#like this for years and years. in fluctuating states but never gone away

[dandelionjack]

revolutionary optimism ... wish i had an ounce of it. wish any of it rang true

[teddyqd]

Samuel Lane/Carrion Crowe :: He/Him :: Early 30s

Story: Real People (Drama, Mystery, Supernatural)

Carrion Crowe is a prolific sci-fi author enjoying his niche notoriety and avoiding Netflix adaptations of his work like the plague. Since his rise to fame as a prodigy author at the age of 17, he's gone from strength to strength in his career, sharing the stories that have lived in his mind and protected himself for as long as he can remember.

Samuel Lane is a chronic daydreamer whose story begins in earnest when it becomes all too clear that he's shared too much of himself. The fictions he's cloaked his life in become the vicious weapon of threats both real and imagined.

When the world splits in half in front of his eyes, shadows in the shape of aliens start to lurk around him. His imaginings start to leak out of his head and put people he loves in danger. To save them, he must face up to the responsibilities he's been running from since he was a child.

Likes: astrobiology & space science as a whole, corvids, clubbing

Dislikes: people 'knowing' him, spicy food (coward), people who can't do a thought experiment

Physical: Samuel is a short, brown-skinned guy with a scruffy salt-and-pepper beard and moustache. It's very clear that he doesn't look after himself well. When he's functioning at his best, or he has someone regulating him, he can clean up pretty well and be pretty handsome, but it isn't his natural state, especially when the story starts.

He dresses for comfort over everything, but what that comfort is will fluctuate between very loose oversized clothes and things that provide compression/pressure. The exceptions to his usual comfort-first & scruffy approach are when he's dressing for clubbing, and when he's making public appearances as an author. He'll put his best foot forward when he's presenting himself to an audience, able to dissociate the person he is whilst he's out from the person he believes he is in his core. He's pretty neutral about his body, but knows that other people can find him attractive if he puts in the work, and will play to that.

Personality & Traits: A core part of Samuel's characterisation is the fact that he is a chronic daydreamer. He uses the worlds he's dreamed up as escapes from reality, opting out of a reality that bores him to one where he feels much more engaged and at home. However, as his stress levels rise, he more often falls into his imagined worlds involuntarily, and finds it significantly harder to leave them. He can differentiate the worlds he walks through, but when he starts to adopt the people around him into his imagined worlds, it becomes harder for him to understand what parts of them he's projected, and what's actually core to them. His misunderstanding of others has caused a lot of issues for him, but the understandings themselves have never been directly challenged for him to know that they're there at all.

Samuel likes to be admired, but doesn't try to make himself likeable. He's abrasive and stubborn, and consistently convinced that he's right. However, when presented with solid evidence to the contrary, he might be able to be convinced. If you catch him on a good day, or he likes you.

He's simultaneously very closed off, and desperate for connection, which he often finds through anonymous hookups and (probably undernegotiated) BDSM at his local kink club. If, for whatever reason, you make the effort to get to know him, he is fiercely loyal. Once he cares about you, that never goes away, even if you don't talk for years. If you betray his trust after that, he'll be hurt, but consider your betrayal as his own fault, rather than something intentional on your behalf, again pointing to his very self-centred way of viewing the world.

Samuel is incredibly passionate about the things he cares about, and if given a safe space to share them, he will with joy. He is quite self aware of this, though, and will tamp down on showing his excitement to anyone he doesn't trust fully. In these cases, his passion may come across more like a lecture than anything else.

He is convinced that sapient aliens exist, in such a way that it's not a belief, but a knowledge in the same way one might say they know that atoms exist. He doesn't know if humanity will ever encounter them, but he knows they're out there. He's aware this is a niche idea, and doesn't care to debate it, so often couches this knowledge in the framework of his stories.

Relationships: In general - Samuel finds it hard to get close to people. The people he is closest to are those he's known for a long time, or that he's been paired with by circumstance. He regards anyone related to his work as an author as expendable and changeable. Editors cycle out, agents give up on him, so he does not make the effort to connect with them. All they want is his stories, and all he wants from them is their reach. Their relationship remains business.

Josiah LaRoche (Jo) (he/him)- Samuel's childhood friend, and the reason his work was ever published. Josiah sent off Samuel's first finished manuscript without him knowing, and that story rocketed Samuel to fame. They haven't spoken properly in at least a decade. When Samuel returns to his home town, Josiah is the first person he sees, and it seems like he hasn't changed a bit, except to get hotter. Samuel wants to pick up the friendship where it was left, but Josiah has changed more than he wants to acknowledge, and that puts a strain on the old dynamic. Samuel's newfound attraction to the other man is also a new element, and one he's not exactly ready to confront. Josiah's straight, after all.

Tutu Lane (Turtle Dove) (she/her) - Samuel's younger sister. The pair grew up raising each other, more than with any adult supervision. Samuel sees himself as a stand-in parent to Turtle, but Turtle is proudly independent. She loves her brother, but was firm in needing her own space to grow. Since they grew apart, she's started doing a doctorate in astroagriculture, focusing on growing hardy, nutrient-rich food in the bizarre environs that space and other planets provide. They haven't talked in a few months. When Samuel returns home, he expects to find her in the family home. She isn't there. No one's seen her in a while.

Geiger (she/they) & Albert Elmer (he/him) - Samuel can't face a world of new horrors alone. He meets Albert and Geiger as he attempts to track down his sister, and learns that they, too, have seen the world split in half. They have their own theories, but they might be exactly what he needs to help him. He sees them, to begin with, as assistants. As they work together to uncover the truth of the shadows they're seeing, he might well grow to see them as equals, with stories just as rich as his own.

[limitlessscion]

Megumi sat crosslegged on the deck outside his room, watching the sun set over the tops of the cedar trees surrounding the dormitory. The silence was deafening in the wake of how noisy his life had become over the last few weeks. Heading back to that dark, empty apartment after being released from the infirmary wasn’t even close to an option. The school was closer anyway.

Calloused fingers curled tightly in Kuro’s fur as he leaned against him, trying his hardest not to think about the cold emptiness on his other side. They were just weapons, tools to be used and nothing more. Mourning one was as pointless as seeking comfort in another. …Was it Shiro he thought of now or Itadori? Of himself?

Live a long life, okay?

The muscles in his bruised jaw clenched. What a stupid, hypocritical thing to say. His eyes stung and he squeezed them tight angrily, willing away the uncharacteristic wave of emotion that threatened to crash over him. This was the life he had chosen, and there was no doubt in his mind that it wouldn’t be much longer than Itadori’s. And it certainly wouldn’t burn as brightly before being snuffed out.

It wasn’t fair and the unfairness had never bothered Megumi until now. He recalled the assurance with which Itadori had declared his faith in him. The way he’d thrown himself into danger without second thought time and time again. They hadn’t known each other for long, but that brief period was a brand on Megumi’s soul. A balm he hadn’t known he needed until it was gone.

He rested his head against the canine at his side and exhaled heavily. This would pass. Time would heal this wound as it did all the rest. Hopefully.

No sorcerer in the world but Satoru Gojo himself was sensitive enough to the minute changes of cursed energy to be able to read the agitated fluctuations of his own. But they were there, small ripples in what was otherwise a perfected honed halo. Cold rage seethed in his veins as his mind turned with simple logic, running an algorithm of life and death. That the leadership had to die was never in doubt for him, a thought he so carelessly aired in front of others not too infrequently. The world that he wanted to build eventually had no place for the likes of them, but he knew that pulling the trigger too early was counter-productive. So calmly he weighed the scales, considering each facet for and against enacting his bloody plan and putting them in place with hardly a second thought.

They'd tried to kill one of his students.

It would not be the first time they'd opposed him over the years, the constant dance of antagonism between Gojo and the Jujutsu higher-ups a well known fact among their society. But sometimes they'd forget that this delicate balance was one that he allowed. That the leash they placed on him was purely decorative, a concession for them to maintain an illusion of control so that he could operate more conveniently. That was all.

His musings were interrupted by the sight of a familiar Shikigami and a student with his face buried in the fur. Satoru paused where he stood on the path winding behind the dormitories, turning over the facts of the debrief he'd been given earlier. Megumi had lost two of his Shikigami in one day during the incident— in the grand scheme of things, a small price to pay for surviving the King of Curses. But it was a loss regardless, compounded with that of his classmate's; a loss he would have to continue to bear, just for now.

Satoru didn't like lying; it wasn't out of any principle, such morality was out of his realm of concerns. But it involved work and complexity when most of his life he'd simply stated his truth and left the world to deal with the fallout. In recent years he'd learned to mask, learned to scheme, yet it was still not in his nature.

He'd promised Megumi that he'd save Yuji, so that's what he's doing. Even if it meant lying and hurting him for now. With a sigh, Satoru made up his mind and with a casual gait made his way onto the grass and then to the decking where his young ward mourned.

"I'm glad you're out of the hospital already," his voice was cheerful but mindfully tempered as a hand dropped into the boy's messy hair and ruffled it lightly. "The night's still young. How about you and Nobara go spend some time in the city? Ijichi's schedule is free to drive you."

Megumi shouldn't be spending this time alone.

"I got a buy-one-get-one-free ramen deal you two can use."

[deafknell]

Anastasia for the ask meme

This'll be a long one I'm so sorry but thank you so much for asking aaaaa

Sexuality Headcanon: Gender isn't an element she thinks about with people in my eyes, so she's happy with anyone if they're high value.

Gender Headcanon: I've considered writing a trans Ana fic a few times, but never actually went through with it. I mainly thought of how when she was younger, she would frequently be called a boy due to her clothing and hairstyle, and even Ricardo had thought that. But once she gets a job and gets pretty clothes and has Ricardo with her, she insists on being called a maiden and being very feminine which Ricardo obliges. Most of my headcanons around gender and sexuality fluctuate a lot, since I tend to treat each of em as their own story/fic idea, so this one varies a lot.

A ship I have with said character: I've gone over AnaJuli and AnaPris (which I need to do a write-up for, sometime...) so to introduce some curveballs... I've got a WIP for Emilia x Anastasia, with them on a double date with Julius x Subaru. I think there's definitely enough you can use in canon for Ana x Crusch, too, since their candidate meeting was really cute.

A crack pair me and a friend came up with was Ana x Capella, based on them joking around in arc 5 and Ana winking at Capella. It'd be a pretty funny pairing, since you have two mothers of triplets with very very different parenting styles. The amount of bickering you could have between two of the smartest characters in the series is incredible.

A BROTP I have with said character: Well, I've covered my thoughts on Ana and Josh, and Ana and Ricardo, and the triplets goes without saying so...

Ana and Otto should have more interactions, in my opinion! Two merchants with weighted interests in the people closest to them. I like that in the LiM branch for Otto IF (where Subaru starts peddling mayo with Otto in the streets) Ana buys the recipe for it off them, but still happily goes out of her way to free Otto from his debt slave status with Russell, and give the pair enough support for them to open their own business together. There's a few diff interactions as well where both characters have stated they admire each other's work, but they barely interact in canon :(

A NOTP I have with said character: Asides from Ana and Ricardo, I suppose it'd be Ana/Otto romantically or Ana/Russell? I just want merchant bros and Russell just...shouldn't be with anyone. He should be 5 miles away from contact with any character at all times.

A random headcanon: As a kid, she's very affectionate, and loves cuddling the triplets and getting headpats from Ricardo. I like to imagine that once she gets to know somebody, she's very open to physical contact--sprawling over Julius' lap, throwing an arm around Joshua's shoulder, hell even giving other candidates hugs. Ricardo comments in canon that Ana doesn't have friends because she's too business focused, so it'd be lovely for her to learn to cut back for once after years of pushing herself.

General Opinion over said character: Best rezero character in my eyes. Probably one of my favourite female characters of all time, too - she's just the perfect balance between somebody who's intelligent but able to still tease others, and not rub it in people's faces. She's caring and fiercely loyal, and even to people she has no inclination to actually help - she'll still do something for them, like giving Subaru the address for a carriage.

Often she'll get mischaracterised as only caring for money, or being cruel. She's the candidate who deliberately goes out of her way to hire demihumans and free slaves in Kararagi, building up the wealth of the city-states, all while knowing this gets people looking at her with negative attention. Her name is explicitly incindiary, somebody super ambitious to aim for King as a foreign merchant, but she never lets go of her origins.

There's so much I can say about how adorable she is in certain side stories - her crying into a glass of milk and asking the barkeep for more when she can't play with Mimi as a kid, her getting mad at Kadomon for having a stern face bad for business when strolling with Julius - yet at the same time she's remarked as a serious threat who nearly figures out parts of RBD in one of the LiM routes. She watches a man get beheaded in front of her as a child and still manages to put up a brave front, never hesitating or backing down from a challenge despite her lack of physical abilities compared to other characters.

Ana's just a really cool character, and I can only wish to be half as courageous as her.

[staravya]

wakes up and comes back to this w more. sorry.

the first time they looped everyone more or less tread the same ground (at first) bc they werent sure what was going on. except ann refuses the ride, confusing the heck out of ryuji and getting involved in day 1 metaverse shenanigans, but it's not until morgana quietly peers up at joker and straight-up asks if he remembers that they realize Oh All Of Us But Leader Remembers. Hm. That's Probably Not Good.

luckily for them joker is good enough at rolling w the punches to take it in stride. uh. outwardly, at least. it feels super isolating to have these strangers talk a little over his head like this. they're not doing it on purpose theyre just used to him being on the same level and staying quiet so him being a more miserable kind of quiet doesn't trip their radar unfortunately.

which, coincidentally, is what yaldy wants to happen. it believes the confidants are what is tethering joker to the loop and wants to break him out (for murdery reasons, unlike the others). lavenza is So Tired she is caroline and justine and sniping at yaldy all day every day but is forbidden from informing her trickster of whats going on due to the overhanging threat on igor. so her halves sit there seething and loudly believing in joker and/or telling him to believe in his bonds.

akechi is half convinced hes out of his mind w stress until he runs into sumire in mementos. they catch up; turns out she saw maruki and had a Nope moment and dipped to punch some shadows. what a coincidence, akechi did the same at the sight of shido. by the time they actually confront the pt akechi's fluctuating wildly between the detective prince mask and the third semester not-as-much-of-a-mask-but-is-still-kind-of-one black mask. this makes the pts feel like they're out of their minds w stress. joker is standing around confused, but also actually kind of entertained? the pts are so precious with him it's at least a little refreshing that akechi is so awful with everyone and not only him lol. still, he's touched by how much the others visibly care and ann and ryuji in particular stick to his side like glue.

anyway on to the important bit: the civilians. everyone is giving joker their bonuses and help right off the bat and he is ??? about it all. mishima had to be dragged away by ryuji and ann over to makoto and had some sense talked into bc he was being overwhelming. kawakami actually reaches out to ann, less to help w her predicament and more to figure out what the heck is happening, though the pts help regardless. sojiro is a big softie from the start and kind of the safest for joker feelings-wise bc he actually got a lot of his surprise/confusion out of the way w futaba. sae too come to think of it but she's more businesslike ab it bc emotional availability is not her schtick, palace or no. a bunch of them make a support group because they're otheriwse normal people and this is a wild circumstance to be in lmao.

later on there's a loop where they think the problem is the metaverse and just try to keep away joker from all that stuff (meaning they all try to stay away from the metaverse, and while crow reluctantly carries out some of their quests with a more enthusiastic violet who refuses to let him go alone tbh at this point theyre willing to endure a lot of suffering for 1 year if it means making progress + theyve worked out some real-world solutions for some problems they previously used changes of heart for) but somehow (via yaldy) joker falls into it anyway and this time has to do the whole thing alone and THAT nearly severs a bunch of his confidants except he runs into crow and violet who are like Oh No The Plan Has Gone Wrong and pivot on the spot to invite him (violet does, anyway. crow is actively undergoing another crisis bc he thought he'd get a joker-free loop. at this rate his default state is going to be In Crisis). afterwards they all agree to never do that again.

reverse ng+ where all the confidants retain memory of past loops but joker doesnt. most of them are trying to break him out of the loop but they dont know why its even happening. strength is going Through It. fool is the root of the issue and is actively sabotaging everyone else's efforts. justice has had at least a dozen breakdowns and was last spotted screaming in mementos. the pt are more tightly knit than ever. counselor does Not repeat his mistakes (also doesnt get a chance to bc the pt no longer "choose" him). etc.

[braunbakery]

wish, wish, wish

☞ jean kirstein x reader [gender neutral as far as i can tell] [ one-shot word count: 3.1k]

for you, jean simp. @sashabrausbrainrot

�� sfw, angst, more comfort than hurt (i am so so kind) , post-season 3 but pre-season 4. so like u know during those season 4 flashbacks. yeah, then.

☞ cross-posted on ao3

☞ plot: sometimes it gets too much for jean. sometimes, he leaves in the middle of survey corps meetings and makes wish upon wish of what he hopes things could be like instead. and sometimes, all you want is to grant those wishes for him.

☞ wish, wish, wish

you always notice when he leaves.

when he stalks out of the meeting room amongst the chatter and debate and hidden accusations, it’s like he’s pulling you with him. like he’s bound to you by a thread that’s tugging you after him and he doesn’t even know about it. it’s been getting stronger, twisting itself taught as the years have gone on and as you have watched defeat after defeat haunt the both of you and everyone else in the regiment. but you could never wish for it to be cut, no matter how harshly it pulls at your skin. no matter how much effort it takes for you to keep your feet planted on the ground and listen to hange across the table.

so, you don’t know what makes it so different this time when you watch the back of jean’s head silently waltz out of the meeting room without a word. you don’t know why this time you’re following after his tall figure, after his green-uniform clad back, eventually reaching him outside headquarters sitting against a wall in the cool chill of the summer night.

“jean,” you quietly say, slowly approaching him and looking down at his sitting figure. his knees are bent and he rests his elbows on his thighs, holding his face with his hands. when he hears your voice, his eyes are flicking up at you instinctively and you try to not let yourself get too wrapped up in the way the skin between his brows relaxes when he realises it's you.

“hey,” he says, voice just as quiet as yours, like you’re both hiding from some unspoken predator, “it’s you.”

you nod your head and smile at him, hoping it doesn’t seem as solemn as it feels, then sink down against the wall next to him until you’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, “it’s me.”

you can feel his shoulder tense against yours the longer you both let the silence that settles between you endure.

“are you…is everything okay?” you ask carefully, and of course you know it’s not. it hasn’t been ‘okay’ in years. your lives have been a constant fluctuation between different types of ‘not okays’. but jean doesn’t show the same disdain for your words as you do, and he’s nodding his head casually like you can’t practically tell that his heart is in his throat and his stomach has sunken (because yours are in the same state. you think maybe everyone’s are now.)

