#like he’s just there. having fully accidentally stabbed him self a few hours later having to deal with the three of them flirting and having

[lexalovesbooks]

Kihrin going from yelling at thurvishar for describing his parents having sex with each other to him spending an entire chapter relating he and teraeth and janel flirting badly in the middle of the night… my dude your hypocrisy is showing

[thepandapopo]

A Step Through Time - Chapter 1: Visitor

Me: Don’t do it

Brain: 

Me: Don’t do it.

Brain:

Me: We haven’t even finished the other one yet-

Brain: HERE’S A SYLVIX IDEA THAT YOU NEED TO WRITE SINCE IT’S PREVENTED YOU FROM DOING ANY MEANINGFUL WORK ALL DAY.

Me: FUCK.

Pairings: Sylvain x Felix ; minor Claude x F!Byleth

Warnings: mentions of masturbation/sex; typical Felix swearing.

Synopsis:

When Felix agreed to go back into the past to make sure certain events during the war actually happen, he expected that he would be the only time traveler at the monastery for those three moons. What he did not expect was for his 6 year old daughter to send herself to the past 4 weeks after himself because she missed him.

or

The one where the post time-skip gang meets an older Felix Fraldarius from the future who tells them he’s there to help for a few battles for reasons he can’t explain and everyone’s dying to figure out who the hell he’s married to - wait, what the fuck he has a daughter?

Some notes:

Verdant Wind / Azure Moon route mash up. Basically the Golden Deer Route but then at the Battle of Gronder (Ch: Blood of the Eagle and Lion), Dimitri joins up with Claude.

Dedue is back. Dimitri isn’t crazy anymore. Rodrigue is unfortunately dead.

All characters are recruited (including Black Eagle students)

Next Chapter (coming soon!)

XxXxXxXxXxX

It takes roughly two weeks for the Resistance Army to fully wrap their heads around the fact that there are not one, but two Felix Hugo Fraldarius’s at the monastery.

It takes them another week on top of that to come to terms that the newest Felix to join their army is from the future. 12 years, to be exact.

The day that Future Felix - that’s what they’ve dubbed him and he thinks it’s ridiculous; who has time to say that mouthful? - arrives knocking on the monastery gates, the entire place goes into an uproar. Claude and Byleth aren’t entirely sure whether or not this is just some dark magicks that the Empire has cooked up in a sad attempt at espionage, or if something has gone so horribly wrong in the future that they send their prickliest general back in time to whip them into shape.

Claude insists on tying him up which Felix grudgingly accepts, because of course this all seems a little far fetched - no one has ever heard of time travel magic...at this point in time anyways. And like everything else Felix does, it just makes them even more suspicious of him because the Felix they know would be hissing and spitting at them with all the fury of an angry wyvern if they even tried to touch him, much less restrain him.

Funnily enough, it’s his past self that manages to convince them that he’s the real deal.

“This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.” Younger Felix crosses his arms and glares at his future self, as if his stare alone could dispel any illusionary magic with its withering intensity.

It’s a bit weird to be on the listening end of his scathing remarks rather than saying them. But technically he is saying them... or at least the past him is, so really is it any different?

“Well, unless you have a better idea, I think this is the best we’ve got for now.” Claude shrugs and runs a hand through his tousled hair for the millionth time that day. “If he really is you, then he should know a secret you’ve never told anyone, and you can confirm it.”

Byleth nods from her place next to the Alliance leader, “We can’t wait until Lysithea and the others find an answer in the library. It could take weeks before they can confirm that any of this is possible through magic.”

More like years, Felix thinks to himself. In his timeline, time travel magic is still a completely new thing. In fact, the only people who know anything about it are a select few that Dimitri, Byleth, Claude and Linheartd trust with their lives. The only reason he’s here now is because the green haired mage had somehow stumbled upon a rift in the flow of time while conducting some experiments. Fearing that this small bump could have dire repercussions to the past, it was decided that they would send someone back to Harpstring moon of that year to help along the events that were yet to unfold.

Between the people who knew and who were available, it ended up coming down to Felix or Sylvain. 

Unanimously, they all voted for Felix. (”Hey! I’m totally trustworthy!” “We know that, Sylvain, but with your reputation for having a silver tongue, none of them will believe you.”)

And now here he was 12 years in the past, tied up to a chair in the Knights hall in front of the fireplace, patience running dangerously thin at the bickering that has been going on for hours.

“Fine,” his younger self grouses with a scowl fierce enough to make a grown man cower. “But he’s writing it down and none of you are allowed to stand close enough to read it.”

It’s a smart idea, really. And if Felix knows himself, then he knows that the quickest way to get to the end of this whole fiasco is to write down a secret his younger counterpart is too embarrassed to admit out loud.

Thankfully, Felix has plenty of those from that time.

From before things become official with Sylvain.

From before he becomes Felix Hugo Fraldarius-Gautier.

A mercifully short moment later, his hands are free and he’s rubbing at the tender muscles where the rope bit into his skin.

A small inkwell, quill, and piece of parchment are placed in front of him by a silent but wary Dedue and Felix nods in thanks before his younger self more or less shoves everyone back a good distance so they cannot read his secrets.

It is silent other than the occasional pop and crackle from the low fire. Hard, piercing Amber meets warm liquid Amber, neither willing to look away, one gaze filled with distrust and jaded bitterness, while the other watches with silent empathy and understanding.

Blame it on his husband’s bad influence, but Felix can’t help the growing desire to tease his younger self. (Which he knows is absolutely hypocritical because he hates being teased but Sylvain was right when he said it is just so easy.)

“How much do you want me to reveal?” Felix dips the tip of the quill in ink and pauses, the tip hovering over the parchment ready to spill secrets only the two of them know.

“...I’ll tell you when to stop.”

It’s a free pass to go wild, is what Felix hears.

There are so many things that he could write. Ranging from the priceless family heirloom he accidentally broke and hid when he was child all the way to some of his more embarrassing training mishaps - one of which involved him falling and stabbing himself on his own goddamn sword -  but despite all of the memories that flash through his head, one in particular stands out the most.

For the second time that day, Felix curses his husband and his perverse influence before scrawling out:

Bedside table. Second drawer. Third notch - press hard to release the fake bottom.

Images of a very familiar flask of oil that has seen many restless nights flash across Felix’s mind. And if the red flush on his younger self’s face is anything to go by, he would bet everything he owned that he was also thinking the same thing.

A beat of silence. “Not enough?”

Felix is honestly a little impressed. He was sure that his secret sex drawer would be enough to mortify his younger self into believing him.

Fine then. He could bring out the heavy artillery.

The first time we realize we are in love with Sylvain is when we are 15 and figure out that the burning rage we feel every time he talks about his latest girlfriend is actually jealousy.

He pauses for a moment to look up at younger Felix. Receiving no response, he continues writing.

The first time we realize how absolutely fucked we are is the morning after the training session where Sylvain takes off his shirt and we dream about -

Ink splatters on the table and over his gloves as the parchment is unceremoniously wrenched away from him and immediately tossed into the fire.

“He’s real” are the only words the new Duke of Fraldarius manages to sputter out between the fingers hiding his burning face. The poor boy looks like he wants to spontaneously combust and also let the floor swallow him whole.

Felix almost feels bad. Almost.

----

The days following can only be described as incredibly odd as Felix wanders the familiar - yet different - grounds of Garreg Mach. He helps where he can with the chores and spends the remaining time either at the Training Grounds like usual, or just simply chatting with his friends of old.

A few times a week he will accompany the troops and assist them in their various missions eliminating bandits or Demonic beasts that have wandered too close to their base. Though he is older now, Felix has never slacked off in his training regimen, not even after the war ends, and his current skill and mastery of swords and Reason are more than enough to deal with these minor nuisances.

All in all, Felix is enjoying himself.

...Except for how much everyone keeps pestering him to reveal things about the future.

“Ooooh, do Claude and the professor finally hook up?” Hilda is leaning across the dining hall table with the biggest shit eating grin on her face, the sausage breakfast in front of her completely forgotten in favor of even juicier gossip.

Felix sighs for the umpteenth time that morning and cuts into his own plate with a bit more force than intended. “Hilda. For the last time, I can’t tell you anything specific in case it fucks up the future.”

“But you’ve already told Annette that she goes on to teach at the School of Sorcery and Mercedes opens up an orphanage!”

“Yes, and that’s because I want to make sure those things actually happen.”

“So what, you don’t want Mr. Leader Man and the Professor to finally knock boots?!”

To his right, Dimitri chokes on his toast at the mental image Hilda conjures.

Much to his relief (or dismay), Dorothea chooses this time to slide into the seat to his left along with Petra.

“Are we interrogating Future Felix again?” The Songstress doesn’t even bother hiding her mischievous glee as she eyes Felix the same way a predator would prey.

“No, we are not.” He glares at the former opera star, cursing the fact that his friends have already figured out that the years have more or less mellowed out his bark and that he has a LOT more patience before he actually bites.

“Aww, come on. It’s basically a breakfast tradition now! Nothing like a side of future gossip with my tea to get me going in the mornings.” Dorothea winks at him before a flash of flaming red near the food line catches both her and Felix’s attention.

“Hey Sylvain! Felix! Come sit with us.” She waves them over and nudges Petra to scoot over to make room.

“Is there anything you guys want to know about the future?” the pink haired Great Knight asks as soon as the pair are seated.

“Oh tons,” Sylvain winks as he picks up his fork and twirls it loosely in his hands. “But the real question is if Future Fe over there will actually answer them.”

Felix lets out a humorless snort. As if he would.

He makes a point to actively avoid his younger self as much as possible because he isn’t sure if it will affect his timeline in any way. Unfortunately, that also means that he has to avoid Sylvain.

Seriously, how did he never realize that they were basically joined at the hip? Where one went, the other was never very far.

It was a fucking miracle that no one had figured out his lifelong crush on Sylvain considering how much time they spent in each other’s company.

But then again, considering everyone’s surprise at how many of them ended up paired off after the war... maybe they were all just that blind. Or stupid.

Thank the Goddess they were all blind and stupid.

Felix manages to fend off most of their prying inquiries, snapping only a few times at Hilda and Dorothea who don’t know when to stop, but everything truly goes to hell in a handbasket when Mercedes comes by asking the group if there is any equipment or armor that needs cleaning since she’s on duty this week.

“Oh, yes actually.” Felix seizes this opportunity and begins pulling off his gloves to hand to the Bishop. “I need the ink stains removed from my gloves. I never managed to find time to properly clean them since the first night I arrived.” 

He isn’t aware that he has done anything wrong until the table goes silent and everyone is staring at him, or rather his hand, with a mixture of disbelief, shock, pleasant smugness, and overall general bewilderment.

“What are you all...” His question trails off when he realizes that his wedding ring - the one that he always wears under his gloves - is now out in the open, the plain obsidian band glittering innocently in the morning sunlight filtering through the windows.

“You’re... married?!”

Oh fuck.

----

“So who’s the lucky girl?”

You like Annie. Don’t murder Annie.

Felix swings his training sword against the practice dummy and lands a clean diagonal hit.

“Ohhh, I bet it’s some noble girl from the Kingdom.”

You like Thea’s opera shows. If you kill her now, you won’t be able to see them after the war.

Stab. Feint. Slash.

“No, Felix doesn’t care for dainty noble girls who don’t know how to fight...”

Thank the Goddess Ingrid is still reliable as ever.

“Maybe it’s a guy?”

Nevermind. Ingrid is the devil.

Duck. Side step into a zig zag pattern approach. Upwards slash.

“It’s... forgive me if I am overstepping, but I am happy that you have found happiness in the future, Felix.”

Don’t kill your king. Regicide is a crime.

Retreat backwards. Dash in for the final blow.

“Yeah! Congrats Felix on finally getting laid!”

It’s only when Felix snaps his training sword in half at the blue haired warrior’s comment that his sword training session turns into a brawl training session.

----

The Fraldarius Duke has never been more relieved to receive a call to action than when Byleth rushes in not long after Future Felix gives Caspar a shiny new black eye.

“Bandits. In the sealed forest. Civilian involved. Gates, now.” is all the warning they get before she is sweeping out the training room doors, no doubt going to retrieve her own equipment.

After 5 years of being at war, they are all seasoned soldiers and as such, it doesn’t take them very long before they are rushing towards the site of the battle.

They have foregone the usual battalions in favor of only deploying their former classmates, allowing them to move much quicker through the dense vegetation.

Up ahead, they can hear low voices talking and what sounds like muffled sobbing. Byleth signals them to slow down and get into position - it’s one of their usual strategies: approach undetected, surround the enemy, and then close in to eliminate.

