believe I’m following a goat,” he mutters to himself as he brushes grass off his arms, “and it’s not even a cute little baby- what’s a baby goat called? Hmm, I should really know that… Or should I? It’s not like I’ve met any farmers lately. Or anyone, for who am I meant to meet atop a mountain? Well, a goat, apparently.”

Said goat bleats at him as if asking him to hurry up.

“Yes yes, I’m hurrying. Some of us don’t eat grass, you know? Oh, but how would you know when all you can think about is the next patch of moss you’re going to eat? Is that what life is to be, travelling from patch to patch and-? Hey, that could be a wonderful name. I dub thee Patchy, my dearest goat friend,” Jaskier declares, grinning.

Patchy bleats again and headbutts his shin but it’s okay because it doesn’t hurt in the slightest and he only wobbles a little bit.

“I’m taking that as your approval!”

There is a woman.

And there is a witcher lying in bed next to her.

They are both tired and not quite awake and she is gently running her nails along his arms because she has never seen anyone with so many scars.

He is waiting for her to fall asleep but she sits up and frowns, pointing out the words that have appeared on his skin: but I didn’t take any honey.

She must be able to tell he’s just as confused as she is because she gives him a funny look but doesn’t pry, though he leaves in the dead of night while she’s still asleep to avoid any chances of her asking questions.

But the words keep appearing and he ends up with plenty of his own questions anyway.

When he’s mending his armour: it doesn’t even hurt anymore; when he’s hunting: I love you more than I love getting drunk; when he’s brushing his horse: I assure you I have a perfectly good explanation; when he’s buying new gloves: I’m afraid I don’t know you; when he’s stitching up a wound: of course I was given permission to be here.

And on and on and on.

He wonders if this person is even human at times because they seem to lie more in a week than he even talks in a month.

Jaskier is exhausted.

“Hey, Patchy, it’s been lovely to know you but I think the time has come to part ways because I simply cannot take another step,” he mutters, leaning against the closest tree and sliding to the floor.

Patchy leaps into his lap with an oddly angry bleat.

Jaskier shrugs, ripping up a bit of grass and letting her eat it off his hand before sighing. “I fear it is indeed my fate to perish here. Perhaps life does grant blessings after all, hmm?”

His stomach rumbles and Patchy seems to take offence, startling and jerking sideways, the goat’s horns catching on his sleeve and causing a panic that leads to a large tear in his doublet and a mercifully smaller tear in his skin.

Still, he winces, pressing a hand onto the cut and half-heartedly glaring at Patchy. “Really? You’re lucky the material is red anyway, you menace.”

He regrets his words when the goat stands, spins on the spot, and makes a strange noise before sprinting away. Somehow, that abrupt departure stings far more than his actual injury.

There is an ocean.

And there is a witcher who has never been to the coast for a good reason, and still hasn’t.

He doesn’t belong in this scene, he’s borrowing it from someone else without even knowing how, but he can’t look away from the waves as they brush over the sand and over his toes before retreating once more.

There is a cane.

And there is a witcher who has never suffered this kind of punishment, and still hasn’t.

Although the injuries are not his and the crime - if it even exists - has nothing to do with him, he can’t escape the burning pain and the sharp throbbing as someone makes sure the wood meets its mark, again and again.

There is a cat.

And there is a witcher who has never been able to see one up close, and still hasn’t.

He’s not the one touching the tiny ball of fluff that curls up in his palms, he seems to be experiencing someone else’s amazement, but the feeling of soft fur and quiet purring stays with him for no less than a week.

Jaskier is ready to give up.

He truly has no idea where he is or how he’s meant to get back to flat land. The berries he’d found in the morning have done very little to provide him with energy and he’s about to declare himself as food for the wolves or something when he hears bleating.

“Patchy!”

And it is.

The goat barrels into him hard enough to knock him over but he’s too busy trying to hug his horned friend to care. He’s also too busy hugging his horned friend to notice that he’s being watched. That is, until someone clears their throat.

He freezes, looking up.

There’s a very long moment in which his heart drops about a mile into his stomach as he catches sight of a wolf medallion but then he sees the amber eyes and the spiked armour and the hesitant smile and his lungs remember how to work once again.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Jaskier says, grinning.

The witcher frowns at that, glancing over him in clear concern. Before he can reply, Jaskier looks away to tug his sleeve out of Patchy’s mouth and winces as he pulls on the not quite scab that had developed over the goat-inflicted wound.

“Oh, is he yours?” the witcher asks after a minute, and gods is his voice deep enough to sink into forever.

Jaskier blinks, pulling himself back to the matter at hand before he spirals into a daydream and shaking his head. “I didn’t even know he was a he, to be honest. Thank you for that, by the way, at least I can sing him a more accurate song of gratitude now.”

The witcher chuckles and steps to the side, revealing another, smaller goat that immediately bounds over and settles on his leg; Jaskier has never been so innocently afraid to accidentally move in his life.

“She’s called Lil Bleater,” the witcher says, promptly cursing when said goat starts nibbling on the sleeve Jaskier had just saved from being eaten by Patchy.

“It’s not like I was planning on wearing this doublet again anyway,” Jaskier says, but he still feels incredibly guilty for letting such fine tailoring end up as food for a pair of goats.

Eskel has never been so confused.

He feels like he recognises this stranger from somewhere but he can’t place it, the knowledge is almost like smoke slipping between his fingers before he can grasp it properly.

“It looks like it’s seen better days anyway,” he says, immediately regretting it when the other man blinks at him.

But then he laughs - perhaps the nicest laugh Eskel has ever had the pleasure of hearing - and holds out a hand, amusement sparkling in his eyes. Eskel leans forwards to shake his hand but Lil Bleater chooses that moment to get up and charge at him so he steps back and picks her up instead, offering the man an apologetic look.

“Not to worry, my hand will live a little longer without the honour of yours in it. I’m Jaskier, and you have my eternal gratitude for appearing out of nowhere when I was about a day away from forgetting what other people’s voices sound like,” the man says sincerely.

“Jaskier?” Eskel echoes.

He knows Geralt has mentioned this bard in the past and he’d have to be living under a rock not to know of him at all, what with the songs that are sung his way whenever he ventures into more populated towns, but he can’t fathom why someone so famous would be spending his time with a mountain goat.

Jaskier grins up at him. “Ah, so you’ve heard of me! I wish I could say the same but I don’t believe we’ve met before?”

Eskel shakes his head. “I, uh, I don’t do… crowds.”

“You and every other witcher, it seems,” Jaskier says, but he doesn’t sound like he’s trying to insult anyone. If anything, he seems almost sad.

“The crowds seem more like your style, bardling. What are you doing up here?”

The bard opens his mouth to say something before closing it again, then sighs. “I got lost and ended up following a goat until I got even more lost?”

Eskel chuckles, then puts Lil Bleater back on the ground before leaning down and offering Jaskier his hand because it feels odd to continue the conversation while he’s still sitting down. This time, the goats don’t get in the way and he manages to pull them both upright.

Jaskier gets about five seconds of being upright before he keels over.

Everything hurts.

The world blurs around him.

His knees hit the floor with a dull thud.

Everything really hurts.

There’s something under his skin.

His body is on fire.

Everything hurts so very much and he has no idea what’s happening and the sky has disappeared altogether and there’s water rushing past his ears and he’s in so much pain and he’s going to die without even having learnt this gorgeous witcher’s name and he can’t feel his hands at all and it’s way too dark and-

“Breathe, Jaskier!”

He already is.

Or maybe he’s not.

He unclenches his jaw and gasps desperately.

“That’s it, just breathe, you’re okay.”

But he’s not.

Or maybe he will be.

He groans and reluctantly peels open his eyes.

“I’ve got you,” the witcher murmurs, and he has; his arms are practically cradled around Jaskier and the two of them are kneeling in a tangle of limbs on the ground.

Jaskier exhales.

“You’re not going to die, I promise. And my name’s Eskel,” the witcher whispers, at which point Jaskier mortifyingly realises he must have been panicking out loud.

Slowly, Jaskier uncurls his limbs.

He stretches his fingers out from where they’d been squeezed into fists and waits for a moment before accepting that whatever the blinding pain had been is over before looking up, intending to thank Eskel.

But Eskel gasps before he can say anything.

And Jaskier immediately panics again, wondering what could possibly be wrong. He doesn’t need to ask though, because Eskel lifts a hand to ever so lightly tracing his finger down the right side of Jaskier’s face and it doesn’t take a genius to work out what he can see.

“No no no no no,” Jaskier breathes frantically, “this cannot be happening.”

He pulls himself out of Eskel’s arms and shakes his head but his gaze lands on his hands as he uses them to balance and his breath hitches. Without wasting a second, he shrugs off his doublet and rolls his sleeves up, eyes widening at the sight of silvery scars he’s never earned, silvery scars he’d once had and once lost.

“No, I- I already know my- Geralt was- is- no, no, no no no no, wait. Wait. This can’t be right, it can’t- it- you can’t- I mean, we can’t be- nope, no no...” Jaskier’s words can’t seem to form themselves properly as he struggles to breathe.

Eskel has no idea what’s happening.

Except he does.

There’s only really one explanation for why the marks that had suddenly revealed themselves on Jaskier’s skin are an exact copy of his own scars, there’s only really one explanation for why the colour of Jaskier’s eyes had seemed so familiar, and there’s only really explanation for why he feels like someone has cast igni inside his heart.

Unfortunately, Jaskier doesn’t seem to like that one explanation.

He waits, though. He waits until Jaskier remembers how to inhale and exhale properly before offering the bard a small smile. “I’m sorry.”

Surprisingly, Jaskier looks confused at that. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I don’t blame you for preferring, uh, Geralt. Or anyone else, for that matter. I wouldn’t want to be stuck with me either.”

Even more surprisingly, Jaskier shuffles closer and punches his arm with a surprising amount of strength, his confusion having been entirely replaced by anger. “I don’t know what in Melitele’s name you think you mean by that but I demand that you stop… thinking it. I’m not- I- I just thought- I’ve spent years, so many years, thinking that I knew and I- I don’t know… I can’t-”

He cuts himself off, his chin wobbling, and Eskel has the inexplicable urge to hug him.

So he does.

Jaskier stiffens for half a second before he seems to forget that he has bones and all but melts into the embrace, burying his head into the crook of Eskel’s neck and throwing his arms around him as if his life depends on it.

Eskel has never felt so pleasantly warm in his life.

He wraps his arms around Jaskier in return and pulls him close, pretending that he can’t hear the sobs the bard is trying so hard to stifle and marvelling at the fact that he gets to hold his soulmate in his arms at all.

His soulmate.

He’d never thought he’d actually get to meet them.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier mumbles eventually.

Eskel pulls back only enough to frown, brushing the tears away from under Jaskier’s eyes before tilting his head to the left. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

Jaskier feels like a fool.

He leans into Eskel’s soft touch for a moment before cupping the witcher’s face in his hands. “I’m sorry I never looked for you. I’m sorry I didn’t realise I was wrong. I’m sorry I almost just insulted you. I’m sorry for wasting so much time. I’m just so, so sorry.”

Eskel shrugs. “You didn’t know and I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault. I… I knew and I didn’t try so perhaps I ought to be the one apologising to you.”

But Jaskier did know.

To some extent, at least.

He’s known for long enough that not everything was adding up and he’d ignored it, he’d done nothing about it because he’d been terrified of losing Geralt, of losing his soulmate, of losing a life he’s loved, and it turns out he’s been losing everything he didn’t even know he could have had instead.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier mumbles again, letting his forehead fall against Eskel’s as he closes his eyes.

“How does getting to the nearest inn sound?” Eskel offers.

Jaskier laughs and meets Eskel’s eyes, nodding. “Sounds like a plan I can’t argue with.”

“We’ll start with getting you to a proper bed and then go from there.”

He tries to resist that, he really does, but Jaskier simply cannot stop himself from smirking and raising an eyebrow. “Straight to bed, darling? Aren’t you even going to buy me a drink first?”

The endearingly sheepish look on Eskel’s face is almost worth all the pain.

“Though you really should buy me a drink first, for one reason or the other; I am a little dizzy still,” Jaskier mutters, having forgotten all about that because of the unprecedented pain.

Eskel curses.

Before Jaskier can even process the emotional whiplash, Eskel has lifted him to his feet and turned around, dropping to one knee. “Let’s go.”

Jaskier blinks. “Are you asking me to… climb on your back?”

Eskel turns to look at him with half a smile. “I really don’t think you’re capable of walking more than a mile more without collapsing, Jaskier.”

Well, that’s probably true. He grabs his lute and swings that onto his own back before looping his arms around Eskel’s neck, his legs locking around the witcher’s waist as he stands up effortlessly.

Eskel smiles as Jaskier settles on his back as if he were born to do so.

Which, quite possibly, he sort of was.

He smells like the comfort Eskel gets from when the dreams he borrows are good ones and it feels impossible that he gets to experience it in person. But it’s very much not impossible because Jaskier is a steady weight around his waist and on his shoulder and against his neck.

It’s a little overwhelming.

“So you’re the one who was dreaming of a succubus then?” Jaskier asks out of the blue.

Eskel stops walking for a second, narrowly avoids accidentally kicking Lil Bleater, and clears his throat. “Dreaming? No. No, that’s not quite how we spent the night.”

There’s a moment of silence before Jaskier laughs brightly. Eskel can feel the way his shoulders shake with the force of his amusement and it’s almost a miracle that neither of them overbalance.

“You’ll have to elaborate on that at some point, it’s going to make a great song!”

“You want to write songs about the succubi I’ve met?” Eskel asks, confused. Surely the bard could have asked Geralt about them over the years, it’s not like witchers can afford to designate who takes care of which creatures or anything.

But Jaskier snorts, pokes Eskel’s cheek, and shakes his head. “No, I- I want to write songs about… about my soulmate.”

That feels like a confession and Eskel is honoured to have received it. He hums in acknowledgement and gently squeezes one of Jaskier’s legs. “Not to worry, we have all the time in the world.”

“We do?” Jaskier asks.

Shuffling the bard’s weight a little bit, Eskel lifts his right hand so Jaskier can see his wrist and more specifically, the ouroboros etched into it. He hears Jaskier gasp before there are gentle fingers around his arm that almost make him shiver, a warm finger tracing the symbol over and over until Eskel hears quiet sniffling.

It takes a while for Jaskier to exhale softly and give Eskel’s hand back to him, after which he goes back to supporting his weight more evenly. He has plenty of his own questions but he figures it’s best to leave them for later, when they’ve both recovered from the shock.

The town comes into view sooner than expected, or perhaps Eskel had just been unknowingly pushing himself to walk faster because he can feel the way Jaskier’s grip has slowly relaxed to the point where he’s practically just draped over him like a very strange sort of cloak.

As much as he doesn’t want to let go of Jaskier, he has to when they get to the stables. Both goats are more than happy to be secured near Scorpion, who huffs at Jaskier just hard enough to send him stumbling into Eskel’s side with a small yelp.

“I’ve got you,” Eskel chuckles.

Jaskier grins.

“That you have,” he agrees, “but have you got a room?”

Nodding, Eskel leads them both back to the inn. But instead of going up the stairs, he guides Jaskier to the table in the corner. “Stay here, I’m going to get some food.”

Jaskier blinks, used to this scenario playing out the other way around. Eskel is gone before he can even think of replying so he just yawns and waits, shuffling over when the witcher returns because if he doesn’t lean against someone, he’s probably going to fall into his meal.

Eskel pauses for a second before sliding into the seat beside him, placing two bowls of stew in front of them. “I know you’re tired but you really should eat.”

“How ever will I repay such kindness?” Jaskier mumbles before following Eskel’s instructions.

Jaskier is immensely grateful that Eskel doesn’t mind being leaned on because almost counterintuitively, eating only makes him want to fall asleep even more. By the time they’re both finished, he can barely keep his eyes open.

“Almost there,” Eskel says, at which point he realises they’re now halfway up the stairs.

Yawning again, Jaskier keeps a tight hold of Eskel’s arm as they get to his room, thrown off when they stop by the door instead of somewhere more suitable for sleeping. “What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning.

Eskel places the lute Jaskier apparently hadn’t been strong enough to carry himself down before gesturing around vaguely. “I didn’t know anyone would be staying with me so…”

Jaskier laughs, throwing his head back. He has no idea what compels him to do so but he cups Eskel’s confused face in his hands and places a soft kiss on his nose. “Eskel, darling, you are literally my soulmate. I think we’ll be alright sharing a bed.”

He can actually feel the way Eskel smiles under his hands and can’t help grinning back, but then his knees decide to buckle for no apparent reason - aside from the general exhaustion and probably clumsy bruises, of course - and Eskel is once again the only thing keeping him upright.

He’s not entirely sure what the sequence of events is after that but he doesn’t care to puzzle over it because he ends up with his head on an actual pillow and Eskel’s arms around him and he’s never felt so comfortable and safe and content in his life.

“Don’t leave without me,” Jaskier mumbles even as he can feel himself drifting off, only slightly embarrassed at being so obvious about it.

Eskel hums quietly and brushes the pad of his thumb over Jaskier’s cheek before moving his hair away from his forehead, smiling softly as their eyes meet. “I would never even think of it,” he promises.

And somehow, despite everything else in his life that’s somehow gone wrong and fallen apart and proven that perhaps he shouldn’t be so blindly trusting of what he thinks may be the truth even if he has plenty of reasons to believe otherwise, Jaskier can't bring himself to doubt the witcher’s words even in the slightest.

If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that Eskel has always been his destiny.

i apologise if this finale was a little messy because i was indecisive and couldn't choose just one pov but i am so hyped to have finished !!! i hope this ending was worth all the chaos <3

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier

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lovelyirony · 4 years ago

Text

cosmetology anon: this is for you, although I tweaked the idea a bit. i hope you don’t mind!

Acquiring Tony Stark as an Asset had been purely by chance; after all, he wasn’t planned on being in the car. He was still an insolent teenager, angry with the world and angry with his father. They didn’t think he would’ve gone to a business party.

But his mother...well. They hadn’t thought that Tony Stark was a mama’s boy.

Because there Tony is, gasping for air while glass glitters all around him, looking near about like an angel that was torn from heaven with how it surrounded him.

They had thought he was dead.

At least, up until the point when he had looked Winter Soldier dead in the eye, said “hey you fucking asshole” and got a pretty damn good shot in the thigh.

Someone on the brink of death might have tried the gun, but never the insult.

So Hydra gets a brand new toy.

Not easily broken, which is a pain-and-a-half to deal with. At least with the Winter Soldier, he was too delirious with blood loss to notice who was operating on him, what they were attaching.

Tony Stark is on a whole other level.

He bites, he kicks, he scratches. Quite annoying, they just want him to tire himself out.

“Stark Industries doesn’t negotiate,” he hisses, trying to kick one of the nurses in the teeth.

“Who said anything about negotiating?” says the head doctor viciously. His teeth glint in the fluorescent lighting, scalpels reflecting brilliantly onto the walls. “As far as the media knows, you’re dead. No one is going to come looking, and no one even knows who we are.”

They make him sleep on a cot nearby Winter Soldier. Which is terrifying, to say the least. Not that he can kill him. He can’t touch him either.

He’s in a deep freezer. Eyes closed, thank god. But they put him there and they tell him all about how he came to be there.

“Everyone thought Barnes hit a rock and died,” one of the techs says, checking the machine. “He nearly did, but Zola helped us fix him up. Course, that was after a couple of times where he got to someone’s neck, and that was even before programming.”