“yeah, i just needed some air…” he trails off, the half-assed smile on his face fading when he notices your knitted brows as he glances at you from the corner of his eyes.

“jean,” you start. you try to start. and he’s looking at you so intently, like maybe if you say the right things this can all just go away. or both of you could just…be able to deal with it without feeling like you were gradually being turned inside out, “i…”

the words are getting caught between your teeth, being swept under your tongue, scraping back against the roof of your mouth, and when jean realises that you’re at as much of a loss as he is, he lets his head hang down and grasps his bent knees.

“this is so fucked up,” he says, eyes trained on the ground underneath him. he can feel your gaze on him, but he doesn’t know if he can bear to meet it.

“yeah.”

jean lifts up a hand and runs it through his grown-out hair, chuckling breathlessly like even sitting here is some kind of practical joke. you watch him, stuck between letting him air this out alone or running your own fingers through his hair as well.

“just…” he grips at his hair now, forcefully furrowing his brows. he still won’t look at you, “what the hell.” he drops his hand from his head when a breeze blows in your direction. he doesn’t know why he still takes this so hard. he doesn’t know why he still feels like he’s 15, watching levi order him to kill people, watching armin murder someone for him, watching his friends betray them, watching you be pulled into this mess with him. it feels like he’s been forced to grow up, but he’s still stuck at 15. still stuck in the same fucking mess for years. for the rest of his life.

“i agree,” you say (the first thing that comes out of your mouth), and you try not to make the relief that courses through you when he finally looks at you again so obvious, “what the hell.”

jean laughs. it’s empty, and it’s short, and it kind of sounds like he’s choking on words, but he laughs.

“jean, you know…” you try again. you’ll keep trying for him (for everyone, but really really for him), “you’re not alone.” he gives you a closed-mouth smile, the same solemn one you offered him when you had first found him.

“yeah…yeah, i know,” he says, “i have the rest of the –”

“you have me,” you’re blurting out. jean’s mouth is still open. you can make out his irises frantically searching yours for something. you don’t know exactly what, and he doesn’t know either. eventually he sighs and his lip curls upwards, trying to dilute the tension between you. you’re acutely aware of the side of his thigh brushing against your own.

“yeah. i have you,” he echoes your own sentiment. moments of listening to chirping crickets and watching the oil lamp set outside of headquarters flicker in the dark of the night, casting an orange glow on jean’s face and yours pass.

you don’t know if you’ve said the right thing, but you’re glad to at least be sitting here with him. you think if you had let this thread twist and stretch itself thin it would’ve eventually broken you in half.

“i…” jean quietly says, and your gaze is immediately darting from the flickering flame of the oil lamp back to him. and jean…jean is kind of avoidant. when his cheeks redden, or he’s choking on his words, or he accidentally brushes his hand against yours, his stare is always fixated as far away as possible from your eyes. so when you look back at him, tilting your head up to meet his eyes, and he’s already looking at you, you wonder if he can hear your breath hitching in your throat.

“yeah?” you’re practically whispering. you don’t know that he’s relishing in your breath fanning his face.

“i…i kind of wish i didn’t have you,” he confesses in just as quiet of a tone, like if he speaks any louder the weight of his words will blow out the lamp.

“what do you mean?” you slowly ask, unconsciously leaning closer towards him. you ignore the way your neck is starting to strain from having to turn your whole head to look at him. you can smell his hair, so you’ll keep your head at this position for as long as he sits here.

“i mean…if i didn’t have you. then, you wouldn’t be part of the survey corps, right?” he says, and it sounds like he’s testing out these words for the first time. his gaze keeps flitting up and down your face, but he’s still looking at you. he hasn’t stopped. you don’t think you’ve ever looked at each other this long.

“okay,” you say, and the strain in your neck gets too much so you can’t help but completely turn your body towards him and curl your legs at your side. he watches you like any move you make could be the one that means you’re leaving. but you’re still sitting there.

“and…if you weren’t part of the survey corps, you wouldn’t have to deal with this. you could live in peace.”

you clench your jaw so tightly that you’re afraid you’re going to shatter your own teeth, but jean doesn’t seem to notice. or if he does, he doesn’t say anything, because he still keeps talking. and you’ve never been so glad for it.

“it wouldn’t be like…real peace. but…i think that it would be nice. for you, i mean. i think i’d like to know that you were living as good of a life as you could get,” he’s starting to stumble over his words, and it only gets worse when you rest your hand on top of his which is still perched on his knee.

his hands are warm, you note. he looks down at your hand resting atop his and back up at you. you don’t know why you’re smiling at him. you don’t know what there is in this cruel world to smile about. but if there is anything, anything at all, it would be jean looking at you and you sitting with him like this.

“you wouldn’t have met me, though,” you say, still staring at your hand atop his.

“huh?”

“you wouldn’t know that i would be living a good life,” you explain, looking up at him to be met with his mouth agape and the reflection of the flickering lamp in his eyes, “because you wouldn’t know me.”

jean huffs.

“i guess you’re right,” he says, feigning annoyance. you try to drift your hand down from his, but he’s suddenly lurching his own forward and grabbing it, lacing his fingers with yours. you stare at the way your hand looks held in his. you smile. you know when you look up, you’ll be able to see a familiar rosy tint dusted atop his cheeks in the dark. you look up.

and you’re right.

“jean–”

“i–”

you lock eyes again when you can’t stop speaking over each other and this time, when jean laughs, he’s laughing with you and it seems like he means it. like he’s glad for it. you’re glad for it too.

“if i knew you were out there, i don’t think i’d be living a life of peace,” you confess softly, and you wonder if jean can feel the shiver that courses over your skin as he brushes his thumb over the hand he’s holding. you wonder if he even realises he’s doing that.

“how come?” jean asks, and he knows the answer. he just wants to hear you say it. it’s selfish, but right now, amongst the chatter of the meeting that goes on inside and the chirping crickets and this constant impending doom that seems to be haunting everyone, it’s the only thing he wants to hear.

“i– because–” you’re trying to be honest. you really are. but the way jean is looking at you, like he’s pleading, and the way his calloused thumb is still brushing over the skin of your hand is almost dizzying, “because i wouldn’t be here with you.”

“really?” jean asks, and he has a stupid smile on his face (the kind that he catches from connie) but his eyes are still practically begging you to confirm it. you nod your head.

“yeah.”

he sighs relief, and suddenly the hand he’s holding is being yanked forward and your body follows it until your chest is against jean’s and your body is between his legs and his back is lifted up off the wall so he can pull you into him and bury his face in the crook of your neck and wrap his arms around you and you’re so foolishly afraid you’re going to melt into him and and and and–

you don’t care about the mild ache of your legs tucked underneath you from the sudden weight of your body pressed onto them, because now you’re combing your fingers through his hair (and you think of how when connie or sasha try to touch it, he’s immediately lurching away from them, but now he’s nuzzling into your touch and trying to inhale every inch of you). you can feel his breath through the collar of your uniform, and his hands are reaching up to the back of your head and gently pushing it against his chest.

his grip is tight. it’s tight, and it’s warm, and you honestly don’t think you would care if it was suffocating.

when you lean away from him, and he’s in front of you again (his hands still gripping at the fabric of the green uniform jacket at your sides), you reach your hands up to cradle his face in them, the stubble at his jaw lightly grazing your palm. and he looks at you through wide eyes, like he can’t believe you’re touching him, and you wonder if he can tell that you don that same disbelief.

“i’m…” jean starts, and you’re already getting swept away in the way you can feel his jaw move under your touch and his breath fan your nose as he speaks, “can i…can i kiss you?”

when his eyes flicker down to your lips in the dark, you can practically feel your stomach tying itself into knots. but you’re nodding your head without even realising, and jean is exhaling a sigh of relief, before reaching his own hands up from your waist to hold your face as well and slowly pulling you closer to him. until he’s kissing you.

until…he’s kissing you.

you don’t really know what you’re doing, and you doubt he does either (despite his bold boasts to connie every time you end up sharing a carriage with them), but his lips are soft and his breath is warm and his stubble slightly grazing against your skin every so often ignites a kind of warmth in your stomach that you know you wouldn’t have been able to find even in this ideal peaceful life jean had wished for you. and the way he holds your face. god, the way he holds your face.

it’s enough for you to never want to get up again. it’s enough for you to forget this war, and forget this constant fight, and forget your scars and his and just stay pressed up against him like this forever. you don’t even realise your eyes are closed until jean is nudging your nose with his own and watching you slowly open them and gaze up at him. he’s beautiful.

“i wish things were different,” he whispers, and your eyes are zeroing in on how his lips are just that bit pinker now, that bit more swollen. you look back up at him when he swipes his thumb over your bottom lip.

“me too,” you say, “but i also wish things could stay like this forever.”

“like what?”

“like…me and you right now.”

you can make out jean’s teeth glinting in the dark as he grins. you reach one of the hands still holding his face up into his hair and run your fingers through it again, “so long.”

“you like it?”

“i like you.”

jean’s smile gets even wider, and he reaches up for your hand currently threaded through his hair and brings it to his lips, kissing it so softly like at any moment it could break apart right there. you wonder if he can feel it shaking against his mouth, or if he can feel your racing pulse through your wrist.

“why does everything have to be so fucked up?” he mumbles against your hand, tugging you even closer to him. you can hear the chatter inside start to die down, but you can’t bring yourself to get up.

“i…i don’t know,” you say, “but, it won’t be forever.”

“it won’t?” jean’s hand is back on your face, and yours is aimlessly tugging at the collar of his uniform, trying to will the words out of you.

“no, we’ll find that life of peace.” it’s such false hope, such an artificial light at the end of the tunnel. you’ve been in this fight since you were just barely teenagers. since you’d known jean as the boy who’d only wanted to join the MPs and live a lavish life of luxury and you had still managed to hopelessly stumble over your words in front of that boy whenever he offered you the kind of smile you had selfishly hoped he hadn’t graced anyone with before. but you know it’ll do for now. it’ll have to do for now.

“we?” jean presses, and you nod your head fervently and listen to him let out the breath he’d been holding for a while now. he thinks that he would give that life up if it meant he would be assured he’d be with you ‘til the end of his days. he thinks of the small part of him wanting to beg you to run with him, to escape with him. to hell with the world. and he thinks of how dumb he is to only get the courage to do this now, when things are only getting harder and rougher and everything constantly feels like it’s about to end and he can’t let go of it. he doesn’t know you feel the same.

“we,” you repeat.

“we could run, you know,” jean says carefully, eyes peering straight through you to try and catch your reaction before you even do.

“…you don’t want that. and i don’t want that either,” you say, after a pause that feels like an eternity.

“yeah. i wish i did though. sometimes. it would be easier,” he confesses to you, and you nod your head in an effort to convey that you spend so much time wishing you could let this go as well.

“me too.”

and his hold on your face tightens and he pulls you towards him and kisses you again and again and again. you can never get sick of it. you can never get sick of his nose digging into your cheek, or knocking against yours, or the look in his eyes when he pulls away to breathe, or how they flutter closed when he leans in again.

you think, if the world ended now, you wouldn’t be so upset about all your ungranted wishes. you think when the world ends (because it will. it will. you can feel it in your bones, you can feel it in hange’s voice every meeting. you can feel it every time you lock eyes with jean across the table), you would’ve had enough peace in this moment to last you a lifetime. you don’t need any more. you’ve found it in those eyes. those eyes. those eyes.

and jean thinks of how this is that life of peace. this exchange of breath and this false hope and this constant igniting flame in his chest that mirrors the flickering oil lamp. that reflects in those eyes. those eyes. those eyes.

you pull away when you hear connie calling in search of the both of you from inside. jean doesn’t let go of your face and you both can’t stop beaming at each other.

that smile, that smile, that smile.

maybe seeing it is worth the war.

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[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 137

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,560ish

Summary: Tony, Steve and the others worry over Y/N and premie Morgan.

Warning: car accident injuries, talk of traumatic brain injury, premie baby

“Tony, sit down,” Rhodey ordered. 

The hospital staff had been kind enough to show the group to a private waiting area once Rhodey had arrived. It had been hours since Y/N and Morgan had been brought back into surgery, and it had been at least two since the last update. Steve, Pepper, Happy, Tony, and Rhodey were all spread out around the room, with Tony nervous pacing.

“No,” Tony said curtly. “Not until—“

“Mr. Stark,” the doctor called, entering the room. Everyone was up on their feet. 

“How are they?” Tony asked quickly, standing in front of the doctor.

“They’re both now out of surgery.”

“Thank God,” Happy muttered.

“But neither of them are out of the woods yet. The baby girl is in the NICU, inside an incubator. Her lugs aren’t fully developed yet, so she is connected to a ventilator. Her temperature keeps dangerously fluctuating and is currently getting nutrients from a feeding tube. She’s being monitored very carefully, 24/7.”

“And Y/N?” Steve asked.

“She had many lacerations and much internal bleeding when she came in. She lost a lot of blood before and during surgery. It was also clear when Y/N was brought in, that her head had been seriously hit.”

“How serious?” Tony asked.

The doctor gave him a sympathetic look. “We had to put her in a medically induced both for her physical wounds and her brain.”

“That didn’t really explain anything, doc.”

The doctor sighed. “We don’t know the full affects of the head trauma. We won’t know until we wake her up.”

“And when are you planning on doing that?”

“It will be awhile.”

“A-awhile?”

“She needs time to heal, and we must give her brain time to rest.”

“What do you think she’ll be like when she wakes?” Steve nervously wonders.

“Most likely scenario is that loud noises and bright lights will bother her. And well as forgetfulness and slow thing, speaking, or reading. All of those can go away with time. But we are really concerned about her memories. We fear she’ll wake up with amnesia. We are also concerned that she may never wake up at all.”

“No,” Tony breathed out, stumbling back. “She—she can’t. No.”

“That’s why we are giving her time to rest and doing all we can to help her. And your baby.”

Tony began to feel like the world was closing in on him. His heart was pounding in his eyes and his breathing picked up. Rhodey quickly noticed.

“Tony, Tony,” he walked over, guiding his friend into a chair. “Breathe, focus.” Pepper came to the other side, running her hand down Tony’s back.

“I-I can’t… can’t l-lose them…” Tony panted. “They—they’re my w-world…”

“You won’t lose them. The doctors and nurses are the best and they will make sure nothing happens to either of them.”

“I’ll have a nurse come out and get you when you can visit them,” the doctor stated. “I am sorry. And we will do the best we can.” Then the doctor left.

“Tony,” Steve called.

“Don’t,” Tony said, harshly. “I don’t want to hear it.” Tony looked up at Steve from his spot, teary-angry eyes. “The only reason you’re still here and I haven’t totally yelled at you is because Y/N is trying to repair her relationship with you. And I am trying so damn hard to respect that. But that doesn’t mean I have to… You should have been there with her. Or sensed danger.”

“You don’t think I’m blaming myself for this as well? I feel terrible for what happened. She is my sister, after all.”

“Is she?” Tony stood up, challenging the Captain. “Cause you haven’t treated her as such for years.”

“I’m trying to do better now.”

“Well either try harder or stop trying!”

“Excuse me, Mr. Stark?” A nurse came in. 

“Yes?” 

“I’m here to take you and one other to see your daughter.”

“Rhodey, let’s go.” Tony walked out without another word, Rhodey behind him.

~~~

The NICU was one of the most terrifying places Tony had ever been. And that was saying a lot since he was Iron Man. He and Rhodey listened intently as the nurse explained the rules of the NICU. They couldn’t touch anything besides the outside of the incubator, including the baby. They couldn’t enter until they are geared up in a hospital gown, gloves, and a mask.

After they were all geared up, the nurse walked Rhodey and Tony over to the baby’s incubator. Tony lost his breath when he saw her. She was so small. So, so small. She was covered in tubes and wires, clearly not breathing for herself. Tony set a shaky hand on the clear incubator.

“She’s beautiful, Tony,” Rhodey said softly, going to the other side. “You did good.”

“Y/N hasn’t even held her yet…” Tony said quietly, not looking away from his daughter. “She hasn’t even named her.”

“I thought you two had?”

“Well, we have. But Y/N was suppose to hold her and make it official. She was suppose to say how beautiful she was and I was suppose to compliment both her and the baby… I don’t—I don’t know if I can do this all with out her.”

“You won’t be alone, Tony. We’re all going to be with you every step of the way.”

Tony looked at the baby in silence, clearly thinking over something. “Hey, Morgan,” he whispered. “I’m your daddy… I’m sorry this all had to happen this way. But I’ll make it better, I promise.”

~~~

A different nurse came into the waiting room once Tony and Rhodey had gone. This time, telling them that one person could come and visit Y/N. Steve immediately agreed to. The blinds were closed to Y/N’s room window, so he didn’t see anything until he was all the way into the room. The nurse closed the door, leaving him standing there, alone.

Y/N was all scratched and bandaged up. Wires and tubes were attached everywhere, including one helping her breath. This wasn’t the first time he had seen her like this. There had been the time back in 2014, when she had been fatally shot. But that felt like a life time ago and this was different. Now, half the population of the world had turned to dust, Tony and Y/N were engaged, and she had a daughter counting on her to pull through.

Steve pulled up a chair and sat beside Y/N. His hand rested on top of hers.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried, not caring about the amount of tears raining down his cheeks. “I should have been there. I shouldn’t have left you… I noticed that you were on edge, I should have done something about it… I’m so sorry, for failing you as much as I have…”

~~~

Due to the doctor’s needing to check on baby Morgan, Tony and Rhodey were forced out of the NICU. Rhodey left to go update Pepper and Happy and go get food and clothes for Tony. Heading to Y/N’s room, he found Steve outside of it. Steve was sitting on the ground, under her room window. His elbows were resting on his knees and his head was in his hands. Hearing footsteps, Steve looked up. He wiped his nose and sniffed as Tony came closer.

“I couldn’t be in there anymore,” Steve’s voice was horse as he spoke. “It just… it hurts to think she may not even wake or, if she does, that she won’t be the same person anymore…” Tony nodded, looking to stare at the door.

“Morgan’s in an incubator,” Tony stated, almost out of it. “I’m not even allowed to touch her… she’s so tiny. So very tiny… it’s scary…. I also thought I had more time to prepare. I’m not ready to be a father, especially if—“ Tony’s voice broke and he swallowed. “If Y/N won’t be by my side for it…” Tony walked to the door and put his hand on the knob. “Call Red, she’ll want to know… she’ll want to be here. And… and tell her to bring you some clothes.”

Tony slipped into the room and shut the door behind him. Instead of moving to the chair at Y/N’s side, he leaned against the door. His eyes welled up with tears as he looked at Y/N and let the whole situation hit him. Steve broke down more as he heard Tony cry from the other side of the door.

With trembling legs, Tony finally made his way to the chair, practically collapsing into it. Grabbing Y/N’s hand, he let himself fully break down.

“You cannot do this to me, honey,” he sobbed. “You really can’t… Morgan needs you—I need you…” Tony looked up at the ceiling. “Where the hell is her protection?! I thought she was meant for something with the Stones?! I thought that granted her protection until her job was done?! Protect her! Save her! I know her job isn’t done! I can’t—I can’t lose her… Not her…”

~~~

“How are they?” Natasha asked, coming into the waiting room with a bag of clothes for Steve and a few coffees. 