It isn't until they get close enough to hear the sobbing more clearly that Felix feels his heart leap up his throat.

He knows that sound. He’s heard it a million times over the past 6 years at all times of the day.

Please Goddess, he prays as he creeps closer with more urgency, ignoring Claude’s alarmed look, let me be wrong.

Of course he isn’t.

Raw panic seizes his chest as he recognizes the little girl with an ornate sword strapped to her back cornered under the jagged overhang of a large rock, her long wavy hair a crimson beacon amongst a sea of green and brown, and Felix is running before he can even formulate a plan.

“Come on, little girl... just give us the sword and we’ll let you go,”

“N-no! Papa gave m-me this sword!”

“Well then I hope you’re ready to die-”

Electricity crackles through the air and his body falls to the ground before he can finish his threat.

“Sophie!”

Large, watery honey gold eyes lock onto his and suddenly the battlefield narrows. For one agonizingly long heartbeat, Felix watches the little delicate, red nose he loves so much scrunch up, and he can already hear the tearful wail that comes next.

“PAPA!”

Then, all hell breaks loose.

---

There were very few of them that could say they had the privilege of watching the Felix from the future fight prior to the current battle. Felix - the younger Felix of this timeline - is not one of them.

However, as he watches his older self weave through the bandits like liquid steel, mercilessly cutting them down with cold rage, he cannot help but compare it to his current skill level.

He wonders how many more battles he will have to go through before he reaches that level of deadly grace.

“Watch your left!” Sylvain shouts at him from somewhere to his right and Felix grunts as he parries a hard downward strike of an axe.

His feet flow through footwork long ingrained in his mind and in the next moment, he has slipped past the bandit’s strike range and shoves his sword through his chest.

A clean, quick kill.

Felix is actually rather grateful for the distraction of a battle. But despite the battle cries and sounds of metal on metal clashing around him, he still cannot silence the one thought he’s sure is going through everyone’s mind.

He has a daughter.

He has a daughter in the future. A freaking daughter.

A little girl whose hair is unmistakably the same obnoxiously beautiful colour as those of the Gautier lineage.

Who in the actual fuck does he marry?!

The question rings in his head over and over again as he fells enemy after enemy, and by the end of the battle, he still has not found reprieve from the shock that he is grappling with in his mind.

Felix is not aware that he is unconsciously searching for familiar golden brown eyes before the knot in his chest dissolves when he spots Sylvain cleaning his lance off to the side.

But just as quickly as that knot disappears, another one takes its place.

Because as much as he loves Sylvain with all his heart, there’s no way that even if by some miracle they get married in the future that they can have a child together.

Which means that either Felix has married a distant cousin of Sylvain’s or Sylvain has a daughter that Felix somehow ends up taking care of.

And since Felix knows that he would never be able to love or marry anyone other than his childhood best friend...

...that leaves him with a very bitter pill to swallow.

----

“Papa!”

Sophie is wearing her favourite teal dress with the little swords embroidered on the hem, and even though it is now caked entirely in mud, Felix cannot bring himself to care as he falls to his knees and cradles his daughter tightly to his chest.

“Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” Calloused fingers fruitlessly brush away the steady stream of tears on Sophie’s blotchy cheeks, the salt water clearing some of the mud away as Felix scans for any injuries.

She shakes her head twice and continues to sob into his chest and he continues to hold her while stroking her hair gently in gentle, calming caresses. Even after this whole fiasco, Sophie’s long waves somehow look as beautiful as ever and a distant part of Felix’s brain wonders if it’s just some inherited Gautier genetic to always looks good no matter what.

“Felix! Goddess, who is that? Is she okay?” Ashe runs up to him, Mercedes and Ingrid not far behind him with equal looks of concern in their expressions.

Felix shakes his head, “I’ll answer questions later. Mercie, can you take a look over her right now and make sure she has no injuries? she says she’s okay but she’s probably still high on adrenaline.”

It is the first time in Mercedes’ life that she has seen Felix look this concerned for another person’s well being and she’s already reaching out with warm white magic even as she nods, but as soon as her hand makes contact, Sophie flinches further into Felix as if burned.

“Sophie. Sophie, it’s alright. You’re safe now. I’ve got you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” 

It takes a little bit more coaxing before she pulls away far enough to look at him.

“Hey,” Felix nudges her temple gently with his nose. “It’s alright. You remember Auntie Mercie, don’t you? Auntie Mercie would never hurt you. She just wants to make sure you’re not hurt, okay?”

If Mercedes has any reaction to being called Auntie, Felix is thankful that she does not outwardly show it.

“It’s okay, Sophie.” The healer flashes her a soft smile. “I promise this won’t hurt a bit!”

It’s only when Mercedes manages to start her healing spell that Felix lets the tension and fear seep out of his body.

There are so many questions clamoring around in his head, like how in the world is she here in the past and where the hell is his husband who is supposed to be watching her in his absence, but all of that will have to wait until they return to the monastery.

And, if the matching strangled, heart-broken looks on his younger self and Sylvain are anything to go off of, he’s also going to have to reveal a little more than planned if he wants to make sure that he still gets to marry the love of his life.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Sorry that the ending seems a bit rushed. I’ve been working on this for 5 hours now and I just want to post it and go to bed (it’s 3AM). I promise I’ll come back to make some edits later!

Next Chapter

Masterlist

[xaspiringbeamoflightx]

A Brief Timeline of Tina and James’ Tumultuous History for the Uninitiated !!

Tina and James have been an ongoing riot-fest since 2019, but not everyone knows just how complicated their relationship actually is. They might look all cute and cuddly now, but it’s been a long time coming and they’re still working on it. Also, there are some things here that happened with a previous Peter so they’re sort of... half ret-conned but kind of not, we’ll see? Please note that this is a huge post also! Trigger Warnings: Emotional and Physical Abuse, Violence, Injury (self-harm and caused by someone else), Hospitals, Sex Work, Drug Mentions, Sex Mentions. These are all mentioned briefly but not spoken about in great detail.

So, James and Tina began life as mortal enemies. Tina started working at the Neverland Hotel when she was 19, mostly to look after Peter. They both absolutely hated James because he was a “pirate” (see: adult) and was always grumpy and bossing them around (you know, as a boss/ adult does) and they were always causing trouble for him.

Cue 2019. Tina was still firmly in the James bad pirate camp, but James finds Tina quite funny and endearing, if absolutely terrible at doing her job.

Incident 1: Tina attends a house party and while drunk catches James walking by and decides to cause some trouble for him. He follows her into the house, she continues to wind him up, and then he scoops her up and jumps into the pool with her as a bit of revenge for trouble making. (It should be noted here that Tina cannot swim and hates water, so she is absolutely livid and very embarrassed because the whole party saw this incident occur.) For a few days after, Tina avoids James in case she tries to kill him because she is #pissed.

Incident 2: The whole ordeal has been annoying Tina all week, and it culminates in her going in a huff while trying and failing to put clean sheets on the hotel beds. James investigates because she isn’t doing her job, and is a bit concerned for her. They begin to argue because Tina is in a bad mood but James doesn’t let her storm away and then the unexpected happens and Tina shows a vulnerable, meek side that neither of them saw coming. She let her guard down for a second (and it was our first oh shit moment), and then James was internally like “that was odd”.

Tina didn’t like that she let her guard down, so she's back on the must cause trouble and forget that ever happened BS as soon as she gets the chance.  

Cue Incident 3: Halloween! James thinks it would be a great idea to make Tina try on some Halloween costumes for a themed Halloween Hotel thing as revenge for her throwing an absolute tantrum. Somehow... Lord... Somehow they end up flirting?? Tina is doing it to be a little shit because she thinks it’s funny, James is doing it to see what Tina does. About halfway through this, James has an epiphany! (You know, a good old Oh Shit I fancy Tina, fuck my life moment). She’s standing there in a fairy costume, James has her near enough against the wall and just as it looks like it's about to go too far, Peter swoops in and saves Tina from the evil pirate.

Incident 4: A curveball.

It’s mid-November, 2am. James is taking a walk home from his fight club, and he happens upon Tina’s street. She doesn’t sleep well because there’s always something worrying her that she 100% doesn’t let anyone know about because she doesn’t let her guard down for anyone, so she makes herself a wee cup of tea and she’s sitting on her front step drinking it. (This thread was so soft I swear) Tina is very sleepy, so her guard is fully down at this point, and for some reason she invites him in for a cup of tea if he promises not to tell anyone. She’s actually nice and honest for once, and the conversation is lovely, which has James like heart-eyes everywhere.

They talk a bit about how James used to be in a gang, and he mentions that he has a scar from where he was stabbed as a young man. In a sleepy state, Tina realises James is actually an okay person and tells him “You’re not so bad”. He mentions that the hotel is going to be refurbished, and Tina starts giving him sleepy ideas and then eventually accidentally falls asleep on his shoulder on the sofa. He puts her to bed, but quickly finds out Tina is clingy AF as she grips his arm and won’t let go when he puts her down. So, James has no choice but to sleep on her floor because he doesn’t have the heart to make her let go.

A little while after this the hotel had to close for refurbishment - it was being pretty much rebuilt from the ground up, so Peter had to go live with Tina in her tiny one-bedroom apartment, and she didn’t have to go to work for a while, but James kept her paid and employed. 

Incident 5: There were some slowly building conversation between the sleepy 2am conversation and this incident, so it doesn’t come fully out of nowhere.

James gets a phone call from his estranged father, who he hasn’t spoken to since he was a child because of his mother, and asks to meet him. James panics that his life isn’t what he thinks it should be - in other words, he’s completely alone and unloved and doesn’t want his dad to know that - and asks Tina to pretend to be his fake fiancé for a few hours and says he’ll pay her for it.

She’s like “FINE if i’m getting paid but you also have to get us free McDonalds”. Tina stupidly suggests they pretend to get engaged in McDonalds for free chicken nuggets because it would be hilarious. Afterwards, they go to meet his dad, Tina pretends to be the fiancé and they eventually leave thinking all is swell. (Tina has not told Peter about this plan at all but she knows Peter doesn’t want her near James.)

Then shit just... hits the fan...

Incident 6: “Why did it have to be you?”

James, at this point, has realised he really, really, really likes Tina... And that he thinks he actually loves her. Instead of keeping it to himself, they’re walking back to the car, and he just comes out with the bombshell that he loves her and Tina does not take it well.

After a lifetime of always being strung along, Tina thinks he’s playing a cruel joke on her, because Tina wanted someone (Peter) to love her her whole life and she never got it. People have always toyed with her feelings like this in the past. When he insists he’s not joking she gets even more angry and says “Why did it have to be you?” which really stung James who has already been made feel worthless his whole life (to be revealed in a later point). Tina thinks James used her, and it’s a whole mess. They end up fighting and there are bitter tears and they have to sit in the car home like... not feeling great!! In an unexpected turn though, Tina softens and tries to lighten the mood before they get home. James’ self-worth has tanked by this point, which leads to self harm when he finally gets home, but a text from Tina pulls him out of it.

They think that’s the end of it, that Tina will never speak to James again, and James will be sad forever, but there’s more!

Incident 7: Word gets to Peter that Tina and Hook are engaged, and he is absolutely livid at Tina and demands she never speak to him again (but little does he know that somehow Tina felt so bad about what she said that she started texting James again, not apologising but like making jokes and somehow she ended up flirting with him again, and they were kind of low-key talking again. Basically by this point Tina is like Why can I not stop talking to him?) Tina insists to Peter that the whole thing was fake and that she only did it for the nuggets. Tina has promised never to speak to James again, and for a hot minute she “saw sense” and intended on not seeing him again except for work, so no more weird plans or anything because Peter said.

Then Incident 8: We are roughly at the end of January 2020. One night, at 2am Tina gets a phone call from James. He sounds awful, and he tells her he loves her again at which point Tina is confused, thinking he’s drunk. Before he can answer Tina’s question, someone takes over the call. He had been on his way to the hospital because he had been stabbed by a member of his old gang and was, y’know, actively dying.

Tina freaks out for multiple reasons, but mostly because she realises she actually really cannot lose James because he might actually be her friend, and he’s nice to her and he treats her well. (At this point she’s feeling something else but it has fully not clicked). In a pure blur, she rushes to the hospital, not telling Peter, because she thought he was legit going to die, and she was the last person he wanted to talk to before he went. Tina waits there on her own the entire time (for actual hours) while James is in emergency surgery, not knowing what’s going to happen or why she’s so scared.

In the early hours of the morning, he finally is in recovery, and Tina gets to see him, distraught talking to him while he’s out for the count.  He comes around for a little bit, they have a cute, melancholy conversation and she gets to go home when the fear of him dying is gone.