“Programming?”

The tech leers at him, grinning. He’s standing, Tony’s sitting. It shouldn’t be as intimidating as it is.

“Oh yeah, Stark. They’re gonna fix you all up.”

“I don’t need fixing.”

“Tell that to Winter Soldier.”

“And what if your little machine gets rid of me, hm? Kills me?”

“We add you to the other disappointments, or we dig a shallow grave and hope you’re found decades later.”

Not exactly promising.

But here’s the thing: the tech was wrong. They won’t add him to the pile of disappointments.

The last time he went to a therapy appointment, his therapist said he had a “deep-seated need to be liked and be useful, which could be dangerous later.”

He’s assuming that Doc Chesterfield wasn’t exactly expecting Tony to be in the running towards becoming America’s Next Top Murder Machine, but Doc wasn’t really the kind of guy who was “in the know” about a lot of things.

That need to be liked and useful was about to come in handy.

Barely able to legally drink, he goes to the main doctor in charge. “You need me.”

The doctor looks at him incredulously.

“You think we need a kid to do all this shit? You think we haven’t figured it out?”

“You can’t have Barnes-”

“Winter Soldier, boy.”

“Fine, your little toy soldier. You can’t keep him out longer than necessary, otherwise his brain realizes that all of you are shitty and tries to break out. Again. You need someone else to take a look at it, and I’m the best bet you got.”

“And why would that be?”

Tony grins, and they see a shadow of what he has had in his life, exactly just who he used to be. Who he still is, at the moment.

“Whether you want to admit it or not--I’d say go ahead and admit it, I’m fun like that--I’m the smartest one in the room, maybe in the country. Maybe in two countries. I could swing the UK, it’s not like they’ve had anything interesting for the last hundred or so years--”

“Get to the point,” the handler hisses.

“I can help with arm maintenance. I’m not gonna do anything else to this poor guy, but I wanna stay alive and I’m not letting you erase my fucking mind because you want to have another toy soldier to march to your drum.”

“You almost make a compelling case,” the handler says. “We do need a mechanic on the arm, so to speak. But if he only comes out when we need him...well. Maintenance is manageable.”

Tony pushes his chin out.

“I can do better than your best.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t care. You’re too big of a liability.”

It is at this moment that Tony realizes he cannot talk his way out, or fight his way out, but damn he gets a scalpel and tries.

Manages to slice across the face of the handler. Nerve damage, tissue damage, quite potentially a very ugly nose. All very nice.

That gets him moved up by a month.

They send him to a chair that’s probably a lot worse than he’s imagining, give him a mouth guard, and tell him to scream all he likes. Sometimes it’s better to not have a voice later.

They say it like they’re quoting one of those shitty articles from Cosmopolitan that discusses the top forty-five best ways to move in the bedroom or something. He and Rhodey use to read it all the time whenever they visited one of the sororities.

(He misses Rhodey, more than words can say. The tears burn in his throat as the chair powers up, but he doesn’t dare cry. He hasn’t told them about Rhodey, and he doesn’t want him used against him.

He doesn’t want to be used against Rhodey.)

Tony Stark becomes the Mechanic. He stares too long, moves a bit slow at times, and doesn’t like people touching his things.

Hydra thinks it’s a success.

Tony thinks they should’ve done more than three sessions of go-round for their little buzzy-chair.

Just god, have none of them had to act before? Is that what this is?

So long as he doesn’t show any aspect of any real personality, they think he’s a walking-talking robot.

Should’ve just called him Chatty Cathy and attached a pull-string to his back with loadable phrases if they were just gonna call him the Mechanic and think his silence and weird staring habits were fine.

Winter Soldier needs maintenance.

Tony tries very carefully to keep his persona up. He thinks he’s doing a good job until the nurse leaves the room for her smoke-break and Winter Soldier gives him a look that’s so...different.

"They think you’re like me.”

“I am.”

“No.”

“And how can you tell?”

“You’re not hurting my arm.”

“Well I can, if you wanna be a masochist about it.”

He blankly stares.

“Why didn’t it work?”

“Not enough rounds.”

“We need to stop talking or they’ll watch the cameras.”

“Got it.”

Tony is not facing the cameras. They have no suspicion now, and if they can’t see him move his lips, then there’s no worry.

He faces Winter Soldier.

“You wanna get out of here? Tap once on your left, right on my thigh for yes. Twice for no.”

Tap.

There it is.

“Well, it’ll take time. You okay with that?”

Tap tap.

“I can’t make wishes come true,” Tony says sarcastically. Soldier hides a smile. “But. I have someone who might be looking for me. Or he’ll know it’s me.”

“A friend?”

“Something better. Family.”

It takes a little while. Despite Hydra’s incompetence at programming Tony out of his own system, they’re good at watching. They’re good at sniffing out undercover plans, so they set nurses to watch him and give him the worst food in his life.

And he can’t say anything about it.

They’re probably rations leftover from World War II, and here he is, pretending like it doesn’t bother him.

The first mission they’re out on, Tony wants so badly to break free. It looks too easy, probably because it is.

“The first time I escaped, they dragged me back and nearly gave me a matching leg to go with the arm,” Soldier murmurs in Russian.

(Tony’s had to take Russian classes. God, he’s lucky he has an eidetic memory otherwise he’d be up a paddle with a slotted spoon.)

“What, didn’t want to put more value on yourself?”

“Something like that,” Soldier says grimly. “Pay attention. They’re gonna put you in a cafe, have you run surveillance. You report back to me. Call me Winter.”

“Call me Mechanic.”

“That’s the name they chose?”

“Didn’t count my vote.”

Winter snorts.

“Time to get a move on.”

Tony has never been good at hiding his emotions, but by god he’s learning on the fly. At least Winter has a mask, and they’re...well, they’re working on one for him.

It’s not exactly priority, because everyone in the world thinks he’s dead.

Well. Shouldn’t say everyone. There is one guy who has decided that Tony didn’t die.

James Rhodes is a very smart guy, graduated top of his class at MIT and has full honors.

He also knows that Tony has fallen off of beds, out of chairs, down one flight of stairs, and tripped on just about everything.

And he’s lived. He has defied near-death experiences before, and he’s been fine.

Maybe Rhodey is crazy. He most likely is.

But he doesn’t mind being crazy if no one can actually confirm that Tony died. The funeral was closed for the family, not even Rhodey could go.

“Sorry kiddo,” Obie had said, not sorry at all. He’s never liked the kid, thought him too blunt about situations that he didn’t need to be blunt about.

So Rhodey thinks that this is a conspiracy, only he doesn’t want his best friend to end up on a YouTube video five years later talking about the “tragic disappearance” and how “no one could figure it out.”

He’s James fucking Rhodes. Sometimes goes by Rhodey. And he’s got this.

Winter Soldier does not “got this.” He is currently being thrown against a wall, and grunting as he looks at the target.

Tony is currently trying very hard not to have a full-blown emotional show-off, because he is supposed to be fixing up some of the weapons and sending them out.

It is rather stress-inducing, once you start thinking about it.

He tries not to.

God, he’s not even getting pizza after that. He’s probably going to get some bullshit like a vanilla nutritional protein shake.

Out everything he’s been put through, and that’s the thing that makes him retch.

Barnes is looking...rough. He got shoved a lot, the mission didn’t exactly go to plan, which turns out to be quite the large problem.

Because Tony took over. They found out that he can actually assemble weaponry and aim with nearly-one-hundred-percent accuracy.

They think it’s because they fried his brain and injected some sort of back-alley-serum.

It’s not.

He’s not even sure if their serum worked, if he’s being completely honest.

But this? Oh god.

The doctors look at him with an almost giddy joy.

“We’ll have Soldier train you.”

"He is not going back into the cryogenic chambers?”

“No, not...not until you prove yourself.”

“I have proven myself accurate with mechanical fixes.”

“Always best to diversify your skills.”

“Expand.”

(Tony’s been messing with them a lot. They’re not positive he knows advanced vocabulary. He does, he just hates them.)

Barnes is...not exactly excited that he’s not becoming an ice-pop.

“I’m...training you?”

“Yeah, looks like it. You wanna teach me how to choke someone with my thighs?”

“Only when they send the Widows.”

“Who are they?”

“Best damned assassins you’ll ever have the displeasure of experiencing.”

“Aw, you’re learning how to curse!”

“Shut up, they’re onto us.”

Winter Soldier and the Mechanic have a...cordial relationship. At least, out of the ring.

In the ring, they don’t rather like the other that much. Mechanic much prefers to avoid Soldier at all times.

“You can’t just run from every opponent,” Winter hisses.

“You’ve been doing it since 1948,” Tony responds in a robotic tone, nearly missing a kick to the shins. “I don’t see why not.”

He smiles at that one, looking at Tony.

He was...Tony was unique. He would whisper stories in the dead of night, mostly about a man named Jarvis and a boy his age named “Rhodey.”

“His parents...they didn’t actually name him that, did they?”

Tony has to bury his face in his pillow to hide his face from laughing.

Winter got a good look at that smile.

It’s chillingly nice to look at it, and maybe that’s because he hasn’t smiled in years, or maybe it’s because he’s never seen another person smile with joy in it for decades.

For a couple more months, nothing on their side happens.

Rhodey, however, learns how to use Tony’s homemade AI for illegal purposes!

He’s figured out lots of things.

Tony was never confirmed dead. Technically, he’s a missing person.

Which means they don’t know if he’s dead because they never found him.

Secondly, there’s a strange email to someone who goes by Zola.

Well, Rhodey and Tony didn’t stay up until three a.m. to solve impossible codes for nothing.

James Rhodes figures out that the Winter Soldier isn’t some whispered about myth, and so he decides to try and find him.

He’ll need to ask Mama if he can use the sedan, but it should be fine. After all, he has a friend to find.

Hydra is getting too used to having them out. Tony’s been coaching Barnes on not letting his reactions be at the front and center.

He’s remembering a lot more. Starting to become a bit more human-like.

He actually doesn’t like the food now, which is a tasteful improvement.

“When we get out,” Tony whispers in night. “I’m going to make sure that you get the best goddamned pizza the earth has ever seen. And we’ll celebrate your birthday.”

“When is my birthday?”

“I...huh. I don’t know. That’s not the fact I remember from school.”

“So you remembered that my favorite movie star was Hedy Lamarr, but not my own birthday?”

“In my defense, Ms. Lamarr is far more memorable than a simple date on the calendar.”

Barnes smiles.

“I can’t wait to see a picture of her.”

“You will, soon.”

Rhodey is getting close.

The only barrier is convincing his mama to use the sedan.

“What for?”

“A trip.”

“To?”

“Washington DC?”

“Why are you questioning that, young man?”

“Um, because of gas money? Maybe?”

Mrs. Rhodes stands up to her full height of five-foot-two and stares.

“What’s the real reason? I didn’t raise a son who could lie to his mother successfully.”

Rhodey sighs.

“Tony’s alive. I think. I’m, like, ninety-five-percent sure.”

Her face softens.

“Oh baby, you’ve talked about this with your therapist, and-”

Rhodey glares.

“It’s not about the therapist’s opinion, mom. I broke into some records. There was a closed-casket funeral, and technically? They didn’t have a body for Tones. I know he’s out there, and I think I got a lead with the help of Jarvis.”

“I thought Jarvis was dead.”

“Not Edwin, Mama. Tony’s creation, an AI named Jarvis.”

Mama looks at him carefully.

“You sure this is what is going to make you happy?”

“I don’t care about being happy, I want to see if I can bring him home, Mama.”

She dangles the keys.

“If you scratch this car up, I will not hesitate to tell every single aunt at church about this and have common sense walloped into you.”

“I promise I won’t,” Rhodey says. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I’ll pack you a bag. And you need your church clothes.”

“Ma...”

“Don’t Ma me, I’m your mother, I know what’s best,” Mrs. Rhodes says, sweeping into the kitchen. “Don’t tell your daddy what you told me, you’ll give him a heart attack.”

“I thought I was gonna give you a heart attack,” Rhodey says.

She turns, eyes twinkling.

“You got a lot of learning to do, young man. But go on to DC for me.”

First stop: gas station.

Next stop: saving Tony.

If Tony had known that his friend was so dedicated to saving him that he would drive his mama’s sedan five miles above the speed limit, perhaps he would have stayed put and played nice.

But Tony did not know this, so he was currently working on fixing Barnes’ arm to shoot projectile missiles that looked like screws to the security cameras.

“You think they’re counting each screw when none of them even know what your arm can actually do? Not like Zola is physically around anymore,” Tony mutters, holding a screwdriver in his mouth.

“What’s your plan for escape?”

“Element of surprise, my dear Watson.”

“Don’t like that,” Barnes mutters. “What’s your plan once we’re out?”

“New York City.”

“That’s it?”

“You underestimate exactly how much you can hide,” Tony says. “Believe me. We’ll live in an apartment in Queens.”

Rhodey is about ten minutes away.

Tony and Bucky have eventually decided to break out, and are having a lovely time shooting a base and putting people through the walls. Really, they shouldn’t have made it out of drywall. Too easy.

“What fucking vehicle are we taking?!” Barnes yells.

“I...I will work on it!”

“You didn’t think about that?!”

“I was thinking about escaping from a shitty Hydra base!”

Here comes the sedan!

Rhodey thought there was only one person, so now the ex-assassin is sitting on his little sister’s school folder, and getting pink glittery on his military pants.

This was not the plan.

He is also still only going five over the speed limit, because this is Mama’s sedan.

He forgot about the little sticker at the back that says “My Son is on the Honor Roll at MIT!”

“Rhodey love of my life, please go faster than forty miles an hour,” Tony hisses.

“I can’t believe you’re alive, let me do one thing at a time,” Rhodey stresses. “I bought you hot fries, they’re on the floor in the green bag.”

“You thought of road trip snacks?” Bucky asks.

“Yes! And who are you?”

“Bucky Barnes.”

Rhodey whips his head around.

“You lived?”

“I’ve been told. Eyes on the road and turn left.”

One tire barely is on the road as he whips the wheel, slamming onto the curb.

“We are not allowed to fuck my mama’s car up!” Rhodey yells. “Tony, Bucky...do whatever you have to.”

“How amenable are you to me paying for a new back window?” Bucky asks, left arm already raising.

“What do you mean-?”

And...there goes a projectile!

After twenty minutes of driving around, ten of that being avoiding police blockades, they finally are out on the highway, no one in sight.

Tony finally breathes.

“Put on your seatbelt,” Rhodey murmurs. “To New York?”

“To New York.”

By all accounts, the table of three men who look slightly rattled and in danger is not actually the worst table that waitress has ever had.

In fact, the only odd thing that she’s going to say about it is that the young man on the left is wearing a polo shirt, and it is not Sunday, so no church services. A personal outfit choice.

The man in the middle seems to know this.

“Rhodey, seriously?”

“What? It’s laundry day!”

“I know you had other shirts. I know you did.”

“Just because you hate polo shirts doesn’t mean you get to hate on me, especially after the shit I just pulled.”

“He has a point,” says the man on the right.

“You have no opinion on this. I just met you.”

“Are you guys ready to order?” She asks nervously, tapping at her notepad with a chewed-up pen.

They all stare blankly at the menu, and then back at her. She taps her pen one more time.

“I’ll...um...give you some more time.” She shakes her head. She’s not gonna ask, she doesn’t get paid enough.

Rhodey looks at the two of them. He knows that things...well.

Tony probably isn’t going to be playing Jeopardy! with this experience.

Hell, he probably won’t want to see a therapist about this, and Rhodey will have to play Jeopardy! or some obscure dating show simulation with Tony to even help.

And then there’s the matter of a man who’s supposed to be dead.

That and...Rhodey decided to finish up college with a master’s degree.

No one ever said life was easy.

But.

It might be fun.

163 notes · View notes

elsanna-shenanigans · 4 years ago

Text

April Contest Submission #5: Love and Sunflowers

Words: ca. 6,400 Setting: Canon Lemon: Lime CW: angst

22nd June 1844

Bare feet treaded lightly on the cool stone floor. Brown sturdy boots clutched in her left hand, a candle in her right, and a bag of carefully selected belongings slung over her shoulder, Anna split her concentration between her route and every little noise echoing in the dark, drafty castle. Only a few more hallways left before reaching the door leading outside and freedom.

The year stuck in sunny Corona, and away from her sister, had not been spent only attending tedious parties and making idle gossip. Practical connections and staying up to date on the news from Arendelle made it worth every mind numbing hour.

Anna ignored the itching caused by the rough cloth of her unfamiliar disguise, black cloak swinging about her feet, and hurried down the hall upon spotting her destination. A pause briefly at the door. This was it. Once she walked through this door there could be no going back. She reached out for the handle.

“Wait!”

No. Nonononono. Shit!

Plastering on an innocent smile, she turned back down the hall.

“Rapunzel. Eugene. Hi! How are you doing tonight?” Anna silently berated herself about forgetting how Rapunzel preferred to forego footwear whenever possible and Eugene’s habit of wearing the same type of silent shoes from his thieving days, making the pair’s movements naturally noiseless.

“One of the guards proposed to his sweetheart this afternoon.” Rapunzel whispered.

Huh?

“At least thirty guards are celebrating with him in the East Garden.”

Oh. Anna glared at the wooden door. If she wasn’t at the docks by midnight, the traveling theater troupe she bribed would leave without her.

“There’s another way out.”

“What?”

“There’s a secret exit leading to the docks in case of an invasion of the castle. I assume that you’re leaving with the Pazar Theater Troupe? If we hurry you shouldn’t miss them.”

“Why should I trust you?” The two had become quite close over the year but it wasn’t worth risking her reunion with Elsa.

They stood silently staring at each other. Even Eugene stayed quietly waiting and that man didn’t know how to shut up. Stealing a well guarded, expensive crown hadn’t even stopped him.

Finally, Rapunzel nodded and broke the silence.

“You and Elsa are in love and you’re off to get her.”

“W-what? She’s my sister. Don’t be absurd.” A step back. How does she know? I’ve been so careful.

“I’m guessing the two of you were caught and that’s why you were suddenly sent here.”

“I wouldn’t try to deny it if I were you. Rapunzel has a sixth sense for True Love.” Amusement colored Eugene’s words.

Understanding smiles from her two friends.

“On my birthday. Mother came to surprise me with breakfast in bed.”

“Ouch. That’s rough.” Smack! “What?”

“Be nice.”

“I am being nice. No one deserves a parent to walk in on them the morning after.”

“Ignore him. This way.”

Quickly, the three hurried through deserted hallways.

“This is the place. I just have to pull on this.” Rapunzel tugged on a wall sconce. It didn’t budge. “It must be stuck.”

“Actually, it’s this one.” Click. A section of wall moved slightly.

“Oh. Right. That one.” She hurried over to Eugene, opened the satchel perpetually at his side, and pulled out a bag making small metallic sounds. “Here.”

Anna opened it. Gold coins. Lots of gold coins. “I can’t accept this.”

“Please, take it.” A frown. “I wish we could do more.”

“You do?” Trust them. Swinging the bag off her back, Anna pulled out a shawl, a shoe, an envelope, and handed them over. “I was going to fake my death and hire someone to give this to Elsa…” Maybe this isn’t a good idea.

“I can tell everyone you’re sick in bed. It would give you a couple of days. Then I can put those into the water on the other side from the docks.”

“Don’t give Elsa the envelope until after the funeral.”

“After? That seems a little harsh.” Spoke up Eugene.