Happy, Rhodey, and Pepper were in the waiting room, that was slowly beginning to look like a hotel room. Rollaway beds were brought in, one for each of them, including Steve and Tony. The tension in the air was thick.

Pepper sighed. “Not good,” she shook her head. “We haven’t seen them for at least an hour though.”

“Tony’s going back and forth between Morgan and Y/N, while Steve won’t move from his spot on the floor outside Y/N’s room,” Rhodey explained.

“Well, I brought coffees and clothes for Steve.” She set both down on the coffee table.

“Thank you.”

“I know that Tony probably would have done this, but he’s so business. I have FRIDAY tracking down the suv’s.”

“Smart. Let me know what you find.”

“Of course. I’m going to go find Steve, get him off his ass.”

“Good luck. You’ll need it.”

Natasha nodded before heading to Y/N’s room. Steve was right where Rhodey had told her he’d be. With a sigh, Natasha sat beside him. She put her hand on his knee, rubbing his knee with her thumb.

“How is she?” Natasha asked softly.

“I’ve only been able to go in there once,” Steve replied, voice rough. “It’s too much.”

“That’s okay. But I don’t know if sitting out here in the hall is doing either of you any good.”

“I don’t want to leave her side, but I can’t go in there. So, out here seemed like the best option.”

“Have you seen Tony?”

“Yes,” Steve nodded. “He just left to visit Morgan again… you should have heard him, Nat. I’ve never heard him crying like that before. He really loves her.”

“Have you thought about visiting Morgan?”

“No,” he shook his head.

“Why don’t you try? It will be good for you to get off the floor.”

“When Tony comes back.” Steve leaned up against the wall. “I don’t want her to be alone.”