Tina hen visits him almost every day in the hospital “for work related things” because she made a moodboard for one of the hotel room’s themes and needs an excuse to talk to him more. (Somewhere around here is Valentine’s Day and James feels jealous that Tina is making Peter something for dinner.)

James eventually makes a recovery and gets out of the hospital and Tina has continued to see him through the whole journey and not tell a single person that she was there on the night of the emergency. (She is completely bottling it up at this point and it’s not doing her good.) Unfortunately, James’ past catches up to him a second time.

Incident 9: He has been home for a short amount of time, but one afternoon James sends Tina a text saying that he doesn’t want anything to do with her any more. He gets quite harsh with her to really send that message home, and Tina is raging because she’s like you put me through all this emotional turmoil for nOTHING?!?!?! I think the fuck not!

He suddenly stops replying, but instead of taking the hint, Tina decides to go to James’ house for a stern word with him. James starts by trying to get her to leave angrily, but it doesn’t work because she’s stubborn. We quickly find out that the reason he wants her out of his life is to protect her from his mother! She heard about the “engagement” and wasn’t happy about it.

This is where James reveals the really hard life that he has led up to this point -   His mother blamed him for his father leaving them, and then made it seem like James died to hurt his father. James ended up in care until he was 18 (and was in a gang through his teens and 20s), and was later forced to become a male escort when his mother came back for more revenge. She was just... hella abusive, not a fun time, and now, after a few years of James thinking he had gotten away from that life she showed up because she couldn’t let him be happily engaged.

The woman turns up at the house while Tina is there and starts fighting with James. At some point Tina sees nothing but red because dont treat him like that!!! and she ends up going on the attack. They finally get the woman out of the house and from that point on Tina is like nope I’m in this, must protect James!!!!!!!

Tina and James are fully not processing any of this at this point. The emotional turmoil they've both had in a short space of time is so bad that they're both 5 minutes away from a full mental breakdown and they're fully attached to each other at this point because of it.

So, one of Tina's personality traits at this point is that for sOme  reason she just cannot help herself from trying to wind up James because  it gets her attention. It always leads to low-key flirting that she  won't admit to because she's fully in denial that she fancies him at  this point, and James goes with it because he DOES fancy her and thinks  it's cute. They have a few conversations after this where they're being  nice to each other and whatever so there's a slight build up to this next part that Naomi and I didn't see coming until we got there...  

This leads us to Incident 10: The infamous Bubbles thread.

SOOOOOOOOOO Tina, looking for attention, shows up to James' house with the intention of bugging him until he agrees to throw a party at the hotel. Totally innocent, the following was genuinely not planned on Tina’s part. Anyway, Tina shows up and James is in the bath but by this point she's fully on the I'm here for attention and this will be hilarious road so she straight up just walks into his house, goes looking for him, finds him in the bathroom and kicks off her shoes to sit on the edge of the bath for a casual conversation. (There are bubbles so do not worry, she sees nothing!)

James is rightfully thinking “wtf Tina?” but she just keeps insisting on this party like this is a normal way to ask for anything. He gets sick of it and just pulls her into the bath fully clothed. There's too much flirting going on, but they get out and get changed, and we thought that was gonna be the end of it.

But then tension builds and builds, and the penny drops. It goes where you think. They end up sleeping together, which only complicates the matter because Tina isn’t over her feelings for Peter at this point, and she is TERRIFIED that he will find out about it, so she asks James to keep it a secret.

All of this tension and drama is building and finally Tina has an actual total meltdown a few months later because at this point she hasn't told anyone any of this, and it's been building for months. [Note: This was triggered by a plot in the RP we were in at the time, which is ret conned plot-wise here, but the meltdown and following comfort still occurred because it was important. Essentially, there was a mass spiking of drinks at a festival, which made Tina paranoid and all the previous trauma hit her on the come comedown, which sent her into a 3-day-long depressive episode] Following her crisis and meltdown, James came along to see if she was okay because he couldn't get a hold of her for 3 days and she confesses that she fancies him (but hasn't said love yet).

They're fully attached to each other at this point and end up with this weird secret relationship thing going that Tina is trying to keep from Peter because she gets so paranoid that he'll never want to speak to her again. (This is where all of Tina’s Peter issues are completely heightened because she has this terrible, debilitating fear that she will hurt Peter and that he’ll hate her, because Peter’s happiness is supposed to come first.)

Eventually, Tina finds that she has no choice but to tell Peter because it's driving her nuts and she doesn't want to tell him accidentally because she's having another meltdown. It isn’t fair on James either, who genuinely loves her, and is so kind and warm and loving toward her and she is ajkgajghuahg every time she is near him. James issues her an ultimatum, but she has to tell him or he will be finished with her. She realises she can’t let that happen either and she’s stuck in the turmoil of not wanting to lose the two most important people in her life.

(Somewhere in here James ends up caring for his younger twin sisters, but this is a story for Naomi to explain if you need it.)

Incident 11: Tina tells Peter some time in November, leading to another meltdown. She confesses that there has been something going on between her and James, tells part of the emotional turmoil from the hospital and so on, and that she lied and broke her promise. [This happened in between Peter players, some creative liberties were taken]

Peter was rightfully livid about the whole thing. Read this for the meltdown.

As punishment for lying, and having a thing for thee Pirate James Hook, Peter banishes her (which in Lost Boy speak is basically death. She was terrified he would banish her and he did it) for two weeks. Tina has another total meltdown following the banishment  and for the first time ever calls James to ask for help because she's so  heartbroken that she can't function thinking she had lost Peter  forever.  

Peter disappeared some time during this two-week period, returned briefly at Christmas pretending nothing happened, and then disappeared again until recently so Tina is all over the place.  For the first week she literally can't do anything, but also has been  thinking a lot a lot, and then on the second week at some point she  finally tells James she loves him.  He showed up to fix the cabinet door she broke mid-meltdown and she's just like aiuhauighiuahgu shit i love you.

Incident 12: The Blackout, December 5th. James had plans to propose now that he really knew Tina loved him, but the blackout and the hotel being thrown into chaos threw his plan completely out the window. Until it didn’t.

Tina accidentally used the proposal mug on the final day to make James a cup of tea to de-stress while they were at the hotel, inadvertently proposing to James by accident. After a proper explanation, James finally pops the question and Tina says yes. (Because we love chaos, they snuck away from the hotel for a while for... some not safe for the workplace things) and later returned like nothing happened.

So now they’re engaged and that’s us just about up to date. I think?

Now all that’s left to do is tell Peter about the engagement...

[msjr0119]

Hold On

Part 3- Last Hurrah

Nobody got injured at the Homecoming ball, they all get separated into different safe houses- for safety.

Riley and Drake had confirmed that they had feelings for each other, however Drake believed Riley should be with Liam. Heartbroken, she moves back to New York. Only keeping in touch with Hana, Maxwell and Olivia.

Riley meets lawyer, Nate Cooper and begins a relationship with him. In Cordonia, Drake begins to court Kiara.

Nine months after Riley had left Cordonia- there is a reunion, but not the reunion the friends had hoped for.

*Characters belong to Pixelberry*

If you are under 18 please do not read this series. If you do you are consenting that you are over the age.

Series warnings: Suicide, domestic abuse, swearing, stabbing. If any of these triggers affect you do not read!

Tags- @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @butindeed @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519

**Riley’s POV part 2 and present time**

*******

Riley arrived at the “safe” accommodation, not knowing what to do with herself. Did she regret, reporting Nate to the police? No. But also yes. Yes because she felt if she continued to run would he find her? Take it out on her again? But again no, because she thought it would help prevent any more harm to other woman.

Feeling alone, she sat on the edge of her bed twirling her hair, staring at the same spot on the wall in a tranced gaze. Talking about her miscarriage to the detective, made her think about Cordonia. The only ones who knew that she was pregnant , were Hana and Max. They had convinced her to tell Drake the truth. She was close to contacting him- that was until Max ‘accidentally slipped’ that Drake was now in a relationship with Kiara. Slowly she pulled out the scan of her unborn baby- I’m so sorry, I’ll always love you. What was the point she thought? She had lost everything, other than some friends- she felt that they could live without her and her constant fuck ups. After a while, she came to the conclusion of regretting ever going to Cordonia in the first place.

She decided to attempt to drink the pain away- reaching for a bottle of white wine. One bottle turned into two easily- in an instant. The pain was still there- it was unbearable. In her drunk state of mind, she realised one person needed an overdue apology- Leo.

“Hi, Leo. I just want to apologise for what has happened in the last few months. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. And I’m sorry for any pain it caused you. You and Beth meant the world to me and I hope you both have a lovely future together. I’ll miss you both. I’ll love each and everyone of you- tell the rest of them that I’m sorry too, you’ll know who I’m referring to. Ri x”

That was the last text she sent to any of her closest friends, she turned her phone off. She didn’t want to read the response. Slowly, she drifted off to sleep, still grasping onto the wine glass- the liquid spilling down her.

Riley later woke up at 4am the following morning- due to the nightmares involving everything that had happened; the social season, Drake, Liam and Nate. Her head was spinning, her body shaking, uncontrollable sweating.

Getting dressed, she decided to go for a walk to clear her head. It would be quiet- as it was only early hours. The only people that could and would be around would be dog walkers, she believed.

Arriving near the river, she heard the birds tweet awaking the city, the water flowing creating a tranquil atmosphere. Thoughts running through her head- the distant memories. Riley had lost the spunk she once had; now feeling hopeless, tearful and overwhelmed by all negative thoughts. All the men she had given her heart to, failed her- making her lose trust and feel unwanted. Since the abuse from Nate she neglected her personal appearance- I am not the woman people know anymore.

*****

I walked towards the river bank, not really knowing why I was here? It was calling me- like a magnet. This was my last hurrah as Bebe Rexha would sing, some of the lyrics of the song related to my life.

“I’m done with the drinking” - no matter how much i drink there is still the pain lingering, stabbing my body constantly, as if I’m a voodoo doll.

“ I’m done with the smoking” -smoking apparently calms stress, not for me. I’d have to have a cigarette one after the other and there would still be stress and pain in between.

“I’m done with the heartache”- I can’t take anymore heartache, I am fully broken and are not fixable now.

“I’m done with the demons”- the demons in my head that are telling me I’m worthless, all the mistakes I’ve made. Seems like the devil has been encouraging my life to fuck up.

“Can’t wait to be normal right after this weekend”- I hoped everything would get better, but no the shitstorm continued. I would never be my normal self again.

“I’m done with the drama I’m fixing my karma”-I tried, nothing was fixing it, I need out.

“Maybe tomorrow I won’t feel this pain, last hurrah”- only one way to stop this all continuous pain, I’m a coward, I’m selfish, I won’t feel any pain anymore.

I took my shoes off, and sat on the edge of the muddy riverbank, taking in the last memory of the beautiful scenery surrounding me. Pulling my purse out of my bag, I stared longingly at the black and white picture- my baby. Raising the picture to my mouth, I kissed it- mommy is coming to be with you angel, I’m sorry, I’ll see you soon and protect you and love you like I should have loved you in this world.

Leaving all my possessions on the side of the riverbank as if they were lost property, I timidly walked over to the water. Dipping my toes into the ice cold flowing water, sent a shock through my body. Could I do this, I thought? Having second doubts, I looked up to the beautiful sunrise, looking around making sure no one was there. I had to jump- no more second chances, no more time to doubt. It was no or never. My heart jumped out of my skin as I entered the water. I gave up. I’m sorry.

******

Olivia was still sat with her friend, she didn’t know long she had been there. Time seemed to disappear in a flash. Thoughts ran through the duchess’s head. Riley always spoke on the phone as if her life was good- no drama now she was back in her city. There was a knock at the door, she let go of her friends cold hand and kissed her forehead expecting it to be the others. As she turned around, Leo pulled her in for a tight hug- he knew Olivia didn’t ‘do hugs’ and was shocked when she returned it.

“Liv, she’s going to be okay. I’m sorry. I should have contacted you all right away. I... I think I was the last one she text. It was a goodbye text to us all.”

Olivia raised her eyebrows, Leo showed her the text, looking at Riley then back at Liv with sorrow in his eyes.

“What has gone off Leo? Why is she apologising to you?”

“Liv, did you read all the article?”

“No! Why would I? I read the important bits, we all packed and came straight away behind your brothers back!”

“Olivia, you missed out the important part by the sounds of it. Look...”