“Everyone needs to believe I’m dead or this won’t work.” She sat on the ground and slipped on sturdy leather boots.

“Are you going to Elsa?”

“Not right away. I need to do a few things first.” Anna finished tying her shoes and stood. “That money will help a lot.”

“Where are you headed?”

“It’s best if Anna doesn’t tell us.”

“Oh.” A watery smile. “Maybe one day we’ll meet up again and you can tell us who confessed first. Or your first kiss even.”

“That’s kind of the same story. I should get going.”

“Be safe.” Even Eugene hugged her this time.

“I will.” As she stole away to the docks, the memory of that evening years back returned.

* * * * *

It had been a wonderful day. The ceremony officially declaring Elsa the next in line to the throne went flawlessly, she had been the first one to dance with her sister, and to top it all off, Anna’s hands held three perfect sunflowers.

Knock. Knock. Knock-knock. Knock.

Hair down, cape removed, but still in the dress from the ceremony, Elsa answered the door with a smile.

“Wow.”

“What?” She bit her lower lip, a nervous habit Elsa had yet to break.

“You look stunning.”

“Oh.” Pink dusted her cheeks.

“I brought you these.” Oh god that blush is cute.

“Thank you. Please, come in.”

“It’s a bit late. Aren’t you tired?” Anna stepped into Elsa’s bedroom and closed the door.

“Yes, but I never got my second dance with you.” Two arms wrapped around her neck and automatically Anna’s hands rested on slim hips.

“Second dance?”

“I really should have had two dances with the most attractive woman in the room.”

An exquisite smile.

Instinct took over and Anna leaned in, pressing her lips to Elsa’s startled cool ones.

Damn it! What am I doing? I didn’t even ask first! Just as Anna started to step back, fully prepared for a well deserved slap, slender arms tightened and pulled her closer.

After that, whenever possible, Anna would give her sister sunflowers.

* * * * *

13 October 1845

Anna shivered and pulled the black woolen cloak closer, eyes glued to the shore. It would have been warmer in her cabin but nervous excitement propelled her out into the night and to the starboard railing.

“Ingrid,” heavy footsteps stopped by her side, “we’ll reach Arendelle’s capital in about an hour.”

“Thank you, Eric.” A fake name to go with her fake story. Guilt gnawed at her again for lying to him but she pushed those feelings down. Nothing would stop her from seeing Elsa again. Years of planning, years of waiting, years of longing, all came down to this single night.

“Hey,” he placed a hand on her shoulder, Eric’s deep voice reassuring in the midst of her swirling fears. “You’ll see her soon. It will work out.”

“Yes.” Anna turned her head and smiled gratefully at her friend. “Thank you for doing this.”

“You’re welcome. Are you sure you won’t-“

“I’m not going to take my gun with me.” Argument number three over this. “If I get caught in the castle it will be a whole lot harder to convince them I’m harmless with a gun at my hip.” Besides, it had been long enough since Anna lived in Arendelle that she couldn’t be sure all the guards would recognize her immediately.

Eric threw up his hands in displeasure. “Fine. I’m going to check in with the crew.”

Eyes turned back to the land, Anna clutched at the locket around her neck and eagerly waited for the first sight of her former home. Tendrils of a bittersweet memory enveloped her.

* * * * *

11:57pm.

Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Turn. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Turn. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Turn.

Still 11:57pm.

If time moved any slower it would be going backwards.

Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Turn. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Turn. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Turn.

11:58pm.

Anna glared at the clock above her fireplace.

Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Turn. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Turn. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Turn.

How could the last five minutes before midnight take this long?

Diiing… Diiing…Diiing…

Midnight! Finally!

Knock. Kno-

Far too impatient to let Elsa finish their special knock, Anna flung open the door and pulled her startled sister into her bedroom.

“Patience is a virtue.” An amused smile.

“No, it isn’t.”

Tinkling laughter.

“Happy birthday, Anna.” Tender lips brushed against hers.

Taking the plate and small square box from Elsa, setting them aside on the small table by her door, Anna took three steps forward and pinned the warm body before hers against the closed bedroom door.

“Anna-“

She didn’t bother easing into a kiss; tongue eagerly explored the mouth under hers. Softness and heat sent Anna’s head spinning.

“Y-your cake.”

“Hmm.” Another intense kiss.

“C-cake.”

“Right.” Anna stepped back on shaky legs, not at all certain how long they’d hold her up if they continued.

Looking no more steady than her, Elsa picked up the plate and box before walking over to the bed to sit.

Anna followed her with a smile. Twelve years ago a ten year old Elsa surprised her at midnight with a small round yellow cake topped with berries and a birthday present. Every year Anna returned from school before her birthday to help with the spring celebration and, without fail, Elsa would show up at midnight with a small cake she baked herself and a gift.

They sat side-by-side on the bed feeding each other and trading kisses.

Anna’s resolve broke.

She took the plate and set it on her bedside table. Tugging Elsa over to straddle her lap, Anna wasted no time in thoroughly kissing the delectable mouth of her love. Lips burned and liquid fire flowed through her veins.

Tiny nips and small licks down a pale smooth throat.

“Ah!” The body in her arms quivered.

Taking one pale hand in her own, she kissed down Elsa’s palm gently to her wrist, placing a lingering kiss. Repeating the actions to the other hand, Anna returned to kissing the now flushed neck before her.

“Don’t you,” gasp, “don’t you want to o-open,” unsteady hands slipped to her shoulders, “your gift?”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” A smile.

Whimper.

Elsa pressed her down to the bed.

* * * * *

Crash!

“Anna! What did you do?!”

Huh? Who’s shouting? Exhaustion threaten to pull Anna back under. It wasn’t until the sun began to rise over the horizon that she and Elsa fell into an exhausted, sweaty heap. Now she just wanted to sleep holding her lover.

Suddenly, the body in her arms disappeared and Anna’s sleepy mind couldn’t figure out why.

“Mama, stop!”

“No, Elsa. You are coming with me!”

Mama?

“No! Please let go!”

Adrenaline poured into her system and Anna sat up to see a struggling Elsa, now clad in Anna’s robe, being pulled across the room by their Mama.

“Wait!”

“Please let me go!” More struggling.

Panic made her clumsy and she fell out of bed in a tangle of sheets.

“Anna! Anna!”

She looked up from the floor to see Elsa’s distraught face disappear through her bedroom door.

“No!”

Click.

Anna knew what that sound meant but still she clutched the bedsheets around her nude frame and rushed to the door, nearly tripping over a breakfast tray of broken dishes and spilled food.

Muffled shouts of Elsa calling for her.

Locked.

* * * * *

Out of all the scenarios imagined, being caught in bed with Elsa after their first night together hadn’t been one of them. Only Gerda ever woke her up. Months were spent hinting she knew about them before getting fed up and outright stating support.

Once the muffled yells faded completely, Anna had dressed hurriedly, intending to find a way to Elsa.

Banging on the door yielded nothing.

Lock picking was a skill not taught in her fancy London school.

Even tied together, the sheets wouldn’t reach the ground - years ago her parents moved her to this room after the third time patrolling guards found little seven year old Anna playing in the garden at midnight.

Pacing the room again, a small box with a red ribbon tied around it caught her eye.

Elsa’s gift.

I forgot. It’s my birthday.

On a piece of green velvet lay a crystal locket. No, an ice locket. Thumbnail caught the latch. Blonde and red hair, mixed together, wove into a tiny delicate braid. Raised letters peeked behind it.

Forever.

* * * * *

Perhaps an hour after opening the gift, her parents entered with two servants, each hauling a large chest. A guard could be seen stationed just outside the door blocking any attempt of escape.

They informed Anna she would be sent to Corona as their representative and then France or the Southern Isles. Not a foot would be placed anywhere in Arendelle until a suitable suitor was found and Elsa wed. Tears fell from all three of them.

No amount of begging changed their minds and explaining how much she loved Elsa only cemented their resolve.

They gave her two hours to pack, refused her request to see her sister, and left her room.

She did not see them again.

Anna clutched the locket tighter, the ice biting into her palm

Wait just a little bit longer, My Love. Just a little bit longer.

* * * * *

Anna pressed herself against the cool stone of the wall surrounding Arendelle Castle and waited until the sound of her breathing no longer drowned out the rhythmic sound of the fjord’s waves striking the rocks at her feet. It took three tries before the grappling hook found a sturdy purchase at the top of the wall.

Count to sixty, listen for shouts of alarm from the guards, count to sixty again, deep breath, now begin the slow climb up.

Months of training helped but, still, by the time she reached the top of the wall her arms ached and her breaths were strained. In the inky darkness of the moonless night, Anna relied mostly on touch to free her grappling hook before pulling up the rope. On silent cat feet she walked up the pitched incline, peeked over, and waited for the guard patrolling the grounds to pass. The moment her feet touched soft dirt, she tugged on the second rope attached to the point of the hook and freed it from the wall.

That took too much time.

An awkward crouching run with the hook and rope clutched in her arms. Pure luck had Anna safely behind neatly trimmed bushes when another patrolling guard rounded the corner into that section of garden.

Quietly tuck the grappling hook back into the bag slung over her back, wait patiently for another guard to pass by, dash the short distance to a particular corner of the castle, wait, again, for another guard to pass, then finally use the imperfections in this section of stone to climb up to a pitched bit of roof.

Being so close to her destination, Anna’s heart sped up and she hurried along the roof. One wrong step on a loose tile and she barely kept herself from rolling off. An alarmed exclamation from a guard had Anna scrambling into a shadowy section under a balcony and tucking herself into her black cloak.

“Did you hear that?”

“This is the third ‘suspicious sound’ you’ve heard tonight.”

“But I heard a thud.”

“The only thud you heard is from your hangover. Ugh. Why did I get stuck with you tonight?”

Footsteps.

“Hey! I was celebrating…”

The two guards bickered and their voices faded into the distance.

Too close. Slow down or you’ll be caught.

It took only a few more minutes of careful steps and climbing before Anna, exhausted and sweating, pulled herself up onto the stone balcony of her destination. The need to look through the large glass doors surpassed the desire to rest and catch her breath.

Elsa.

There sat her beautiful sister at her desk writing in what appeared to be a journal. Relieved tears threatened to fall and Anna struggled to keep them at bay.

Two and a half years.

They had been apart for two and a half years and Anna could only dazedly stare at Elsa’s elegant beauty; the braid wrapped around her head securely holding the twinkling crown of the Royal Princess, the bite of her lower lip in concentration, the…

Anna blinked in surprise.

Wrapped around her sister’s shoulders, the familiar dark green shawl, believed lost in her sudden departure, had been Anna’s favorite because Elsa had gifted it on her sixteenth birthday. Eyes finally traveled around the lamp lit room.

On the far wall a much smaller replica of the Joan of Arc painting from the portrait gallery, the worn tea table with two matching chairs from her room, the blanket usually found in the library where they’d cuddle under while reading now draped across the bed, even the plate sporting a pattern of swirling green vines upon which rested a half finished scone had been part of the set Anna usually snagged from the kitchen for their midnight snacks. Bits and pieces of their life together lay peppered the room, surrounding her concentrating sister.

Desperately through her shirt, Anna’s left hand clutched at her locket as the wisps of hope she clung to solidified into a raging inferno.

She lifted a trembling hand to knock.

* * * * *

Elsa sighed.

The constant struggle of each day without Anna by her side wore her down and this week even more so. Every night at dinner her parents broached the subject of her needing to start receiving potential suitors. Her skin crawled at the thought but Elsa didn’t know how much longer she could stall. Maybe six months or a year? Being the only one still in full mourning dress over her sister’s ‘death’ long after etiquette dictated switching to wearing colors once again paired with a black ribbon around her arm, now caused suspicious whispers about her mental stability and murmurs about how close they had really been.

Leaning back with a sigh, Elsa waited for the ink to dry before closing the blue leather journal and pulling the green shawl tighter about her shoulders.

Anna, I miss you so much.

Every night for the past year and a half to keep her hopes alive, from her personal drawer, Elsa pulled out an envelope and let the memory flow.

* * * * *

Gone.

Never again that breathtaking smile directed at her. Never again feel those strong arms hold her. Never again hear ‘I love you’ whispered intimately into her ear. Never again get to say ‘I love you too.’

Everything gone.

Tears flowed in a relentless torrent all week; now on the day of Anna’s funeral her eyes were dry and numbness enveloped her. Even her magic, normally buzzing like a beehive under her skin, stilled to a weeping trickle.

The line of guests waiting to offer their condolences to her and her parents dwindled down steadily. Only a few dozen people left before Elsa could flee to the privacy of her room. She needed to be out of this church with its empty casket and solemn ceremonies.

Another wooden ‘thank you for being here’ and Elsa wondered if she really had to stay to the end.

Elsa stiffened.

Princess Rapunzel and Prince Eugene stepped forward. Her sister had been left in their care and they failed.

Without warning, the other princess wrapped her slender arms around Elsa in a hug.

“Anna’s alive.” Whispered so low, at first Elsa questioned if she heard it at all. Rapunzel continued. “After this, come to our room and we’ll tell you everything.”

Shock replaced the anger.

Rapunzel stepped back and the two royals moved to greet her parents.

The moment the last guest stepped towards her parents Elsa sprinted out of church, dignity be damned.

Princesses don’t run. Princesses don’t ignore greetings from guests. Princesses don’t use servant passages. This princess did. Anything to get to Corona’s room faster.

This had better not be some insipid ‘she lives in you’ sympathy. Just thinking it might be the case set Elsa’s temper sparking.

Time to find out.

Knock. Knock.

“Princess Elsa, please come in.”

“You said my sister is alive.” Any patients for subtlety long gone.

“Yes, Eugene and I helped her escape Corona.”

A wide, graceful sweeping wave of Elsa’s arm. Ice two inches thick covered the door and window. They no longer risked being interrupted or heard.

Princess Rapunzel didn’t flinch though.

“Ice? She can make ice? Oh god. Is it really ice?” It seemed she broke Prince Eugene.

“Tell me everything. Please.” Hope blossomed in her chest.

“Three nights before her things were found, Eugene and I helped Anna escape the castle undetected. We don’t know where she is now but she didn’t drown two weeks ago.”

Could this woman Elsa barely knew be telling the truth?

“We stalled everyone by saying Anna was sick in bed and when my parents started to really worry about her, I planted the shoe and shawl on the shore.” A steady, unwavering gaze, not a hint of deceit.

“It is ice. Oh no, this bad. This is really, really bad. Ice.”

They both ignored the sputtering.

“Anna gave me this the night she left.” Worn about the edges and sealed with a bit of red wax, Rapunzel held out an envelope.

Shaking hands took it.

Elsa stared at the paper.

This could be a goodbye, a letter filled with sorrow and regrets.

“Anna still loves you.”

Having forgotten she wasn’t alone, Elsa nearly dropped the paper in her hands.

How much does she know?

“She told us what happened, that you two were caught.”

Fear filled her until she saw Rapunzel smile reassuringly.

She opened the envelope carefully and pulled out a single piece of paper.

Tears fell.

A watercolor of a sunflower.

* * * * *

Leaning over to replace the precious envelope with the watercolor tucked safely inside, the silver of the salt print caught her eye.

How many people could point to an exact moment and say ‘then, right then is when I knew I was in love with her.’

* * * * *

Elsa paced waiting for the approaching ship to dock having used the hidden door in the west wall to arrive early. It would be Anna’s last trip back to Arendelle before having to focus on her studies at her prestigious school in London and being separated for eight months instead of five. But her sister would be here for two weeks, just in time for the harvest celebration in three days.

More pacing.

“Princess Elsa, please step back. The ship will be docking soon.”

“Thank you, Radley.”

A reminder to herself that princesses did not bounce on their toes.

The moment the walkway rested on the dock Anna rushed down into her waiting arms.

“Elsa!”

Arms wrapped around her waist and the world spun as Anna twirled her around.

“Anna! Put me down!” Laughter took any sting there might have been in the admonishment.

“You’re not officially the crowned princess yet, sis.” One more spin and Anna set her down.

“I missed you.” Elsa tightened her hold and hugged her sister, eyes closing at the comforting rose scent from Anna’s preferred soap.

“I missed you, too.”

They stayed like that, arms wrapped around each other as sailors walked around them carrying crates filled with a variety of goods, having years ago become used to this sight.

Finally, reluctantly, Elsa stepped out of Anna’s arms and got a chance to really look at her sister. Gone were the rounded cheeks and child-like softness, now a bit leaner, her sister looked older and even more beautiful. The urge to kiss those soft pink lips startled Elsa.

“You-you’ve gotten stronger.” Ignore it. She’s your sister. You just missed her, that’s all. Even her internal argument sounded weak.

“It’s all that horseback riding they have me do.” Arms linked together, Anna tugged her in the direction of the castle. “Where’s Mama and Papa?”

“They’re busy with the final plans for Thursday. We’ll have dinner with them tonight.” It didn’t mean anything.

“Guess that means I get you all to myself today.” A bright, elated smile.

“Y-yes.” Her heart skipped a beat.

* * * * *

In the three days since Anna’s return, there had been thirteen times Elsa stopped herself from leaning over to kiss her sister. She counted.

Stop it.

Their parents gave the opening speech several hours ago and even now, were still surrounded by a crowed of people vying to meet the monarchs. She and Anna had split up to greet guests and solve the problems that always cropped up on the first day. That was how Elsa found herself talking with the Count of Ceovalon. The tall gray haired gentleman had to be at least twenty years older than her Papa though his strong frame and deep green eyes made the Count popular among the ladies in court.

“Lovely day.”

“Yes, it is. We were lucky the rain will hold off for a few more days.” A pleasant smile and Elsa wondered why Count Kadri stopped her.

“Almost as if by magic.” He laughed.

“Almost.” Not her magic. Even if Elsa could control the weather, their family had been extremely careful to keep the knowledge of it secret and she would have been forbidden from using it.

Silence.

Elsa waited patiently.

“Your sister looks to be enjoying herself.”

“Yes.” Her social butterfly thrived at parties.

“Is Princess Anna receiving suitors yet?”

“My sister is only seventeen.” It took a great deal of effort to keep the agitation out of her voice.

“Never too early to start.” The condescending smile had Elsa reconsidering the resolve to keep her ice powers secret.

“Prince Nicolau‘s own betrothal happened when he turned twelve.” He continued obliviously. “House Ceovalon would make an advantageous ally to the crown.”

Blink.

He can’t seriously be suggesting-

“Excuse me, Count Kadri.” Anna wrapped an arm around her waist. “Mind if I steal my sister? I haven’t had a chance to dance with her and I love this waltz.” Tugging in the direction of the couples dancing.

“Of course, Princess Anna.” He frowned slightly before dipping into a deep bow.

“Thanks!”

Taking the lead position, Anna deftly joined the group of dancers dancers.

“Elsa, is something wrong?” The whispered question inaudible to those around them.

A sigh.

“Tell me? Please?”

“He was inquiring if you were receiving suitors.”

“Huh?”

“I believe…” Another sigh. Beautiful, smart, the personification of sunshine, and a princess. Elsa should have expected this. “I believe he is interested in calling on you.”

“Count Kadri?”

Nod.

“But I don’t even know him.”

Nod.

“He’s older than Papa.”

Nod.

“And he’s not-“ Anna stopped mid-sentence and turned bright red alarmingly fast.

“He’s not…what?” Curious at what her sister meant to say.

“He’s… ummm… he’s not even that handsome.” The blush deepened. Anna wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“I guess he isn’t.” Why is she lying? ‘He’s not’ what?