Natasha nodded then rested her head on Steve’s shoulder. “They’re going to get through this Steve. We all are.”

~~~

Tony and Steve began switching places, without even speaking a word. Neither Y/N or Morgan were ever alone for long. The others continually urged them to rest, but neither of them listened. After 36 hours of this, Natasha and Rhodey eventually dragged Tony and Steve’s tired bodies to the beds in the waiting room. Happy, Pepper, Natasha, and Rhodey then began switching between watching Y/N, Morgan, Tony, and Steve.

The men didn’t sleep for very long, but it was enough rest to keep them moving. They had all been at the hospital for 5 days when the doctor told them that Morgan was really struggling. This got Tony’s anxiety to immediately spike, but the doctor quickly said that he had an idea that he’d like to try. With Tony and Natasha went together with the doctor to visit Morgan, as the rest watched Y/N and got rested themselves.

“I would like to try kangaroo car,” the doctor told Tony and Natasha as the nurses wheeled Morgan’s incubator into a secluded room that they were already in.

“Kangaroo care?” Tony repeated. “What’s that?”

“It’s a method of holding a baby that involves skin-to-skin contact. Morgan will be placed upright against a bare chest. Preferably a parent’s, but that is why we also wanted a female to come.”

“What about all her wires?”

“You’ll have to be careful, but we’ll help you.”

“Okay, let’s do this.” 

Tony took off his shirt and handed it to Natasha, who couldn’t help but notice the scar from the original arc reactors. Tony sat himself down in the rocker that was provided in the room as the nurses began to ready Morgan. With careful hands, a nurse brought Morgan over to Tony. The nurse guided Tony on how to hold Morgan. Once the nurses’ hands were off, Tony took a shuddering breath.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he whispered, smiling softly down at her. Natasha quickly took out her phone and snapped some pictures. “You’re such a pretty baby, yes you are… Pretty just like your momma. She would be here if she could, you know? She just needs a long nap, and then I know that she’ll never leave your side… We both love you so much, and I promise that I’ll never let you doubt that…”

Nat was tearing up as she watched her old friend hold and talk to his daughter. She began to film it, because she knew that when Y/N woke, she would regret missing it. Tony slowly began to rock back and forth, wary of the wires and tubes that Morgan was connected with. It shocked Natasha when Tony began to softly sing:

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.” Tony placed a small kiss on Morgan’s tiny head. “You are my sunshine, Morgan, my only sunshine. Well, besides your mother. You guys are equal in my eyes.”

“You’re going to be a wonderful father, Tony,” Natasha said.

Tony briefly looked up at his friend. “Thank you, Red.” He looked back down at Morgan, softly talking to her once again. “Your mother made a playlist of possible songs that we could sing to you. There’s one that resonated with me more than others, though I haven’t told mom yet. I’m going to give it a try, so bare with me.” Tony took a deep breath and then began singing again:

“Dear Theodosia, what to say to you? You have my eyes, you have your mother’s name. When you came into the world, you cried. And it broke my heart. I’m dedicating every day to you. Domestic life was never quite my style. When you smile, you knock me out, I fall apart. And I thought I was so smart.”

And in that little room, as Tony sang and Natasha filmed, hope began to be felt again. Even just for the briefest of moments.

next chapter >

Please like, reblog, comment or send in an ask! I love to know thoughts/reactions.

I leave for Disney World this week. It is the last big family vacation that I will be on for a while. Because of that, I will not be on tumblr March 19th through March 24th. I will actually be deleting the app so that it’s not a distraction.

Most likely, nothing will be posted during that time. If something is, it will have been queued up. Things that are posted while I’m out of town will not have tag lists attached. I will put this note in all the fic posts until then.

So do not come at me for spending time with my family instead of including the tag list. (I say that knowing that people won’t care and still come at me…. be respectful and get over yourself.)

Check out the 2 ending titles and possible banners here.

Also, I will be taking all of April off for job hunting and such. Please be kind and understanding. This is important to me.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

[fridayfirefly]

Virtual Sleepover

Read Virtual Sleepover on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 4 - Internet Friends

Quarantine had been rough at Wayne Manor, but for Tim Drake, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a bright light through it all. Tim was getting ahead of himself, though. The story of Marinette Dupain-Cheng started on March 20th, 2020. Panic over coronavirus was sweeping the nation. Bruce had gathered all of the members of the Wayne family into the dining room to explain the new rules of the house. No one was to go in or out. Groceries would be delivered to the house. There would be no superhero outings for at least two weeks. Tim didn't think his family would be able to survive, trapped in a house together.

So to preserve his sanity, Tim turned to the internet. There were hundreds of cold cases that he had put on the backburner and hundreds of forums and websites dedicated to solving cold cases. Tim turned to the most popular website and started dumping information, hoping for someone to show up and work through it with him. That's how Tim met Marinette. @MarinetteDC showed up on his page with a friend request, a wide range of technical knowledge about textiles and designs, and about seven different theories on a murder case Tim considered all but unsolvable. Her sleep schedule was just as chaotic as Tim's and she also drank a near-inhuman amount of coffee. Marinette Dupain-Cheng enthralled Tim. And when the chaos of his house threatened to make Tim lose his mind, Marinette became his lifeline.

"Can you hear me?"

Tim nodded. "Yep!"

"Nice!" cheered Marinette. Tim relished the opportunity to see her face, even if it was through a zoom call. "So what do we want to do first? I don't have class until Monday, so we have the whole weekend ahead of us."

"I think we should start with the iconic sleepover classic: truth or dare," suggested Tim.

"Alright. Truth or dare, Tim?"

"Dare." Tim was confident in his abilities to pull off any stunt she might come up with. However, his confidence started to fade as he watched a devious look grow on her face.

"I dare you to bake a batch of cookies - any kind of cookies you want - without using a recipe."

Tim blinked, trying to recall the last time he had baked. Besides a few times helping Alfred out in the kitchen, Tim wasn't certain that he had ever used the Wayne Manor kitchen for anything other than brewing coffee and heating frozen pizzas. "Could I have a new dare?"

Marinette shook her head, the grin on her face demonstrating exactly how much fun she was having, watching the panic in Tim's eyes. "I'll give you one hint on how to make them, but only one, so use it wisely."

Tim groaned, unplugging his laptop from its charger so he could move it to the kitchen. "I'm not actually certain I know all of the ingredients in cookies. Or how long you bake them for. I feel like an hour is probably too long, but I feel like half an hour might not be enough time."

On the other side of the screen, Marinette tried to stifle her giggles but was unable to keep them all in. "No offense Tim, but this is going to be a disaster. I can't wait."

Tim let out another groan. "Must you torture me?"

"How about you keep the laptop camera pointed towards the oven, that way I can tell you once something starts to burn?" Marinette joked.

Tim knew that she was teasing, but honestly, he knew he could use all the help he could get. Still, he wanted to preserve at least a little of his dignity. "Very funny," Tim said sarcastically, setting the laptop down on the kitchen counter.

"Start with ingredients," Marinette advised.

"What all goes into a chocolate chip cookie..?" mused Tim. He got out the flour, white and brown sugar, eggs, butter, vanilla extract, and three different types of chocolate chips that Alfred kept stocked.

Marinette raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

Tim cast a wary gaze upon his ingredients. It didn't seem like enough, but at the same time he couldn't figure out what he was missing. Tim sighed. "I'm ready to use my hint. Tell me what I forgot."

"You forgot to get out the salt, and more importantly, the baking soda," advised Marinette.

"Can I have a second hint?" asked Tim as he gathered his two missing ingredients.

"That depends on what you're asking," teased Marinette.

"I'm going to start listing measurements, and you tell me if it's too much or not enough."

Marinette pretended to think it over before replying, "I'll do it, but only because I want the cookies to come out edible, not because we're friends or anything like that. There are no friends in the Dupain-Cheng kitchen," said Marinette, her voice filled with faux seriousness.

"Lucky for me, these cookies are being made in the Wayne kitchen, and we're all very nice here, and we don't let Tim burn his cookies."

Marinette giggled. "You have a point there," she acquiesced. "Start listing your measurements."

Tim grabbed the measuring cup and starting approximating. "Two cups flour?"

"That will make about five dozen cookies."

"One cup of each type of sugar?"

Marinette shook her head. "You'll want a 3/4 cup of each."

The rest of the measuring process proceeded smoothly, with Tim guessing measurements of fluctuating accuracy (he correctly guessed that he would need two eggs, but his guess of a half-cup of baking soda led to Marinette questioning whether he had ever been in a kitchen before).  Once Tim got the cookie dough mixed, spooned out onto a tray, and put in the oven, they resumed their game of truth-or-dare.

"Your turn, Marinette. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Tim tried to think of a good question to ask. "Since you've now seen how abysmal I am in the kitchen, I want to know one thing that you're terrible at."

Marinette scrunched up her brow. "It's nowhere near as bad as you're inability to crack an egg-"

Tim winced a little, remembering the painstaking process of digging out fragments of eggshell after he completely shattered it in his attempts to crack it.

"-But I have really bad depth perception. I trip over every little crack in the sidewalk. I'm probably the clumsiest person you'll ever meet."

Tim chuckled. "And here I thought you were perfect."

Marinette grinned. "Almost perfect. Truth or dare?"

"I'll pick truth this time, and hopefully avoid being humiliated again."

"I'll go easy on you this round. When was the last time you lied, and what was it about?"

Tim combed back through his memory of the past week, trying to pick out the last time he lied. "I think it was yesterday morning. Dick asked me if the coffee I was drinking was my first coffee of the day. I said yes, but really I hadn't slept that night so I just decided to arbitrarily count my start of the day at the time I would have woken up had I actually gone to sleep."

"So how many coffee's had you had yesterday?"

Tim shrugged. "Since midnight? Probably three or four. I've gotten away with a lot more coffee since I modified the Keurig in my room to stop making so much noise."

"I'm lucky," said Marinette. "My parents sleep so far away from me that they can't hear my Keurig."

"Truth or dare?" asked Tim, continuing the game.

"Truth."

"What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done because you had a crush on someone?"

Marinette flushed red, and Tim immediately knew that this was going to be a good story. "Once I accidentally sent a text to my crush so I stolehisphoneanddeletedthetext." Marinette rushed the last few words, so fast that Tim couldn't quite make them out.

"What was that?"

"I stole his phone and deleted the text before he could read it. In my defense, I made a lot of questionable decisions at that age."

Tim burst out laughing. "How old were you?"

"I was thirteen," admitted Marinette.

Tim couldn't stop laughing at the absurdity of her claims. "You couldn't have asked him to borrow his phone and deleted it then?"

"I was in panic mode. It was between steal his phone or destroy his phone."

"Those were your two options?!" exclaimed Tim.

Marinette blushed even more furiously. "It's your turn. Don't expect me to go easy on you this round. Truth or dare?"

Tim kept up the trend. "Truth."

"What was the worst thing you did at thirteen?"

Tim thought back to his days as Robin, and the many, many stories he could tell. In the end, he settled on one that Jason still brought up when he needed leverage over Tim. "It's not as bad as phone thievery, but it's still a pretty funny story, looking back on it. You know how I have two older brothers, right?"

"Dick and Jason," Marinette confirmed.

"Well, one night I managed to convince Dick to let me drive Bruce's favorite car. Now, keep in mind, I had never actually driven a car before. Surprisingly, I wasn't that bad at driving. I made it home without incident - that is, until I tried to park the car back in the garage and accidentally crashed into Jason's motorcycle. For years after that, Jason used the threat of telling Bruce about my little car crash to keep me in line."

Marinette snorted. "You think that borrowing a phone to delete a text message is worse than borrowing and crashing a car?"

Tim shrugged. "It's a matter of opinion. Truth or dare?"

With a roll of her eyes, Marinette said, "Truth."

"What's one thing you would never tell me?" It was the sort of question that could only be asked during a game of truth or dare. In Tim's opinion, it was this sort of question that made the game worth playing.

Marinette pouted. "I don't like that question."

"Too bad. The rules of truth or dare state that you have to answer it."

"Fine." Marinette looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought. Just as she turned back to face her laptop, her face lit up. It was evident that she had an answer. "Usually I let people learn from their mistakes in the kitchen. However, I will now tell you - because I have to - that your cookies have been in the oven for too long. They're going to start burning if you don't take them out soon."

Tim jumped up to get his cookies out of the oven. They looked a little burnt, brown rather than the golden-brown that Alfred would make, but they still looked edible. "I'll accept your answer, but only because you saved my cookies."

"Now that your cookies are done, do you want to finish up our game of truth or dare?"

"One last question," decided Tim. "And I'll pick truth, to make it easy for you."

"What's the biggest secret that you've currently keeping from your family?"

After Tim's last question, he had expected Marinette to follow it up with an invasive question. Luckily, her question had a very simple answer.

"Easy question - my friendship with you."

Marinette looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Most of my friendships begin through the connections they have to my family. Because of that, I've never really had serious friendships that my family wasn't actively involved in."

"It's not because you're ashamed of me, right?" Marinette sounded unsure of herself. Insecurity was a side of her that Tim had never seen before.

"Of course not," Tim assured her. "You're the best friend I could have ever asked for, Marinette."

"Good, because you're not getting rid of me that easy. I still have a lot to teach you about baking. I think we might try cupcakes at our next sleepover."

Tim laughed. "We'll see about that." He had no doubts that there would be sleepovers to come, and shenanigans involving baked goods to go along with them.

@maribatmarch-2k21

[jaydicksummerexchange]

2021 JDSE Reveals: Friday, September 3

[ ❤ Works posted so far! ❤ ]

Time to ~~*~~Flashback~~*~~ for Friday’s releases!

a masterpiece in the making by Anonymous for dreamrecurrentdreams [Teen And Up Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, 3.4k words]

Gen or Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - No Capes, Police Officer Dick Grayson, graffiti artist Jason Todd, hand-holding, Slight pining, Art museum, mentioned Police Corruption/Brutality, POV Dick Grayson, JayDick Summer Exchange 2021

Summary: Maybe that’s why he felt so connected to the kid; an amused sense of nostalgia overtaking him every time he caught Jason defacing the headquarters of a corrupt official or entertaining the street kids with wild stories, using his precious supply of paint to make fantastic images for them to follow along with. Gotham City was made prettier because Jason Todd walked her streets.

Rookie cop Dick Grayson takes high school drop-out Jason Todd to an art museum in the hopes of convincing him to use his graffiti skills in less dangerous (and less illegal) ways.

my name is--- by Anonymous for Nerd_by_Definition [General Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, 0k words]

Tags: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Alternate Universe - Princess Bride Fusion, Jason Todd as Westley, Dick Grayson as Buttercup, Mawwiage, ...just kidding it isn't that scene, hahaha, Fanart, …(click for more tags)

Summary: The Dread Pirate Roberts. Were you expecting anything else?

Swim or Float by Anonymous for elareine [Mature, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, 5.6k words]

Tags: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Damian Wayne, Breaking Up & Making Up, Future Fic, canon adjacent, Slice of Life, Romance, Getting Back Together, …(click for more tags)

Summary: Ten years was a long time to have been away from the family. To have kept away from Dick.

But Damian had sent him an invitation to his graduation, and Jason felt compelled to go. The kid said please, after all.

But seeing Dick again was like being struck by lightning. He felt like the soles of his boots had melted into the ground where he stood.

you should know where i'm coming from by Anonymous for anidear [Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply, 3.5k words]

Tags: Alternate Universe - Batman: Arkham (Video Games) Setting, Implied/Referenced Minor Character Death, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Angst and Feels, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Spooning, Nightmares, POV Dick Grayson, Pining, Pre-Slash, JayDick Summer Exchange 2021

Summary: Closing his eyes against the memory of the man’s blood splattering against his chest, Dick felt his breath pick up rapidly. This was a mistake. He couldn’t do this. How could he possibly think this would work? Jason was too far gone, he didn’t want Dick’s help to get better, what’s the point when there was no Batman to condemn him for his actions, anyway? Living together was a mistake, working together was a mistake, he should’ve known they’d burn each other up, this was never going to work.

After a patrol gone wrong, Dick contemplates his ability to cope with the ex-Arkham Knight's more murderous tendencies.

A Dwindling Mercurial High by Anonymous for bitterleafs [Mature, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, 50k words]

Tags: Heavy Angst, Case Fic, Psychological Thriller, Unreliable Narrator, Post-Final Crisis (DCU), Post-Infinite Crisis (DCU), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Conspiracy, How Do I Tag, Slow Build

Summary: In the wake of Final Crisis, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd are left struggling to put together the pieces of what Gotham's become, and who exactly is behind the sinister conspiracy putting everyone they know and love in danger.

Sense and Sensual by Anonymous for CinnaTwist [Explicit, No Archive Warnings Apply, 9.4k words]

Tags: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Original Characters, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Undercover Missions, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced A…(click for more tags)

Summary: Why was it always clubs and strippers that human traffickers preferred in the background of their meetings?

Why couldn’t it just be a crisp, clean meeting room like Bruce’s lame Board Gatherings at Wayne Enterprises?

The Damned Prince's Bodyguard by Anonymous for elareine [Teen And Up Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, 4k words]

Tags: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Modern Royalty, or maybe slightly in the future, but canon is also sort of still there too idk, Bodyguard, Attempted Drugging, Identity Porn, Bad Fli…(click for more tags)

Summary: Jason, the Damned Prince of Gotham, has returned to stake a claim in the city-state's ever-fluctuating power struggle. The Bat King's court has been suspiciously quiet about this… but there's something familiar about Jason's newest bodyguard.

[breakfaststuffs]

Fluctuations

Pairing: Bucky x Reader!Powers

Warnings: Language

A/N: I blame @angrythingstarlight for inspiring me to start this...thing. I don’t know what it is but I have done it. Lurker turned whatever.

Please, do not copy, translate, rewrite or post my work even if you credit me.

----------

“Fuck,” you hissed as you scrambled up the 6th flight of stairs in a desperate bid to outrun your pursuers. As soon as your eyes had landed on that tell-tale skull and tentacle laden logo, you just knew that things would go sideways.

Even as your calves burned and begged for a rest, you hauled yourself up the last set of stairs and spilled out onto the roof with a gasp of exhaustion and you made a wobbly dash over to the fire escape. Making one last adjustment to the straps of your backpack, you felt reassured that the weight of the stolen goods were still nestled between your shoulders and reached for the ladder.

“You should probably just hand it over, you know,” a voice stated simply from above and, in all of his winged-glory, Captain America landed softly on the rooftop a few feet behind you. Another half-second later, the person you had been hauling ass from silently appeared to the left of Sam Wilson and you felt frozen to the spot as his sharp blue eyes trained in on your face.

A bead of sweat trickled down your neck and you just knew that the wig you had worked so hard to affix on top of your hair was now very obvious and askew. You let out a breath you did not know you had been holding and let the reality of your situation settle over your shoulders.

Grasping the straps a little tighter to summon up your courage, you took a few unsteady steps to the side to be clear of the fire escape and then turned to dive off the roof. You heard a rush of raised voices behind you and a shuffle of movement before the world turned into a dark blur rushing up to meet you.

“Fuck!” you yelp as you dropped.

----------

Life has never been easy for you and, after coming back from the blip, it had gotten insurmountably worse.

Before the blip, you had managed to find security in your work and in your own personal life. The design firm you worked at was lobbing more work for high priority clients your way and there were signs that your boyfriend was close to proposing. You wished that you could share your accomplishments with your parents, but the fates had decided to remove them from the equation 3 years earlier in a sudden clash of metal and rubber that had permanently left a part of your heart hollow and numb.

The moment your life shattered for a second time was right after you had completed your usual circuit run around the neighborhood to help burn off some of the extra energy that had built up with the excitement of your sister finally visiting you in the city. Your sister was an hour out from touchdown and as you chatted over the phone with your boyfriend about dinner plans for the evening a sudden shock of cold settled low in your belly. Whatever words were on your tongue faded and drifted into nothingness.

The next thing you knew was you were standing in the same spot on the sidewalk with a gasp and were immediately bowled over by a jogger who seemed just as shocked as you were. From there, the disorientation only grew as the ripples of the repercussions of having the returned trying to find normalcy in a world that had moved on grew into tidal waves.

It was bad enough that your apartment and belongings were lost, your boyfriend had married someone else and the company you were working for had since dissolved. The true horror came when you realized that your sister had been flying 30,000 feet above the ground the moment of the blip. You had screamed until your throat was raw and the tears had gone dry as you realized your world had ended.

Thanks to government assistance, you had a roof over your head, but you were adrift in your loss and felt directionless for the first couple of months after your return. It wasn’t until you had saddled up at a bar that was one of your father’s favorite drinking spots did a sliver of hope crept back into your life. 

As you took another long pull from your glass, a gentle weight landed on your shoulder and the barstool next to you was quickly occupied by a sharp-dressed man with a disarmingly soft smile.

“Hey, [Y/N]. Did not expect to see you here,” the stranger said with a chuckle as he raised his hand to flag down the bartender. 

“Oh, didn’t really expect me to be here, either. But, sorry, do I know you…?”, you questioned with a thread of wariness stitched in your words. It also didn’t help matters that single touch on the shoulder was the first human contact you’d had in weeks. Deep down, you felt another layer of despair settle in the back of your mind.

“Ah, sorry about that. You see, I knew your old man and he was never shy about showing off how proud he was of his daughters. But, [Y/N], he really did go on about how special you were.”

You couldn’t keep the watery smile from your lips as you extended out your hand to his for a shake. “Well, glad to make your acquaintance…,” you left the word hanging as his hand grasped your hand firmly in his.

“Michael,” he said with a chuckle as he gave the bartender a quick nod as a glass of whiskey slid his way, “Nice to be finally meeting you.” He dropped your hand and snatched up the glass to raise it up into the air in front of him. “Here’s to your father,” he spoke as he took a gulp of the amber liquid.

“Yeah, to my dad...and all those we’ve lost,” you toast and raised your own glass to your lips.