No foul play is suspected at this time, however Detective David McDonald has requested if any other witnesses could come forward. The previous day before this tragic incident, Miss Brooks had reported her ex partner to NYPD for domestic abuse. It is known that the well spoke about Lawyer, Nate Cooper had abused the victim for months, including hospitalising her on more than one occasion. Leo Rhys, a friend of Miss Brooks also became a victim to Mr Cooper’s violent outbursts. The man is currently in custody with the Boston Police Force.

“No one messes with Olivia Nevrakis or her friends and gets away with it! I’m going to fucking kill him! Leo, stay with Riley and the others. I’m going to Boston!”

[cassiopeiassky]

When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 51

It’s heeeeeere!  I finally connected all the dots.  Special thanks to @the-chubby-persimmon for beta-ing and giving me the encouragement I needed to finish the chapter - you’re the absolute best.  Oh, and although the chapter wraps nicely, this isn’t the end.  I’ll let you all know when we get there ;)

Also I need love and affirmation please send love and affirmation

Plot:  When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.  

Word count: 5808

Warnings:

For the entire work:  Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst.  This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut.  If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: Mentions/descriptions of anxiety, panic attack, injuries, and blood.  Oh...here there be smut (say it with me in a piratey accent...it’s fun).  I’m not doing an edited version this time because the first and last time I did that it was a raging dumpster fire.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

“Absolutely.  FRIDAY, please show any Disney animated movie except Snow White and Pinocchio.”  

Honestly, this man is too good to be true.

“Yes, Sargent Barnes.”  The tv lights up and just a few moments later the opening for the Emperor’s New Groove starts playing.  “I hope you don’t mind – I took the liberty of downloading your preferences from SUNDAY.”

“That’s perfect FRIDAY, thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

“I never thought I’d get used to and actually miss an AI presence, but here we are,” you mutter.

Bucky puts his arm around your shoulders as he snickers.  “I’m right there with you, Sweetheart.”  

He waits until you finish eating before he cocoons you both into the blanket, content to watch your favorite movies until the jet lands safely in New York.

You begin to wake, but you fight it with everything you have because this dream is so much better than your current reality.  The strong arm around your waist holding you snug against a warm, solid chest is a memory you don’t want to lose to consciousness.  The smell of Bucky surrounding you as his slow and even breaths cause your hair to gently tickle your ear is such a welcome and familiar comfort, but you can’t help but notice that something is off.  Has your memory already begun to fray?

His scent is mixed with something…an unfamiliar detergent, maybe?  Not at all unpleasant, just different.

You’re lying on your left side.  Bucky is behind you, and the arm around you is his natural arm.

Wait.

That’s not right…

Bucky has a thing when he sleeps - he needs to be between you and the door.  If you’re lying on your left side, you’re facing the door.  He should be in front of you, not behind you...he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep like this.  You know this, even in your dreams.  Yet, with all this thinking bringing you further into the realm of wakefulness, you still feel him.  You finally concede defeat and crack open an eye.

A window?  Or a door to a balcony, maybe?  Certainly not the window of your prison, and not a window at home – well, the safehouse – either.  There’s a sharp ache in your right thigh as you move, causing you to finally shake completely free of slumber’s hold and realize that this isn’t a dream.  This is real, you’re really in Bucky’s arms.

Fully awake and mind now crystal clear, you remember the hours on the jet and watching out the window as you flew into New York.  You remember being swarmed by medical personnel almost immediately upon landing, and having a panic attack when someone with good intentions injected morphine into the port still in the back of your hand without letting you know beforehand.  That guy now has an accidentally broken hand, courtesy of Steve, and a completely intentionally broken nose, courtesy of Nat.  

Bruce was there, and he explained the plan they had in place to fix your leg:  First, surgery to remove the lead coated bullet from your thigh, then they were going to apply some sort of self-regenerating tissue patch that would allow your leg to almost fully heal within 96 hours…apparently it had been shipped in from a Dr. Cho as a special favor.  You consented to the treatment, but you’d wanted local anesthetic instead of general.  Bruce, Bucky, and Tony teamed up to persuade you to accept the general anesthesia because it would be safer for you and better for the tissue patch, which you were told would cause significant pain for the first hour or so.  They also wanted you under because they wanted to transport you – preferably unconscious to avoid any unnecessary discomfort – to another facility for safety and privacy almost immediately after the surgery. When you’d finally consented, Tony thrust a clipboard full of papers into your hand; he said that he needed your formal, signed consent to treat since you’d be cared for under his policies.  You looked for the bright pink signature flags and signed them all as quickly as you could while Bucky rubbed your shoulders; he knew you were afraid you’d chicken out and change your mind about the anesthesia.  

You didn’t.  Somehow, your trust in these people overcame your anxiety.  Bucky was holding your hand when you succumbed to unconsciousness.

Your memories after that are quite a bit shiftier, thanks to the anesthesia.  Still, there are bits and pieces for you to put together.  After you started coming out of the anesthesia, they cleared you to leave the infirmary.  The patch you’d been given sped the healing process up so significantly that just a few hours post-surgery was more like a day.  There’s a choppy recollection being transported to another area, a helicopter ride, and hearing voices – even more intangible is the vague memory of hearing good-natured laughter after you told someone to kindly fuck off and leave you the hell alone because you were tired and wanted to go back to sleep, and oh, where was your unicorn – the sparkly one with purple hair?  Maybe that was a dream?

That’s the last you can remember, and now you’re here.  The gaps in your memory scare you a bit, but you remind yourself that you’re no longer in the hands of people that wish to do you harm; you’re here, curled up with Bucky.  Safe.  Barely containing the laugh that tries to bubble out of you, you shift to look around in the dim light.  What time is it?  It’s dark, but it’s also late January so considering how short the days are that doesn’t tell you much.  Well, you think it’s still January, but you’ll have to ask someone to make sure February didn’t come around while you were still stuck in hell.

There’s a gentle, pale blue glow coming through the window from the almost full moon and the plethora of stars twinkling in the clear velvet sky.  If you crane your neck just a little more, you can see the snow blanketing surrounding area and reflecting the starlight.  It’s extraordinarily peaceful, and you’re grateful that Bucky left the blinds open.  You’re pretty sure he did it for your benefit, so you wouldn’t wake up in the pitch-black darkness of an unfamiliar room.

There’s a nightstand next to your side of the bed with a lamp and pile of books.   Directly across from the bed there’s a dresser with another pile of books stacked on top, and there are doors on either side.  Given the placement of the doors, you can only assume that one leads to a bathroom and the other to a closet.  At least, you hope so.

Moving slowly, you carefully disengage from Bucky’s embrace.  It’s not that you want to move, but damn you have to pee.  Testing the range of motion in your leg, you find that the ache feels less like an injury and more like the stiff disuse of waking up the second day after a car accident or really intense workout.  It easily holds your weight as you stand and even seems to loosen slightly as you carefully stretch.  There aren’t any crutches or a cane nearby, and you think you remember someone telling you that by the time you awoke you’d be sore but healed enough to get around. There are bandages on your arm and hand from the IVs, but those seems to be the only other lasting reminders of the fact that you went through actual surgery.

You take a step, but then turn back to watch Bucky for a few heartbeats.  God, you fucking missed him.  You can clearly see the toll these past few weeks have taken from him – even in the semi-darkness you can see the dark bags of exhaustion under his eyes, the longer than usual facial hair, the way his cheeks almost seem gaunt.  The lines on his forehead seem just a bit deeper, and his lips are chapped.  It might just be a trick of the moonlight, but you could swear that you see some sparse spots of silver in his scruff.  It’s obvious that he hasn’t been taking care of himself, and you feel a now familiar stab of guilt because you know damn well that it’s because of you.

Holding back a sigh, you turn and walk to the door to the left of the dresser.  When you step through the threshold you are delighted to find that you have, in fact, found the bathroom.  At least now you won’t have to wake up Bucky to find out where it is. Before turning on the light, you close the door with a quiet click, thinking to spare Bucky the sudden brightness, and are pleasantly surprised to find that the bathroom light must be on both a sensor and a dimmer because the room is now gently lit but not so much so that your eyes have to struggle to adjust.  

Glancing in the mirror gives you a start – for all your concern for Bucky, you’re not exactly looking like a prize yourself, not that you ever really do.  A good washing will fix your hair, but your complexion has an unhealthy waxiness to it, your eyes are sunken and dull, and although they are slowly beginning to fade, the bruises from your assaults are still on your face and body.  You’re either going to have to get someone to pick up some makeup for you or you’ll have to forgo FaceTiming the boys tomorrow and call instead.  They shouldn’t see you like this.

After relieving yourself and washing your hands, you start pulling off your bandages.  The IV sites on your hand and in the crook of your arm look exactly as you would expect – you rinse off the little bit of dried blood that’s left behind and double check to make sure the tiny wounds don’t start bleeding.  You do the same for the bandage on your leg except, when you wipe away the blood, the skin underneath isn’t a stitched incision like you’d expected but rather a shiny red scar.  

Holy shit, it looks like you’ve already been healing for over a week.  There isn’t even a scab.  “Well color me impressed,” you mutter in surprise.  This is incredible, so why the hell isn’t this type of technology mainstream? It’s something you’ll have to ask about later.

But for now, it’s time to get back to Bucky.  You don’t fight the smile that comes to your face – back to Bucky, because he’s just on the other side of the door, sleeping peacefully.  When you turn to leave, you find a plastic bag hanging from the door handle of what you assume is the linen closet.  It’s hanging by just one side, so as you walk by you can clearly see into the bag.  It’s…your bodywash?  You find yourself almost beaming as you start sifting through the bag.  There’s the bodywash you’d used for years, the only shampoo and conditioner that have ever truly come close to managing your curls, your favorite body lotion, and even your preferred skin care.  Tears fill your eyes at the simple gesture; you’d have been perfectly fine using whatever Bucky had on hand, but he’d wanted you to feel like yourself again.  

“I don’t deserve you, Buck. You sweet, sweet man,” you hum as you snap open the bodywash cap and lift it to your nose.  The smell is…it smells like you.  Like you. It smells like early mornings before you went to work.  It smells like the middle of the night right after the boys were born, washing off the endless spit up during the only 10 minutes a day you could get to yourself. It smells like showering before bed because it was the only time you could fit it in, and then bringing one of the boys to bed with you because he’s sick and can’t sleep without your cuddles.  It smells like lazy mornings at the safehouse when everyone was awake and tangled together under the comforter as cartoons played in the background.  It smells like Bucky nuzzling into your neck from behind, then leaving a soft kiss before telling you that you smell amazing.  

Then the memory of Jimmy trying to use your bodywash instead of the tear free formula you buy for them comes to mind – he told you he wanted to smell like Momma.  Like you.

And with that, you finally break from the weight of what you went through.  

For the first few moments it’s a little hard to breathe.  Five and a half jagged breaths later the sobs start, and you somehow end up on your knees desperately clawing at the floor to feel something, anything, other than the suffocating torment that’s been waiting for the right moment to descend upon you.  Then your hands are in your hair, clutching fistfuls near your scalp because it’s the only thing your fingers can find, and because the dull pain from pulling your hair offers just the slightest distraction from the debilitating agony in your psyche.

The sound you make when you feel something warm on one wrist and cool on the other is almost inhuman; a mix of a wail and a howl, the very essence of devastating grief marrying incomprehensible suffering.  The gentle but insistent tugs finally succeed in getting you to straighten up enough for Bucky to pull you into his arms.  Your hands go from your hair to around his neck, holding on in a frantic attempt to keep from being swept away by this brutal tsunami.

“I’ve got you, Sweetheart.  Go ahead, it’s okay.  I’ve got you.”  Bucky repeats these words like a favorite song on a loop as he holds you close and rubs your back.  Your entire body shakes with your bawling sobs, but he somehow manages to keep you from breaking apart completely despite the pain, anger, humiliation, guilt, shame, and fear trying to pull you in different directions.

There’s no sense of time in this abyss – it would be inconsequential even if it did exist – but even the fiercest, most destructive storms don’t last forever.  Eventually, it will sap the atmosphere of fuel and die down.  When your wracking sobs finally subside to gasping shudders, your head is pounding, your lungs ache, and your face has grown hot and itchy from the tears.

But despite your physical discomfort, you feel considerably lighter.  Exhausted but relieved.  It feels like you lanced a festering would – it was an ugly process and it still hurts, but it’s a different kind of hurt.  It’s a hurt that feels like it might finally begin to give way to healing because the poison has been let out.

Bucky’s gentle humming gives you something else to focus on as you close your swollen eyes and allow him to shift you slightly.  He’s sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, and you’re sitting between his legs and leaning against him, more or less cradled in his arms with your legs draped over one of his thighs.  He’s so solid and steady; the immoveable rock in the unreliable landscape of your shifting emotions.