“Are you… umm…” even with being so close the words were nearly lost to the music, “interested… in him?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Good.” The bounce in Anna’s step returned. “Enough about him. How has your day gone?”

For the rest of the song they laughed, compared disasters they averted, and returned greetings from couples dancing by. All too soon the song began to wind down. A sudden shift in movement and Elsa found herself being dipped low by a laughing Anna.

Teal eyes twinkled merrily, locks of copper hair fell gently at her temple, each adorable freckle dotting her sister’s face lit by sunshine, and the urge to never leave these strong arms filled Elsa completely.

Oh.

It finally slid into place. The nervousness, the racing heart, the lack of concentration, the need to touch.

Anna pulled her back upright and pressed their foreheads together. “Thank you for the dance.”

Fourteen.

* * * * *

This photograph had been shot the next day. Photography finally came to Arendelle and the new shop bustled with customers. After they took their family portrait, Anna requested to have one done of just the two of them. Their parents loved the idea and requested a copy for themselves. Dark smudges on her cheeks could be explained away as a defect in the plate’s exposure but Elsa knew was because of the deep blush she sported from having Anna’s arm wrapped around her waist.

Two weeks after that morning her mother took the photograph away.

For her own good.

Then four days later, after setting down the tray for her nightly tea, Gerda pulled a thick piece of paper out of her apron pocket. The gray haired woman had gone to town and obtained a new copy of the salt print her mother had confiscated. Without Gerda’s support and daily reminders of Anna’s love, being the only other person in the castle who knew she lived, over the years Elsa might have succumbed to her parents’ views.

Her personal journals, the new salt print, and all the letters Anna wrote to her from school, now resided in a drawer only she could open.

Tears finally fell.

Why hadn’t she remembered to lock the damn door? Or gone back to her own room instead of falling asleep? Anything that would have kept them from being separated.

Knock. Knock. Knock-knock. Knock.

Elsa’s head turned to the the balcony door.

Oh. I fell asleep at my desk again. I see Anna. But why is she on the balcony?

These dreams normally started with her sister sweeping into her room chatting nonstop but no matter how much Elsa wished differently, the instant they touched Anna would disappear and she’d wake up in tears.

The figure of Anna entered.

Black did not suit her little ray of sunshine.

Frowning, Elsa stood. That scar on her left cheek didn’t belong there, Anna never once wore all black in her life, and where was the chatter?

This different Anna removed her cloak and bag.

Step.

Calloused fingers reached out.

No, please don’t. I don’t want you to disappear.

They caressed her cheek.

Elsa’s knees buckled.

Strong arms caught her and Anna, this real, solid Anna, held her.

“You’re here. You’re really here.” Every moment of every day she wished for this. She surged forward, soaking in the much missed warmth of her sister.

“I’m here.”

They stayed wrapped up in each other, the sound of the ticking clock echoing on the room.

“Run away with me.”

“What?”

“Mother and father won’t let me come back. We can escape, together, go far away to a place that never heard of the sisters from Arendelle.” Hands clasped tightly to hers.

The start of a hesitant nod.

“Say it…” Anna’s pleading teal eyes met hers, “out loud.”

Could she leave? Abandon all her responsibilities? Forever say goodbye to the people she loved?

Yes.

“Take me with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” No more second guessing. There were many things she could live without, Anna was not one of them.

“Wait right here.” Back across the room to pick up her bag.

Without Anna’s arms around her, shaky knees gave out and she collapsed onto her chair.

“There’s clothes in the bag and I have extras for you on the ship. Put whatever you wish to bring in the bag.”

Ship? What ship?

It didn’t take long to pack her things snugly, hoping nothing would move and give them away with a noise.

Before changing, she removed the crown she had once been so proud to wear and set it on her desk.

Wave of her hand and ice covered her bedroom door. That should slow things down.

Off went the black silk mourning dress and Elsa slipped on the coarse black shirt and trousers. Uncomfortable shifting from foot to foot from the unfamiliar feel of cloth surrounding her legs distracted her enough to miss Anna’s question.

“What did you say?”

“Are you ready?”

A deep, steadying breath. This was it. Her life could start again.

“Yes, I’m ready.”

“Then let’s get this on.” Anna held out a black cloak identical to her own. “Remember to keep the hood up. Even without a moon tonight, your hair will stand out.”

“Right.” Flick of her fingers and all the lanterns extinguished in her room.

“I love it when you do that.”

Out to the balcony they stepped.

“How are we getting out of Arendelle?”

“I have a boat hidden at the docks. We’ll row out to Eric’s ship and sail to Liverpool.”

“The docks?”

“Best place to hide a boat is with other boats.”

The secret door opened up near the docks. Rushing back into the dark room, Elsa grabbed the key from her desk and returned.

“There’s a hidden door in the west wall near the docks. Gerda gave me the key to it after you left.”

“That will certainly be easier than climbing the outer wall.” Grappling hook in hand, Anna hooked it on the balcony railing.

“We won’t need that.”

Both hands flung forward and a spiral staircase out ice appeared.

“I’ve been practicing.”

* * * * *

Arendelle Castle grew smaller and candles were snuffed out as the residents went to bed. Never again would the place she grew up, fell in love, found support and condemnation in equal measures, be her home.

“It’s not too late to turn back.” They bobbed in the water.

“No.” Elsa turned back around, facing the future she wanted. “Keep going.”

Anna went back to rowing.

One last pull of the oars and they rounded the rocky outcropping.

Ahead, floating in the inky dark waters where the Dark Sea met the fjord, a ship lit up with torches as sailors lined the railing. Cheers erupted at the sight of their little boat.

* * * * *

Anna held out a hand and helped her over the ship’s railing. Never did she want to climb a rope ladder again. Twice she nearly lost her grip.

At the helm stood a tall man with dark brown hair. His blue eyes widened in recognition.

“You didn’t mention your friend Eric was Prince Eric of Tirulia.” This could be a problem.

“I didn’t think I needed to. Arendelle never had much to do with the Kingdom of Tirulia.”

“I was Arendelle’s representative at his and Princess Ariel’s wedding while you were in Corona.”

“Uh oh.”

“Welcome to my ship, Helga. May I steal Ingrid for a minute?” Prince Eric smiled tightly. He didn’t wait before grabbing Anna’s arm and dragging her to an empty spot by the railing.

Shouts from the crew and lapping of water drowned out any chance of Elsa hearing the argument.

She watched Anna nod and Prince Eric walk back.

“Will you follow me, please?” Once they were in the sparsely furnished captain’s quarters he turned to her.

“Princess Elsa, are you unharmed?”

“Of course.” Why does he believe Anna would hurt me?

“I’m sorry. Ingrid did not tell me she intended to kidnap the Crowned Princess.”

Maybe if she revealed everything Elsa could salvage this situation.

“Anna did not kidnap me.”

“Who?”

“The woman you know as Ingrid is my sister Princess Anna of Arendelle and she did not kidnap me.”

Blue eyes bulged in shock.

Without a word he marched back to the door and pulled a lingering Anna inside.

“Princess Elsa of Arendelle is your sister?! You said we were rescuing your True Love.”

“She did.” If they were going to be thrown off the boat, it would be for the truth. Elsa moved to stand next to Anna and twined their fingers together.

“But… you’re sisters.”

“Yes.” This time Anna spoke up.

Eyes darted back and forth.

A big sigh and Prince Eric shifted uncomfortably.

“Stow your things, we depart momentarily.” Head down, he spoke to the floorboards. “We’ll reach Liverpool in three days.” He turned to the door.

“Eric, thank you,” Anna called out.

“We promised to help and I owe you.” He left and began shouting orders to set sail.

“He owes you?”

“Ariel’s horse spooked and I happened to be nearby to stop it. Good thing too, they never would have made it over that gorge.” A tug on their joined hands. “Let’s get to my cabin. It’s small but I have it to myself.”

* * * * *

Stepping off the dock in Liverpool, the smell of smoke, human waste, and rotting fish nearly made Elsa lose her breakfast.

“You’ll get used to the smell.” Prince Eric smirked.

What a horrible thought.

“Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome. Do you have your gun?”

“It’s in my bag.”

He glared.

“I can’t exactly go walking around Liverpool with it on my hip, can I?”

Grumbles sounded suspiciously like ‘why not.’

“Please stay safe.”

“You too, Eric.”

They watched him return to his ship.

* * * * *

One spirited negotiation with the tavern owner and Anna triumphantly opened the door to their small, relatively clean room.

“Our home for the next three days, darling.” Anna flung herself across the bed.

“And after this?”

“The RMS Britannia. It leaves in three days for Halifax then Boston.”

“We’re going to America?” Elsa sat beside her lounging sister.

“Or Canada. We can choose when we purchase the tickets. Thirty-five guineas each is a bit expensive but-.”

“It’s incredibly expensive.”

“But,” Anna sat up and continued on, “it will get us across the Atlantic Ocean in fourteen days.”

“Fourteen days? How is that possible?”

“It’s one of those new steam ships. Faster we get there, the faster we can disappear.”

A nod. Elsa pulled her bag over onto her lap and removed a plain wooden box.

“We can sell these for the tickets.” Flipping of the lid revealed it full of expensive jewels.

Anna’s mouth fell open.

“I left our family heirlooms and those belonging to Arendelle back in my room.”

“What are these then?” She picked up an unfamiliar piece and frowned.

“Gifts from princes and noblemen trying to curry my favor.”

Snort. “These certainly wouldn’t have worked.”

“No.” Elsa pressed a kiss to Anna’s lips. “I prefer sunflowers.”

“Mmmm.” Another kiss. And another. And another. “Yes, well… ummm…” Unfocused eyes blinked. “We are fine on funds. Rapunzel made sure of that. Then I lived with Eric and Ariel for a year and added to it.” More distracting kisses. “Th-this is… umm.. actually perfect. I’ll pose as your traveling companion-“

“We can plan all this tomorrow.” Three days in a cabin without a lock didn’t leave them much privacy for anything beyond kissing and they didn’t dare chance her magic being discovered.

“But-“

“Tomorrow.” Today would be for catching up on lost time.

#elsanna #submission #April 2021 contest #prompt: break #lime

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nanoland · 3 years ago

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new chapter (supernatural fic)

(Also on AO3.)

Clean Hands, part 4

Crowley/Dean Winchester/Castiel

Warning: Demon deals, violence, mention of abuse and torture. Also: Crowley is an abuse + addiction survivor and also a cold-hearted arsehole with very little respect or empathy for abuse + addiction survivors, and this story is written from his POV.

What was there to be done when you were enamoured of a man who hit you?

Leave him! the whole world cried back in one voice.

Which was a bit like telling someone trapped in a burning car to get out of the car. Yes. Quite. Thank you. Fully agree. But what if, for a moment, you assumed I wasn’t as stupid as a fucking dog?

That, incidentally, was one of a handful of ways the world had worsened since Crowley last drew breath.

Back in the fourteenth century, the women in the marketplace had noted his black eye and torn dress with immediate understanding. Instead of insisting he pack his bags and walk out of the house belonging to his wealthy shoemaker husband, the father of his child, the man on whom his safety and good reputation and continued ability to eat depended, the man he, for some fucking reason, still loved, they’d actually tried to help.

Sybil had given him willow bark for the pain. Rose had engaged him in long, rambling conversations, stretching the minutes until he had to return home. Jane had walked across the village and rapped on his door every evening she could, always armed with solid excuses, just when the bastard was well and truly in his cups and looking for something to damage.

If ever analytical minds were to try to account for Crowley’s misanthropy and sadism, they couldn’t honestly conclude that either was due to his never experiencing true, heartfelt human kindness.

Yes, Sybil and Rose and Jane had all thought he was a woman and addressed him accordingly, and it had hurt. But that wasn’t their fault. He’d not had the courage to tell them otherwise.

Crowley didn’t regret much. Regret, in this game, was a slow-killing poison.

Still, he did occasionally wonder how things might have turned out if he’d accepted Jane’s invitation and fled with her to London that one warm night, rather than hanging in for years until he finally snapped and beat his husband’s skull into tooth-sized pieces with an iron kettle.

Returning to the present:

As Crowley watched Dean’s fist barrel towards his face, and not for the first time, he reviewed the pros and cons of incinerating him with hellfire.

When fist and nose were one millionth of an inch apart, he teleported across the room.

“Squirrel,” he sighed, “this has nothing to do with you.”

Dean charged and took another swing at him. “Fuck you! He worked so hard! Clean for four years, you piece of shit!”

This time, Crowley reappeared sitting on top of the dead man’s wardrobe, where Dean couldn’t reach him. “Good for him. His family and friends won’t remember him as the thieving, lying wretch he was ten years ago when he sold his soul for a pound of meth. They’ll probably give him a nice funeral.”

“Why couldn’t you make an exception? Just once?”

“That’s not how this works, Dean! It wasn’t even my deal! The contract is in the hands of a relatively inexperienced subordinate and honestly, I’m glad that she pulled it off. She’s got potential. This is her first real win. It’ll increase her standing in Hell and make her more powerful, which will be useful because some older demons have taken to bullying h-…”

“I don’t give a damn about your minions,” he snarled, picking up a lamp sprinkled with blood and throwing it at him. Crowley ducked. “Every last one of you can take an angel blade to the face, for all I care. You’re fucking parasites.”

Evenly, Crowley replied, “Yes. We are. You know that. You’ve always known that. Why are you having a fit about it now? Good people get dragged to Hell all the time.”

Dean stared down at what remained of Martin Booke, now that the hellhounds had left. “He worked so hard. Christ. You could have made an exception. He came to us and I swore I’d help him out.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have cocking well done that, should you?” Crowley cried, throwing up his hands.

Eyes wet, Dean sneered at him. “Parasite. Get out of my sight before I wring your evil neck.”

Crowley left.

Upon arriving back in Hell, he went to the Admissions Department.

The soul of Martin Booke was sitting in one of the cheap blue plastic chairs, knees drawn up to his chest. Probably still reeling from the trauma of the hounds ripping his throat out, though no damage was evident on his form now.

“Mr Booke,” Crowley said, sauntering up with his hands in his pockets. “Could you come with me, please?”

A door appeared in the nearest wall and swung open silently.

Once they were both standing inside Crowley’s office, it swung shut and dissolved into nothingness.

Moving to his liquor cabinet, Crowley said, “I hear you’re a Harvard man.”

“Um… y-yeah. Yes. I was.” Thin voice. Midwestern accent.

“Promising career ahead of you before things – ah – went awry.”

Booke swallowed. “Tom. First boyfriend. Got me into meth. Got me into a lot of stuff. I figured it was okay because we were gonna be together forever and as long as I had him, I’d be fine. Then he went and died and I had to pick up the pieces on my own.”

Smiling thinly, Crowley said, “Isn’t romance grand? As it happens, you may still get your happily ever after. Thomas Abbott is currently waiting in the eternal queue – which, ordinarily, is where you’d be headed.”

“Yeah. Dean told me. Although… um…”

“You have a question? Spit it out. Cowards bore me.”

“Dean said that when you sell your soul, you go to Hell and demons torture you until you become a demon. But he also told me about the queue thing. So that’s confusing. I mean, queuing sucks but it’s not torture.”

Crowley poured himself a glass of bourbon and sat down behind his desk. “Clever boy. Yes; when I became King of Hell, I restructured things. Most of you end up in the queue. The hot knives and whips are a speciality service and, as such, are reserved for our elite clientele. The pedos and Nazis and so forth – and, of course, anyone who pisses me off too much. As for the process of becoming a demon; that doesn’t actually require torture. I know! Surprised me too! We always thought it did, back when Lilith was in charge. Then I started running some tests and it turns out that becoming a demon is a bit like catching a virus; it’ll happen to anyone who hangs around other demons long enough. Everyone in the queue will have black eyes by the end of their first century.”

Booke took off his glasses and nervously rubbed them on his sleeve. “You said that ‘ordinarily’ I’d go to the queue. So am I an – uh – ‘elite client’?”

“Hah! No. Your little life was staggeringly boring and barely impacted anyone in ways either negative or positive. No, the reason you’re here is Harvard. See, I had a snoop and it seems that before you dropped out, you were getting bloody good grades.”

A wistful smile. “I guess. Had big dreams, once.”

Sipping his bourbon, Crowley said, “On track for a Master’s in aeronautical engineering, I believe.”

“Yep. I wanted to work for NASA.”

“Cards on the table, Booke: I might have a job for you. There is, at present, space in one or two of our departments for a man with your talents. But first I need to ask a question.”

He cocked his head. “Um. Sure? Anything’s better than what I was expecting. Shoot.”

“Do you know how to crash a spaceship?”

#drowley #supernatural #crowley #dean winchester #spn crowley #fanfic #my fic #drowstiel

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mersuperwholocked-lowlife · 4 years ago

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Dead in the Water

Word Count: 5,884

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sister!Reader, other Season one episode 3 characters

Pairings: Sam Winchester x Sister!Reader; Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader

Warnings: angst, barely any fluff, canon level violence, mentions of death of a child

A/N:i t’s finally here, enjoy!

A/N 2: I was thinking about all the plans I have for like upcoming in this..... and oof, I’m so excited

Masterlist

“When did you get that?” Sam asked, looking over to your tattoo.

“Uhm, about a month ago. Me and Dean got drunk and then I woke up with this,” you replied, looking to your arm.

The three of you were currently at some diner, looking for a case.

“Wow, well it’s, uh….. something….” Sam stuttered.

You looked at the tattoo on your arm. There was really no telling what it was. It looked like it was supposed to be a lotus flower, but then it had an arrow going through it and some other random marks.

“You don’t have to lie. I’m pretty sure Dean did it,” you shrugged.

Well, thank god he’s not a tattoo artist,” Sam laughed.

“Yeah, oh look at that! The waitress is totally hitting on Dean! Do you wanna crash it or should I?” you laughed, as the two of you looked at Dean.

Sam made his way to the table.

“Is there anything I can get you?” the lady asked Dean.

“Just the check, please,” Sam spoke for Dean, sitting next to him.

You smiled, walking to the two of them.

“You know, we are allowed to have fun every once in a while,” Dean groaned.

“Last time you had fun like that, I was locked out of the hotel room, with my wallet and phone inside, and I had to sleep next to the Impala. Not in it, next to it,” you replied.

“Heh, well that was a good night,” Dean smirked.

“Eww.” Sam scrunched his face.

“Okay, well, here, look at this. I think I got one,” Dean showed the two of you a newspaper. He circled a photo of an 18-year-old girl, who seemed to have drowned.

“Sophie Carlton, 18, last week. Walked into a lake and didn’t walk out,” Dean started.

So far, it sounded like she drowned.

“Authorities dragged the water, nothing. Sophie Carlton is the third drowning in Lake Manitoc this year. None of their bodies were found either. They had a funeral two days later.” he finished.

“A funeral?” you and Sam asked.

“Yeah, it’s weird. They buried an empty coffin for closure or whatever,” Dean replied.

“Closure? What closure?”, you asked.

“Yeah, people don’t just disappear, others stop looking for them,” Sam said to Dean.

Well, here we go again, you thought.

“Something you wanna say to me, Sammy?”, Dean asked, giving Sam a look.

“The trail for Dad, it’s getting colder every day,” Sam said.

“Well, what are we supposed to do?”, Dean asked.

“I don’t know. Something, anything,” Sam replied.

“You know what? I’m sick of this attitude. You don’t think I want to find Dad as much as you do?” Dean asked, annoyed.