“So, since you’re here drinking at 2 o’clock on a Tuesday, I am guessing that things aren’t going that well for you,” Michael pointed out with a sympathetic smile. Looking around the bar, it was clear that the majority of the current patrons were either in the middle of drinking their sorrows away or well-past an attempt at redeeming themselves. You had to wonder where you landed on that depressing spectrum.

“That obvious, huh?”, you sighed as you took another sip of your drink. “Everything that I worked for is gone and I don’t know how to even remotely get back on track. Just trying to get out of bed with a plan makes my head spin most days.”

“Well maybe I can help you start on a new path, [Y/N]. You see, your father sure could put away his drink and he had a hard time keeping his mouth shut when he got too two sheets to the wind. Now, he sometimes did a few odd jobs here and there for me and my associates over the years and it was bound to happen that he would start talking about you…” his eyes slid over to lock onto yours as he gulped down the content of his glass and, without breaking eye contact, threw the bartender another sign for a refill.

You had been in the middle of taking a sip of your beer when he dropped his insinuating remark and you suddenly found yourself wide-eyed and choking on your beverage. You heard him give a chuckle as you desperately tried to recover from the surprise and you shot a glare in his direction.

“Oh, don’t give me that. I’m offering you a job opportunity that will land you enough money to build whatever future you want. I just wanted to let you know that your special skills make you a very appealing candidate.”, he said as he leaned over and gave you a few encouraging pats on the back.

Of course, the one person in her life that had ever discovered her abilities and swore to secrecy would have spilled the beans. She had fought so hard to hide that she was different and it wasn’t until her father had burst back in exclaiming he’d left the keys on the kitchen counter and found her lifting the couch easily with one had to pick up the remote at 16 did the secret get out. Once he had stopped gaping like a fish at her, the onslaught of questions and a never-ending stream of curiosity continuously poured down for years.

“How much did he say?,” you murmured bitterly.

“Enough to know that you can get the job done. Now, you weren’t the only one to take a few losses after coming back. Turns out a few of our properties fell out of our control while most of the family was gone. Word is that one of our old buildings downtown was hiding a bit of a secret in the basement that had managed to stay undiscovered until someone else started renovating our property.” Michael’s voice took on a bit of a hard edge as he wrapped up the last sentence.

“Seems like they are having a hard time getting inside, but we want to know what’s inside and for you to get anything valuable out for us. And that, my dear, is where you would come in.”

“Wait, why exactly do you need me? What is it that is stopping you from just walking in and taking it?”, you ask with words laced with suspicion.

“Your father always said you were clever.”, he smirked as he gave you a small toast in acknowledgement. “For whatever reason, we think the government might be interested in what is rightfully ours. Just in case they send in a more specialized cavalry, we figure it would be safest to send in one of our own.”

“Less collateral damage, yeah?”, you scoff as you finished off your pint.

“Exactly, [Y/N]. I knew you’d be smart enough to catch on. So, want to know how much you stand to make?”, he said with a knowing grin.

You took in a deep breath, set your empty glass on the bar and swiped a hand across your face in resignation. “Sure. What do I have to lose?”

“Nothing at all, kid. Nothing at all.”

----------

You let yourself free fall for a split second before you let your body’s density shift. You suddenly dropped down to the ground and, right before you would leave a crater in the pavement below, you made yourself as light as a feather. You almost landed daintily on one toe before you bolted towards an alley to your right. You were well aware that Captain America would almost immediately be airborne, but you were so close to a very noisy, pedestrian choked city thoroughfare two blocks over. 

Making sure you were light enough on your feet to gain a substantial amount of speed, you didn’t bother looking up or back as you booked it into the busy city street. Once in the throngs of people, you jerked off the wig you were wearing and shook out your hair with a grateful sigh. You unzipped your jacket to wrap it around your waist and then shifted the backpack to sit on the front of your chest. You hoped that it would be enough as you did your damnedest to nonchalantly make your way to the drop-off spot.

You kept waiting for the hammer (well, more like shield) to drop as you walked, but as time wore on nothing happened. By the time that you stepped in though the heavy double doors of a rather upscale restaurant and were led off to a separate dining room, you were almost in shock at how you had managed to get away with it. 

“Ah, [Y/N], our hero returns!” Michael proclaimed proudly as he stood up when you entered the room. He offered to take the backpack from you and wrapped his arm around you as he corralled you over to a table near the back window. Two more men were seated at the table and their auras were far-less boisterous than the man who gave your shoulders a warm squeeze before setting you down at the head of the table.

As he opened up your backpack and spread out the haul across the table, Michael gave a sharp whistle and the dour mood shared between the other men quickly dissipated. “Now these look rather impressive. Who would have known we were sitting on top of a secret stash of Hydra weapons all these years? I know this can’t be all of it. How much did you leave behind?”

You shrugged and you gave a gentle shake of your head at the question. “There wasn’t too much left, but there were at least two boxes I didn’t get a chance to go through before I heard someone coming. I was able to start running before they had a chance to realize I had broken the door down in the first place…” 

“Well, job well done. My associates and I are pleased with your work.” He flashed you a smile before reaching down into a briefcase to grab a couple of stacks of hundred dollar bills that he stuffed into your backpack. He walked over and dropped the backpack into your lap before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Let’s have a drink to [Y/N]’s success tonight and to our continued relationship.”

He gave your shoulders a tighter squeeze that was borderline painful as he spoke. You knew that you might be way in over your head, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. This was something different and it felt better than drowning in failure.

----------

The next day you found yourself actually happy to get out of bed. You damn near whistled as you brewed up a cup of coffee for yourself and you bothered to even clean yourself up for a change. When your eyes fell upon the backpack that sat upon your plywood table and you couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across your lips. Things were finally looking up.

Taking stock at your lack of food in your apartment, you decided to grab a few of the bills out of the backpack and to head down to the local corner store that always had some amazing fresh produce out on display. With your stomach growling at the thought of food, you tucked the money into your back jean pocket and sauntered out the door.

You gave a quick wave to the owner as you grabbed a basket and started to peruse over in the direction of the fresh fruit. Spotting some jazz apples that were catching the morning light and your attention, you slid over to reach out and grab a few when your hand ended up grabbing at leather instead of an apple.

You blinked owlishly before jerking your head up to see who had blocked you from your potential breakfast. Any words you had died in your throat as your heart felt like it was seizing in your chest. A pair of steely blue eyes met yours and the expression in those orbs went from surprise then quickly morphed into something far more accusatory.

With your brain suddenly working overdrive and any rational thought flying out the window, you let out the breath you had been holding shakingly and brilliantly said the first thing that came to you.

“So, uh, come here often?”

Those eyes narrowed just a fraction more and you knew you were doomed.

----------

So, should I continue this or nah? This is my first...so please be gentle.

[after-avenging-hours]

Out of Time [1]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist

Summary:  After Steve gets injected with a mysterious substance during a mission gone wrong, you come to find out that the only thing that can save his life is a pure sample of Dr. Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum. Unwilling to let the love of your life die without a fighting chance, you travel through the quantum realm back to 1943. Equipped with little more than your knowledge of past events, you have to figure out just how exactly you’re going to get your hands on that serum. Not only that, but with the infinity stones no longer protecting the reality you’ve come from, there is now a chance that your presence in the past can change the future you’ll return to. Can you succeed without messing things up? And if things go wrong, can you fix it before it’s too late? Or will you run out of time…

Word Count: 5565

Warnings: Canon typical violence, time travel, injury of major characters

You don’t know how it went so wrong. You’d been on a mission with the team. A few former SHIELD scientists that were suspected to have been working under the influence of Hydra had been spotted in the same vicinity, raising several red flags. After a few days of recon, you’d managed to track down the location of their lab. When the team had busted the door in, ready to take them down, they’d already been expecting you.

The place was full of hired mercenaries and ex-members of the SHIELD Strike team. They’d put up quite a fight. Sam, Clint, and Wanda held down the ground floor while you and Steve had made your way to the upper level. Two agents held you off in close combat while six others took on Steve at the same time. Even six to one, they were having a hard time restraining the Super Soldier, but they managed to keep him pinned just long enough to allow one of the scientists to inject him in the neck with some type of black substance.

“No!” you scream, turning absolutely feral. Throwing caution to the wind, you mercilessly take on the two agents fighting you and they soon end up on the floor.

As Steve falls to his knees, the six other agents grab the scientists and leave out the back door. You rush forward and drop down, skidding across the floor to catch Steve by the shoulders before he can faceplant into the floor.

“Steve!” you call desperately. “Steve, look at me!” Your hands grip his face, trying to guide his eyes to yours, but they’ve turned hazy and unfocused. Perspiration has begun to collect on his brow and the veins at the injection site on his neck have started to turn black.

You lift a hand to activate the commlink in your ear. “Requesting immediate evac. The Captain is down. I repeat, Captain America is down.”

The rest of the team rendezvous to your location and it takes all of you to get Steve out of there and onto the Quinjet. You grab a tablet and bring up the life sign readings programmed into his suit. You watch with dread as his heartbeat wildly fluctuates between too high and too low, while his body temperature continually climbs.

As soon as the jet has landed back at the Avengers base, he’s carted off to the infirmary, where Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho are already waiting for him. You pace up and down the hallway, unable to rest or step away for even a moment to change out of your uniform. Your stomach is tied up in knots and you can’t get the image out of your head on how his face just went completely blank as soon as they had injected him.

You halt your movements and look up when the door opens and Bruce steps out. Seeing Bruce’s face on the Hulk’s massive body was still a little unsettling, but you have started to grow used to it.

“How is he? Is he okay?” you rush out.

Bruce’s poker face is terrible as he pulls off his glasses and fails to meet your gaze. “He’s stable for now… but no, he’s not okay.”

You cup a hand to your mouth and release a pained whimper. “What-” your voice breaks and you have to clear your throat before you can try again. “Do you know what they injected him with?”

“From what we can tell, it seems to be some sort of anti-serum venom. It was made to specifically target the Super Soldier serum enhancement in Steve’s cells.”

You feel the dread sink like a weight in your stomach. “What can we do to stop it?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Wanda grabbed the syringe from the Hydra lab, so we have a small sample of the anti-serum for analysis. But without a pure sample of Steve’s Super Soldier serum, it could take months to synthesize a cure. And he doesn’t have that long.”

The lump in your throat grows and it becomes difficult to swallow. “How long does he have?” you almost don’t want to ask.

You see the answer in his eyes. “This anti-serum… it’s aggressive-”

“Bruce,” you cut him off, urgency in your gaze. “How long?”

“A few days… maybe a week.”

Your whole body blanches and you stumble a few steps until your back hits the wall. The thought alone was inconceivable. Steve… Your Steve… Gone in less than a week? Haven’t you both been through enough? You shake your head fervently, straightening your spine and pushing off the wall. “No,” you deny, allowing your anger and frustration to bolster your strength.

“Hey…” Bruce attempts to reach out to you.

“No!” you coil back. “No, I won’t let that happen.”

“We will do everything we can, but without the original serum-”

“Then I’ll get it for you,” you state with finality to your tone, a plan already forming in your mind.

Bruce looks at you, perplexed. “How?”

Instead of responding, you turn on your heel and march down the hallway. Pulling out your phone, you bring up your contacts and dial the number you need. You’re talking as soon as the line picks up. “Hey Scott, remember that favor you owe me?”

--

It takes a full day of preparation before things are ready. You grow even more anxious with every minute that passes. Every single tick of the clock is one less second Steve has to live.

Seeing him in the infirmary had nearly broken you. Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho were keeping him sedated to help slow the spread of the anti-serum, but the damage was already beginning to take its toll. It was working its way through his body like a poison, starting in the bloodstream, but if left untreated, his organs would begin to fail systematically. Normally, Steve’s Super Soldier serum would help defend his body from something like this, allowing him to metabolize it out before it could do any harm. But, somehow those Hydra scientists found a way to target the original serum first, to weaken his body’s defenses and let the venom take over. It must have taken them years of research to develop something like this and you only had days to reverse it.

You had never seen the Super Soldier look so weak and sickly. He had lost all color, his skin pale and beginning to verge into an ashen grey. He looked thinner like he had been bedridden for weeks, not just a day. His cheeks were gaunt and dark bags had appeared beneath his eyes. When you reached out to touch his hand, it was deathly cold and your heart had skipped a beat. You didn’t understand how this could be happening so fast to the strongest man you had ever known.

You’d pushed the hair off his forehead; no longer a shiny blonde, but more of a dull straw color; and pressed your lips to his skin. “You’ve come to my rescue so many times, Steve. It’s time for me to return the favor. Please, hold on, just a little longer, until I get back.” You then place a gentle kiss to his lips, a single tear dropping from your eye and landing on his cheek. You wipe at the wet trail with your thumb before you step back and release a shaking breath. “I will make it back,” you promise both to him and to yourself.

--

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” Bucky asks, helping you in to your quantum suit.

It’s good that most of his memories were back. He was your best source of information for getting the correct dates, times, and places so you could successfully accomplish your task. Not only that, but you had needed a quick and dirty rundown on etiquette, behavior, and style for the time period. It felt like you had enough bobby pins and hair spray to keep your hair as still as a plastic doll. Not to mention the signature red painting your lips.

“You can’t,” Bruce speaks up from where he stands behind the console for the platform. “The infinity stones were the only thing holding our reality together when we time traveled the last time. Those stones no longer exist in this reality. Since she isn’t coming back with them either, there may be repercussions from this. She should go alone because she doesn’t already exist in that timeline.”

“I’ll be okay, Bucky,” you give him a tentative smile, unsure if you’re telling the truth.

Based on the look in his eyes, you know he’s reading you easily. He gives your arm a squeeze in reassurance. “Stay out of trouble. The punk will kill me if anything happens to you.”

You nod and begin to step away, heading for the platform. You shift on your feet, mentally psyching yourself up for the journey. You release a long breath before signaling to Bruce that you’re ready. You meet Bucky’s gaze one last time. “Be right back,” you tell him before your helmet pops into place and you’re flying through the quantum realm.

--

You land in 1943 without much fuss, quickly dissolving out of your quantum suit before anyone catches you in the empty alleyway. You fix any flyaway hairs and straighten your outfit and then walk out onto the main street. It’s a bit of a trip, seeing all the old-fashioned cars driving past and the dated outfits and hairstyles that everyone wears. The movies and pictures that you’ve grown up seeing don’t quite do it justice. However, it does remind you of the sketches Steve sometimes shared with you whenever he was feeling nostalgic.

You give yourself a second to marvel at everything, but the thought of Steve helps to sharpen your focus and bring yourself back on track. You step onto the sidewalk, behind a group of young school children with their mothers in tow. Walking passed a newspaper stand; you take a quick glance at the paper to make sure you’ve landed at the correct time. Monday, June 7th, 1943.

Breathing a breath of relief, you move to the edge of the sidewalk and hail a taxi. Soft, jazzy notes fill the air of the car from the radio, helping to ease the tension in your shoulders. The song is also familiar to you, because of Steve. You give the driver the address to your destination and soon find yourself pulling up in front of Brooklyn Antiques. You pay for the taxi with a set of vintage coins you’d been able to acquire before leaving your time. You shuffle out of the taxi and head into the shop.

The bell above the door dings and you enter the space. An older woman in a soft pink sweater steps out from the backroom to greet you. “Did you hear the ball game last night?”

Your mind races as you try to recall the answer to the code that Bucky had told you about. They would change them daily and randomly rotate through a long list of them. “Yes, but I only wish I had some Cracker Jacks,” you respond.

She nods once before moving behind the cashier desk and presses the secret button beneath. You try to steady your pounding heart as you walk to the back room and stand in front of the bookshelves. After a moment, the shelves begin to move to reveal a set of hidden doors. You roll your shoulders back and walk with confidence into the hidden laboratory.

The energy in this place buzzes like a beehive. The tan military uniform you wear allows you to blend with everyone else. People give you a casual side glance before turning back to what they had previously been doing. As you walk down the hallway toward the main room, the sound of raised voices grabs your attention.

“You’ve had more than enough test runs! Stark’s machine works. Your formula is ready for development. All that’s left is the man.”

Looking to your left, you see that it’s Colonel Phillips and Dr. Erskine that are arguing inside the observation room. Dr. Erskine shakes his head, with an exasperated look on his face. “But it can’t be just any man, it has to be the right man!”

“We’ve been at this for months! Week after week, we run training exercises on a new group at Camp Lehigh, and you’ve denied every single one! Do you realize how much money this has cost us? We have to pay the scouts that send men our way. Gotta pay the buses that bring ‘em to the camp. Lodging, food, uniforms, supplies. Enough is enough. You have one week to find your man for the next round of recruitments. If you can’t find him. Then you’ll have to pick from the rest of the selection. We cannot afford to wait any longer.”

With the final word, Colonel Phillips turns and walks out of the observation room. You make sure to step back and out of his way, ducking your head slightly, so as not to draw attention to yourself. You look back up when you hear Dr. Erskine give a long drawn out sigh. He has removed his glasses and rubs at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

You find yourself moving forward and into the room. “Is everything all right, Doctor?” you question with a gentle voice.

He moves his glasses back into place and meets your gaze. “Not quite.” He admits, his accent a little thicker with stress in his voice. “Unless you have an idea on where we might be able to find someone actually worthy of this project.”

Your lips part as you try to come up with a response to that. “Well… Um. I’m sure the World Expo will bring all sorts of new faces in.” You cringe inwardly a little, thinking that may have been too obvious. Bruce’s words of warning echo in your ears. Get in, get out, don’t change the timeline.

Erskine’s eyes light up at that prospect. “The World Exposition? Of course. That is a wonderful idea. Stark mentioned that there was a recruitment center there. Come, let’s go take a look.”

He begins to head for the doorway and gestures for you to step through first. You hesitate. “You want me to come with you?”

He smiles kindly. “Well, it was your idea, was it not?”

So much for 'get in and get out'. Although, this could be a good thing. After all, Erskine was your ticket to the serum. Another second passes, and then you begin to move out of the observation room. You look down at the machine in the main room, knowing that one day soon, it will be used to create a Super Soldier. Erskine follows you out before taking the lead and moving toward the exit. He pulls off his lab coat and stops at a coat rack off to the side. He swaps the lab coat for a beige trench coat and his fedora.

The MP sitting at the desk right next to the secret entrance hits the button to allow you both to exit. Erskine leads you out of the antique shop and over to one of the vehicles parked nearby. The driver is already sitting in the front seat. Erskine opens the back door and gestures once more for you to enter first. You give him your thanks as you sink into the leather seat, then push over to the other side to make room for him to follow you.

Dr. Erskine gives his instructions to the driver to take you to the Expo.

You relax your posture into the cushioned seat and watch 1943 New York pass by the window.

“So, you are new,” Dr. Erskine states casually, also looking out through the window on his side of the car.

Your shoulders stiffen and your heart stops. “I…” you begin to protest before changing tactics. You laugh nervously and glance over at him. “Is it that obvious?”

He continues to look out his window as he responds. “In all the months we have been working on this project, no one has ever asked me how I am doing.” He turns away from the window then and meets your gaze.

Your own gaze softens with sincerity. “That sounds lonely.”

He tilts his head and lifts his shoulders in a slight shrug. “This is the bed that I have made. Great things can happen if my serum is used properly, but many terrible things have already come to pass.”

You know that he is talking about Red Skull. “We will find the man you need, Doctor,” you assure him.

He looks at you curiously. “How is it you sound so sure of that?”

You swallow and try not to look like a deer caught in a headlight. “I have faith,” you manage to get out.

He cracks a small smile. “Faith,” he repeats, before he releases a low chuckle. “I’m afraid as a scientist, I may need a little more than that.”

You find yourself smiling back. “Then perhaps I can try to muster enough faith for the both of us.”

“That would be appreciated,” he responds right as the car pulls to a stop. He steps out of the vehicle first before turning and reaching to take your hand to help you to your feet.

“Oh wow…” you marvel as you take in the sights of the Expo before you.

The giant metal sculpture of the globe looms over everything, casting its shadow over the crowds as people hurry passed in excited groups, eager to see the exhibits. A monorail train curls around the globe and zooms past in a rush of metallic sound.

“You have not yet seen the Exposition?” Dr. Erskine asks curiously.

You find it difficult to pull your eyes away from the sights. “I haven’t had the time,” you speak honestly.

“I heard that several of the soldiers were planning to take the other women to Stark’s show this weekend. I’m sure you could join them.” He speaks casually as he begins to head for the recruitment station.

“Those men don’t interest me.” You follow behind, looking around as you do.

Dr. Erskine grins to himself. “Fair enough.”

The two of you continue on your way. Before you can make it inside the building, though, a voice calls out “Dr. Erskine!”

A man in an expensive-looking suit walks up to you both. He has dark hair, a thin mustache, and a dashing smile. A smile with confidence that you recognize.

“Mr. Stark,” the Doctor greets, shaking his hand.

“What brings you all the way out here? I thought you never left your lab, save for heading out to Camp Lehigh. And who is this?” Howard’s eyes trace down the length of your body, an appreciation settling into his features.

You raise a brow, barely able to contain your amusement between this Stark and the one you’ve known. “She’s not interested,” you reply bluntly.

Erskine laughs while Stark’s lips part in momentary shock. With a shake of his head, he shrugs off the rejection and his lips return to a charming grin. “Where are you and Phillips finding these girls? First Agent Carter, now this one?”