Without loosening his grip on you, he reaches for something – the bottle of bodywash – and clicks open the top to smell it before setting it to the side.  “I get it, Sweetheart.  I get it, the significance of this smell.  When I was first free, I didn’t know what to do with myself.  I didn’t know who I was after everything I’d done, and everything that was done to me – I didn’t feel the same, I sure as hell didn’t look the same, and the whole damn world had changed – and I just wanted something comfortable.  Familiar. So I thought,” he twirls a lock of your hair around his finger, “that if I could maybe just smell like myself, that it might be enough to hold on to, to remind myself that I wasn’t HYDRA’s puppet anymore.”  Bucky chuckles, “It was a good idea, in theory.  Not so much in practice.  Most men, myself included, just smelled like armpit and cigarette smoke a few hours after bathing.  While I definitely appreciate cologne and deodorant now, it really wasn’t a thing for men back in the 30s and 40s – that stuff was considered to be for women only.”

Bucky presses a kiss to your forehead.  “It got to the point where I couldn’t stand myself, and it didn’t exactly help me blend in or get jobs for cash, especially since I couldn’t always afford to wash my clothes regularly.  Then one day I stopped by a drugstore to pick up some razorblades.  There was an open jar on the counter for people to try, and I caught a whiff of it as I walked by.  It…it smelled just like my ma.  It surprised me so much that I started crying in the middle of the store, which of course really, really concerned some of the other customers.  It was only a few months after I got free, so I was still pretty rough and crusty looking. Some lady approached me and I panicked – I swiped the jar and ran out.  I spent the next two days just intermittently sniffing the stuff.  Turned out to be cold cream – I don’t know if it was the same brand my ma used, but I didn’t care.  It smelled just like her.”

A warmth blossoms in your chest – that’s probably one of the sweetest things you’ve ever heard.   “Did it help?”

“Mmm hmm.  Gave me something good to remember, instead of all the bad.  It reminded me of who I was before – before HYDRA, hell, who I was before the war.  My ma was…she was my safe place.  I got along with my dad just fine, but deep down I was always a mama’s boy.”

“Do you still have it?” You don’t remember seeing it, but that doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah, but I don’t need it anymore.”  Bucky tightens his hold on you.  “You’re my safe place now.”  The two of you sit in silence for a while, just holding each other.  Just before you begin to drift off, he murmurs, “Do you want to take a shower?  Smell like you again?”

You nod wordlessly as you untangle yourself and clumsily rise.  Because yes.  Yes, you do.

He swiftly puts your toiletries where they belong as you stare at yourself in the mirror.

Yikes.  

“You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”  He steps past you and into the shower to start the water while you begin to get out of your…what the hell are these things, anyway?  Hospital issue shorts that snap at the waist and a top that ties at the neck and sides.  Not exactly the pinnacle of comfort, but much better than one of those drafty ass-baring gowns.

There’s no mistaking his hesitation when he speaks, “Alright, Sweetheart.  You should be good to go.  I’ll be nearby, so just call if you need anything.”

It hadn’t occurred to you that he would leave.  Panic tries to rise but you grab his hand as he walks by and the contact immediately soothes you; and if the relief in his eyes is anything to go by, the simple touch does the same for him.  “Stay with me.”  Your mouth is dry as you swallow against the lump in your throat, and you wonder if you’re crossing a line.  Is it too familiar?  Too soon after what you’ve been through?  You just know that you don’t want to be alone.   “Please.”

Will anything ever be the same?

His eyes seem just a bit bluer when he looks to you in surprise.  “Really?  Are – are you sure?”  Bucky stares as you slowly nod.  “I thought…I didn’t want to assume –“

There’s a comfort in knowing that you both seem to be on the same page.  “I’m sure.  Please…stay.”

Bucky nods and begins to undress as you finish slowly.  He keeps his eyes averted as he steps into the shower.

Suddenly feeling inexplicably shy, you follow him through the frosted door.  The shower is huge - more than big enough for two and is actually quite lovely.  Two of the walls are made of glass, and oversized beige tiles line the other two walls up to the ceiling, with coves intermittently placed for holding whatever would be needed for bathing.  Along the far wall is a built-in seat, also tiled – it makes sense, considering who this shower was built for.  Even an Avenger might not have the energy for standing in a shower after a mission.

Bucky takes your hand and leads you under the generous spray, letting the hot water rinse over you both. His hands lightly trail up and down your arms as you both stand, silently facing the other.  After the space has become thoroughly steamy and you’ve begun to relax, he pulls you out just enough so he can start shampooing your hair, and good lord you’d forgotten how wonderful his hands feel massaging your scalp.  He doesn’t stop, even when rinsing.

“Mmm…Buck, you missed your calling as a hair washer.”

“Yes, I think you might have mentioned that before,” he chuckles as he smooths in the conditioner, then twists your hair to rest atop your head to give the conditioner a chance to do its thing.  He squeezes some bodywash onto a poof and begins washing your shoulders and back, arms, and legs as you remain still, taking in the familiar scent and touch.

You take his hands in yours when he circles around to your front.  “I missed you so much, Bucky.”

“My god, Sweetheart,” his voice is so tight you almost can’t understand him, “I missed you so fucking much, and I was so scared, I couldn’t breathe without you.”

You brush the wet hair out of his eyes, and before you can overthink it you pull him into a kiss, attempting to say everything you can’t manage to express with words into it.  You keep your arms around his neck, breaking the kiss only to whisper, “I love you so much, Bucky.  I love you so, so much.  I…Thank you.  Thank you for going back into hell to get me.”

Bucky whispers your name, just as lost for words as you.  “I…always,” he finally manages.  “I’ll always come for you.”

Then he kisses you deeply, thoroughly.  This kiss is emotion, but it’s also fire.  You tighten your arms in the impossible effort of getting closer to him, as though the immeasurably thin sheet of water separating you two was too much.  

There’s nothing to hide it when Bucky hardens against you, and a tension you didn’t realize you were carrying fades away.

He still wants you.

When he pulls back to look at you there’s a desperate, hungry glint in his eyes that you’re sure mirrors your own.  He kisses you again, slower this time, pushing you back slightly so the back of your head is under the spray.  Bucky continues kissing you as he rinses the conditioner from your hair, turning what was just moments ago a comforting, soothing gesture into something completely different.

Even with the hot water streaming over your skin, goosebumps rise at his needy touches.

Bucky’s hands are everywhere as he again guides you backwards; when the back of your legs hit the shower seat you lose your balance, but of course he doesn’t let you fall. Two hands grip your hips, steadying you before pushing you down gently until you’re perched on the bench and he’s kneeling in front of you. You wrap your legs around his torso, trying to pull him closer as he kisses your neck, your shoulders, your breasts, your lips.  For the briefest of moments you can feel his cock nudging at your entrance, but then Bucky grips your thighs, loosening himself from their grip and sits back on his heels before lifting your injured leg over his shoulder.

He scooches you forward to the edge of the bench and dives in.  There’s no teasing, no waiting.  He begins licking and sucking like a starving man, periodically growling quietly, pausing only to gently but firmly push your thighs further apart.  Your left hand goes back to support you, while your right hand goes into his hair.  You don’t need to guide him – he knows damn well what he’s doing and he’s fucking good at it – but you need as much contact with him as possible.

Staring at the sight of the man before you, you watch, mesmerized, at the powerful muscles in his shoulder and back pull and stretch under smooth and scarred skin as he feasts.  Bucky chases you mercilessly into an orgasm, not giving you a chance to come down from one before he’s working on another.  

“Bucky…fuck…Buck please…I can’t...oh my fuck please stop…”  You’re just about cross-eyed from bliss, but if he doesn’t stop there’s a good chance your brain will short-circuit if you come for a fourth time without a break.

At first you’re not sure if he hears you, but finally, reluctantly, he pulls himself away, gently guiding your right leg off his shoulder as he straightens from a position that would have been uncomfortable had he cared.  Kisses are planted on your thighs and belly as his hands roam, giving you some time to catch your breath before his mouth is on yours once again.

“I love you so much, Sweetheart, so fucking much,” he mumbles against your mouth, as if pulling away any farther would cause you to disappear on him again.  A wickedly satisfied grin graces his lips, “And I fucking missed that.  Now hold on.”

You throw your arms around his neck as he grabs you by the ass to pull you to him, standing while he does so.

“Show off.”

Your breathless smirk just makes him chuckle darkly.  “Oh Doll, I happen to know you like this.”  His irises have almost completely disappeared, and it seems impossible but your heart beats even faster in anticipation.  He’s not wrong.

Secure in his hold on you, you pull him in for another searing kiss as he carefully exits the shower and brings you back into the bedroom.  Not caring that both of you are still dripping wet, he tenderly lays you on the bed.

The mood shifts with his gentle actions.  Bucky cradles himself within your thighs, nuzzling your neck and planting soft kisses as he goes.  The next time his lips meet yours it’s sweet and unhurried.  His right hand takes yours, holding it firmly just above your head as your need for him explodes.  There are tears in his eyes when he slowly pushes in; he fills you, and for the first time in weeks you feel complete.  His strokes are slow and languorous, deep and deeply satisfying, allowing you to feel every inch of his movements while he feels every inch of you.

Bucky’s eyes meet yours, and neither of you can look away.  He’s giving you everything he is, everything he has been or will be, and trusting you to do with him what you will.  You do the same; offering anything less would be an insult to the way you feel about him. You surrender completely, knowing and accepting that you’re safe and that he can and will handle whatever your future holds; he’s not going to give up on you any more than you’d give up on him.

You’ve never felt so secure.

“I love you.”  The words are spoken at the same time, and you can feel his pieces filling the cracks left by your ordeal.  In this moment you feel whole, almost as if you’d never been broken.  Bucky stares into your eyes with an expression of wonder, and you know damn well that your own face reflects the awe you feel at the enormity of the bond you share.

It almost seems against his volition when he begins to thrust faster.  Your body betrays you, too, movements matching Bucky’s and encouraging him to move even faster, harder, deeper.  He obliges, rolling his hips into yours as your free hand roams at his back and shoulder and ass, desperate to touch as much of him as you can.  He tightens his grip on your hand and presses it more firmly into the mattress to keep you from sliding back and hitting the headboard.

Bucky’s getting close – you can hear it in his uneven breathing and feel it in the way his rhythm occasionally falters.  You are, too, and of course he knows this.  He hasn’t forgotten how to play your body, how to get you to respond in any way he pleases.  And right now he wants to you to come.  With his eyes, he demands it.  

You couldn’t deny him if you tried.  Stars explode and you clutch him to you as tightly as possible; he keeps going as long as he can, but your release soon sets off his own.  Hand in hand you ride the violent waves of bliss and pleasure, knowing nothing but each other in this timeless moment.

When the aftershocks subside, you pull your hand from his and begin to softly run your hands up and down his back as Bucky trembles in your arms.  Neither of you pulls away – this is where you want to be – and a smile grows as you catch your breath.

This man.

“What’s goin’ through that pretty head of yours?”  Bucky’s voice is quiet but rough.

“Huh?”  

He kisses the tip of your nose.  “You’ve got a goofy grin on your face.  Just wondering what you’re thinking.”

You huff a laugh as you come clean.  “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?  How’s that?”

“I got the trifecta. Didn’t think it even existed, but it does.”

“The trifecta,” he repeats, waiting for your explanation.

“Mmm hmm.  I found a man that loves me.”  You begin tracing the lines of his face with your fingertips.

He turns his head to press a quick kiss to your palm.  “You’re damn right you did.”

“He’s hot.”

Bucky smirks.

You run your finger along his lower lip.  “And…he knows how to fuck.”

Bucky ducks his head as he lets out a gentle laugh.  His lips meet your neck, then your ear.  He takes his time, but between kisses and nibbles he whispers, “Then I guess we both got the trifecta.  And don’t you dare roll your eyes, cause it’s true – you love me, hell, you trust me which is so fucking incredible to me, you’re gorgeous, and I will freely admit that I can’t get enough of this…I’m insatiable for you and what you do.”

The hot whispers at your ear send a chill through your body, defeating any chance you’d have of successfully rolling your eyes, especially considering that they’re currently busy rolling back into your head with bliss.  His hands start to wander again, and your breath begins to quicken when you feel his softened length still inside you begin to twitch.

Supersoldier, indeed.

“How is your thigh feeling,” Bucky murmurs between dropping hot, open mouthed kisses on your neck and shoulders.