“I’m the one who’s been with him every single day for the past two years, while you’ve been off to college going to pep rallies.”, Dean started, raising his voice a little.

“So? (Y/N) was there too, you don’t see her acting like a bitch,” Sam scoffed.

“You know what?” Dean started.

“Okay, stop. Both of you. First, I wasn’t there for the whole time. I took a year away from them.” you started, your face fell with the memory. You had secrets that Sam and Dean didn’t know. That only your dad knew.

“Wait, what?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, now listen, Sammy, we all wanna find Dad, okay? But, it’s gonna take some time. So, until then, we’re gonna kill every son of a bitch that we find, because it’s our job,” you said, in a calm way.

It’s weird to think that you’re the mature one.

Sam rolled his eyes before exhaling sharply.

“Okay, fine. Lake Manitoc, how far?”

----

Hey Dad, it’s (Y/N) again. Another day of me texting you, and still no reply. We’re worried. Please get back to me.

I’m almost 100 percent sure that Sam and Dean are gonna murder each other. Sam’s going crazy looking for you. We’re just trying to work any hunt we can meanwhile.

We miss you, just please let us know if you’re okay.

“Hello? Earth to (Y/N)?” you heard Dean say.

You looked up to him, putting your phone away.

“Yeah, what?” you asked.

“We’re here,” the three of you got out of the car, looking at Sophie’s house. She lived a normal, quiet life, with her Dad and brother.

Dean knocked at the door. Another boy answered the door, which you assumed to be Sophie’s brother.

“Will Carlton?” you asked as he opened the door.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he replied, looking cautiously at the three of you.

“I’m Agent Ford, this is Agent Hamill and Prescott. We’re with the U.S. wildlife service,” Dean showed his fake I.D.

Will relaxed, letting the three of you in, taking you to the lake.

You looked in the distance, seeing their dad sitting on a bench near the lake.

“She was about 100 yards out. That’s where she got dragged down,” he said softly.

“What makes you sure she didn’t drown?” you asked Will.

“She was a varsity swimmer. She practically grew up in the lake. She’s as safe out there as in her own bathtub.” he explained.

“So, no splashing? No sign of distress?” Sam asked.

“No, that’s what I’m telling you.” he shook his head.

“Did you see any shadows in the water? Maybe some dark shape breach the surface?” Dean asked.

“No, again, she was really far out there,” he replied.

“You ever see any strange tracks on the shoreline?” you asked.

“No, never. Why? Do you think there’s something out there?” Will asked.

“We’ll let you know as soon as we know,” you gave him a small smile, as you and Dean started walking off.

“What about your father?” Sam asked. You and Dean stopped, turning to Sam.

“Can we talk to him?” Sam asked.

“Look, if you don’t mind, I mean, he didn’t see anything, and he’s kinda been through a lot,” Will explained.

“We understand,” Sam nodded, as the three of you walked to the Impala.

“You think he’s hiding something?” Sam asked.

“Or maybe he’s just in shock. He just lost his daughter,” you replied softly.

“Well, Will said he’s been through a lot lately. Maybe there’s more,” Dean said.

“Losing a child is a lot, Dean,” you replied rolling your eyes as you sat in the car.

“Sheesh, who put the stick up your ass?” Dean sassed.

“Shut up, Dean,” you clenched your jaw.

“Whatever, let’s go,” you laid back in the seat, crossing your arms as Dean drove off.

-------

“Now, I’m sorry, why does the wildlife service care about an accidental driving?” the sheriff asked, leading the three of you to his office.

“You sure it’s accidental? Will Carlton saw something grab his sister,” Sam asked.

“Like what? Here, sit down please,” he said, pointing to three chairs across from him.

“There are no indigenous carnivores in that lake,” he said.

“There’s nothing even big enough to pull a person unless it was the loch ness monster,” the sheriff added.

“Yeah, right,” Dean started.

“Will Carlton was traumatized, and sometimes the mind plays tricks. Still, we dragged that entire lake. We even ran a sonar sweep to be sure, and there was nothing down there,” he said.

“That’s weird, though. That’s the third missing body this year,” you said.

“I know. These are people from my town. People I care about,” the sheriff sighed.

“I understand,” Dean said.

“Anyways, all this. It won’t be a problem much longer,” the sheriff crossed his arms.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“Well, the dam, of course,” the sheriff said.

You looked to Sam and Dean.

“The dam, right, it… it sprung a leak,” Dean said.

“It’s falling apart, and the feds won’t give us the grand to repair it, so they’ve opened the spillway. In 6 months, there won’t be much of a lake. There won’t be much of a town either, but as federal wildlife, you already knew that” the sheriff leaned in, looking at the two of you.

“Exactly,” you replied.

“Sorry, am I interrupting? I can come back later,” you heard a voice from behind you.

The three of you stood up, smiling to the woman.

“Agents, this is my daughter,” the sheriff said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Dean,” Dean smiled, shaking her hand.

You rolled your eyes, hasn’t even known her for a full minute and he’s already flirting.

“Andrea Bar. Hi,” she smiled.

“They’re from the wildlife service, about the lake,” he explained.

You saw a small kid from behind her.

“Oh, hey there, kid. What’s your name?” you gave him a small smile.

He looked at the three of you before walking away. You looked a little shocked as Andrea ran after him.

“His name is Lucas.” the sheriff said.

You continued to watch as you saw Andrea sit next to him, and give him crayons. He was drawing.

Your eyes watered a bit.

“My grandson’s been through a lot lately,” you heard the sheriff say to Sam.

You zoned out as they continued talking.

“(Y/N)? You okay?” Sam asked softly.

You inhaled deeply, wiping your face.

“What? Yeah, let’s go,” you replied.

“Okay then,” Sam muttered, walking behind you.

Dean stopped, asking Andrea for directions to a hotel, before asking her to walk you three there.

“What was that? In the sheriff’s office?” Sam asked you, as the two of you walked behind Dean and Andrea.

“What are you talking about?” you lied.

“You were about to cry,” he said.

“Cramps, Sammy,” you lied.

“Uhm, eww. Nevermind,” he replied.

“Kids are the best,” you overheard Dean say to Andrea.

Yeah, they are you thought to yourself.

“And here’s the hotel. Two blocks, as I said.” she turned to face the three of you.

“Thanks,” Dean smiled.

She sighed.

“Must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line,” she sassed Dean as she walked away.

You turned to Sam as the two of you tried to hold in your laughs.

“ ‘Kids are the best’? You don’t even like kids,” Sam said.

“I love kids,” Dean turned to Sam.

“Name three children you even know,” Sam said.

He would’ve known my kid, you thought. Shut up, (Y/N), focus on the hunt you told yourself.

He hesitated. “Well, you and (Y/N/N) are children,” he said.

You let out a small laugh before walking into the hotel.

“She’s acting weird, right?” Sam asked Dean.

“Yeah, thought it was just me,” Dean replied.

“Where was she when she was away from you for that year?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. Only Dad does,” Dean shrugged.

“You don’t think she…. was pregnant?” Sam asked.

“What? No. (Y/N) would’ve told me,” Dean said. The two of them sighed before walking into the hotel.

--------

“So, there’s the three drowning victims this year,” Sam started.

“And before that?” Dean asked.

You sat next to Sam as he read old news articles from his laptop.

“Yeah, six more, spread out over the past 35 years. Those bodies were never recovered either. If there’s something out there, it’s picking up its pace,” Sam said, showing you the articles.

“So, we got a lake monster on a binge? This whole lake monster theory, it bugs me,” Sam sighed.

“Why?” you asked. Dean stood behind Sam.

“Loch Ness, Lake Champlain - there are literally hundreds of eyewitness accounts. But here, almost nothing. Whatever’s out there, no one’s living to talk about it.” Sam explained. He opened up a list of victims.

You saw Dean’s eyes widen.

“Wait, Bar, Christopher Bar. Where have I heard that name before?”, Dean said, pointing to the screen.

“Andrea. Her last name’s Bar.” you pointed out.

Sam clicked the article. It was a picture of Lucas, with his hair and clothes wet, wrapped in a towel.

“He’s Andrea’s husband, and Lucas’ father,” Sam read the article.

“Apparently, he took Lucas out swimming. Lucas was on a floating wooden platform when Chris drowned… two hours before the kid got rescued,” Sam said.

“Looks like we have an eyewitness after all,” Sam said.

“No wonder that kid was so freaked out. Watching one of your parents die isn’t something you just get over,” Dean said.

“Well, let’s go to the park,” you said.

----

“Can we join you?” Sam asked, spotting Andrea sitting on a bench.

“I’m here with my son,” she smiled.

“Oh, can I say hi?” you said, walking to him.

Sam and Dean sat next to Andrea, talking to her.

“Hey, how’s it going?” you asked, bending to his height.

He continued sitting there, drawing.

“You know, my brothers used to play with these,” you noticed the toy soldiers next to him.

He continued to ignore you.

You sighed, sitting next to him.

“You know, I think that you can hear me, you just don’t wanna talk,” you started.

“I don’t know what happened to your dad, but I know it was something really bad. And I know how you feel,” you said.

“When I was younger, I saw something,” you remembered, thinking back to Mary.

“Well, maybe you don’t think anyone will listen to you, or believe you. I want you to know that I will. You don’t have to say anything, you can even draw a picture of what you saw, with your Dad,” you said.

“Okay, no problem. Take care, Lucas,” you gave him a pat on his head before walking to Sam, Dean, and Andrea.

“He hasn’t said a word to me, not since the accident,” Andrea sighed.

“Yeah, we heard. Sorry,” Dean said.

“What are the doctors saying?” Sam asked.

“That it’s some kind of post-traumatic stress,” she said.

“That can’t be easy for any of you,” Sam said.

“We moved in with my dad. He helps out a lot,” Andrea nodded.

She looked at Dean.

“It’s just… when I think about what Lucas went through, what he saw….” Andrea said softly.

“Yeah, kids are strong. You’d be surprised with what they can deal with,” you gave a soft smile. Now, Mary was the only one on your mind.

“Yeah, it’s just…. oh hey, sweetie,” Andrea said, as Lucas walked from behind you.

He handed you a drawing of a cabin.

“Thanks,” you gave him a smile.

He continued looking down, walking away.

“That was….. Lucas doesn’t ever give things to people. He doesn’t communicate with them,” Andrea said, surprised.

“Yeah, well, (Y/N) has a way with kids,” Dean smiled.

You felt your heart drop but ignored it.

“Yeah, uhm, it was good seeing you, but we have to be on our way now,” you smile at Andrea, walking off as you let a tear fall, but quickly wiped away the rest.

----

“So, I think it’s safe to say we can rule out Nessie,” Sam said, walking into the hotel room.

“What do you mean?” you asked, sitting across from him and Dean.

“I just drove past the Carlton House. There was an ambulance there. Will Carlton is dead,” Sam said.

“Drowned?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, in the sink,” Sam replied.

“What the hell?” you said, sighing.

“So, this isn’t a creature. We’re dealing with something else.” Dean said.

“Yeah, but what?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. A water wraith? Maybe some kind of demon?” Dean suggested.

“Well, I wouldn’t cross out spirit either,” you said.

“How could it be a spirit?” Dean asked.

“Well, I don’t know. It went after both of Bill Carlton’s children. I mean, who drowns in a sink?” you said.

“So, he’s probably involved somehow,” Dean started.

“Wait, I’ve been asking around, and Lucas’ dad, Bill Carlton’s godson,” Sam pointed out.

“Well, then let’s go pay Mr.Carlton a visit.”

----

“Mr.Carlton? We’d like to ask you a few questions,” Sam said, walking up to Mr.Carlton. He was on the same bench he was the previous day, still in shock. You felt his pain.

“We’re with the department of-” Dean started.

“I don’t care which department you’re with. I’ve answered enough questions today,” he replied shakily.

“Mr.Carlton,” you started.

“My children are gone,” you felt a pang in your chest.

“Sam, Dean, will you give me a moment alone with Mr.Carlton?” you said softly.

They looked at you, confused, before nodding and walking away.

“Mr.Carlton, I know it’s not easy, dealing with your children’s death. I know how you feel. But, me and my partners are trying to do everything we can to help you. You just… you need you to answer a few questions,” you said, taking deep breaths.

“Losing your children, it’s a feeling worse than death,” he said.

“I know,” you nodded.

“Just please… go away,” he cried softly.

“I-I get it. But, if you want to help us, if you want to avenge your kids, then give us a call. Me and you both know that something’s not right here,” you said softly.

He looked away from you, looking to the lake. You sighed, walking to Sam and Dean.

“Anything?” Dean asked.

“No, but he does know something’s going on,” you said.

“Wait….. Maybe he’s not the only one who knows what’s going on. (Y/N), where’s the picture Lucas gave you?” Dean asked.

You handed him the drawing from your pocket.

“I don’t think he’s the only one that knows something,” Dean held the drawing up, comparing it to the Carlton House. It was the house in the drawing.

----

“I’m sorry, I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” Andrea said.

“I just need to talk to him, for a few minutes,” you said.

“He won’t say anything, What good’s it gonna do?” she argued.

“Andrea, we think more people might get hurt,” Sam explained.

“We think something’s out there,” Dean said.

“My husband, the others. They drowned, that’s all,” she said, getting upset.

“If you truly believe that, then we’ll go,” you started.

“But if you think there’s even a possibility that something else could be going on here, please let her talk to your son,” Dean finished your words.

She hesitated before answering.

“Fine, He’s down the hall, first door on the left,” she said.

“Thank you,” you nodded, walking to his room.

He sat on the ground, with his toy soldiers surrounding him while he drew.

“Hey, Lucas. Do you remember me?” you asked, squatting next to him.

He didn’t reply, as expected, but you noticed his drawings. All the same drawing of a red bike.

“Uhm, I just wanted to thank you for your last drawing, but I need your help again,” you said.

Dean handed you the drawing he drew before.

“How did you know to draw this? Did you know something bad was gonna happen?” he continued drawing.

“M-Maybe you could nod your head yes or no for me,” you said.

“You’re scared,” you noticed.

“It’s okay, I understand. When I was a child, I saw something really, really bad happen to my mom, and I was scared too. I didn’t feel like talking, just like you. But, my mom….” you took a breath.

“I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about it every day,” you could feel your eyes water.

“And I do my best to be brave. And maybe, your dad wants you to be brave too,” you said softly.

He stopped drawing, looking up at you. After a moment, he handed you another drawing. It had the red bike, a man, a church, it seemed, and another house.

“Thanks, Lucas,” you smiled, taking the drawing and standing up.

“Thank you, Andrea,” you said, as the three of you walked off.

“(Y/N), I-I didn’t know you saw Mom,” Sam started.

“I know. It’s weird when you’re that young, you don’t remember anything. That’s the only thing I remember,” you sniffled.

The three of you sat in the car and drove off.

----

“Andrea said he never drew like that till after his dad died,” you handed the drawing to Sam.

“There are cases going through a traumatic experience, could make certain people more sensitive to premonitions, or psychic tendencies,” Sam started.

“What if Lucas is tapping into it somehow?”, Dean asked.

“It’s only a matter of time before someone else drowns, so if you got a better lead, please,” Dean said.

“Okay, fine. We have another house to find,” Sam said.

“In this county alone, there’s about a thousand yellow two-stories,” Dean groaned.

You drifted from their conversations, texting John again.

This case is hard. It’s bringing up all my unwanted memories from the past, like mom, like my son.

I can’t believe I’ve kept all these secrets from Sam and Dean. Is it too late to tell them?

I just feel sick.

“(Y/N), are you alive back there?” Dean called you.

“Yeah,” you said, turning off your phone.

“We haven’t heard a peep from you this entire car ride. Are you okay?” Dean asked.

“I’m fine. Where are we going anyway?” you asked.

“We’re finding the church in Lucas’ drawing,”

----

“We’re sorry to bother you, ma’am, but does a little boy live here by chance? He might wear a blue ball cap, has a red bicycle,” Dean asked the elder woman.

“No, sir. Not for a very long time. Peter’s been gone 35 years now,” she sighed.

“The police never…. I never had any idea what happened,” she explained, looking at a photo of him.

“He just disappeared,” she turned to the three of you.

“Losing him, it was, you know, it’s worse than dying,” she said shakily.

Sam nudged you softly, pointing to the toy soldiers on the table. You nodded at him.

“Did he disappear from here? I mean, from this house?” you asked.

“He was supposed to ride his bike straight home after school, and he never showed up,” she replied.

You nodded your head softly as you looked around a bit, spotting a picture with Peter and another boy in the mirror.

You looked at the picture before looking at the back, seeing the names.

“Peter Sweeney and Billy Carlton, 1970,” you read aloud.

You raised an eyebrow, giving Sam and Dean a look.

“Okay, thank you for your time, ma’am,” Dean said as the three of you headed out the door.

----

“So, Peter Sweeney disappeared and this is all connected to Bill Carlton somehow,” Sam started.

“Yeah, it kinda seemed like he was hiding something,” Dean said.

“And Bill, the people he loves, they’re all getting punished,” Sam said.

“So maybe Bill did something? Maybe Bill killed him?” you suggested.

“Yeah, Peter’s spirit would be furious. He’d want revenge, it’s possible,” Dean agreed.

Dean drove once again to the Carlton house as you three got out of the car, looking for him.

“Sam, Dean,” you said, seeing Mr.Carlton on a boat, driving out in the water.

“Oh, shi-” the three of you ran to the dock, yelling for Mr.Carlton to turn back.

“Mr.Carlton! You need to come back! Turn around!” Dean shouted.

“Turn the boat around! Get out of the water!” you yelled.

He looked back at the three of you, with watery eyes. You heard a noise as something flipped the boat over, killing him.

“Damn it.”

----

The three of you walked into the police station, seeing Andrea sitting with Lucas, who looked upset.

“Sam, Dean, (Y/N),” Andrea said, surprised to see you three.

“What are you doing here?” the sheriff asked her.

“I bought you dinner,” she replied

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I just don’t have the time,” he sighed.

She looked at Dean.

“I heard about Bill Carlton, is it true? Is something on with the lake?” Andrea asked.

“Right now, we don’t know what the truth is, but I think it might be better if you and Lucas went home,” the sheriff said.

Lucas’ head shot up, as he gave the sheriff a worried look. He ran to you, pulling on your sleeve.

“Lucas, hey. What is it? What’s wrong?” you asked, bending down to him.

His eyes watered, as he continued holding onto you.

“Lucas, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Andrea said, trying to hold him.

“Hey, hey, Lucas. It’s okay,” you pulled away from him softly.

Andrea held him, rushing him out of the station. He turned back to you, giving you a look. You knew that look, something was wrong.

You watched him leave, looking concerned before the three of you walked into the sheriff’s office.

“O-Okay, so you’re telling me you see…. something attack Bill’s boat, sending him, who is a very good swimmer by the way, into the drink and you never see him again?” the sheriff asked, a bit skeptical at your story.

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” Dean replied, looking at you and Sam.

“And I’m supposed to believe this even though I’ve already sonar swept that entire lake and what you’re describing is impossible and you’re not really wildlife service,” he added.

You looked to him, a little shocked. Not saying he was wrong, but how did he know?

“That’s right, I called the department. They’ve never heard of you three,” he said, crossing his arms.

“See, now that we can explain,” Dean started, motioning to you.