“You were commissioned for the head on your shoulders, Mr. Stark. The females working on this project should be of no concern to you.” The somewhat harsh blow of Erskine’s words is softened by the smile of amusement on his face.

Howard doesn’t take it to heart, laughing as well. “I understand. Well, can I at least show you both around?”

“We are actually here to observe the recruitment station. The Colonel has given us a week to find our man. We were hoping the selection here might provide something new.”

“Ah,” Howard remarks. “Well then, I won’t keep you. Feel free to stop by the Modern Marvel’s Pavilion. Perhaps we can all grab lunch.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Erskine neither confirms nor denies the invitation and ushers you into the recruitment center.

“He’s certainly a handful,” you comment, no longer able to hold your amusement.

Erskine releases a long sigh. “Sometimes it is a wonder that he can get anything accomplished. His mind is brilliant, but he can be easily distracted. Though, I am starting to wonder… if not even the great Howard Stark can hold your interest, I am fascinated to find out the man that will.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Maybe you will meet him one day.”

Dr. Erskine speaks with the head physician of the recruitment office, establishing a protocol for directing prospective enlisters his way for additional questioning. He then gives you instructions on the qualities he is looking for, so you can also help to keep an eye out with him.

You spend the day interviewing enlisters. You pretend to be invested, but know that none of them are going to be the correct one. Steve isn’t supposed to show up to this recruitment center until this weekend after Stark’s big show. You had planned to drop into the timeline several days before his recruitment, in case you needed the extra time to get your hands on a sample of serum. Your first day wasn’t quite going as expected, but it could be worse.

Erskine comes to collect you at the end of the day to see how your interviews have been going. When he offers for you to join him for dinner, you readily agree, only then realizing how hungry you are. The two of you walk away from the crowds of the Expo and back into the city.

You find a small family-owned diner to grab a quick bite to eat. Getting seated at a booth near the windows, you watch the people pass by while you wait for your food to come.

“My apologies for taking so long to ask, but I have come to realize that I do not know your name,” Dr. Erskine pulls your attention back to him.

“Oh,” you start. Realizing that you also had never introduced yourself. “Well, my friends call me Vic.”

“Friends?” he repeats with a raised brow.

You realize your mistake a little too late. As the head scientist of the SSR, he was technically considered your superior. It’s been so long since you’ve worked with a superior that wasn’t your friend. Also, with one that you weren’t sleeping with…

You clear your throat and try again. “What I mean is that I haven’t really gone by my given name in a long time. It almost feels foreign whenever I do hear it.”

Erskine looks at you curiously. “And this Vic name was given to you by your friends?”

“Yes,” you confirm, before growing a little shy. “It’s actually short for Lady Victory,” you explain, your face heating in embarrassment. You’ve never actually had to be the one explaining it to anyone.

“Lady Victory?” he repeats, both brows now raised in intrigue. “And how did you manage to earn that name?”

“Well,” you laugh lightly. “It started after a few successful rounds of poker.” That makes Erskine laugh as well. “But, once I started working in the field, the name stuck. I became a lucky charm of sorts. Everyone would say that there was no way we could fail as long as Lady Victory was on our side. And that held true, at least until…” Your voice falls away and your eyes grow hollow. At least until the last mission.

“You have been to the war front?”

You pull yourself out of your dark thoughts and focus back on the doctor. “No. Not this war, at least. But I have seen war. Up close. It’s never easy.”

Erskine nods in agreement. He sits quietly for a moment, considering your words. “Have you considered submitting yourself as a candidate for Project Rebirth?”

You had reached for your glass of water and taken a sip when he asked his question. You choke upon swallowing the drink. So much for not screwing up the timeline. You’re pretty sure this conversation was never supposed to happen. You set your glass back down and attempt to cough the water out from where it’s trying to reach your lungs.

“I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you. But I must admit, you do have several of the qualities I am looking for in a candidate.”

After you’ve managed to catch your breath, you try to figure out the best way out of this. “The offer is generous, but that’s not my destiny.”

“What happened to faith?” Dr. Erskine smiles cryptically.

“I have faith that we will find the right person. But I know that isn’t me.” You release a breath of relief when the waitress arrives with the food. “Besides, can you imagine the Colonel’s reaction if you were to tell him you had picked a woman for the project?”

Erskine shrugs his shoulder. “He has been making his threats for months, but he knows that I will not make the serum until we have a candidate that I approve of.”

You can actually hear the record scratch sound effect going off in your mind. “Wait, I thought the Colonel said your formula was ready.”

“The formula, yes. I have all the ingredients ready. But the serum itself must be used within hours of preparation or the components will begin to degrade. It is a side effect from some of the ingredients used, but also works as a failsafe, should anyone think that they could steal it.”

You try to keep your face neutral, but internally your heart is sinking. This means that you coming early was a wasted effort and your only shot at getting a sample of the serum would be the day they turn Steve into a Super Soldier. And not only that but if you did manage to get your hands on a sample, it could degrade before being of any use to Dr. Banner.

In an effort to keep the despair off your face, you steer the conversation away and start to dig into the food that you no longer feel hungry for. Dr. Erskine turns out to be fairly good company and enjoys regaling you with tales of his home in Germany. It helps to keep him talking, so you can mentally plan just how you’re going to make it through these next few weeks, stuck in 1943.

Erskine offers to cover the cost of dinner, which you agree to, but only if he will let you pay for the next meal. He seems caught off guard by your proposal but then agrees with a quiet chuckle. As you prepare to leave, he places his fedora back onto his head and folds his coat over his arm. He then holds the door open as you exit the diner.

You both walk down the sidewalk in the direction toward the expo, occasionally needing to move behind one another to make room for people heading in the other direction. A flash of movement catches your attention from across the street. You narrow your gaze at the two men walking in the same direction as you and Erskine. They are both wearing fairly nondescript outfits in dark, neutral tones. Also wearing fedoras that they use to shadow their eyes. You notice one has a camera in his hands.

You quicken your steps to match up with the doctor, then wrap your arm through his. He looks down at you slightly startled, but you don’t pay him any mind. “Darling, that dress is lovely. Why don’t we take a look inside?” You point toward the display of a boutique and quickly usher him into the shop.

“Miss Vic, we really should be heading back to the recruitment center,” Dr. Erskine begins to protest.

You hush him and pull him deeper into the shop. “We were being followed. I noticed those two men loitering outside the bar across the street when we were at the diner. They stayed the whole time and didn’t begin to move until we did.”

“Are you certain?” he questions, looking back, but you’ve already pulled him too far into the shop.

“I am. One of them pulled out a camera and was trying to take pictures of you.”

“Hello, how can I help you?” the shop attendant takes that moment to make herself known.

You put a sweet smile into your face. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have a back door? It seems we’ve gotten a little turned around and we’re actually supposed to be on the next street over.”

The woman looks at you curiously, “Oh, we do, but it leads to a back alley, not the main street.”

“That’s all right. I’m sure we’ll find our way. Thank you!” Before she can come up with a response, you’re pulling Erskine after you and out the back. You check to make sure the coast is clear, before dragging him out. You run as fast as you can in your heels down the back alley toward the next street. You stop just short of the alley opening and press your back into the brick wall. Peaking around the corner, you find that the men aren’t anywhere to be seen.

You step out with Erskine and quickly hail a taxi. Not conforming to societal rules, you yank open the back door and shove him into the seat. “Don’t head directly for the expo. Drive aimlessly first, check for any tails. If you don’t see any, stop and switch to a new taxi before heading back.”

“What are you going to do?” he questions, still thrown off by what’s happening.

“I’m going to make sure they won’t follow you.”

You quickly shut the door to the cab and bang on the top to send it off. You then duck back into the alley. You’re almost to the back entrance of the boutique when the two men come stumbling out.

“You boys lost?” you question with an innocent tone to your voice. The two take one look at you before looking around for your charge. “I’m afraid it’s just the three of us.”

“We ain’t got no beef with you, Toots,” one of the men states in a heavy Brooklyn accent.

Your innocent façade drops instantly. Darting forward, you grab the man by the lapel of his coat. You use his surprise against him to swing his whole body around and slam his back into the brick wall. Your movement knocks the wind out of him and you quickly pin your forearm to the base of his neck to keep him from being able to regain his breath. “Who you callin’ Toots?” you question with a deadly tone in your voice.

“Geez, lady!” The man chokes out, raising his hands in surrender.

“Back up, if you don’t want to get hurt!”

You look over your shoulder to find the other one has a pistol aimed at you. Rolling your eyes, you release the first one and step back, your own hands now up in surrender. In a flash, you whip your arm out, grasping the gun and kick your foot out, straight into his knee. His leg buckles from beneath him and he loosens his hold on the gun as he falls.

You take the weapon into your own hands, holding it over him, while he kneels at your feet. “I think you’ll find that it’s actually you who should be worried about getting hurt, Toots,” you tell him, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

You catch the movement of the man’s eyes and turn back toward his partner, just a moment too late. The sound of a gun firing echoes down the alley moments before pain explodes in your side.

You cry out, barely managing to keep your grip on your own gun as you stumble into the brick wall.

“You shot her?!” the one kneeling bellows.

“She had a gun to your head!” The other argues.

“Red Skull’s gonna kill us if he finds out we were caught!”

“Not if we finish her off,” the one that shot you once begins to turn.

Your hand shakes as you try to raise your gun back up to defend yourself.

“Hey! Get away from her!” A new voice enters the fray.

The two men look to see someone else running into the alley. They are coming from your back and you fear if you attempt to look at who it is, you might pass out from the pain.

“Let’s get out of here,” the one that shot you tucks his gun away and helps pull the other to their feet. They take off before the newcomer can reach them.

“Miss, are you alright?”

This gunshot wound must be affecting you more than you thought because you could swear their voice sounds like-

Gentle hands grasp your shoulders as you stumble. You lift your head to meet a worried gaze. Soft blue eyes, framed by thick lashes, and two furrowed brows. It’s a look you’re all too familiar with and it always makes your heart clench.

Seeing it this time also makes your head swoon and your stomach flip. “Steve?” you barely manage to get out before your legs collapse.

Part 2

[ineloqueent]

a night in

Brian May x Fem!Reader

synopsis: your plans for christmas turn sour when you fall ill. but at least you’ve got Brian there with you.

warnings: swearing

word count: 2.2k

⭒

The end of December was approaching at a pace which could only be described as rapid, and christmas was lurking around the corner in a rather sinister manner, given that you had hardly got anything done in the weeks leading up to it, and were now facing the daunting task of wrapping presents, decorating the tree, and baking enough reserves of biscuits to last the presence of your sweet-toothed family.

It was the day before christmas, which really did not bode well for either you or your boyfriend. You both had yet to pack, having felt almost nothing but reluctance toward the idea of going to visit your family— you because your family, as much as you loved them, often drove you up the wall, and Brian because he had never met your family, and was nervous for the occasion to finally arise.

Typical Brian.

He worried about everything. It was quite sweet, really, the way he worried about your family not liking him, because Brian was just about the best thing ever to have happened to you, and with his humility and his kindness, his cleverness and his wit, you could not imagine anyone seriously disliking him.

Except for when he left. That made you quite upset with him. Especially on the mornings where he had to get up early, and left you alone in bed without a source of warmth.

But for this morning, at least, he still had yet to get up, despite the multitude of things on your combined to-do list.

Instead, the two of you lay intertwined with each other, soft breaths and soft skin and mouths.

Brian was warmth, and you pressed closer to him, tightening your grasp around his impossibly slim frame, breathing in the smell of his hair and his skin, strawberries turned musky with sleep, like Turkish delight offered on a wintry day— some semblance of a fairytale was interwoven with his curls, with the blushing pink of his lips, and the contrast between the two.

He shifted in your arms, a sigh falling from him the way that the first snow of the year always falls— peaceful, gentle, almost tentatively— the way he’d kissed you the first time.

You remembered it as though it were yesterday.

You’d been sitting beside him on the grass of Hyde Park, the lazy summer sun circling overhead, and you’d pushed your sunglasses up atop your head, and glanced over at Brian.

He’d smiled at you, and you’d sighed, lying back on the grass. Brian had followed suit, and the two of you had gazed up at the sky in tandem, watching the clouds turn about the sky like the whitewash of the sea, becoming and undoing themselves all at once, fluctuating between infinite numbers of shapes which appeared to your imagination as animals or plants, people and inanimate objects.

“This is how life should always be,” Brian had said.

You’d hummed in agreement. “No responsibilities, no schedules, just the sky and the world beneath it.”

“And you.”

“Me?” You had turned your head to face him, your fingers knotting in the grass as your pulse elevated by no intentions of its own.

“Mmm.” His curls had fluttered in the breeze as he’d nodded, his hazel eyes turning your legs to caramel beneath you. You were glad you were not standing.

“Brian?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

He’d opened his mouth as though to say something, but then seemed to have lost all ability to do so, and pressed his lips together.

Slowly— so slowly you thought he’d change his mind halfway and leave you lying motionless on the ground, unable to move for how closely Brian Harold May had been to kissing you— he raised himself to his elbows, and moved to hover above you.

His exhale touched your lips before his own did, and you shuddered involuntarily. Then, he leaned down to you, and overlapped your mouth with his, breathing into the kiss in a manner which set goosebumps prickling along every inch of your skin, scattered asunder the butterflies in your stomach till their wings tickled along every part of your body, like a sparkler catching flame.

Your hand slid to cover the nape of his neck, sinking into his ringlet curls as you pulled him to you and became nothingness beneath his touch, dissolving as his fingertips brushed your waist, his tongue your lower lip. And god— he was good at this.

A small sound escaped him, and you parted your lips and let your shoulders sink into the grass. You drew Brian with you, kissing him, kissing him, kissing him, so many times you thought you’d never stop, because you never wanted to be without this feeling again— this feeling of him.

You remembered that kiss this morning, as he wrinkled his nose in his sleep, and you traced your fingers from his temple to his jaw, before brushing over his sternum, and trailing down the centre of his chest—

His eyes flew open and he grasped your wrist, his breath coming sharp and short.

Your heart seized.

As though waking from a dream, he relaxed, a sigh scattering his curls briefly away from his face, before they fell back into his eyes. You smiled fondly at the sight, and Brian bit his lip shyly. He was still shy, shy at the affection offered to him, after all this time. Some part of him still doubted he was deserving; you could see it in the dip of his mouth, the downward flick of his eyes, and pink rising in his face.

“Hello,” he murmured.

“Hello, Brian,” you whispered back, and kissed his collarbone.

You lingered, and felt his breath against your forehead, the beat of his heart upon the place where your cheek had come to rest.

“Not getting out of bed today?”

“Uh-uh.”

He chuckled, the sound humming over your skin. “No visiting family, then?”

“You’re my family.”

“Oh, my love—”

“Shh, go back to sleep.”

Brian frowned. “As much as I hate the thought of getting out of bed right now, we really must, if we’re to catch that train.”

Nestling into him, you whined, “But you’re so warm…”

Brian’s frown deepened, a crease appearing between his eyes. “As are you,” he said.

Then at once, he pushed you away, sat up, and pulled you up with him. You blinked dazedly, as Brian shook his head. “God, you’re warm,” he muttered, and pressed the back of his palm against your forehead. His eyes widened suddenly, as both his hands came up to cradle your face. “Christ, love, I think you’ve got a fever.”

You blinked. “What?”

He shook his head again. “You’re ill.”

“But what about—”

“We are not going anywhere.”

“Christmas—”

Brian scoffed, “Absolutely bloody not.”

You fought for control of your mind, which seemed suddenly cloudy, in the wake of Brian’s realisation. “But I’ve bought presents, and baked biscuits, and I promised my mum—”

“There’s no such thing as late presents,” said Brian, “and the biscuits we’ll eat ourselves, and your mum will understand that you’re sick and not to leave your bed until you’re feeling better.”

You grew suddenly despairing at the thought of spending christmas in bed, with nothing to show for the wasted time, and you said desperately, “But Brian, I can’t not— what about— oh, I’ve ruined everything.”

You felt suddenly rather overwhelmed, fisting your hands in the sheets. He was right, that was for certain; you felt so very cold, though he insisted that you were warm, and yes— that was a sweat breaking out on your neck, tingles starting down your spine. And you were tired. So, so tired.

And then you were blushing, that Brian should have to see you like this— pathetic, weak, and not entirely pretty, at that— deal with you like this.

You ducked your head. “Please don’t feel obligated to stay here with me. I’m sure I can take care of it, be better in a few days’ time…”

“You, my love, are entirely ridiculous, if you think that I am going to leave you here for a single second, in this state.”

Your blush deepened at his words, but if Brian noticed, he said nothing.

“I don’t—”

“Shush,” said Brian, rising from your side, before pulling on the pair of trousers previously discarded by the bed. You pressed your lips together immediately at his insistence, and he swept around the side of the bed, kneeling by your side. “You’re going to stay right here whilst I make you a cup of tea and phone your mum, and then we’re going to do everything in our power to get you on the mend, yeah?”

You nodded silently, biting your lip. A distinct sense of shame still weighed upon you.

At your nod, Brian nodded as well, and stood.

You bowed your head and resigned yourself to a miserable christmas.

But then suddenly, Brian’s lips were at the shell of your ear.

“And just for the record,” he whispered, “you couldn’t ruin anything if you tried.”

His fingers brushed the nape of your neck before he dropped a kiss to your hair, and departed the bedroom for the kitchen.

⭒

The cup of chamomile tea had not gone down easily, but with thirty minutes of sipping the hot, warm, then lukewarm, liquid— and no small amount of coaxing from Brian— it was done.

He took your temperature after that, and grumbled disapprovingly, until he saw your downcast eyes, and stroked a hand over your head.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

Then he reached above the bed and drew the curtains shut, before undressing again and crawling back beneath the duvet and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you against his chest and kissing the curve of your neck.

“What can I do for you, love? Anything you need, just tell me.”

But all you really wanted was sleep. And Brian there with you.

“Just…” you started. “Just hold me.”

“I can do that,” Brian said. “I’m very good at that.”

And you slept through to dinnertime.

When you awoke, Brian was gone, but you could hear him singing in the kitchen, and a lovely smell wafted through the flat to your bedroom.

He returned with a bowl of soup, which he assured you was fresh, because he had just made it. He sat with you whilst you ate slowly, your movements still as lethargic as they had been in the morning. But he stayed by your side, eating his own soup as he kept you company, combing your hair with his fingers, clearing away your bowl when you eventually finished.

He then took your temperature again, tutting like a mother hen. He urged you take a shower to ease your aching muscles, and you complied, whilst he exchanged the sweat-matted sheets of your bed to clean ones. When you slipped back into bed, the cotton was cool against your skin, and your heart swelled with gratitude for Brian and his attentiveness.

You fell asleep quickly, and though you awoke throughout the night, Brian was always awake too, there to sing you back to sleep, or talk or read in comforting tones until you drifted off again.

But when you eyes opened christmas morning, Brian was nowhere to be found.

Until he was— sitting beside you on the bed, smiling softly.

He held out a mug to you, and involuntarily, you cringed.

He laughed. “It’s not chamomile tea, today,” he assured you, and you sighed in relief, because you had never particularly liked chamomile tea in the first place, and after the events of yesterday, there would be no redemption for it, ever.

“Hot chocolate, to celebrate,” he said. “Happy christmas, my love.”

Letting you take the offered cup, Brian clinked his own against yours.

“Happy christmas, Bri,” you responded, sleepily but happily, and he smiled again, and it warmed your heart to no end.

He blew on his hot chocolate before taking a delicate sip, and as you drank as well, you could not help but stare at him, at this beautiful being who, for presumably no reason at all, had chosen to love you.

“What?” he said, when he noticed you looking, and you chewed your lip.

“I really want to kiss you,” you answered.

Brian set down his cup on the bedside table, and leaned close to you.

“No,” you pushed him away gently, “I’ll get you sick.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Oh, fuck it,” he muttered. “I love you.”

“I love you—”

He silenced you with a kiss, drawing you in with a breath, nipping lightly as your lower lip so that you all but melted into his arms.

And you kissed him and you kissed him, and in an infinite cycle, he kissed you, until the world fell away, its colours softening to sunset pastels. And you floated away, awash with the sort of love you had never thought possible, before you had met Brian.

[marvelicious-concessions]

Lucent

Chapter 1 - One fateful day

I was ‘bored’ and started writing a thing... also yes, I like moodboards.

It’s going to start ‘shortly’ before the first Thor movie and progress until after the tv show :)

Pairing Loki x f!reader

Warnings: for this chapter? none? I think?

To say the past few hours had been stressful would be the understatement of the century. Y/N crouched behind a large container, catching her breath, beads of sweat rolling down her temple. Honestly, she had no idea how it all went so horribly wrong. She was on vacation, a long waited, much needed vacation.

One moment she was strolling the streets with her friends, the next she was separated from her group, the city in complete chaos. The swarm of panicking pedestrians had pushed her like a relentless force. What were they even running from? The world had become just a little crazier those last years. You just didn't know anymore if it was a natural disaster, terrorist attack, gamma radiations gone wrong or some billionaire in an armored suit.

She never got an answer, a loud crashing noise ringing through the streets. The people crouched, covering their heads or desperately attempted to get to any semblance of safety. But as Y/N cautiously raised her eyes she saw a massive chunk of the skyscraper before her slowly bending towards them. Pieces of glass were falling, someone screamed to her left, the shrill piercing her eardrum. She was pushed back, the flow of people suddenly changing direction. There was something wet on the back of her shirt, but she didn't dare look, her eyes fixed on the building as she was trying not to be trampled by the masses. The snapping of the metal resistances, the grinding of the materials and shattering of glass could all be heard between the cries.