“My what? Oh…yeah…it’s good.  I’m good.”  He’s doing a fine job of distracting you from any lingering discomfort…or rational thinking. Not that you’re complaining. “Everything’s, uh, everything’s good.”

“Mmm…” is the only acknowledgement you get as he continues moving his mouth against you, tasting whatever his lips and tongue can find.  

It’s clear where this is going…until your stomach growls.  Loudly.

Traitor.

Bucky pulls away slightly, obviously biting back his laughter.  “So…I guess it’s time for a break.”

“What?  No,” you plead, pulling his lips to yours.  You’re pretty sure you have him convinced, until another rumble comes from your tummy.  “Dammit.”

“Sweetheart, you need to eat.”  Suddenly he’s all business, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before gingerly pulling out of you, causing you both to wince at the sticky feeling.  “And get dried off.  The last thing you need is to catch a cold.”

Well, he’s not wrong. Now that he isn’t covering you with his body, your damp skin is definitely feeling the chill, especially where the comforter is wet.  In hindsight, maybe the thirty seconds it would’ve taken to dry off wouldn’t have been too much.

Then again…nope. Totally worth it.

“I think I need another shower,” you mutter while you shift to sit at the side of the bed.  

“Sweetheart.”  There’s no mistaking his tone as he drapes a dry blanket over your shoulders; Protective Bucky has been activated.

“Yeah, yeah, I know I need to eat,” you grumble, “and I am hungry.  But I’m also unmoisturized and frizzy.  I need lotion, leave in conditioner, and my face cream, or I’m going to uncomfortable and itchy until my next shower.  And I’ll look like I just stuck my finger in an electric socket.”

Bucky barks out a laugh as he helps you to your feet.  “You’re not that frizzy.”

“Yet,” you counter.  “Friction is not a curly-haired girl’s best friend. You remember what happened the first time we did this, right?”

Bucky’s eyes drift and his lips curl into a ridiculous smile as he thinks back to the day you’re referencing.  It was the second time you’d showered together – he insisted he needed a do-over and you sure as hell weren’t going to complain – and you hadn’t had time to finish your routine afterward because the boys woke up from their nap.  Bucky would have covered you, but he got a call from Steve. All you could do was toss your hair into a bun and go with it.

It took Bucky over an hour that night to detangle your hair before bed.

“Okay fine.”  He starts stripping the wet bedding from the bed and smirks.  “You’ve got 5 minutes, and then it’s off to the kitchen to eat.”

“No,” you scoff, and immediately counter, “20 minutes.  I need to rinse off, too.  You’re messy.”

Bucky straightens indignantly, but you see the teasing light in his eyes.  “I’m messy?  I might be the cause, but you’re the reason.  It takes two to tango, Doll.”

Your laughter echoes through the room; the normalcy you’re feeling right now is almost making you giddy, and the lightness is clearly reflected in Bucky’s entire being.  “Yeah, I guess it does.  I wasn’t complaining, by the way.  Just stating a fact.”

He rolls his eyes before disappearing into the bathroom, returning a moment later with fresh blankets and a grin.  “Ten minutes.”

Shaking your head, you watch his still naked form begin to make the bed while you head to the bathroom. God, he is a thing of beauty. “Fifteen,” you call through the open door.  He doesn’t reply, he just laughs.

Bucky joins you in the bathroom a few minutes later with a pile of clothes for you both.  “Take as long as you need, Sweetheart,” he presses a kiss to the back of your neck as he wraps his arms around you.  “Just keep in mind that every time your stomach growls, I’m gonna think you’re ready to pass out.  You’ve had IV fluids but haven’t eaten since we were on the jet.”

You smile at his reflection in the mirror as you lean into him, intensely grateful for how much he cares for you and for getting back these little moments with him.   “I won’t take too long, I promise.  I just want to get comfortable.”

Eyes soft, he nods.

You both exhale.

Tags:  @hellomissmabel @howdoesoneadult  @nykitass @danimuhle @iwillbeinmynest  @shifutheshihtzu @passiononfire​  @learisa​ @widowvinter​  @kaaatniss ​ @ladylizzieofdarbyshire​ @denialanderror  @k-nighttt​ @givemethatgold​ @manders2487 ​ @afangirlrambles​ ​ ​ @polkadottedpillowcase​ @bluebrrn @saysay125​  @aikibriarrose @saharzek @mmauricee @imhereforbvcky  @whenallsaidanddone @supernatural508  @scarlettsoldier  @natalie-nightcourt  @im-beautifully-sewn  @lovemarvelousfics  @feistytravel  @tbetz0341  @nearly-whitches  @jamie-leah  @shliic  @dessinemoiunehistoire  @lucywinchester2000  @solarbarnes  @a-proper-chicken  @movingonto-betterthings @seekingkairos  @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety  @part-time-patronus  @natashasnight  

[lesbrarians]

GenFic:: A Proposition

Title: A Proposition 

Pairing: (Sort of?? Vaguely mentioned) Ai/Javik

Characters:  Ai Shepard, Javik, Grist (cameos by K. Shepard, Sam Shepard, and Tiffany Shepard bc MultiShep verse)

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Ai and Javik spend their shore leave examining the ship, when they find an unwelcome visitor in their private hideaway. Warnings for dead bodies and general unsanitariness 

--- 

"Okay, I'm not saying I'm gonna trounce your ass at Shattered Eezo… but I'm gonna trounce your ass at Shattered Eezo," K said. After a particularly taxing mission chasing down mercs on Omega, the Normandy crew was gearing up to enjoy some well-earned shore leave, and K had her heart set on visiting the Castle Arcade.  "C'mon, look at me." She flexed her biceps. "I'm a Bruiser, you really think I'm gonna lose at a punching game?"

"First of all," Tiffany began. "It's an arcade game. Your muscles mean nothing here. Secondly, you've never seen me play. I'm good. You don't stand a chance."

K laughed. "Them's fighting words, Tiff."

"Loser buys the drinks!" Sam chimed in as the three of them exited the Port Observation Room lounge.

"What-- you're not even playing!" Tiffany exclaimed.

"I mean, I'm game," K said. "Win, lose, I get alcohol either way, so really, it's a win-win--"

They rounded the corner and ran squarely into Ai and Javik, who were leaving the mess hall.

"Hey guys!" Sam said brightly. Tiffany was diplomatic in her hello, while K just mumbled something under her breath that could have been what's up, or it could have been oh god.

"Samantha," Javik said, nodding at her. Ai lifted her chin slightly in acknowledgment. "We were just discussing shore leave plans."

K had been pregaming in the lounge, and what little self-restraint she possessed was completely out the window. "Oh, no you don't," she said, pointing at Javik before swinging her finger over to Sam. "You chose them over us last time. The three of us are going out, I'm beating Tiffany at Shattered Eezo, then we're getting shitfaced at some expensive bar somewhere, because I won't be the one paying for it."

"Wow, K," Tiffany said, shaking her head at her.  

Sam grimaced apologetically at Ai and Javik. "Yeah, sorry…"

They both stared at her in response, as if hoping she would come to her senses.

The five of them stood at an impasse outside the elevators, the seconds dragging out interminably.

Sam clapped her hands to break the tension. It wasn't entirely successful. "Okay! Okay, I'll catch up with you guys later, I promise. We can do our plans then!"

Ai stared at her unflinchingly, tilting her head slightly.

Sam sighed. "The neutral face of displeasure. Alright, I'll just be a few hours, then I'll find you guys, I swear!"

Tiffany called for the elevator. K whistled to fill the awkward silence as they waited for it to arrive.

Sam’s perky voice floated through the elevator doors as they slid shut behind the trio. "See, everyone's happy!"

"I'm not," Javik said, his voice dark with displeasure.

Ai said nothing, but she privately agreed.. She couldn’t understand what Samantha saw in Tiffany and K -- Tiffany was a goody two-shoes with all kinds of disgusting traits like proper morals and honor and loyalty. K was more unscrupulous, but she was obnoxious and had no filter to speak of.

"A poor decision on Samantha's part," Javik continued.

"She will regret it." Her flat tone made it impossible to tell whether it was a threat or simply a statement of fact.

"I suppose we'll wait for her, although she doesn't deserve our magnanimity."

Ai nodded once. She didn't particularly care for visiting the Citadel during the day anyway, and despite Javik's insult, Sam's presence was desirable, especially when they went ashore.

Javik locked eyes with her, and Ai returned the stare, stoic and unblinking, an unspoken challenge.

Javik's lower two eyes remained fixed on her, but the other two wandered up to linger on her hair in a way that made her skin crawl.

"I suppose we'll just have to find an… alternative way to entertain ourselves."

"You are revolting," Ai informed him. They both knew this didn't necessarily constitute a "no," but she wasn't feeling charitable today.

Her eyes flicked over to Life Support. She'd broken the standoff between them, but she couldn't stand looking at his disgusting face for even a second longer. She consoled herself with the fact that this one loss meant nothing; she was still the superior one and had prevailed countless other times.

Ai stared at her quarters for a fraction of a second, then glanced back at Javik, who had an insufferable expression on his face.

She turned on her heel and called for the elevator.

It was a scathing rejection, refusing to invite him to her room that was barely ten feet away from where they stood. Life Support was where they had most of their… encounters, for lack of a better word. It gave her the most control over the situation. Pointedly denying Javik access to that space shut down any possibility of anything happening between them that day.

Ai could feel Javik's eyes boring holes into the back of her head as they boarded the elevator, and the corner of her mouth quirked up into the faintest hint of a schadenfreudian smile.

"We may as well take advantage of the empty ship. Inspect it top to bottom." She needed to make sure everything was in proper working condition, and she couldn't be thorough when there were eyes everywhere.

The elevator rumbled to a halt on the fourth deck of the ship, where the port side cargo room served as Javik's quarters and the bowels of the ship as their lair.

They exited the elevator and resumed walking, hands clasped behind their backs and a Sam-sized space between them so that there was no possibility of accidental contact. They didn't need to speak to know exactly where they were going.

They descended the stairs to the engineering sub-deck.

At the bottom of the steps, Javik stopped so suddenly that Ai nearly ran into him.

"Something is not right," he said.

The spike of irritation she'd felt dissipated. She still didn't trust Javik fully (for all his talk of loyalty, she wasn't entirely convinced that he wouldn't stab her in the back), but she did trust his ability to read people and the environment, as disturbingly creepy as it was.

Her gaze swept the space, searching for anything out of the ordinary. "Elaborate."  

Javik took a few cautious steps forward and bent down, fingers grazing against the metal floor.

“Death," he said, straightening out. "The DNA of a… human male. A gifted biotic. Did a member of your crew die here?”

Ai could think of one or two former crew members who matched that description. “Regrettably, no.”

"The residue is strong. Recent. He was not honored in death."

Ai was not often made to feel ill at ease, but a strange apprehension stirred in the pit of her stomach. Maybe it was psychosomatic, but she was beginning to think she smelled the stench of decay, and if it was Javik just getting into her head, she didn't appreciate it. She called up her omni-tool and scanned the ground. She trusted her technology more than she trusted Javik's psychometry.

The scanner chirped in response to organic matter. Imperceptible specks of skin and hair lit up on the orange holo-display of her omni-tool with the readings: "Data: 100% Human."

Ai lifted the scanner. The flakes of rotting organic matter continued in a meandering trail, as if the corpse had shuffled around aimlessly.

Death did not faze Ai. She didn't bat an eye at a bloated corpse or decomposing remains. But she preferred it to be at her own hands. Her germophobia went strangely quiet when she knew that she was the cause of the gore -- she could revel in the blood that she'd spilled.  

But when it was of someone else's doing, there was no triumph or pride attached, and while there was small comfort in feeling superior to the dead, regardless of whether or not she'd killed them, her aversion to uncleanliness won out over her egotism.

So when the path ended at the panel in the floor that led to the hidden room where she, Sam, and Javik so often convened, her mouth went dry. She did not invite anyone into her personal space, she did not invite disease into her personal space, and if someone had stuffed a dead body--

A loud clang rang out from below. The panel that led to their secret hideaway thumped rhythmically as whatever was inside struggled to get out.

If Ai had a heart, it would have been in her throat. As it was, she was only mildly alarmed. For one brief, ludicrous moment, the part of her that watched far too many East Asian horror vids stupidly thought "kyonshī."

The next moment, her rational side wanted to shoot herself.

The panel gave way. Something burst out with an unholy screech, its gaunt face twisted like a grotesque Halloween mask, with too many teeth and a flattened snout of a nose.

Ai fired an explosive round from her omni-tool at precisely the same time as Javik biotically yanked the thing in the air and slammed it to the floor. Ai hissed out a curse as the incineration blast clipped its target on the arm.