“Enough, please. The only reason you’re breathing free air is one of Bill’s neighbors saw him steering out that boat just before you did. So we have a couple of options here. I can arrest you for impersonating government officials and hold you as material witnesses to Bill Carlton’s disappearance, or, we can chalk this all up to a bad day, you can get in your car, you put this town in your rearview mirror, and you don’t ever darken my doorstep again,” he said, raising his voice.

Well, he was clearly unamused.

You looked at Sam.

“Door number two sounds good,” you and Dean nodded in agreement.

“That’s the one I’d pick,”

----

“Dean, please. You saw his face. He was scared. Just a quick peek, please,” you begged.

“(Y/N), we told the sheriff we’re leaving. I don’t want us in jail,” Sam sighed.

“Dean?” you asked.

He froze for a minute. If he turned left, we would be out of this town. But, if he turned right, you could check on Lucas.

After a long minute of hesitation, he turned right.

“(Y/N), this job’s over. Peter killed Bill, it’s over,” Sam said, annoyed.

“Well, what if we’re wrong? What if we missed something, and we leave? More people get killed,” you sighed.

“Oh, come on (Y/N),” he groaned.

“You saw Lucas’ face. He was really scared. I’m not leaving town till I know that he’s okay,” you said, crossing your arms.

You saw Dean mouth something to Sam, as Sam went quiet.

“Fine,”

----

You walked to their front door, along with Sam and Dean.

“It’s late, are you sure about this?” Dean asked you.

Before you could ring the doorbell, Lucas opened the door, hyperventilating.

“Lucas? What’s wrong?” you said, panicking

He ran up the stairs, to a locked door, which you knew to be the bathroom. There was water leaking from under it.

He started banging at the door. You pulled him back, as Dean kicked the door open. He and Sam ran into the bathroom, pulling out Andrea from drowning. You held on Lucas, trying to calm him down.

----

You and Dean looked through their books, trying to find anything on the sheriff. It wasn’t an accident that Peter went after Andrea.

“(Y/N),” Dean said.

“Yeah?” you were looking in the bookshelf across from you.

“You tell me everything, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course,” you said. You hated lying to him.

“There’s no big secret you hid from me?” he asked.

“No….. why?” you asked.

“Sammy thinks you were pregnant once,” you felt your body go cold.

“But then I told him, there was no way. Because you tell me everything. And you would’ve told me if you were pregnant,” he said.

You felt a few tears fall, but you ignored it.

“Dean,” you said softly.

He put his hand on your shoulder, turning you around. He wrapped his arms around you tightly.

“Dean, this isn’t the time for this. Please, let’s talk later. We’re on a hunt,” you sniffled.

“Okay, fine” he nodded his head.

You two continued looking, as he called you again.

“(Y/N),” you went to him, seeing him hold a book. Jake - 12 years old

Your eyes widened, as you saw a picture of an old boy scout troop.

With the sheriff, and Bill Carlton.

----

“Do you recognize the kids in this picture?” Dean asked Andrea, putting the book on the table in front of her.

“What? Uh, no, except that’s my dad, right there. He must’ve been around 12 in these pictures.” she pointed to the picture.

“The connection wasn’t to Bill Carlton. It must’ve been to the sheriff,” Dean started, looking to you and Sam.

“Maybe it was Bill and the sheriff, they were both involved with Peter,” Sam realized.

You looked to your side, seeing Lucas look out the window.

“Chris… what about my dad, what are you talking about?” Andrea asked.

“Lucas? Lucas, what is it?” you asked, walking to him.

He turned to the door, walking out, motioning you to follow him.

“Lucas?” Andrea called, also following him.

He led you four to the middle of the yeard, which was surrounded by trees.

“Take Lucas inside and stay there,” Dean told Andrea.

She nodded her head, pulling Lucas to the house.

The three of you took your shovels, digging into the dirt. You heard a clang as Sam hit something.

He looked up at you and Dean before the three of you pulled something out of the ground.

It was a red bike. It was Peter’s red bike.

“Peter’s bike,” Sam breathed out.

“Who are you?” you heard the sheriff’s voice from behind you, as he cocked his gun, pointing it at Sam.

“Put the gun down, Jake,” you said as Sam raised his hands up.

“How did you know that was there?” he asked.

“What happened? You and Bill killed Peter, drowned him in the lake, and buried his bike?” Dean said.

“You can’t bury the truth, Jake. Nothing stays buried,” you said.

“What the hell are you talking about?” the sheriff asked.

“You and Bill killed Peter Sweeney 35 years ago. That’s what the hell we’re talking about,” Dean replied.

“Dad!” Andrea yelled, running to you four.

“And now you have one seriously pissed off spirit,” Dean finished.

“It’s gonna take Andrea, Lucas, everyone you love. It’s gonna drown them,” Sam said.

“It’s gonna drag their bodies to god-knows-where, so you can feel the same pain Peter’s mom felt. And then, after that, it’s gonna take you, and it’s not gonna stop until it does,” you tried to reason with the sheriff.

“And how do you know that?” he asked.

“Because that’s exactly what it did to Bill Carlton,” Sam said.

“Listen to yourselves, all three of you. You’re insane,” he said, continuing to point the gun at Sam.

“We don’t really give a rat’s ass what you think of us, but if we’re gonna bring down this spirit, we need to find the remains, salt them, and burn them,” Dean said.

“Just tell me you buried him. That you didn’t just let him go into the lake,” you said.

“Dad, is any of this true?” Andrea asked, her voice shaky.

“No, they’re liars and they’re dangerous,” the sheriff said quickly.

“Something tried to drown me. Chris died on that lake. Dad, look at me,” Andrea yelled.

You tried to focus on the rest of the conversation, trying to ignore your pounding headache.

Not again, please, not again you begged.

You scrunched your eyes closed, grabbing your head.

“A-Andrea, w-where’s Lucas?” you groaned.

“W- he’s in the….. Oh my god!” she gasped, seeing Lucas by the lake.

The five of you ran to the lake, calling for Lucas to get away from the lake.

You saw Peter pull him into the lake.

You ran, jumping into the lake with Sam and Dean.

You dived your head underwater, looking for Lucas.

“No, Jake!” you heard Sam yell. You saw Peter grab his leg, drowning him.

You heard Andrea let out a cry.

“Oh my god,” you said quietly.

You went underwater, trying to find him again. When you came back up for air, you saw Lucas, unconscious in Dean’s arms. You let out a breath of relief.

He was okay

----

“Okay, the case is over. You said we’ll talk when the case is over,” Dean crossed his arms, leaning against the wall in the motel.

“About what?” Sam raised his eyebrow, looking between the two of you.

“Dean,” you started.

“(Y/N)” he replied.

He walked to the bed, holding your hand and pulling you next to him. Sam walked to you two also, sitting on your other side.

“O-Okay, well,” you took a deep breath, looking forward, away from Sam and Dean.

“A-After….uhm, when I left….” you stuttered, not sure where to start.

“It’s us. You don’t have to keep this from us anymore,” Dean said softly.

A tear fell from your eye.

“I found out I was pregnant, and Dad said he’d help me get out of this life. That it wasn’t safe f-for me anymore,” your voice was shaking.

Sam and Dean were quiet, listening to you.

“I-I don’t… it happened so fast…. I-It was,” you tried to speak, holding in your cries.

Dean wrapped his arms around you, rocking you gently like you did when you were kids. Every time something was wrong, the two of you would hug each other, rocking each other softly, calming down one another.

“I’m so, so sorry, (Y/N),” Sam said, hugging you too.

You cried softly, holding onto Sam and Dean.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Dad told me not to tell anyone,” you started.

“It’s okay,” Dean replied softly.

“It’s okay,”

----

The three of you walked to the Impala, getting ready to leave.

“Sam, (Y/N), Dean,” you heard Andrea call you three.

You turned around, seeing her and Lucas walk over to the three of you.

“We made you some lunch for the way. Lucas insisted on making you these sandwiches,” she smiled down at Lucas.

“Can I give it to them now?” he asked.

“Of course,” Andrea replied.

“Well, let’s go load these into the car, yeah?” you smiled to Lucas, holding his hand and walking off with him.

“Alright, since you’re gonna be talking now, you have to remember this phrase. I want you to repeat it back to me,” you told him. You leaned onto the car.

“Zeppelin rules!” he exclaimed.

“That’s right. Up high,” you gave him a high five as he smiled.

“Take care of yourself, kid,” you said.

You looked to the side, watching as you saw Andrea kiss Dean.

You smiled, before looking back to Lucas.

“We have to go now, it looks like. Take care, kiddo,” you said. He nodded, running off to Andrea.

“Let’s hit the road. We’re losing daylight,” Dean said, walking to the front seat.

“You’re blushing,” you teased him.

“Shut up, Let’s go,” the three of you sat in the car, driving off.

157 notes · View notes

sachigram · 4 years ago

Text

Telescope Now Chapter 5

((click here to read on ao3!!))

“Okay, can you explain this to me one more time?”

Izaya stays where he is, doesn't want to look up at either of the men in his apartment. He can feel them both watching him with judgment disguised poorly as concern, and at this point he's not very interested in what either of them has to say. He knows what he sees, knows his own mind better than anyone else. He won't be swayed into thinking differently.

“I already fucking explained it to you!” Shizuo is angry, which is refreshing. He was acting much too friendly before, much too human. It's funny to Izaya that Shizuo is acting so upset on his behalf.

“Yes, but it was over the phone, and you were acting...frazzled,” Shinra answers in a placating tone. “Just once more, please.”

“It's what I said! Flea's fucking losing it way worse than you let on before. He's acting weird as fu—“

“The urns?” Shinra interjects. Izaya can hear Shinra moving towards the counter, the sounds of glass sliding, and then there's a pause.

“He says they're empty,” Shizuo says lowly, but it's almost as if he's incapable of whispering.

“They are empty,” Izaya says, sitting up at last to face them both. The blanket falls down into his lap, and he rubs at his eyes, blinking lights out of his vision. He was lying in the dark for so long with the TV as the only light source, and now Shinra has the main lights on.

“Izaya-kun, they're not,” Shinra says, lifting an urn into his arms. He pads towards the couch and tilts it towards Izaya. “Look.”

Inside is the same emptiness Izaya saw before. He thought it was a joke at first, the urns being empty, thought maybe the staff of the funeral home were trying to pull one over on him, but no. Everyone else thus far has found the urns to be full. Izaya scoffs and flops back onto the couch, pulling the blanket over his head.

“I can't look at nothing, Shinra. I don't know what you want me to say.”

“See?” Shizuo asks, and there's the rustling of fabric, the sound of footsteps. “He really thinks it.”

“Well, I didn't think he was faking,” Shinra says. There's some more movement, and then pressure next to Izaya as someone sits beside him. “Izaya-kun, I want you to come stay with me.”

“No. You think I'm crazy, I can tell. Who knows what horrible experiments you'll do as soon as I'm unconscious?” Izaya curls further into himself, wishing the others would just leave. This is awful enough without them both observing Izaya as if he's a rare exhibit at the museum.

“How many times do I have to tell you I don't think you're crazy?” Shinra asks, and he tugs at the blanket until Izaya relents to letting it pull away from his face. Shinra smiles at him sadly. “Will you trust me, please? Let's just talk through this. What could the urns being empty mean, exactly?”

“That they're actually alive, that something worse could be happening to them, that Shiki-san is somehow involved—“ Izaya lists, and Shinra holds a hand up.

“You realize what you're saying. You realize how this sounds. You're saying a powerful executive, a made man, is trying to convince you that the twins are dead. What exactly would his motivations be here?”

“I don't even know how they died!” Izaya shouts. He's gone over these facts, assessed them over and over in his mind, and having Shinra spout them as if Izaya is just being willfully ignorant is asinine. “Every time he starts to explain it to me, he stops short, like he can't piece the story together for himself.”

“Izaya-kun, he has explained it to you. He's explained it to me as well. You're blocking it out because—“ Shinra sighs and reaches for Izaya's shoulder, but Izaya swats his hand away. “You're traumatized,” Shinra continues. “This is a perfectly acceptable response to what you're going through.”

“Bullshit,” Izaya snaps, sitting up once more. He glares at Shinra, wants nothing more than to strangle the man, and he wonders briefly if this is how Shizuo feels all the time. “Tell me, then. Tell me how they died.”

Shinra opens his mouth, and his lips move, but Izaya can't hear anything. He looks from Shinra to Shizuo, trying to decide if they're messing with him, but Shizuo looks uncomfortable, as if he doesn't want to hear this story, and Shinra's expression is morose, like he's giving a patient bad news.

“They aren't dead,” Izaya says, and he draws his knees up, rests his head on them. “If they were dead, I'd know it.”

“I saw the bodies, Izaya-kun,” Shinra says gently.

“You fucking didn't. You don't even know how they died!”

“Flea, he just—“ Shizuo tries, and Izaya throws his hands in the air.

“I didn't ask for either of you to be here! I'm not asking you to believe me! What the hell do I care what either of you think when you,” he points to Shinra, “work closely with Shiki-san, and you,” he points to Shizuo, “hate me anyway?” Izaya glowers at them both, and then he flops back down, exhausted suddenly from all these emotions.

“We're trying to help you,” Shinra says, and his voice is calm. Shizuo scoffs in the background. “Neither of us has anything to gain from lying to you.”

“Yes, you do.” Izaya doesn't elaborate, doesn't think he needs to. “Get out.”

“As your friend, I can't do that, and as your medical professional, it would be nothing short of irresponsible of me to leave you on your own when I think you might be a danger to yourself or others,” Shinra says, and Izaya rolls his eyes.

“Yeah? You just said you didn't think I was crazy, and now you're saying I'm dangerous?”

“If you really think I'd be out to get you, then I have to assume something might not be right,” Shinra says coolly, and he narrows his eyes when Izaya glances at him.

“Then you leave. Shizu-chan can stay,” Izaya says.

Shinra has the gall to look hurt. “Izaya-kun...”

“I already know Shizu-chan hates me, so I won't be inclined to listen to him. Get out, Shinra, I mean it. I'm not interested in convincing you or anyone else of the truth.” He folds his arms over his knees and looks over at Shizuo, almost daring him to say something. Shizuo is uncharacteristically silent, though he still looks as annoyed as ever. He shrugs at Shinra, his lips turned down, and Shinra sighs loudly before standing.

“Have it your way, but I'll be back soon,” Shinra says. He passes by Shizuo and motions for Shizuo to follow him, and the two of them move towards the door while murmuring back and forth.

“I'm not crazy,” Izaya says to himself, and he glances at the urn Shinra left on the coffee table. It stares back at him almost vindictively, a worthy foe, every bit as empty inside as Izaya is.

The door opens and closes, and Shizuo returns, his hands in his pockets, his dark eyes focused on Izaya. “I really, really don't know what to say here.”

“I don't expect you to say anything, monster. Actually, I'd rather you not talk at all.”

“Why the hell would you prefer me to Shinra? He's right, you hate me.”

“Most of the people in my small inner circle hate me, Shizu-chan. It's easier to deal with openly hostile people, as there's no trust between us. You can't possibly betray me, as I don't trust you to begin with.” Izaya lies down once more and turns to face the TV. “Can you turn the lights back off? They're hurting my head.”

“Shinra said you should eat. Come on, I brought you fatty tuna.” Shizuo moves to hover over Izaya, and he lifts the bag as if to remind Izaya of its presence.

“I'm not hungry.”

Shizuo growls, and Izaya smiles, wonders how far he can push Shizuo before Shizuo lunges at him with intent to kill.

“Fucking eat it, or I'll shove it down your throat,” Shizuo snaps, throwing the bag at Izaya. “Dying of starvation is too nice a death for you.”

“That's absolutely terrible, Shizu-chan! It's a slow, painful death, you know?” Izaya considers throwing the bag to the floor, but the ootoro smells delicious. His stomach rumbles.

“See? You're hungry. Just eat it.” Shizuo sits down, his elbows on his knees as he leans toward Izaya. His fingers twitch.

“Did you poison it?” Izaya asks.

“I didn't even take it out of the bag!”

“Mm, you could've put poison all over the lid though... It could seep into my skin and leave me paralyzed or worse. I doubt you could come up with such a scheme, but that little friend who works with you would definitely know where to get poison. She might even be on her way here to help you dispose of my body as we speak.” Izaya knows he's reaching here, but it's just so easy to make Shizuo angry. It's Izaya's favorite toy to play with.

“Do you mean Vorona? Don't fucking talk about her to me,” Shizuo says, and he grits his teeth. “She doesn't even know I'm here. No one does except Shinra.”

“Are you saying I'm your dirty secret, Shizu-chan?” Izaya lifts his hand to his mouth, feigns shock. “I see your angle now! I never would've expected this from you, but... You always surprise me, Shizu-chan! Okay, so then the next thing for me to ask is this.” Izaya sits up, purses his lips, bats his eyelashes at Shizuo. “I don't have any money for this sushi. Is there any other way I can pay for it?”

Shizuo looks like he swallowed something sour. He snarls at Izaya before he stands up and looms over him. “You have until the count of three to eat a piece of sushi, and if you don't do it, I'm gonna make it where the only way you can eat anything is through a straw.”

“But then how will I suck your dick, Shizu-chan?” Izaya lilts, and he barely manages to move before Shizuo roars in what can only be pure frustration and lifts Izaya's entire couch to throw it across the room. It crashes into the bookshelf, knocking all the books into the floor and splintering the wood. “Ah. I guess this means you want to go to the bedroom, then?”

“Would you fucking quit it?!” Shizuo yells, and he stomps towards Izaya, lifts him by the front of his shirt. “What's with you? Why are you saying all this gross shit? Is this some new plan of yours to piss me off more than you usually do?”

“Well, being openly hostile to you doesn't seem to be working as well as normal.” Izaya shrugs as best as he can with Shizuo shaking him around. “I thought I'd see how you responded to a little flirtation.”

“How about you shut the fuck up and eat your sushi off the floor like the rat you are?” Shizuo asks, and then he lets Izaya drop.

“I think you like the flirtation! It really seems to be getting a rise out of you. That's good, Shizu-chan, you were being boring before.” Izaya turns away from him and goes to the kitchen where he fetches a bottle of wine. He's in the middle of opening it when Shizuo follows after him.

“Goddammit, Izaya, I'm just gonna call Shinra and ask him to come back. I can't be nice to you, okay? It's too fucking weird for both of us, and you're only gonna hurt yourself more to spite me.”

“The real question here is why do you care?” Izaya asks, and he pours himself a glass of wine. “Call Shinra, leave, it doesn't matter to me. I've got no problems being on my own.”

“Oh, yeah?” Shizuo asks, moving forward. He has Izaya cornered, Izaya's back pressed to the counter. “You wanna know why I care? Because you're a fucking wreck. I said I didn't pity you, and I meant it. Anything that happens to you is still less than a leech like you deserves, but letting you lose your mind first is an act of mercy I'm not capable of. I'm gonna kick the shit out of you one day, but I wanna make sure you feel every bit of it, and I wanna make sure you know why it's happening.”

Izaya sips his wine before he sets the glass on the counter. Keeping his eyes on Shizuo's face, he hops up to sit beside the wine, spreads his legs to make room for Shizuo, who growls when he realizes the suggestive position they're in.

“There's nothing wrong with me, Shizu-chan. You want me lucid so you can kick my ass? Fine, I'm perfectly aware of everything now. Get it over with and then get out. And put my couch back where it was. I'd tell you to organize my books, but I think even holding a book in your hands might send you into a meltdown.” Izaya smiles sweetly, and then he picks his glass back up.

Shizuo slaps the glass into the floor.