They were not going to make it. Not her and probably very few lucky bastards of the ones around her, if any. The block of concrete came loose and plummeted, breaking a few more windows on it's way from the floors below before ricocheting. It was a horrible sound, drowned in screams and shouts. But she didn't want to die, not there, not then. Not yet.

She felt it then for the first time, an odd sensation, something that was there, but not entirely. And she grabbed at it without a second thought, holding onto it for dear life. A life line. It filled her entire being, tingling at the tips of her fingers, begging for release. Power. So much power.

It blasted through her hands straight at the rubble mere inches from her and suddenly everything was white.

The entire street had been filled with... feathers. Fluffy and white and falling down like rain, blocking much of everyone's view.

But they were alive. She was alive.

Or at least she felt alive. The aching of her feet where she had been stepped on suggested she was very much still alive.

It took only a few minutes maybe for the white blanket to settle. People, confused but slightly relieved, stated making their way again away from the damaged building, once again pushing her to move with the heard. God, she just wanted the day to end! Maybe just go back home and sleep for the remaining of her free days. But something was off.

Y/N looked around only to notice people were staring at her and keeping distance, a circle slowly forming around her. She stopped and the mass seemed to take another step away from her, pointing at her and whispering between them.

"What's wrong with her?"

"Do you think she did this?"

"I swear, more and more freaks are showing up every damn day!" Ok, that last one was more of an exasperated shout than a whisper.

Was there something wrong with her? She felt fine, just tired. She looked down and she noticed her hands.

They were glowing.

Her hands were freaking GLOWING! A soft golden light that she hadn't noticed before, but it was there and once acknowledged it seemed to be fueled even more. The light sparked and the people let out one collective gasp, backing away once again in unison.

She imagined it would have been funny to watch the hive-like behavior. If she wouldn't have been in the center of it all.

The next few moments had been, confusing to say the least. The mob had separated in two groups, fluctuating between "Let's just get out of here!" and "She has to pay for what she did!", that last statement worrisome.

She had to get rid of the glow! Fast! A few people started approaching her.

"Stay back, please. Just... just-" Her voice cracked.

Just what? Let her be? She didn't do anything? Did she? Why the hell was she glowing then??

A group of men cladded in black pushed through, flashing some kind of badge. What kind of 90s movie did she land in?

"Stand back! Coming through!"

"Go home people! We'll handle things from here."

Handle things? She was not a thing. Not something to be handled, solved. Was she? Her hands, still radiating, would beg to differ.

"Agent Coulson, miss. I will have to ask you to come with us." He was friendly looking, at least compared with the others. But she really didn't want to go anywhere with them.

"I just want to go home." A nap, she just needed a nice long nap, right after a bath to wash away the grime and hopefully the glow.

"That, may not be an option. Not yet at least. We only want to talk with you somewhere more private." The guy to his right moved suddenly and she realized he squared his shoulder, tightening the grip on his holstered gun.

"I didn't do anything wrong." Coulson noticed the panic in her voice and took a step forward to get her attention back on him.

"It's for your best interest, miss. We need to get you out of here." In hindsight, maybe she should have accepted the offer, she almost had. But a nagging little voice to the back of het mind was just screaming at her not to. She was just one girl, confused and alone, and they were a dozen shady men with weapons at the ready. She had to get back to her friends, make sure they were alright. Had to call her parents, before anyone saw the incident on the news and get worried.

"Thanks, but I think I'll be fine. I just-"

Two of the agents pounced on her. They grabbed towards her upper arms, apparently trying to avoid her hands. Who could blame them? But she took the opportunity and bolted, ducking and dodging the men. If her heart was not threatening to beat right out of her chest she'd be impressed with her performance.

The people who stayed to watch had parted before her with startled screams as she pointed one had at them.

For a moment, she pictured the scene: the poor scared pedestrians avoiding her like the plague, the government agents on her trail, guns out and a few warning shots fired. And her, running from them all like some kind of cartoon villain.

Surely she was just dreaming, right? It was all so absurd it couldn't be real. Just like that scientist couldn't turn into a green beast and like a dude flying around in armor just could not happen, ever. She decided she wasn't ready to take that chance. So she ran.

And that's how she ended up on the docks, hiding behind a container that smelled so bad she almost puked while trying to steady her erratic breathing. How could anyone think she was a threat? It only took a potent smell to bring her down.

Her back to the container, she slid down the cool metal, legs shaking and hands still shining. She heard the agent call her out again, the one who spoke to her, and she thought she should just go with them. She probably had already broken some law by running and the last thing she wanted was to become a fugitive! But...

She just couldn't bring herself to do it, couldn't stand up, either from exhaustion or fright, couldn't show herself and plead for safety. The tears spilled as she cradled her hands to her chest, forehead resting on her knees. A small sob escaped her as she curled into herself, a futile attempt to make herself smaller. She just wanted to disappear.

What was happening? What was wrong with her? She needed answers, she demanded them! She had been stomped on, pushed and pulled in all directions like a ragdoll and almost crushed to death by a falling building. On top of that her hands were now aglow and men were chasing her. She was tired and sweaty, her clothes felt disgusting on her skin. She deserved a break!

Footsteps, barely audible but definitely there, made her tighten her eyes, more tears rolling down. They were going to lock her up somewhere, maybe experiment on her like some kind of freak. Someone called her so earlier, had they not? More rustling close to her hiding spot. Another sob and she tried to bring her legs closer, be smaller, disappear.

The energy she felt before was still there, somewhere, pulsating around her, touching her skin, but still out of reach. She wanted to be anywhere else! She wanted to go home! She wanted to be safe!

It was an even weirder sensation than before. Something akin to to being on a plane when it takes flight, a motion made without really moving. Or maybe like she had been suddenly thrown out of said plane. The air wrapped around her so fast it was hard to breath for a moment. She opened her eyes and instinctively reached with her hands forward. She landed on her stomach, forearms talking the blunt of the fall. Where the fuck did she land from? Had the agents thrown her around??

Someone was talking above her, but her ears were ringing and she couldn't make out the words. She groaned and tried to stand up, the soft dirt floor smudging her sweaty skin and clothes. Dirt floor? On the docks?

"Are you alright, my lady?" The voice was booming, the accent strange. Y/N's eyes shot up and she stumbled backwards. The man before her looked like he walked right of a sports magazine. But she didn't notice much else about him, the looming golden castle in the background just too eye catching. Where? What?

"Easy there. You seem to have been through a lot." A woman joined, her outfit strange. "Can we help you with anything?"

"Um, where exactly am I?" She tried to get up, but her legs faltered. Before she could fall someone steadied her, hands firm but careful. "Thanks." She met his eyes, such a vivid green. The man gave a small nod in response, nose crinkling as he stepped away from her. Well, she sure didn't need the extra confirmation that she smelled bad, but there it was. She dusted herself, as if that would have helped, but noticed her hands were not glowing anymore. Good, at least that was out of the way.

"You are on the training grounds, my lady." Another man explained and she turned her head to notice three more men.

"Interrupting my victory, may I add." Green eyes chimed in from the side.

"Ha! In your dreams, brother." His laugh was boisterous and almost contagious. Almost. Her eyes scanned the group. They were dressed weird, medieval in a way but way too clean and fancy. Were they reenacting something?

"I believe you were five points behind, Loki." The shorter blonde man patted green eyes - Loki - on the shoulder.

"All part of the plan." He retorted and they laughed, some kind of inside joke maybe? They all seemed nice. At least they didn't want to harm her. Their friendly banter reminded her of her own friends and suddenly she felt very out of place. Lost and alone, she wished she had someone on her side.

"I, umm. I'm very sorry I interrupted your game, but could you please tell me where exactly I am right now?" They deadpanned, a variety of raised eyebrows and wide eyes. Loki had the audacity to scoff, his lips stretching into a smirk.

"On Asgard of course."

"Right, Asgard. Of course..." It was the last thing she could muster the strength to say before the dizziness finally took over and she passed out. The woman caught her this time and she could hear the concern in her voice.

"Thor, I don't think she's-"

[arashikitten]

What the Shadows Bring to Light

   Wukong liked to think he had a sixth sense when it came to certain things. In a way, he sort of did, what with the golden eyes and demon sensing capabilities. But he also liked to think that he had a sort of foresight, an ability to know if something was wrong regardless of whether or not he was there if or when something bad happened.

   It was something that had grown even stronger as he started to train Qi Xiaotian, which he attributed to the kid’s almost uncanny ability to stumble upon powerful demons, most of whom hadn’t been seen in well over 300 years. Seriously, the kid’s ability to get into trouble would have almost been something to be respected, if not for the fact that he made it very difficult for Wukong not to leap into battle to help whenever Xiaotian got even a little hurt. Xiaotian needed to learn how to do all of this himself: eventually, he’d need to grow out of the Monkey King’s shadow.

   Which was why he’d been attempting to ignore the overwhelming feeling of wrongness that had been slowly creeping up in the past three months. It had started when his friend, the daughter of one of the dragon families, had called Xiaotian in a panic during his training. Something about a giant monster destroying the city, they needed the kid’s help to stop it, the usual. No reason to be worried.

   But then Wukong got a glimpse of the creature from the kids phone, and suddenly there was a swirl of familiarity mixed with deep seated unease. He knew, knew, that he had seen that creature somewhere before, but every time he tried to remember just who or what it was,he came up blank.

So, he’d let the kid go and fight. An uncharacteristic sense of worry settled in his gut, as if trying to warn him that something, something was wrong. Wukong, for the first time in almost twenty years, was unable to go to sleep that night. Worry and anxiety were a crushing weight on him, his mind wandering down dark paths as he attempted to lull himself to sleep.

This led to him being rather… irritable the next day, snapping at Xiaotian in his sleep deprived state. The look the kid had given him, frustrated and confused and hurt, caused a tidal wave of guilt to crash over him, and he had cringed slightly before offering the kid a bag of peach chips as an attempt at an apology. He’d taken them, and hurt and frustration were replaced with concern that just made Wukong feel even shittier.

At least the kid had been ok.

This tension, this oppressive anxiety, continued for three months, fluctuating in severity. Sometimes, it was barely noticeable, nothing more than a small buzz in the back of his head. Other times, it was thick and heavy, covering him like a weighted blanket, stifling the air from his lungs and making his ears ring. There was an ever present danger, lurking beneath the calm veneer of his training with Xiaotian, and it scared the hell out of Wukong. Something, someone, was after his successor, and Wukong had a feeling that whatever it was, it would be much more powerful than the Demon Bull Fam.

And then, last night, something changed. He’d been jolted out of a restless sort of sleep in a panic, terror and worry and dread suffocating him in the beginning of a panic attack as visions of Xiaotian laying bloodied and burned on the ground flooded his brain, shoving out any thoughts of calm or peace that tried to tell him that his kid was safe, that wasn’t- isn’t real, his kid was alive-

Macaque. Wukong’s blood froze. No. No no no nononono. Macaque was dead. He’d been dead for years, gone like dust in the wind. He’d been there, he’d been the one to do it. He’d seen the light vanish from Macaque’s eyes, heard his final breath.

Macaque was dead.

But even through those self-assurances, even as he replayed the memory on loop in his head, he knew. He knew Macaque was alive and well, that he was still out there, that his kid was in danger-

And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the creeping dread lifted. Fear, terror, concern, they all flooded him like a village before a demon, leaving him tired and drained and confused as hell. The dread-feeling, the ever-present anxiety that Wukong had begun to just accept as a part of his life now, just disappeared, poof! Even the low humming, the slight buzzing in the back of his head, was gone, and for the first time in three months, Wukong’s head was quiet.

Wukong sat back on his little cloud, head in his hands as he sighed. He was being ridiculous. Macaque was absolutely, 100% dead. He’d been there, he’d seen it with his own two eyes: Macaque was dead. Gone. Absent from the world of the living. He couldn’t hurt Xiaotian.

His kid was safe.

——————— ——————— ——————— ———————

   The next morning, the kid had shown up to Flower Fruit mountain at exactly 12:30. He seemed happy, bouncing around the cave with his usual boundless energy. There were no injuries that he could see, aside from a small bruise on the kid’s forehead that he got from running into a tree on his way here. The kid was happy and appeared to be fairly relaxed, no hidden worry or fear in his eyes to suggest that anything bad had happened.

   In fact…

   Wukong surreptitiously activated his demon sight. Xiaotian’s aura, which always glowed the same golden color as his own, was way brighter than Wukong could ever remember seeing it. Even when the kid had first lifted the staff, when his aura had first flared out like a small supernova, it hadn’t been as strong as it was now.

   Just what had happened?

   “Hey, Xiaotian. Did anything��� particularly strange happen last night? Anything that you can remember?” The kid stopped what he was doing and looked up at Wukong curiously.

   “I… I don’t think so? Why?” Concern overtook curiosity, and Xiaotian blurted out “Did something bad happen? Did someone from the court of Heaven send you a message?! DID-“

   Wukong shoved a peach chip at the kid’s face, effectively shutting him up. Wukong let out a heavy sigh.

   “No, kiddo, it’s nothing like that. It’s just….” Wukong fell silent. That nagging worry, the concern and protectiveness surged back, like the waves at high tide. He didn’t want his so- his successor to freak out, as the young human was prone to doing.

   Wukong closed his eyes and let out a small sigh. He’d have to tell Xiaotian eventually. Better to rip the bandaid off now.

   “You know how I have the ability to see demons? Even when… even when they’re in disguise?” Xiaotian nodded, of course. He was still a massive fan boy, after all.

   “Well… that ability, it’s not just limited to seeing demons in disguise. I can also sense them from miles away, regardless of whether or not they’re in sight. Kind of like- like a um, a spider-sense, if you will.” Xiaotian nodded along, looking fascinated, as Wukong continued.

   “Basically, depending on how close the demon is, how powerful it is, and how malicious it is, I’ll get this sort of… buzzing in the back of my head, or my ears will start to ring. Usually, most demons are barely strong enough to set it off, and even if they are able to, usually they’re too far away for me to notice.” He looked down at Xiaotian and braced himself. This was going to be difficult.

   “The past three months… it’s been going off constantly. And it was… It was loud, way louder than just about any other demon I’ve faced. It… it was strong enough to trigger that little warning in my brain, from… from all the way in the city, I think. For something to trigger it that much, from that far away…” Wukong trailed off at the dawning look of horror on Xiaotian’s face. Shit. Shit. This was not going as planned.

   Xiaotian looked up at him, eyes wide and shining with clear concern and apprehension, and Wukong knew he needed to say something before the kid worked himself into a full-on panic. Now.

   “But then, something… changed, last night. Do you remember, earlier, when I said that one of the things that determines how strong the… the “sense” is, is how malicious the demon or whatever triggering it is? Well… last- last night, the activity, or intent, or, or whatever, it peaked for a bit, before just… vanishing. Completely. I’ve never felt anything like it before, and I was wondering, if you… if you knew anything about it? About why… about what was triggering that demon sense?” But the kid was already shaking his head, an uncharacteristically serious look on his face as he did so. Damn.

   “I don’t think so… I mean, the only demons that have attacked the city in the last three months were some small fry and the Demon Bull fam, and even they’ve been pretty quiet…” Xiaotian trailed off slightly, and worry stewed in Wukong’s gut. Even an hour later, as he waved the kid off, it lingered in the dark corners of his mind, like a poison. Something bad was going to happen, he could feel it.

   And Wukong had a bad feeling that it would have something to do with the vision of Macaque he’d had last night. He could only hope that Xiaotian would stay out of it.

————— ————— ————— ————— —————

   Stupid. He’d been so, so stupid. He’d known, known that something bad was going to happen, and he’d been right in all the wrong ways.

   Wukong had never wanted to be so wrong before. Not like now.

   It had been about three hours after the kid had left Flower Fruit when he’d felt it- that punch to the gut, heart being crushed, no air in his lungs feeling that sent him to his knees, gasping for air that just wouldn’t come as panic drenched him in a massive tidal wave. He’d known, with absolute certainty, that something had happened to Xiaotian, that his kid, his son, was badly hurt, that he needed to be there, he needed to help-

   Wukong couldn’t remember ever flying that fast before. He’d zipped down Flower Fruit Mountain like lightning, rushing over the city to where he knew Xiaotian’s apartment was. He needed to make sure his kid was okay, he needed to protect his boy-

   The scent of blood, warm and metallic and nauseating, overwhelmed him as it was accompanied by smoke and burned flesh. Wukong felt his stomach turn as he leapt off his cloud, ducking into a nearby alley to empty his sensitive stomach. Good Gods, what had happened? What had happened to his successor? His scent was woven in to the blood and burned flesh scent, ripe with terror and pain and oh, Gods, his kid was hurt-

   Wukong rushed out of the alley to see the apartment, and immediately a new, fresh wave of horror overwhelmed him. The front wall of the place had been blasted to smithereens, the rubble littering the sidewalk around him. There were cracks in the pavement beneath his feet, interspersed with dark scorch marks and, to Wukong’s mounting horror, small bloodstains. Small fires still burned all over, stinking of smoke and burning plastic. The human fire department was there, along with police and an ambulance-

   Wukong’s breath hitched. Xiaotian. Xiaotian was in that ambulance, he was sure of it.

   He needed to get in that ambulance. Now. He needed to see, needed to assess how bad the damage was, needed to make sure his boy was alive-

   Wukong rushed back into the alleyway, quietly transforming into a small butterfly, before making his way over to the vehicle. One of the windows, up at the front, was still opened slightly. Good. Wukong slipped in to the driver’s side, and landed on the back of the driver’s chair for a moment. There were two doors leading to the back, both of which were shut. Luckily for Wukong, there were two small, square windows that he could just barely see through.

   What he saw made him sick.

   His apprentice, his successor, his kid, was laying on a stretcher, bandages covering his head, arms, and chest. His jacket and headband had been removed, as had most of his t-shirt, throwing the small parts that hadn’t been bandages yet into stark relief. There were some parts of the skin that were blackened, blood still seeping through the cracked and burned skin. The skin that wasn’t burned, bandaged, or bloodied, was pale and wane, sickly looking, like that of a corpse. Xiaotian’s dark brown hair was a mess, covered still in dust and debris and sticky with blood. An oxygen mask covered the boy’s mouth and nose, and Wukong couldn’t stand to look anymore.

   He flew off of the driver’s chair to land quietly on the floor, curled up slightly in the back corner as he tried to just… process what he’d seen.

   The world had been muted, blurred to him. Darkness creeped at the edges of his vision, everything becoming an indistinct blob of color and shadow. The ringing in his ears reached a new pitch, interspersed with a low, hollow thumping sound that he would later realize was his own beating heart. He heard the sounds of the ambulance starting up as though he were underwater, muted and drowned out by that ever present ringing-thumping in his ears that only seemed to grow louder as he saw, over and over again, visions of Xiaotian happy smile turning into a broken look of terror as fires consumed him, leaving nothing but a burnt husk comprised of only ashes and bones….

   Wukong jolted forward as the ambulance came to a stop. When had they started moving? When had they arrived at the hospital? Wukong couldn’t remember.

   He heard the sounds of the stretcher being moved, heard the sound of wheels on pavement as he flew from his little spot on the floor to the still-open doors of the vehicle, fluttering around as doctors and nurses swarmed his kid. They, along with Wukong, rushed into the hospital, pulling him towards the emergency care center.

   Wukong started lagging behind them. He was too small, his wings wouldn’t beat fast enough, and the Emergency Care doors slammed shut before he could reach them, echoing with all the grim finality of an executioner’s blade.

   Wukong stared unblinkingly at the doors. He felt numb, muddied and blurred and overwhelmed in a way that left him fluttering slowly to the clean, cold white tiles of the hospital floor. Too much. It was all too much. His kid was hurt. His kid was in critical condition. His kid was in pain. He’d seen his kid, just a few hours earlier, healthy and happy and alive on Flower Fruit Mountain, safe and sound and there-

   And now he was hurt. Now he needed an oxygen mask just to breath. Now, he was burnt and bruised and broken, his only kid, his child-

   Wukong’s breath hitched. He was no longer in the hospital. He was no longer transformed. He was in an alleyway right next to the hospital. The sky had grown darker, swirling with pinks and reds and oranges as stars slowly began to make themselves known. Tears were streaming down his face, warm and wet, leaving damp trails in their wake. He was crouching over, hands covering his mouth as quiet sobs shook him to his core. He could see each little crack in the pavement, each small blade of grass that was struggling to come up through the concrete and reach for the sun.

   He hadn’t remembered leaving. He hadn’t remembered transforming back. He hadn’t remembered much of anything, really.

   It scared him, not knowing what had happened.

   It scared him, the possibility of finding out what had happened.

   His kid. His boy. His son. Wukong had known, for a bit know, that he cared about Xiaotian as more than his successor. But this…. Gods, he didn’t even know how to begin to process this.

   Guilt came rushing in. He’d known. He’d known that something bad was going to happen, he’d felt in his very bones that his son was in danger, and he’d foolishly let him go with false comforts that the kid could handle himself, that Xiaotian was strong, that his friends would help him.

   He remembered, now, sealing away Xiaotian invulnerability. What the hell had he been thinking, doing that? Why had he ever, ever thought that was even remotely a good idea?

   And now, Xiaotian was paying dearly for it.

   Whispers began playing in his head, a polyvocal taunt that attacked from all sides. Your fault, they whispered. It’s all your fault. You could’ve been there, you could’ve gone with. You knew something was wrong, yet you waved him away to his doom.

   And just how many times has he had to fight alone? The voices taunted him, as fresh guilt rained down upon him. How many times did he leave training with you to fight some demon on his own? How many times did you let him go? How many times did he get injured because of your negligence?

   Wukong couldn’t breathe under the weight of the voices. He couldn’t hear anything else, he couldn’t see through his tears the setting sun. Your fault, your fault, your fault-

   “WHY??!!” The voice, that all too familiar voice, cut through the whispers like a knife. Wukong felt his blood run cold.

   Macaque.

   Macaque was here. Alive and well.

   Macaque, a dangerous, very much not-dead creature, was near Xiaotian. Xiaotian, who was put into the hospital. Xiaotian, who had severe burns all over his body. Xiaotian, who was either in critical condition or a coma, and as such unable to fight back should Macaque decide to kill him.

   Hell no.

   Wukong stood up. He felt cold, empty. Anger flowed like the stream of a winter river, sharpening his vision to a pin-prick sort of clarity. He saw, clearly, each blade of grass, each window of every building, each little dust particle in the air.