The creature howled, clutching its arm and retreating to the shadows the second it wrangled free from the glowing green aura of Javik's biotics. In the low, red light of the ship's underbelly, it was hard to tell what it was at first, little more than a dark silhouette of something spiny and vaguely human shaped skulking in the corner. Only when it turned its attention on her and attacked again did she realize what it was -- a charcoal-colored vorcha with sickly green, mottled markings and lurid red eyes to rival her own.

Javik didn't interfere when the vorcha pounced this time, allowing her to fend for herself. She lashed out at the vorcha with an incendiary backfist, causing it to recoil.

It dropped something. Ever the tactician, Ai quickly looked down to assess it before snapping her attention back up to her target. A human ear.

Rage flared up in Ai, a sudden spike of violent emotion at the knowledge that her sanctuary -- their sanctuary -- had been violated. Every warning bell in her head was clanging, counting off everything that made this such an egregious offense: invasion of her privacy, by an alien, bearing a scavenged corpse and filth. Contamination.

"Kill it!" she barked. She switched gears on her omni-tool, transforming it into a forked blade.

With a great, rippling shockwave, Javik bodily threw the vorcha against the wall. Ai had the impression that he was doing his best to put as much distance between them as possible. She couldn't fault him for the tactic, given that her preferred battlefield combat style consisted of sentry turrets, drones, and her trusty sniper rifle.

Ai couldn't figure out whether the vorcha was resilient, or just too stupid and stubborn to know when to give up. He picked himself back up, shook his head violently, and dodged Javik's next biotic attack by leaping onto a support beam. The sub-deck was too small a space for a full blown fight, and the vorcha quickly sealed the distance between them.

All four of Javik's eyes widened as the vorcha sprang at him, feral and bloodthirsty.

Javik snagged him in self-defense, just as the vorcha latched onto his arm.

He froze.

---

His sensory ability was a gift. A single touch could transmit a lifetime of memories, experiences, ideas at a speed that would liquefy the brains of inferior species. As he read the vorcha, he was hurled into several simultaneous memories, with the most recent standing out in his consciousness.

The gritty streets of Omega. Fluorescent lights flickering overhead as the vorcha scurried through the lowermost alleys of the Kenzo district. A wasted human in the throes of a creeper high, mumbling to himself about all the colors he could see. The vorcha's interest was piqued by the latter, but he kept going. He hopped over a barrier and rounded a corner to find a nest of vorcha. The space was teeming with dozens of vorcha, a tight-knit mass that he had to pick his way through.

He didn't make it very far.

A larger, older vorcha stood up from where he was squatting and conversing with other members of their clan.

He pushed the vorcha, a direct challenge, and a full-out brawl ensued that ended with the vorcha flat on his back and gasping for air.

"No more room!" the other vorcha hissed. "We no space for you. You start own clan!"

Physically subjugated, he ducked deferentially as he climbed to his feet. “O-kay. I leave. I leave now.”

He slunk away from the nest, away from his home. Javik could feel the emotions roiling in him. Just simple anger and sadness; he was too dim for a very nuanced outlook on the sudden rejection.

"Poor, poor me," the vorcha muttered. "All alone…"

Javik had heard that language before. The same primitive tongue. His brain leapt unbidden to past memories, neurons firing rapidly and sewing together connections as he cycled through the Echo Shards he had had the privilege of experiencing. He had been born in the heart of war, long after the fall of the great Prothean Empire. Most of his knowledge of his people and their subordinate races came from the memory shards passed between Protheans. The shards he'd received from his fellow warriors, then passed on, let him live the glory of the empire that he'd never experienced. They let him see old triumphs and conquests and joy in the days of a happy people, before the Reapers came -- and they gave him an intimate knowledge of other species: the races they had dominated and assimilated into their empire, the primitives they'd studied, and the lesser species that were good for nothing but food. Their memories became his, then he passed the torch to another warrior.

He'd heard that language before. A vision of the Prothean scientist who had visited the uninhabitable planet of Heshtok to observe its sapient life, discovering the vorcha.

Fifty thousand years.

He had witnessed the demise of his people, risen from their ashes, walked amongst races thousands of times more advanced than their ancestors, the ones he had grown to know from Echo shards of old.

Fifty thousand years, and the vorcha hadn't changed one bit.

---

He hesitated for the briefest of seconds.

Needle-sharp teeth sank into his arm.

The noise Javik made upon returning to the present was undignified and entirely unbefitting of a Prothean. He threw off the vorcha with a bright green biotic blast.

"Pitiful," Ai spat in his direction. She wasn't sure who she was more disgusted with: Javik for freezing in the face of an enemy, herself for going soft and trusting someone else, or the vermin they needed to exterminate.

She should have known better than to trust someone else to do the job. If you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself, and Ai always had to do everything herself.

She jammed her forked omni-blade against the vorcha's throat, pinning him against the wall. With a guttural, horrific gagging sound that made Ai's ears bleed, the vorcha thrashed about, sharp claws scrabbling at her arm.

She stood her ground and sent a jolt of electrical energy surging through the omni-blade -- unfortunately, it wasn't powerful enough to roast the vorcha alive, but it was enough to stun him.  

All Ai needed to do was drive the blade through his trachea before he bounced back from the shock to his system, but she was so consumed by rage that it was becoming very difficult to concentrate on the target before her. Javik’s incompetence was blinding her. This was why she didn’t get involved with people. Social connections were so tiring. They kept you from focusing on what was really important.

Senseless violence and the eradication of useless alien scum.

In one swift motion, she pulled back and summoned up a combat drone to take her place. The vorcha lunged for the tech drone, only to howl and retreat as he was zapped. He hunched over in the corner to lick his wounds.

Ai rounded on Javik. Her tech drone was equipped with mass effect fields that allowed it to levitate safely out of the vorcha's grasp, and it was trained to open fire at the slightest movement from its target, which bought her enough time to yell at her companion.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now," she snarled. "You could have compromised everything, you useless idiot!"

"I was studying the enemy," Javik answered by way of explanation, his voice even. "And I had the situation under control, that was just a minor setback."

Ai sneered. "You lost control of the situation the moment that hideous piece of vermin bit you. Studying the enemy. An involuntary reading, then. Those garbage powers make you a liability on the battlefield."

Javik bristled. "False. If anything, they are an asset, not a liability. When I choose to use them--" Perhaps anticipating Ai's reaction, he raised his voice and soldiered on to explain, "--In the sense that I ordinarily choose long-range biotics to avoid triggering them -- I can read my enemies in an instant, witness their last memories, discover their battle strategies--"

"--become incapacitated and attacked--"

"For a split second, and I retaliated!" Javik retorted.

They stared each other down, both simmering with barely restrained anger.

Javik took a deep breath and continued. "Regardless, my momentary lapse of attention was due to a… revelation."

Ai was at odds with herself. Her fury at what she perceived to be weakness on Javik's part conflicted with her drive to know everything and thirst for knowledge.

Curiosity won out. "Explain," she said.

"Vorcha. They... haven't evolved."

She was seized by a sudden desire to roll her eyes, smack Javik, or both. She settled for a derisive scoff and folded her hands behind her back. She'd already lost control of herself today; she needed to rein herself back in. "I could have told you that," she said. "They don't evolve."

She turned her head to look at the vorcha. He hadn't learned his lesson and was still attempting to attack the drone, with disastrous results.

Javik did not look thrilled to learn that his epiphany meant nothing to Ai, but he continued his train of thought regardless. "I can see how all the species in this cycle have evolved, except for them. Before the war, my people studied primitive species. Groomed them. Before offering them the... choice of joining the empire."

Her face remained as blank a mask as ever, but Ai exhaled through her nose, a faint huff that was the closest she ever came to a laugh. A "choice." Amusing.

"We were in the midst of studying this cycle's species when the Reapers arrived. Humans. Asari. Krogan. Never the vorcha." He paused. "Not the lizard people, either. I still don't know how they managed to evolve."

"You failed to account for their freakish metabolism." She allowed herself a faint smirk. She didn't care for salarians, to say the least, but it was entertaining to see just how badly the Protheans had misjudged a race known for its intelligence. "A grotesque miscalculation on your part. Embarrassing."

"The point," Javik said, "is that the vorcha were primitive then and they are primitive compared to your allegedly advanced species now."

The vorcha squatted on his haunches and sprang upright, hands scrabbling over his head in a desperate bid to reach the drone.

They watched him in silence for a few seconds, neither of them able to come up with an appropriately scathing comment for the spectacle in front of them.

"What is their purpose in this cycle?" Javik finally asked.

"Cannon fodder." Ai did not mince words.

Javik gave an appreciative hum. "The strong dominate the weak. The weak become a tool for the strong, then perish. The Cosmic Imperative. Perhaps you humans share more similarities with Protheans than I thought."

"Other humans, maybe. I am without equal." She flicked her eyes down the length of Javik's body, then back up to meet his gaze. "An alien could never compare. No matter their ideals."

"Our strategies are the same. You use vorcha as 'cannon fodder.' Their species is not strong enough to thrive alone. They are expendable. In my cycle, weak links became resources. When the Reapers were busy conquering the weak, they were not watching us. It was the logical tactic."

"That does not make us equals. I am still superior."

"You are a fool," Javik said, and Ai was struck with another twinge of irritation. "No, we are not equals. You're still a primitive. If my warriors survived the cull, we would have reclaimed the galaxy. You would be under my command right now."

"I would sooner kill myself than be under your control," Ai said, and she meant every word of it. "I am not one of your weaklings to conquer and discard. I am above that."

There was a clattering noise, and both of them sharply turned their heads to look at the vorcha, having gotten so wrapped up in their disagreement that they'd nearly forgotten about its catalyst.

The vorcha had sat down, beaten into submission and drained of its bloodlust.

"This is not finished," Javik said.

Ai inclined her chin in agreement. It was a temporary peace treaty, she supposed. Neither one of them would forget the argument until it reached its bitter end.

"The question now is: what do we do with this… thing?" Contempt dripped from his voice.

It was a valid question. "We could still kill it." It wouldn't be quite as satisfying as killing it in the heat of battle, but it was still an option -- and given the vorcha's aggression, she suspected it would put up a fight even if they had subdued it for now.

"We could," Javik agreed, his voice as casual as if the two of them were discussing what to have for dinner.

"Or--"

She paused, noting how the vorcha's eyes slid over to the two of them. His gaze was sharp, focused, and she was suddenly acutely aware of his intelligence, limited as it was. She'd grown careless with her words, having already dismissed the vorcha as a mindless, savage creature.

She did a quick visual scan of her drone and, satisfied that it would keep the vorcha in line if he got unruly again, she shifted to face Javik. "We need to speak privately." She held up her hand. "Keep it brief, I don't want to touch you any longer than absolutely necessary."

Javik ignored the jibe. Ai was still irritated with him, not to mention uncomfortable with the very concept of linking minds. Her mind belonged to her, and welcoming another person into her innermost thoughts was deeply disconcerting. It wasn't just invasive, it was intimate, and Ai had no experience with intimacy. It was unnatural to her.

Javik touched the pads of her fingers with his own three fingertips.

Ai closed her eyes as she entered the dreamlike state of mind she had, on more than one occasion, shared with Javik and Sam.

What did you want to tell me? Javik's voice sounded in her head.

She did her best to carefully wipe her mind of all thoughts, save for the words she wanted to share with him. There's another option besides killing it. It is beyond idiotic, but it was a worthy adversary. We could bend it to our will.

Use it as cannon fodder.

Exactly.

It could prove useful. It may even be agreeable to being a pawn. Allow me to share with you one of its memories.

He transmitted the vorcha's last memory, and Ai watched as the vorcha was rejected from his clan. A pitiful display. Agreed, a new start may make it more amenable to our cause.  

Indeed.

Enough talk. Get out of my head.

Ai pulled her fingers away, severing the connection between her and Javik. She had all the information she needed, and she didn't need to linger. For some reason, the encounters were more bearable with Sam involved.

She motioned at Javik, who stepped forward. "You, vorcha--"

"Grist!" the vorcha hissed. He might have been docile, but he was no less terrifying.

Javik and Ai looked at each other. Ai was not the type of person who asked questions. If she asked a question, it was a demand for information, never an admission of ignorance -- she hated looking like she didn't know everything all of the time. She was supposed to be flawless, not some simpleton who was easily puzzled or thrown off guard.

So she was pleased when Javik asked the question: "Is that… a word?" It was difficult to tell whether he was communicating with them, or if the sound was another one of his primal noises.

The vorcha thumped his chest with one clawed hand. "My name Grist."