“Can you stop destroying my things?” Izaya asks with a pout, and Shizuo leans closer, his arms on either side of Izaya's thighs.

“Can you stop being a pain in the ass?” Shizuo asks.

Izaya lifts his finger to Shizuo's nose, taps it playfully. “Boop.”

Shizuo shouts angrily and shoves away from Izaya. He goes to the window and opens it, fishes in his pocket until he's pulling out his cigarettes and a lighter. Izaya watches him with a frown, and then he carefully gets off the counter, mindful of where the broken glass is. He carries the entire bottle of wine with him to his desk.

“I don't remember telling you it's okay to smoke in here,” Izaya says.

“If you want me to stop destroying your shit, you'll allow it.” Shizuo blows smoke out the window before he scowls at Izaya. “You piss me off.”

“Yes, I know. Those were the first words you ever said to me, you know? I'm well-aware.” Izaya logs into the Dollars chatroom as Chrome and reads over the conversation thus far. He blinks as a private message opens.

Kuru: Is this really what you're doing with your free time? You think everyone is pulling an elaborate joke on you, and you're getting drunk off wine and doing nothing about it?

Chrome: I know this isn't real.

Kuru: Real enough. Real to you.

Kuru: Why do you think the urns are empty?

Chrome: Where is Mairu?

Kuru: She's here too. She doesn't talk much in the chats. She's on a time-out for being vulgar.

Chrome: Where are you?

Kuru: The real question is where are YOU?

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, and his voice trembles.

The anger drains away from Shizuo's face. “What is it?” he asks.

“Can you tell me what the screen looks like to you?” Izaya scoots his chair over to make room for Shizuo, who flicks his cigarette out the window before moving to Izaya's side.

“Just looks like the same chat Celty is always on,” Shizuo says.

“You don't see the private window? You don't...” Izaya grips the desk to stop his hands from shaking. “Why is it just me?”

“Flea.” Shizuo nudges Izaya with his arm, and Izaya glares daggers at him for it. “Look, I'm not a doctor or anything, but maybe the alcohol isn't helping?”

“Fuck you,” Izaya mutters, and he takes a pointed sip from the bottle.

“Like I said,” Shizuo says, moving away from the desk. “You're a wreck.”

“I don't need your help.” Izaya uses his feet to push his chair, and he wheels after Shizuo. “You keep saying I hate you, but you leave out the part where you hate me right back. You leave out the part where you hated me on sight.”

“What's that gotta do with anything? We were teenagers.”

“It fucking matters!” Izaya snaps, and he stops the chair short of crashing into Shizuo when Shizuo freezes in place and whirls to face him. “It matters,” Izaya repeats.

“Okay. Okay, fine, then I'm sorry for that.” Shizuo rubs the back of his neck, and he looks uncomfortable. “That was a rough time for me.”

“That's it?” Izaya asks in disbelief. “You're apologizing, just like that? Your excuse is that high school was a rough time for you?”

“Well, it was!” Shizuo says. “People kept picking fights with me and Shinra wouldn't leave me the fuck alone about meeting you, and then—“ Shizuo stops abruptly, a faint color rising in his cheeks. “And then you came at the worst possible time.”

“Right. I should've booked an appointment before meeting you.” Izaya scoffs and scoots the chair back towards the desk. He grabs the wine again. “You're the one who ruined it. You're the one who started this.”

“I just said sorry! Fuck, Izaya, what else do you want from me?”

“I want you to leave.”

“No. You don't need to be alone,” Shizuo says, and he crosses his arms, a stubborn set to his jaw.

Izaya laughs. “What kind of idiot are you? I'm always alone, Shizu-chan. Believe me, I've gotten pretty used to it.”

“Me too. Doesn't mean it's not lonely.” Shizuo watches Izaya take another drink, and then he holds his hand out. He rolls his eyes when Izaya gives him a dubious look. “I'm not gonna pour it out. I want a sip.”

“All I do is share my expensive drinks with you,” Izaya laments, but he passes the bottle. He's aware Shizuo doesn't seem like a wine drinker, and his assumptions are confirmed when Shizuo makes a face. “You just don't want me to drink it all.”

“You're an annoying drunk.”

“I thought I was a sad drunk?”

“Crying is annoying.”

Izaya snorts before he slides the chair to the cracked bookshelf. He finds the takeout bag close to the couch, and he opens it, pleased to find the little plastic container isn't crushed. He pops it open and eats a piece of ootoro, a smile appearing at the taste. It's been so long since he's had it.

“Good flea,” Shizuo says, and he wheels Izaya out of the way before he cracks his knuckles and lifts the couch. He carries it back to its place in front of the TV and drops it.

“You know, if you get fired from your current job, you could be a professional mover,” Izaya says.

“You try to get me fired again, and I'm gonna snap your neck,” Shizuo replies.

“We'll have to work on your customer service, but otherwise I think you'd be good at it.” Izaya eats more sushi and feels almost happy for the first time in a long while. He doesn't say so, of course, but Shizuo seems to be aware. It's easier to ignore the elephant in the room with someone else here to provide a distraction.

“Its weird. You were right before when you said I don't know anything about you. I guess I made it a point not to know things. But now I know your favorite food,” Shizuo says as he crosses the room to pick up the discarded couch cushions. He carries them back to the couch and throws them on.

“All you have to do is pay attention. I know a lot of things about you,” Izaya says, and he smirks when Shizuo glowers at him.

“See, that's creepy. You're a creepy bastard.”

“Ask me something about you! Go ahead!” Izaya wheels back to the desk where Shizuo sat the bottle of wine down. He takes a long sip.

“No thanks. I'd rather not know how long you've been watching me.”

“Why not? It's not the least bit flattering to you?” Izaya asks.

“Why would it be?”

“I'd be flattered if someone cared about me so much,” Izaya says, and he immediately regrets saying it. His face heats up, and he turns his back to Shizuo, absolutely mortified. “I'm usually overlooked, is all I mean.”

“Overlooked? You?” Shizuo asks, and he barks a laugh. “Sorry, flea, but you really suck at blending in.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I'd know you anywhere.”

Izaya spins his chair around, laughing to himself. Shizuo is probably the only one in the world who always notices him, never looks past him. Izaya has wanted it more than anything else, no matter what he had to do to get it. Shizuo needs to look at him, even if it's with hatred, even if it's out of the desire to kill. Shizuo needs to look.

“Do you think things would be a lot different if we were friends?” Shizuo asks suddenly. Izaya stops spinning, feels a little sick to his stomach.

“Oh, come on, Shizu-chan. You wouldn't stoop to the level of being friends with me.”

“I mean it.”

“Don't you know it's rude to kick someone while they're down? How monstrous of you.”

“Flea. I mean it.” Shizuo moves closer to Izaya. “Maybe if I hadn't been fighting that day, maybe if I was in an okay mood when Shinra introduced us...”

“Stop it.” Izaya has had the same thought himself plenty of times: What if? “Even if you liked me at first, you still wouldn't like what I do, wouldn't like who I am as a person.”

“Can't you just stop being a prick?” Shizuo asks.

“Can't you just stop losing your temper all the time?”

“It's not the same thing!”

“There's that hypocrisy again! Tell me, how many excuses do you give about your temper? Someone always pisses you off, even when they aren't doing anything to you. There's always a reason for your fights, right? It's not just the fact you have an extremely short fuse to go along with your incredible strength?” Izaya smiles, sips more wine before passing the bottle to Shizuo, who snatches it.

“What's your fucking point?”

“I don't make excuses, Shizu-chan. You ask me why I do the things I do, it's because I enjoy them. It's as simple as that.” Izaya spins around. “Have you considered the reason you fight all the time is because you actually like it?”

“No, because that's not true. I hate fighting,” Shizuo says.

“Then tell me this.” Izaya stops spinning and scoots closer to Shizuo. “Have you considered you chase me around so much because you might actually like me?”

“God, are we back to the flirting now? You're running out of tricks, flea.”

“Mm. Maybe you should think about it. All those excuses of yours, you must really not know much about yourself. Denial is enough to give anyone an anger problem.”

“You wanna know what I think?” Shizuo barks, stomping forward and putting his foot out to stop the chair from moving. “I think you're the saddest, loneliest, most twisted piece of trash who ever lived. I think you tell yourself all this shit and make excuses to yourself. It doesn't matter if you own up to them out loud, does it? Not if you still try to convince yourself you're happy being alone when really you hate yourself. Don't you?”

“You're not saying anything profound, Shizu-chan. I already told you I was a coward,” Izaya says, not bothering to address the rest of it.

“Yeah, well now you're a hypocrite, too.”

They glare at each other, and then Izaya turns away, laughing at the absurdity of all this.

“Maybe we're both cowardly hypocrites. Maybe that's why we're in each other's lives. Maybe you hate me so much because I remind you of yourself.”

Shizuo removes his foot from the path of the chair, lets Izaya roll away. His eyes narrow. “So is that the reason you hate me, then? Or do you hate me because you actually like me?”

Izaya stops rolling, huffs and eats another piece of sushi. “I don't like you.”

“Right.” Shizuo drinks some wine, scrutinizes Izaya's expression. “It's okay if you do.”

“Oh, is it?” Izaya asks, eating the last of his sushi and throwing the container at Shizuo's head. “Well, thank you, Shizu-chan, that really cleared things up for me. I'm a new man, and I'll never have to bother you again!”

“God. Fuck. It's impossible to be civil with you, you know that? You make it impossible.”

“So call Shinra, call him and leave. I'm not asking you to stay.”

“No. I'm not gonna let you be by yourself.”

“Why? Why not, what business is it of yours—“ Izaya starts, standing from his chair. He falters when Shizuo kicks the desk, splitting it into pieces so the monitor crashes into the floor.

“Shut up!” Shizuo shouts, breathing heavily. “I fucking mean it, flea. One more word, and I'll kill you.”

“That desk was top of the line, you know? It probably costs more than you make in a month.” Izaya steps forward and snatches the wine from Shizuo. “I don't care what you do anymore, monster. You want to sit in silence and keep an eye on me, convince yourself you're saving me? Go ahead. It won't change anything, will it?”

“Do you really think the urns are empty?” Shizuo asks, breathing heavily, and Izaya scowls.

“Yes.”

“Then I'm staying.” Shizuo goes to the couch, flops down onto it. Izaya grins, takes a gulp of wine, and sits close to Shizuo, probably too close. “Flea,” Shizuo says warningly.

“I'm cold,” Izaya says. He pouts up at Shizuo. “You're here to help me, right?”

“If you try anything weird...” Shizuo trails off.

“Define 'weird',” Izaya says.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Shizuo hisses through clenched teeth.

Izaya's grin stretches into a leer, and he fits himself against Shizuo's side, surprised to feel just how warm Shizuo is. He wraps his arms around Shizuo's arm and nuzzles his face into Shizuo's sleeve.

“Get off me!” Shizuo hisses, and Izaya shakes his head.

“Nope. You're like a monster space heater. I'm tipsy and I'm cold.”

Shizuo grumbles and leans back into the cushions. He changes the channel to some MMA thing, and Izaya allows himself the liberty of inhaling Shizuo's scent. It's odd, it's exactly how he imagined it: the musk of sweat, cheap cologne, cigarette smoke. Izaya loves it, hates that he loves it. He loves it so fucking much.

“Shizu-chan could wipe the floor with all those guys,” Izaya says, voice muffled in Shizuo's arm.

“Nah, they have actual skill. I just get mad,” Shizuo replies. “Your TV is amazing, by the way. I feel like I'm really there.”

“Mm.” Izaya passes Shizuo the bottle of wine, watches Shizuo's throat bob when he drinks. Shizuo tilts towards Izaya's body very slightly, probably for comfort reasons. Izaya smiles, closes his eyes, wants to memorize this exact moment down to the tiniest detail because it's already so much more than he ever thought he'd get.

“Just tell him you love him,” Mairu's voice says, and Izaya jumps backwards, away from Shizuo, who looks at him with alarm.

“Flea?”

“I heard Mairu,” Izaya says, looking around. He doesn't see her, but the urn is still on the coffee table.

“What'd she say?” Shizuo asks.

“You didn't hear her?” Izaya asks, though he knows the answer already. He laughs, falls to his side, and curls his knees to his chest. “Shizu-chan, do you think I'm losing my mind?”

“I don't know,” Shizuo says honestly. “I have no idea what you're going through. It could all be normal. And even if it's not, I think you're allowed to be a little crazy right now.”

“Why are you being so nice to me? Is it just because Shinra asked you to?”

“I don't know,” Shizuo says again, and he doesn't say anything else.

“I'm going to go to bed,” Izaya says, and he stands, lingering over Shizuo. “Stay the night, I don't care. I have a guest bed, or you can crash here in front of your beloved TV.” He looks at the urn in front of him, and then at the one on the counter. “I can't be around these things anymore.”

He goes upstairs and quickly brushes his teeth, doesn't bother with washing his face. He's so tired, so tired of everything, and somehow, knowing Shizuo is below him calms him enough to fall asleep.

He wakes in his parent's house.

He's on the couch, rubbing at his eyes as the twins argue loudly over a doll, Mairu pulling an arm, and Kururi pulling a leg. He groans and sits up.

“Can't you two just share your toys?” he asks, and they both glare at him.

“Easy for you to say! You never had to share!” Mairu shouts.

“And look at me now, sharing everything,” Izaya replies. He reaches out, takes the doll from them, and moves her around through the air. “She wants you to share her, and...what's that?” He places the doll next to his ear. “Ah. She also wants you to let me sleep.”

“She does not. It's daytime. Why are you so tired anyway?” Mairu asks, swiping for the doll. Izaya pulls the doll out of reach.

“I study at night. I also have to work.”

“Work...” Kururi repeats, tilting her head.

“I have my own private assignments, you know?” Izaya looks between them as he remembers everything, and the dream seems to shift. “Are you really dead?” he asks suddenly, and they look at each other before looking back to him.

“What do you think?” Mairu asks.

“I think you aren't. I don't think it's denial on my part. I really think if you were gone, I'd know it.”

“So then...what do you think is going on?” Kururi asks softly.

“I don't know. It...” Izaya inhales, smells a floral scent, but he doesn't know where it's coming from. “I don't know what's happening.”

“You do,” Kururi says, and then she smiles. “You've known for a while.”

“It's okay, Iza-nii,” Mairu says, and she reaches out to squeeze Izaya's hand in hers. “We're here!”

Izaya wakes up thrashing. It takes him a few moments to realize he isn't alone. Shizuo is hovering over him, holding his arms in place.

“Calm down, dammit! You woke me up again,” Shizuo says, and his grip relaxes when Izaya stops fighting him.

“You're still here...” Izaya says dazedly, his eyes full of tears. He's grateful for the darkness of his room, doesn't want Shizuo to see his face.

“Well, yeah, you...” Shizuo stops talking when Izaya's hands settle on either side of his face.

“Shizu-chan...” Izaya murmurs, his hands pulling. Shizuo follows his lead, inhales sharply when his forehead rests against Izaya's.

“Flea?” Shizuo asks.

“I had a dream. Only they aren't dreams. Or they aren't always dreams. I just...” Izaya caresses Shizuo's face, doesn't care anymore how this looks. “Can you stay up here?”

“You sure?” Shizuo asks, though he makes no motion to leave.

“I need to know you're real.”

“What are you talking about?” Shizuo asks, and Izaya shakes his head.

“I can't explain it all. You'll really think I'm insane. You can go downstairs if you really want to, I just...”

“No, I'll stay.” Shizuo rolls off Izaya, settles next to him, and Izaya doesn't hesitate at all before he's scooting closer, wrapping his arms around Shizuo and pressing his face into Shizuo's chest. “You're really freaked out, huh?”

Izaya doesn't reply. He takes greedy breaths, tries to keep Shizuo's scent in his nose for as long as he can. He feels Shizuo's arms settle around him, but he doesn't dare read too much into it. Shizuo has no choice here, after all. He's trying to make sure Izaya is okay, is doing a favor for Shinra. It's not anything more than that.

“Fuck, Izaya, you're shaking.” Shizuo hugs Izaya tighter, his face pressing into Izaya's hair. “Talk to me. What is it?”

“They're alive,” Izaya says weakly. “I know it. I know they are.”

“They aren't, flea. It's like Shinra said, you're protecting yourself from the truth.”

“I am, but I don't think the truth is that they're gone.”

“So then what is it? What's the truth?” Shizuo asks, and Izaya clings tighter to him. They lie together in silence, and Izaya is so warm, so content in Shizuo's arms that he's close to sleep once more when he hears footsteps below. He jolts, and Shizuo grunts irritably.

“I heard something,” Izaya says, trying to lift to his elbow. Shizuo pulls him back down.

“You didn't. C'mon, Izaya, just try to sleep. You'll feel better if you do.”

Izaya hesitates before he curls back in to Shizuo. All these bizarre instances, these things he can't explain, he's almost willing to overlook all of them for this: the feeling of being held, the feeling of being worried over. Izaya has never known this kind of comfort in his entire life, and he thinks he's beginning to understand why he's feeling it now.

“Christ,” Izaya mutters. If he was at rock bottom before, he's lower now, somewhere in the layers of Hell. It's cruel that it's like this, but Izaya can't say he doesn't deserve it. He reaches up with trembling hands and undoes the buttons of Shizuo's shirt. Shizuo only watches him, a calm expression on his face.

“I don't think you're a coward, Izaya,” Shizuo says, and Izaya raises an eyebrow in response, though he's not sure Shizuo can see it in the darkness. Shizuo continues anyway. “Before, you said you were, but I don't see how. You're not scared of anything. You're not even scared of me, and you really should be. Even I'm terrified of me.”

“There's more than one definition of a coward, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, and then he presses his face into the warmth of Shizuo's bare chest. He slides his hands up and under the back of Shizuo's shirt, sighs softly and blinks back tears.

“Oh, yeah? Well, some of us don't have the time to dig up all these other definitions for simple words. Must be nice to be self-employed,” Shizuo huffs, but he keeps holding Izaya, and Izaya wonders if Shizuo might be the only thing holding him together.

“It is, it's nice. It's lonely. I'm...” Izaya's voice trembles. He swallows, forces his voice into neutrality. “If being brave means you're afraid to do something, but you do it anyway, then a true coward is someone who never tries in the first place to face their fears. Someone complacent.”

“But you put yourself in crazy situations all the time. You don't back down even when I'm trying to kill you,” Shizuo argues.

“I have a list of fears, actually. Whatever you think of me, I'm a person.” Izaya listens to Shizuo's heart beating faster. “I accept everything about everyone, I tell myself nothing they do can hurt me, not as long as I'm willing to accept any and every outcome. I love all of humanity because I see the worst of humanity every day and I can still love them, but no one sees me. No one does, and no one can, because I won't let them. You were right before when you said I'm a hypocrite, too. I am, and I know it. I want to see everyone, but I don't want anyone to see me.”

“So you hide,” Shizuo says.

“The only one who knows me is me, and I don't even like me. How am I supposed to just let people see me as I am? It's amazing, isn't it, that people can be so vulnerable with others! To let your guard down and seek comfort and love from your fellow man— It boggles the mind! Humans are social creatures; we subconsciously drift together and long for another's touch, but at the same time, we fear each other, fear existence, do terrible things to avoid being known! Isn't that amazing?! We're a paradox in ourselves!”