Javik’s lip curled. “The primitive speaks at last.”

The harsh cry that Grist emitted in response made Ai grind her teeth. "Why use words when teeth?" He bared his teeth at them to demonstrate how useful they were in combat. Unnaturally long and spiny, they were crusted with blood.

Repulsive, Ai thought.

"Too many words." Grist clutched his head and shook it vigorously.

Ai suspected that combat was his preferred communication style simply because his grasp of language was not nuanced enough. Javik was right, as loathe as she was to admit it; vorcha were primitive.

Regardless, she needed words from him. "I do not care." She took a step towards him.

Perhaps it was her generally menacing presence, or the fact that he overheard them discussing the possibility of killing him, but Grist did not react well. "Back!" he snarled, hackles raised. "Back! You no come closer! I kill you!"

As if you would succeed, Ai thought to herself, but she kept silent and retreated. Grist settled down, apparently reassured, if still wary of her motives. "Tell me why you are on my ship," she said, attempting to regain control of the situation.

"Grist clan too big," he said morosely. "No room on Omega. Find ship, sneaky sneaky, hide away. Then go to new planet, make new clan!"

Ai was not going to question the logistics of this plan. The thought of vorcha breeding -- anyone breeding, really -- revolted her. "That doesn't explain the corpse."

Grist gave her a toothy grin. "Food," he said. "Me hungry."

Of course. She didn't know why she even asked. Of course the scavenger brought a dead human on board the ship as sustenance. Or part of a human, at any rate; Ai couldn't imagine him sneaking on board with a full corpse, and oh, she would have words with whoever had been guarding the ship while they were on Omega. She was not looking forward to seeing how, exactly, he had besmirched her hideaway.

Grist reached into a pouch on his hip and pulled out a severed human finger. Ai sharply inhaled, the closest she came to a gasp or exclamation of moral outrage.

He nibbled on it until he noticed Ai staring at him with murder in her eyes. He looked down at the half-chewed finger. Looked back at Ai. Extended the dessicated finger bone out to her.

Some people would have viewed it as a proverbial olive branch, and an unusually civilized gesture for a vorcha. Ai viewed it as a heinous insult to everything she held dear: cleanliness, logic, not sharing food with an alien.

"I am going to kill it," she announced, calling up her omni-tool. Grist was too busy sucking the last meat off the bone to notice her threat.

"Don't," Javik warned her.

Ai fixed him with a look. She was seized with the urge to ignore him and kill the vorcha anyway purely to spite Javik. She did not like being ordered about and actively disobeyed any direct orders she received.

But logic was stronger than rage, in this particular instance, and she deactivated her omni-tool. "I am not doing this because you told me to," she informed Javik. "I am doing this because I have reassessed the situation and come to the same conclusion."

"If that helps you sleep at night," Javik said, and, not for the first time, Ai questioned why she chose the company of such a smug bastard.

They looked down at Grist. He was chewing on his arm, his burn wounds already blistering.

Javik turned back to Ai, his jaw set. There was only one thing they could do. "Get Samantha."

[bosstoaster]

Wing au?

(whoops, sorry this took so long.  These are closed, everyone, but this one deserved answering)

I) Shiro has always been proud of his wings.

These days, there’s not much point to wings.  They were little more than an evolutionary leftover.  At one point, wings were useful tools for surviving in the wild, gliding away from danger more than outright flying.  Now, they stayed tucked against people’s backs, only making themselves known in fashion or when anyone accidentally bumped someone with them and had to apologize for spilling their coffee.

Shiro had a phase where he was determined to fly with them.  Nevermind that he’d been eight and they’d been little more than tufts of down.  He’d jumped off of everything he could climb up, from furniture to trees and, one one occasion, he’d nearly made it off the roof.

Eventually, the impossibility of Shiro’s dream settled in, but he never stopped wanting to fly, and he never stopped loving his wings.  They were a sleek black, shiny and resilient, and Shiro kept them well exercised when most people let the muscles atrophy.  While he still couldn’t fly, he could create a gust of wind strong enough to make most anyone stumble, and he’d won more than one stupid teenage dare about gliding distance.

Still, if his wings couldn’t get him airborne, Shiro was going to find a way.

II) The Galaxy Garrison was that way

(Read More Below)

Shiro found the same feeling of thrill in flying a machine that had ignited his young imagination.  It wasn’t quite the same, but it was the closest Shiro could get.  He could soar in simulations, could part clouds with the wings of his plane.  Could look down and see the world, so small below him it was like toys.  Like the rest of his life was playing along, and this was reality.

The Galaxy Garrison was where Shiro could finally spread his wings, physically and metaphorically.  It was where he meet like-minded people, who looked up at the night sky and thought I belong there.  It was where he met Keith, whose drive to touch the sky might have been greater than Shiro’s own - or he was simply less reserved about chasing it.

Shiro pushed forward, fought for opportunity, excelled.

Shiro learned how to fly.  And like his eight-year-old self had always believed, he was good at it.

Looking up at the huge stretch of the night sky, Shiro fell back against the roof, his wings as extended as they would go.  Sitting next to him, Keith absently flapped his own wings, brown and clay-red like the desert that surrounded them.

“I’m going to apply,” Shiro decided, still looking up.  He could easily pick out Mars and Venus in the night sky, but what he wanted was farther than that.  Much, much farther.

Keith hummed, unsurprised.  “That’s a long time to have to keep your wings tucked,” he pointed out, eyeing where Shiro was taking up half the roof with his wingspan.

Rolling his eyes, Shiro sat up and flattened them to his back.  The primaries trailed against the wood of the shack’s roof, sending a shiver through him.  “I’ll manage.  It’ll be worth it.  Kerberos, Keith.  The first people to the edge of the solar system.  I have to try.”

“Yeah,” Keith agreed.  “I would too.”  He curled his legs up to his chest, one wing splaying out toward Shiro.  The reddish tips just brushed against the center of Shiro’s back, over where his wings were tucked tight.  “I’ll miss you, you know.”

Shiro laughed softly.  “Getting ahead of yourself.  I’m barely graduated.  Who knows if they’ll want me even applying.”

“That won’t stop you,” Keith replied.  “And they will.  There’s no one better.”

Keith might have been competition, but he was too young yet, still two years out from graduation.

“Seniority matters,” Shiro reminded him, eyes closed.  When Keith’s feathers brushed his own, Shiro pushed his wings back, like a cat leaning into petting.  Feather to feather contact was okay with Keith, especially when he started it.  Skin to skin was a different story.

Rolling his shoulders, Keith glanced back at the cluster of lights on the horizon that was the Garrison.  “Then the brass are idiots.”

No arguments there.  Shiro still smiled, charmed at Keith’s defense.

Finally, he spread his wings further, using his longer wingspan to wrap around Keith’s shoulders like a blanket.  “I’ll miss you too.”

Keith’s smile was bright, for the second before he hid it in his knees.

III) The months-long journey to Kerberos was painful

Shiro had lived in apartments and condos for most of his life.  He’d spend hours in class with his wings shivering and twitching, trying to keep them in as small a space as he could.  But he’d never gone longer than a few days without getting the chance to fully stretch out and flap, if only for a minute or two.

The Daedalus was simply too small to allow that kind of movement.  Even when Shiro wasn’t wearing his bulky suit that covered his wings completely, he could only get about half-open before he was in danger of hitting equipment.

It didn’t seem to bother either of his teammates nearly so much.  Commander Holt reminded him to keep up his exercises, which were supposed to help keep his muscles from atrophying.  He kept his own up every day, but didn’t seem to have the same constant itch to flap that Shiro struggled with.

Matt was even worse.  He barely cared, laughing at Shiro’s mounting frustration.  “You can fly in zero grav back at the Garrison,” he reminded Shiro fondly.  “You need to do it here, too?”

“You don’t feel trapped?”  Shiro had never been claustrophobic, or else he’d never have survived training.  Cockpits tended to be small, especially with anyone with a larger wingspan.

Considering, Matt shrugged one shoulder.  “Yeah, kind of.  I miss going on runs.  But I don’t mind keeping my wings tucked.  I usually keep them there anyway.”

Baffling, but not unexpected.  Most people were that way.  Shiro just didn’t understand how.

When they finally landed on Kerberos and set up the equipment, Shiro closed his eyes and imagined being able to spread his wings.  To hang on the edge of this planet, tips of his feathers as far apart as they could go.  Imagining taking a running leap and pushing off, using the lack of gravity to glide into the stars, momentum going on forever.

Letting go of the childish fantasy with a sigh, Shiro opened his eyes.

And saw a ship above them.

A ship that wasn’t one he recognized.

“Run!”

IV) Shiro has never needed it, but the wings had another benefit: Combat

Gripping the blade in his hands, Shiro’s breath came in short, desperate gasps.  That was two, so this was-

There was a vicious hum as Myzax’s weapon burst toward him, slamming through the rock pillar and throwing up a cloud of dust.

Three.

Ducking around from his cover, Shiro kept his wings tucked, streamlined as possible as he tried to gain ground.  Myzax held out his staff, taking back the ball, which hummed and stayed in place, recharging from the last volley.

That didn’t make his opponent less dangerous.  That didn’t make Shiro closer in size to the monster in front of him.

But he had one trick that Myxaz didn’t.

Right before he got into striking range, Shiro crouched, then snapped his wings out and flapped. At the same moment, he sprang up, getting more height than he had any other time in the fight.

Myzax’s head started to pull up, following the fast move too late.

Shiro was already bringing the blade down, slicing over his face and sending the monster crashing to the ground.  His wings stayed out, giving him a soft landing, and Shiro was able to kick the energy weapon away and hold out his blade in clear threat.

There was a long pause.

Then, the audience erupted into screams and roars, losing their minds.

Shiro had won.  Shiro had won.

And he continued to win. Even when his feathers dulled and failed to grow back, even when stark white lines of scars crossed the flesh, even when his face was sliced open and blood drenched his face and neck.

But once, his armored, sworded opponent was faster than Shiro expected, more devastating with his attacks.  He fought like Shiro, the battle itself a show, the killing blows swift and nearly merciful.

Shiro still won, but the opponent got him in the back, stabbing in and twisting, cracking the fragile bone.

Shiro still won, but his arm hung from tatters of muscle.

Shiro still won, but he collapsed to the dirt floor, bleeding out quickly.

Staring up at the bright lights and listening to the cheers and screams fading, Shiro thought this is how I die.

Until the very bottom of a robe brushed what was left of his wings,and a clawed hand grabbed him by the jaw.

One look at Haggar’s smile told Shiro he would not die today.  But he would want to.

V) Haggar took his wings

Staring in the mirror of Keith’s little shack, Shiro’s stomach flipped.  

He didn’t recognize the man in the mirror.

The deep scar cut over his nose, merely the most visible with his clothes on.  It lengthened his face, aged him, making Shiro wonder just how long he’d been gone.  White bangs fell into his face, brushed back by metal fingers.

And his wings.

His wings were just as mechanical as his left hand.  No longer black and glossy, they were the same silver and dark grey material as the other prosthetic.  Where they’d been one streamlined piece, now there were fewer feathers, jagged and shining.  These weren’t for flying.  They were weapons.

These weren’t his wings.  These weren’t the tufts of down he’d grown up with, that he’d glided with as a teenager, that he’d learned to spread and tuck by turns at the Garrison.  This was like having living swords strapped to his back, a sick mockery.

Stumbling out into the light of dawn, Shiro clutched his metal wrist and stared out, watching the shadows of his false wings grow over the sand.

“It’s good to have you back,” Keith murmured later, when he found Shiro staring.

“It’s good to be back,” he replied, but it was numb.  Shiro wasn’t back.  Not really.  Only pieces of him.  His wings were gone.

Keith swallowed, his clay-red wings brushing over the metal.  Shiro could see it, but he couldn’t feel it.  He ached for that contact, the kind Keith would always allow, but that he could never offer again.

“We need to talk,” Keith said.  “Come back inside.”

In a daze, Shiro followed.

The false-wings tucked against his back, far more comfortable there than the real ones had ever been.  

Shiro had no desire to spread these.

Bonus)

The Black Lion had wings.

Shiro had noticed, idly, the difference in design when Allura had shown them the holograms.  But it didn’t register until this moment.

The Black Lion had metal wings, each of the shining primaries long spread wide.  They were red where Shiro’s were black, but otherwise so similar.  The same in the ways that mattered.

Stepping forward, ringed from behind by the other four lions, Shiro’s heart reached out, and felt another’s meet him there.

The Black Lion roared in greeting.

Shiro spread his wings for the first time since waking up.

It was time for them to fly.