“I'm pretty sure you're doing the opposite of calming down,” Shizuo says, and he punctuates it with a yawn. “You're getting all manic and flea-like. Hiding from other people doesn't make you a coward, and if it does in some way, then I'm a coward, too. Whether it's to protect yourself or others, sometimes it's better to be on your own if the alternative is everyone getting hurt.”

“You're not on your own, you barbarian. You fucking should be, but you're not. You don't know the meaning of true loneliness.” Izaya seethes, digs his nails into Shizuo's back, but of course Shizuo probably doesn't feel it.

“And now you're getting all pissy. See, this is why it's hard to talk to you. You go on and on about random bullshit, and then you work yourself up, and then I just really wanna punch you. It's a cycle.” Shizuo nuzzles his face into Izaya's hair, and it has the tightness leaving Izaya's shoulders before he knows it. “If you wanna be comforted, then I'm right here. All the other shit you were saying doesn't matter, does it? You're a person, you want comfort. What's wrong with giving into nature every now and then?”

“That's so easy for you to say. You're a creature of pure instinct. And I really want you to know the emphasis I'm putting on the word creature.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. You know, the more you babble about things, the easier it is to see through you. I can actually tell you're putting all these walls up, and it's kind of stupid. It's actually really stupid for some brainiac like you. Aren't you supposed to know better?” Shizuo asks.

“It's paradoxical, as I said,” Izaya replies, and Shizuo hums.

“It must really suck to have so many thoughts all the time. No wonder you're crazy.”

Izaya lifts his leg and kicks Shizuo, and Shizuo rolls over him, partly on top of him, and he presses his face into Izaya's neck.

“Go to sleep, flea,” Shizuo says.

“That's your expert advice?”

“It sure as hell can't hurt anything, can it?”

Izaya purses his lips, chooses not to answer that. He feels Shizuo falling asleep on top of him. It happens gradually, Shizuo's body sinking further, the tension leaving his muscles. He makes a soft noise, and then his breathing evens out, his exhales tickling Izaya's skin. Izaya waits until he knows for a fact Shizuo is out of it, and then he lifts his hands, threads them through Shizuo's hair.

“I don't need this,” Izaya murmurs. “I'm doing this because I want to, not because I need it.” Shizuo's breathing is the only answer he receives, but somehow it's an answer all the same.

Izaya stays where he is even after day starts to break. It's still dark out, raining again, and he has no idea what time it was when Shizuo came to bed with him, but it must have been close to morning already, because Izaya doesn't feel like much time has passed. He doesn't sleep, doesn't dare to. He refuses to miss a single moment of this, Shizuo clinging to him, completely relaxed, drooling the slightest bit into Izaya's neck. Izaya keeps his hands in Shizuo's hair, keeps them moving, because when he tries to stop, Shizuo grunts in irritation. Izaya stops a few times anyway, just to feel Shizuo's angry little breaths against his skin.

More time passes, it must, because soon enough Shizuo is moving around more. Izaya thinks Shizuo is awake already and choosing not to get up, though whether it's from wanting to stay the way they are or not wanting to acknowledge it, Izaya can't say.

“Did you sleep?” Shizuo asks after a while. His voice is deeper than normal, gravelly from the remnants of sleep. He still doesn't move.

“Nope. I was never planning on sleeping in the first place. I'm tired of the dreams, you know?”

“Hmm.” Shizuo lifts his head slightly, rests his lips against Izaya's pulse point in imitation of a kiss, but there's no pressure. “This is nice.”

“You're spoiled, you know? I spoiled you overnight. You just wouldn't let go of me, you clingy beast.” Izaya closes his eyes when Shizuo's impression of a kiss becomes more accurate. He inhales sharply, his hands clenching in Shizuo's hair when Shizuo suddenly bites down.

“It's raining again,” Shizuo says, and he kisses Izaya's neck again, slightly higher than before. “And it's early, isn't it?”

“Probably. I can't say for sure.” Izaya shivers when Shizuo's tongue meets his skin, bites his lip on a gasp. “Fuck, what are you doing? I didn't say you could drool on me even more than you already have.”

“I think you like it,” Shizuo says smugly. “I think you really like it, flea.”

“You don't know anything about me or what I like,” Izaya argues. He opens his eyes when he feels Shizuo lifting up, feels Shizuo's nose on his cheek. Shizuo pulls back, and their eyes meet.

“Don't gotta know you to know what you like.” Shizuo leans in and stops short of pressing his lips to Izaya's. He grins at Izaya's frustrated little noise. “But I guess since I don't know you at all, I won't force it.”

“Yes, we can't add this to your list of atrocities,” Izaya replies. They watch each other closely, and when it becomes clear Izaya isn't going to budge, Shizuo breathes a laugh before he rolls over and sits up.

“Man, I hate working in the rain.” Shizuo lifts his arms, stretches until his joints pop, and Izaya lifts to his elbow.

“So then call out,” Izaya says. Shizuo turns to look at him from over his shoulder.

“I can't call out. I have a job to do.”

“That woman is there. She's capable.” Izaya tosses the covers off himself and scoots closer to Shizuo. He wraps his arms around Shizuo from behind, rests his head on Shizuo's shoulder. “Stay with me.”

“Flea...” Shizuo leans back against him, his hands settling over Izaya's. “You sure?”

“Just for today.” Izaya presses his face into Shizuo's shoulder. “I feel like it's the end of the world. Maybe it is, for me. Just indulge me this once, and I won't ask you for anything else.”

“That's a lie if I ever heard one,” Shizuo huffs, but he makes no motion to leave Izaya's grasp. “Hey. Goddammit, you're shaking again. What is it?”

“This is Hell. Isn't it?”

“Okay, no more flea shit.” Shizuo turns and cups Izaya's face. His hands are callused, but his touch his gentle, as if he's being as careful with Izaya as he can. “You're spouting nonsense, and all that's gonna do is piss me off. You want comfort, right? You want me here with you?”

“Yes.” Izaya leans in, brushes his nose against Shizuo's. What has he got to lose anymore? This probably isn't even real.

“Then shut the fuck up,” Shizuo says, and then his lips brush against Izaya's. There's a slight pause as they pull away, both of them apprehensive about the other, but then they're kissing forcefully, hard enough that Izaya forgets to breathe at first.

“Shizu-chan...” Izaya gasps, pulling back. Shizuo doesn't allow him to retreat far, just tugs him closer and seals their mouths together once more.

“I said to shut up,” Shizuo murmurs. His hands trail down Izaya's sides, his fingers sliding under Izaya's shirt as they make their way back up Izaya's body. “I've heard enough of your yammering over the years. Does it really make you so happy to deprive yourself and be miserable?”

“Fuck you,” Izaya spits, and he groans when Shizuo answers by licking into his mouth. There's a hint of desperation to their kisses, to their touches. Izaya wonders if Shizuo can also feel how finite this is, but he must.

It's all effortless, much smoother than it has any right to be. They fit together, and there's none of the awkwardness Izaya would usually associate with Shizuo. Shizuo is a fumbling moron in his own right, scared to touch and to be touched, but there's no issue with this, and that's enough to drive home that something isn't right. Still, Izaya is incapable of listening to himself at the moment. Shizuo was correct before: Izaya is so tired of fighting against himself, and just this once, just for a little while, he wants to feel what he's always been so afraid of.

“Shizu...!” Izaya's mouth drops open when Shizuo slides inside him. Their breaths mingle between them, and Shizuo is watching Izaya through dark eyes, his lips red and wet from kissing Izaya.

“Fuck...” Shizuo winces, his hips snapping forward minutely as he tries to let Izaya adjust around him. “I've thought of this so many times. Thought I was...crazy for it...”

“Move, you idiot!” Izaya swats at Shizuo's shoulders, angry that Shizuo is so calm during this when he isn't. Shizuo grins at him and thrusts forward, and Izaya's insults die on his tongue.

It's good, it's perfect, it makes no fucking sense. Shizuo knows exactly how to touch Izaya, exactly how to move, and Izaya has watched Shizuo enough over the years to know Shizuo has absolutely no experience with this. Still, Izaya is left panting, biting back screams as Shizuo pounds into him with powerful motions, with a confidence he shouldn't possess. Izaya comes hard, hard enough to where he forgets where he is, and he clings to Shizuo as Shizuo growls in his ear and keeps fucking into him.

“This...isn't... Fuck, Shizuo— How are you...doing this?!” Izaya manages to blurt between his gasps. Shizuo doesn't respond, but he does bury himself as deeply as he can inside Izaya before coming. Izaya shivers, barely recognizes that he's got his arms and legs wrapped tightly around Shizuo's body. He offers a soft moan when Shizuo kisses him again.

“I gotta call Tom-san,” Shizuo says when he pulls back a bit. He growls and looks around. “Fuck, where did I throw my pants?”

“How should I know?” Izaya asks. He's boneless and satisfied, too happy for it to be a good thing. He can't lose himself in this fantasy. He bristles when Shizuo smiles at him. “What?”

“You're so cuddly like this. It's like all the fight's gone out of you.”

“Keep thinking like that and I'll slit your throat.”

Shizuo has to leave the bed to find his pants. They're in the corner, close to the door, and Izaya watches listlessly as Shizuo calls Tom and feigns an illness.

“You don't get sick. You really should use a better excuse,” Izaya calls, and Shizuo flips him off.

“Yeah, no, it's just like...a tickle. A throat tickle. Yeah, it's weird. I feel weird.” Shizuo is pacing now, his eyes trained on Izaya in bed.

“Tell him you killed someone, that's believable,” Izaya says. Shizuo throws his pants at Izaya.

“I will. Yeah, I'll let you know. Sorry Tom-san. I'll see you tomorrow,” Shizuo says into the phone, and then he hangs up, tossing his phone off to the side. He hurries back to the bed and pounces on Izaya, and they continue where they left off long into the afternoon.

Later, when they've exhausted themselves, Izaya is once again carding his fingers through Shizuo's hair. He doesn't think he'll ever forget Shizuo's taste, his scent, the way Shizuo feels inside him. It's too good to be true, Izaya knows that, but he also knows this is probably the most he'll ever get, and like all things in his life, good and bad, he accepts it.

“Fucking flea,” Shizuo mumbles, his voice muffled against Izaya's chest. “How am I supposed to leave the bed when you're being all cuddly?”

“You aren't,” Izaya says simply. He tugs on Shizuo's hair. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved,” Shizuo answers, and Izaya snorts.

“Mm. I suppose I could order something for you, since you stayed here with me today.”

“Least you could do,” Shizuo replies.

“You'll have to grab one of our phones for me,” Izaya says.

Shizuo groans. “I'm not hungry after all.”

“You are. Your stomach is annoying me.”

Shizuo sighs loudly and lifts up, pouting at Izaya, and then he rolls out of the bed. He fumbles around, trying to find his phone in the floor, and then he glares at Izaya.

“Where's your phone, huh? In your pants?”

“Nope. Downstairs. Guess you have to look harder for yours, Shizu-chan!”

“I-za-ya.”

“For fuck's sake. It's right there.” Izaya points to a spot on the floor, and Shizuo looks from it back to Izaya.

“Where?”

“There! Where I'm pointing!”

Shizuo shuffles forward and turns in a circle, looks around thoroughly. “There's nothing here!”

Izaya grins and lifts his own phone up. “I know. I have mine right here; I just wanted to watch you look for yours.”

Shizuo scowls at Izaya, and then he crawls back into bed, fitting himself into Izaya's side.

“Do you care what I order?” Izaya asks.

“None of your super healthy shit. I want something good.”

“'Good' doesn't mean covered in grease.”

They wind up ordering Thai food. Izaya orders his spicy, and Shizuo growls before saying he wants the same, refusing to let Izaya beat him in this nonexistent challenge. When the food arrives, Izaya is the one who answers the door, his bathrobe haphazardly tied. The delivery man pointedly looks away, and when Izaya grabs the food and closes the door, Shizuo is immediately behind Izaya, mouthing at his neck and untying his robe.

By the time they eat, the food has gone cold. Shizuo complains about the spice, and Izaya rolls his eyes, informs Shizuo that no one made him order the spiciest items on the menu, though it's almost too hot for him to enjoy either. They're camped out on the floor, their bodies entwined as they share all the food they ordered. Izaya is slurping up noodles when he notices Shizuo is staring at him.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing, just. This. Us.” Shizuo smiles and takes a bite of his own food. “I'm happy.”

“Oh? Shizu-chan is happy in the arms of his greatest enemy?”

“Yeah, I am.” Shizuo leans in and kisses Izaya's bare shoulder. “I'm happy to see you coming back to life.”

“Yes, I'll be terrorizing you within the week, I'm sure.” Izaya swirls his chopsticks around in the noodles, a contemplative look on his face.

“What is it?” Shizuo asks.

“Do you really think we could ever be like this? If things were different, if we were different, could you have really been happy with me?”

“What are you talking about? We're here now.”

“This isn't really Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo's brow furrows, and he sets his takeout container down before he gently takes Izaya's from him as well. He pulls Izaya into his lap, wraps his arms around him.

“I want you to be okay, Izaya. I think maybe you should...talk to someone. Someone besides me and Shinra. You know, like a grief counselor. I can't really help you deal with this aside from being here, but...” Shizuo's arms tighten.

“This helps,” Izaya says, tilting against Shizuo. “Certainly makes it harder to focus, but maybe that's your goal.” Izaya laughs breathlessly, his eyes closing as he inhales the scent of Shizuo's skin. “I imagined so many times how we'd be if we came together like this. I always went back and forth with it, thought you'd either be overeager and clumsy or surprisingly good at it because you're an instinctual beast. In the end, I guess I don't know how you'd be, Shizu-chan, because you always surprise me. But like this, it's easier to say I don't think you'd be this gentle. Not with me.”

“Izaya—“

“I think you'd try, but that would just annoy me. I've never liked being treated like I'm delicate, and that's part of what drew me to you in the first place. You looked at me and you weren't fooled by my appearance. You knew immediately I was someone who could keep up with you, and that's why we gravitate together the way we do. Life without Shizu-chan would be so boring. I imagine you feel the same way, but you don't allow yourself to think it. You've gotten so used to the idea of having a quiet, peaceful life that you hate me for not allowing you to have one, but you've never considered how bored you'd be if you attained it. You've never blended in. You don't know how it feels to yearn to stand out.”

“Izaya.”

“And that's stupid, isn't it? You and I, we're so different and so similar. As cliché as it is, we really do complete each other, and coming together like this, it would be so easy if we only allowed it to happen. But we won't. We won't because I'm me, and you're you, and if we stop fighting and actually coexist, we won't have anything left but to accept the fact we need each other, and that's terrifying to us both.”

Shizuo is squeezing Izaya now, his eyes wide as he observes Izaya's face.

“You've done everything possible to isolate yourself, and I've done all I could to keep you alone, but here you are, beloved by others. It really is so stupid, Shizu-chan. I wonder if you really did try to save me. I don't put it past you. I think you probably tried to.” Izaya smiles at Shizuo before he kisses Shizuo's worried frown. “It really would be so easy, to stay with you like this.”

“So stay.” Shizuo's hands cup either side of Izaya's face, and he looks so scared, so human. “You want to, right? You want to be with me?”

Instead of answering, Izaya kisses him again, sighs when Shizuo deepens it. He allows Shizuo to pull him down, allows Shizuo to taste him, spread him open, fill him until the empty spaces inside Izaya feel fuller than they ever have before. It really is so real. It's cruel, so cruel, and Izaya knows he deserves every bit of it.

Shizuo winds up passing out on top of Izaya right in the middle of the floor. The takeout containers are still scattered around them, as are pieces of shrapnel from the various things Shizuo destroyed. The urns look on, looming, daunting, and Izaya holds tightly to Shizuo, a smile on his face.

“Iza-nii.”

Izaya tilts his head, looks to Mairu. She's standing above him, isn't fazed by his nudity or the compromising position he's in.

“I know,” Izaya says. “I always told you both to have a little bit of patience.”

“We're bored. And worried, but not just for you! For lots of reasons!”

“Mostly for you,” Kururi says, appearing at Izaya's side. She touches his hand.

“We just don't fancy being alone. Plus, we owe you so many kicks, you know? You can't get off this easy!” Mairu chirps. She touches Izaya's other hand. “Maybe it'd be easier to give up, but you can't! You're a super stubborn jackass, so we know you're not the type.”

“The urns are empty because you're not dead,” Izaya says.

“We have lots of things to tell you. You love gossip, right?!”

“You're really here with me, but you can't hear me, can you?” Izaya asks.

“We think Shizuo-san visits you. We don't know for sure, but we've seen him around,” Mairu continues.

“I'm the one who isn't really here,” Izaya says, and his sisters vanish. Shizuo vanishes. The apartment around him blurs until he finds himself sitting on the rooftop of Raijin once again. His younger self is there, watching him, book still in his hands.

“Welcome back,” he says, closing the book. He stands.

“Is this the part where you tell me all I've done wrong?” Izaya asks, and his younger self grins.

“Why would I do that when you've already tortured yourself?” His head tilts to the side. “You figured it out faster than I thought you would.”

Izaya smiles, thinks of Shiki and Akabayashi coddling him, thinks of Shinra caring about him, of Celty asking him for cooking lessons, sincerely enjoying his presence. And then he thinks of Shizuo.

“People are rarely so nice to me.”

Izaya turns to look as Shizuo marches onto the roof, his uniform jacket tied around his waist. He stops in front of the younger Izaya and picks him up, slams him against the wall before devouring his mouth in a hungry kiss.

“In this universe, Shizuo wasn't in a mood that day. He was happy when he met you, because you were just a little softer, a little less damaged.” Another version of himself appears at his side, watching the scene unfold with indifference.

The roof blurs and disappears, and then it becomes Ikebukuro at night. Izaya watches himself face off with Shizuo, watches them fight, neither of them running or holding back. He recognizes the look on his own face, the look of someone who has nothing left to lose.

“Do it, monster.”

“Here, he really does almost kill you. You wind up in a wheelchair, traumatized. You run away from the city!” Mairu appears, taking the place of Izaya's doppelganger. “You leave it all behind!”

“I've always been a coward,” Izaya says, and the scene dissolves again, is replaced with another.

He watches himself meet Shizuo as a child, watches as another version of himself never meets Shinra, and therefore, is never introduced to Shizuo. He sees a world where his parents are around more, where he doesn't grow up too much, too fast. He sees every possible variation of himself all at once, and he realizes no matter what, even when they aren't together, even when they never meet, every version of Shizuo completes every version of Izaya.

“Do you have regrets?” Kururi asks, appearing by her sister. They look at Izaya, and he smiles, laughs before he can hold it in. He shakes his head.

“I never blamed anyone else, did I? I stayed true to myself no matter what. I didn't let anyone destroy me but me.” Izaya laughs again, his body shaking with the force of it. He falls to his knees, still cackling. “How many people can truly say that?!”

The twins observe him with pitying eyes, and they blur until they're gone, leaving Izaya in Ikebukuro on a sunny morning. He's on the sidewalk, and he turns as he hears hammering footsteps, watches as another version of himself rounds a corner, narrowly avoiding being grabbed by Shizuo, who looks pissed beyond belief. There's the sound of honking, some shouts, a woman screaming, and Shizuo stops abruptly, skids to a halt as he tries to grab Izaya's hood, his eyes wide with fear, and Izaya watches himself step into the middle of the road, solidifying what he already knew: the truck didn't miss him after all.

#shizaya #Telescope Now #Izaya Orihara #Shizuo Heiwajima #drinking to cope #trippy #ghosts #halloween fic #>:3c #one left!

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