   His ears were deaf to everything but the sound of rushing water (or was it his own blood that he heard?), the silence settling over him like a blanket. He heard nothing, not even that dull ringing that had tormented him through the day. The rushing water, the dull beat of a war drum (or was that his own heart?) stayed, however, a symphony of soon to be bloodshed as Wukong slowly floated up from the sidewalk.

   His golden eyes were empty of everything but cold, clear rage as they landed on the dark form of the Six-eared Macaque, who was on his hands and knees, trembling. Good. That would make the next part all the easier.

   Wukong raised his fist, ready to send Macaque flying. He would not fail Xiaotian again. He would end this, this string of failures, starting here and now with this final blow-

   Only for Macaque to raise his head to the heavens, face twisted in fear and regret and agony and loss, and scream, “WHY DIDN’T YOU TAKE ME INSTEAD??!!? WHY?? Why did- didn’t you…. why didn’t you t-take me in… why didn’t you take me instead? Why……”

   Wukong stepped back in shock as Macaque shook with sobs, his paws clenched against the concrete of the rooftop. Rage was undercut by confusion, then suspicion? Just what was Macaque playing at? Just what was Macaque, who was a certified lone-wolf, who despised any form of bond with another being, doing having a mental breakdown on top of a hospital?

   “Why did…. why did Xiaotian have to be the one to suffer because of my mistakes?” He heard Macaque whisper, and Wukong felt the world disappear out from under him.

[littleoddwriter]

hi! can i request (only if you feel comfortable, if not its totally fine, ignore this!) some trans roman? and maybe victor helping him with his dysphoria?

Dysphoria | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask

Hey! :) Gosh, yes, of course! Thank you so much for this request, you have no idea how excited I got when I read it! I absolutely projected on Roman and thought about him being trans a lot over the last year. So, of course, most of what is written here have been my own experiences, projected on him (not 100% the same, ofc, but--- yeah. I'm pre-everything for example, so, that's already not accurate, but other things that I'm not gonna point out here). Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this, mate! <3

summary; Roman is trans and some day into everything, his dysphoria thought to fuck him over more than usual. Victor helps him through it.

notes; TW // Gender Dysphoria; Mentions of Periods (one sentence); Past Child Abuse (being beaten); Transphobia (nothing explicit, but-); Crying; Self-Harm (punching); Dissociation; essentially Roman's having a BPD Episode bc I always write him having BPD even if not explicitly stated. Trans!Roman, who is on T, but hasn't had Top Surgery, yet. Hurt/Comfort; Showering (mentioned); Cuddling; Kissing; Reassurance; Victor being a good BF.

From the day on that his body has- developed further, Roman’s known that it wasn’t right, that something about the way his body has changed was so utterly and terribly wrong. He hadn’t been able to put his finger on it for a long time, uneducated as he’d been, no thanks to his parents who’ve made sure he’d never be exposed to such things.

So no, of course he hadn’t realised that he wasn’t crazy, but in fact experiencing gender dysphoria.

The understanding and connection he felt with other boys, but not with girls; the way he desperately tried to hide his curves when they started to be visible; the way he thought he was dying, when he first menstruated; the way he’s been crying and feeling such burning rage, when he’s looked at his naked form in the mirror; the way he’s thought that if he was a boy, he’d be happier.

He’s not known for a long time that this was an experience a surprising amount of people have made before him, alongside him.

When he’s finally found people describing their own experiences and learned through those that he truly wasn’t alone with his feelings, he also started to gather more information on the right terminology: Transgender; Gender Dysphoria and Euphoria; Binding; Packing; Social and/or Medical Transition; Hormone Replacement Therapy; Top Surgery; Bottom Surgery; Bottom Growth, and so forth.

Roman marvelled at the possibilities for him to bring out the man inside of him to the outside world, for others to see and recognise. He’s been so ecstatic, doing all kinds of research into it and starting to slowly carry it out to the world around him.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t gone over very well at all. He’s gotten to feel his father’s strength, balled into fists, for the first time in a couple of years, after he’s stated his refusal to wear a dress to the gala because it made him uncomfortable. He’s cut his hair shorter just before that, too, which had upset his parents greatly.

Still, he hadn’t let them deter him. Then he was on his own until he was an adult and able to move out. He’d deal with it somehow. It was fine.

And it really had been fine for a while – up until he’s gathered all his courage to come out to his parents, actually.

Surprisingly, his father hadn’t beaten him into a pulp, like he’d expected. Instead – and really, for Roman this was a lot worse than the beating – his parents had kicked him out and written him out of their will, pulling the plug on him ever receiving another cent of the family’s fortune. He’d been allowed to take his things with him until the late night and then he’d been supposed to be out for good. That was exactly what he’d done, too.

Lucky for him, though, he’s opened a bank account a while ago, setting aside most of his allowance there, just to be safe. Although, frankly, he’s done it to pay for hormones and surgery with it, but that was alright. He’d get that money back eventually, so much more than that, too.

Years later, he’s finally come to the point, where he’s changed his name and sex on all documents, now he’s officially been registered as Roman Beauvais Sionis. It was euphoric, really. He’s also started Hormone Replacement Therapy, and it worked out brilliantly for him.

Still, he’s not had Top Surgery, yet. Why? Well, he was scared for one. He didn’t fucking trust doctors, either. And somewhere along the way, he’s become so conscious of having an immaculate looking body that he just didn’t want to ruin it with surgical scars under his pectorals. It had to sound silly to some people, since his chest dysphoria wasn’t exactly light either, but every time he so much as thought about it and informed himself about it, he ended up with a fucking panic attack. So he’s put it on the back burner for the time being.

It hasn’t really bothered him too much, yet. He worked well with sports bras, binders, and tapes, sometimes nothing at all either, albeit rarely.

His partner in crime (and more), Victor Zsasz, who he’s met about two years ago, has taken it in stride that Roman wasn’t a ‘typical man’ and he was secretly grateful for it. It’s been something he’s always been cautious of, but fortunately Zsasz wasn’t typical by any means either. He didn’t care what was between Roman’s legs or on his chest, as long as it was Roman and no one else. Charming, really.

One late afternoon, though, Roman’s been feeling a little off all day long. It wasn’t anything new; his moods fluctuated between extremes very quickly all the time. Still, he could very well live without days on which he’s felt as though his skin was too tight and like he was one very minor inconvenience away from breaking down crying.

He’s gone to take a shower, washing off the day’s grime before changing into something more comfortable. All business meetings for the day had been taken care of by then and with the way he’s been feeling, he’s made no plans on going downstairs to oversee his club.

After his shower – throughout which he’s kept his eyes closed for most of it, having taught himself to navigate through it mostly without seeing at all by then – it’s all come to a tipping point, apparently.

Still naked, his eyes swept over the mirror, glancing at his own body quickly.

Roman’s been working out since he’s gone on testosterone, making sure his body looked more and more masculine as the years have passed. He was pleased with the progress he’s made.

But when he caught that glimpse of his chest, he stopped short. Overwhelming sadness, disgust and rage broke through to the surface, suffocating him all too suddenly.

Quickly, he pulled the light grey cotton shirt over his head, making sure it sat loose enough. He looked back into the mirror.

It was as though suddenly all masculinity had been stripped off him.

He could see the curves on his chest, his shirt not loose enough to cover them up entirely without anything binding them. He’s stopped binding all day long a while ago, having started to feel more comfortable, thanks to Victor and the hormones’ affects. It didn’t change the fact that in this very moment, it was all too visible – his previous femininity.

Roman kept on looking, all aforementioned emotions overwhelming him more and more, so quickly and suddenly, practically choking him from inside.

And then he was screaming.

He was crying, sobbing violently.

He was punching his thighs first and then the mirror, cracking it.

All of a sudden he was stopped from continuing.

His wrists were being held in a strong grip.

His vision was blurry.

He was still convulsively sobbing and shaking.

“Roman.” It sounded so far away, almost distorted, but he could tell it was Victor. His Victor.

“Roman, hey. Look at me.” It was becoming clearer with every word.

Snivelling still, Roman tried his best to focus on coming back, on looking at his partner. The tight grip Zsasz had on his wrists helped grounding him more easily, more quickly. Fresh tears rolled down his red, puffy cheeks, but it cleared his vision a little. He looked straight into Victor’s beautiful deep, yet empty, brown eyes.

“You’re okay, Roman. I’ve got you. I promise,” Zsasz assured him, sounding so calm and so convinced of his promise.

Roman nodded jerkily, although he didn’t believe Victor entirely.

Then Roman tried to get his arms out of Zsasz’s hold, which he tightened at first, but let him go eventually. He must’ve seen how worked up Roman was getting.

Finally released, Sionis wrapped his arms around Victor, embracing him tightly, pressing himself against him, so that nothing could possibly get between them. Zsasz immediately reciprocated and put his arms around Roman’s waist, holding onto him, while he started crying again, the violent sobs shaking his entire body, cries of anguish leaving his lips. His voice sounded so abused, so raw and broken.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, boss. I’m here for you, Roman,” Victor shushed him, rubbing soothing circles into his back.

After a while, Roman started to calm down, his snivels dying down to quiet hiccups, tears having long stopped to actually fall.

He released Zsasz from the embrace and rubbed his hands over his face, groaning frustrated. It was so wet. He was disgusted. He turned towards the sink and washed his face with cold water, rubbing it dry with his towel.

He didn’t spare another look into the mirror.

Afterwards, Roman and Victor walked over to their bed, lying down on it. Roman cuddled into his partner, burying his face in the crook of his scarred neck, wrapping his arms around his waist and tangling their legs. Zsasz put his right arm around Roman’s shoulders and with the other one’s hand he held onto his forearm over his own stomach, stroking his thumb over the soft skin there in soothing circles.

“D’you wanna tell me what happened?” Victor asked quietly.

“Fucking gender dysphoria is what happened,” Roman murmured against Zsasz’s skin, sounding agitated, still.

Victor sighed sadly.

“You know it’s lying to you, Roman. You’re a man. Doesn’t fucking matter what your biological sex is or whatever.”

Roman scoffed, “But I’m not a real man. I was a fucking- I can’t even say it,” another frustrated groan, “I looked into the mirror and all I could see was-“

“No,” Victor interrupted him, “Roman, you are a real man. Whatever you thought you saw in the mirror wasn’t real. Your mind’s playing tricks on you to make you feel bad about yourself. You’re as much as a man as me. Or literally any other fucking guy here in Gotham, more so than some of them, too. I promise.”

“You really think so?” Roman nearly whispered, lifting his head to look at his partner, assessing him.

“Yes,” was Victor’s simple answer, such conviction in his eyes and voice, it was palpable – it took Roman’s breath away.

Roman nodded, “’Kay,” he paused for a long moment; then he leaned down and kissed Victor on his full lips, a very small smile stretching his own, “Thank you.”

He rarely ever said ‘thank you’ to anyone at all, but he knew it was the only appropriate response he had for Zsasz’s constant reassurance – his help.

Instead of saying anything else, they started kissing, tenderly making out and enjoying each other’s company, warmth, and mere presence.

Roman may not have always felt complete security about his identity, but he’s never been alone with it either. Victor’s unfailingly been staying by his side, fending off bigots, unbelievers and even his own mind day in and out.

He couldn’t possibly find the right words for just how grateful he was.

He thought that no words could even come close to describing it.

[tundrainafrica]

Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (9/?)

Summary:  “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 

Link to cross-postings: AO3

The oval stretched out in front of him, much wider than his range of vision but Levi felt no need to look around him and take in the whole view. It was the largest oval in his city and having been one of the more active high jumpers the past five years, he had been there enough to memorize it inside and out.

That particular day, instead of being out there in the field doing warm up jumps like he had been for the past decade of his life, he was on the bleachers, a few seats away from the front. He was merely a part of the audience, an oddly surreal experience. For years, Levi had never given the audience a passing thought after all. His world during those few hours on the track had consisted of the bar he had to jump over, the jumper before him, his coach and teammates on the bench and maybe some the interviewers who would flock to him after the medal ceremony.

Although he had gone to that track so many times before, somehow it felt like he was experiencing it for the first time.

He was unprepared as well. Levi found himself pushing his hands farther into his hoodie huddling for whatever warmth it could afford him. Possibly it was the long days he had spent indoors that had made him unready for how cold mid autumn could actually be.

The past two weeks leading up to that particular night, Levi had not left the comforts of Hange's apartment much aside from for the occasional check up or regular therapy session. When he wasn't writing or making sense of new dreams, he spent most of his days catching up with schoolwork or trying to help around her apartment even with his injury.

With the long hours he had spent indoors, he was almost sedentary in comparison to the twice a day training and it was a drastic change. As he watched the other athletes warm up on the track, he was unable to fathom how he had survived long ago in light athletic wear. He started to wonder how much he had changed. If his knee wasn’t casted or buckling at the slightest weight, if he had a perfectly good knee just like a few weeks ago, would he have still been able to jump.

Was that sudden sensitivity to the cold he was feeling a product of his psyche or did his body just suddenly get weaker due to his long stint indoors?

To think I used to actually win these events. With the disbelief that came with that passing thought, Levi suddenly remembered why he had hesitated to join them in the first place. Everything from the atmosphere, to the warm up jumps found a way to hurt him. The few whispers he could hear from his place on the bleachers about the Ackerman kid, who had achieved a college record less than a year ago suddenly sidelined for life, were reminding him why exactly he had cooped himself up in the first place.

At first, he had attributed a huge chunk of that to the healing process, the writing process and the general lack of necessity to go out. At that moment, he was watching athletes do the jumps he knew how to perfectly execute yet was sure he would never be capable of doing again. At the same time, he was listening to whispers that could have been very much about him with the smatters of conversations on knee injuries and wasted talent.

He had looked towards Hange for comfort, an almost instinctive movement. Ironically, that movement had him rubbing more salt on his already reopened wounds. He had ended up watching Hange fall so easily to a state of a daydream and Levi did not need to look back at the oval to know why. She was watching the athletes go through the motions of the jumps.

He recognized that same look to be the one she had given Elijah and those athletes on her instagram feed. He would have given a lot to be able to go back to the Levi of a few weeks ago, the Levi who had been the subject of her hyper fixations. The inevitability of time had him hating himself a little more.

Levi cleared his throat in an attempt to swallow the lump that had settled there and willed himself to look back at the field. The temptation to space out was strong.

He had decided on watching the high jump event for a reason though and he was determined to make it worth it.

                               A Tale of Two Slaves

"Mike and Nanaba?” Levi repeated. The names flowed out of his mouth so smoothly so easily as if he had said those names many times before. Of course, he knew them. They were the subject of Hange’s case study years ago, the one he had read in preparation for meeting Hange.

“Mike Zacharius and Nanaba Briete,” Hange repeated. “Two friends from high school. They’re both participating in the high jump event so I thought of watching."

Mike and Nanaba. As Levi soon found out though the names weren’t cold to his tongue. They didn’t feel as stiff or professional despite their clear origins from an academic paper. It was almost second nature for Levi to attach faces to both of their names.

And that had been a breakthrough at that moment. For the past few days, he had been struggling to dream something different. Ever since Hange had given him a dream catcher, the dreams with Erwin and Hange had surprisingly been clearer and those scenes he had pictured had so easily flown from mind to paper, particularly his dreams to see the outside wall, his drive for atonement, his heroic sacrifice. It had also made him familiar with more subtle things like the long hours he had spent in the office, the amount of time he had spent joined to Erwin’s hip as his right hand man, and the trust he had put on him all the way until the end of his life.

He had squeezed what he had taken out of every memory and every dream and suddenly one day, he woke up to find himself completely intimate with that dream Erwin. Yet the story wasn’t complete, he just had to find inspiration elsewhere.

In an attempt to support him, Hange had been doing her part too to invite him out when she could.

She had suggested movies, shopping or dinner out. Levi could see behind it though and knew Hange would have preferred hiking, park hopping or working out. Not wanting to settle for bland ideas, they probably would have both slogged through, Levi declined all of them despite Hange’s insistence.

Ironically, her mention of plans to watch his college track and field event of all things had been an exception. "I'll come with you," Levi said without thinking.

Hange frowned in concern. “You sure?”

“Why? You don’t want me to come?”

Hange shook her head. “It’s not that…. I’m just surprised that you seemed a little too eager. I talk watching something like that might be torture for you.”

“I haven’t gone out in so long. I’m fine with anything at this rate.”

“We could start with a trip to the mall? Or we could go out for dinner?” Hange lightly suggested.

“I wanna get to know your friends too,” Levi said.

Hange raised one eyebrow at him as she eyed him a little too suspiciously. “You never seemed like the type to actually enjoy meeting new people.”

Levi avoided her gaze. If it were any other friends, he probably wouldn’t have cared enough to leave the comforts of Hange’s apartment. In fact, meeting his classmates and having face-to-face classes were a burden he was happy to avoid. Those names which Hange had mentioned, the faces that suddenly clicked in his brain, which were further confirmed by a quick google search had him all the more invested. “Nanaba and Mike seem like interesting people,” Levi finally admitted.

Her reaction was unexpected to say the least. Levi found himself practically jumping out of his seat in shock at the explosion of laughter that came out of your mouth. “Why the hell are you laughing?”

Eventually, her laughter did die down but Levi wasn’t counting the seconds until it did. He had been too busy enjoying the way her eyes crinkled and her nose wrinkled as she smiled. “Wait ‘til Nanaba and Mike hear this. The quiet antisocial guy who beat them out of first place every single fucking time is actually interested in getting to know them

“Wait. I went against them?”

“Aaaaand you don’t even remember.” Hange flailed her hands up exaggeratedly. “I should have known.” She shook her head. Her voice still had the remnants of the loud laughter of a while ago and she didn’t look like she would be getting rid of that playful demeanor anytime soon.

“And now you’re just making fun of me.

Hange wiped a tear from the side of her eye. “I’m sorry. I probably look so weird right now. I know I shouldn’t be acting like this.” As she put her hand down, she looked back up at him, her smile visibly wider than it was a second ago. “It just never dawned on me till now how weird it just feels. If I told my past self I’d be sharing an apartment with jumper extraordinaire Levi Ackerman, past Hange would have tried to slap some sense into me.”

Jumper extraordinaire Levi Ackerman. Somehow, Levi was recalling the way she had held his hands and stared at him, the first time he had laid eyes on her. I heard you’re the best one in the team… I’d love to see you in action. The glimmer in eyes and the excited tone in her voice that fluctuated between highs and lows with every syllable, it was the same as it had been then when she first called out to him.

Hange took a deep breath. “The tournaments were the only times Nanabe and Mike would visit this part of town so they’d invite me to watch every year…”

“And you watched it every year…” Levi didn’t need to confirm anything. It was all in her eyes.

As if she knew she had given it all away through her eyes, Hange quickly looked away. She had done nothing though to hide the pink in her cheeks. She probably couldn’t have done anything to hide it anyway. “When the super rookie Levi Ackerman scored an almost record breaking upset win…” Hange recounted so mechanically as if she were reading a headline. “I was in the crowd. And I never stopped following him since.”

And I never stopped following him since. The moment Hange said it, she dropped her shoulders to the side, so quickly and so eagerly, Levi wondered what kind of baggage she had been holding for her to look so free as she said those last words. His mind shifted elsewhere before he could ponder it any longer.

It was a long shot but Levi still found himself looking back, scrambling to recall his first every competition through lasting sensations from the cold breeze, the blinding lights and the cacophony of cheers mixed with announcers’ commentaries.

As if by some miracle, he remembered it. He remembered it as he mentally prepared for the most crucial jump. The bar was a good two meters up in the air. His legs were aching, his heartbeat was getting wilder. Before he jumped, he had glanced at the bleachers as the murmurs and cheers got stronger and consequently more difficult to ignore. On the bleachers, more specifically on the fifth row from the front, sat Hange. Her hair still as brown and untamed as always, her eyes held the same wonder it always had. And maybe a little surprise? That had been his first tournament after all.

He had only given her a passing glance then. Within a split second, she had blended with the scenery as he ran towards the bar. The jump that came quickly after was strong and exhilarating.

And as Levi landed on the cushion on the other side of the bar, welcoming explosions of gasps and wild cheers as he did, he couldn’t help but reflect on it.

Rookie Ackerman bags gold in the Regional Cup with record breaking height.

That first tournament jump had been life changing, inspiring. Possibly it was the jump that had paved the way to the years of victory that followed.

No sane athlete would have memorized the faces in the crowd. For him though, it felt criminal that he had only noticed it then as she admitted it to him herself.

She had been a part of that experience too.

                            A Tale of Two Slaves

Eventually, Levi did get tired of torturing himself. He knew the way to the barely used locker rooms in the building next to the oval and he seeked solace there. Somehow, he found it worth it to make a slight scene as he struggled to keep his balance and he maneuvered his crutches down the bleachers.

When he got to the empty locker room, with only the dark ceiling above him and silence, that made even the dripping of water deafening, he was able to forget the embarrassing and frustrating journey there. And within a few more minutes, he did forget the onslaught of emotion that had culminated into a wave of incomprehensible emotions, manifesting as demons in his head.

With a lack of stimuli to remind him of his reality, he was once again numb. And numbness tended to lead to dreaming. The old locker room was no place to fall asleep though and Levi found himself trying to focus on whatever faint stimuli could reach him as to stay rooted in his reality.

Faint cheers made their way into the dark room. Levi had watched more than enough jumps to know the cheers flowed with the movements, always at their loudest when the athlete is at their highest. Oddly enough, he had managed to drown out the cheers more easily when he was in the middle of them.

Although they were faint, they were still much louder and more rattling than Levi had ever experienced them to be. And the cheers did rattle him to the bone. His body shook every time the cheers reached their crescendo and he wondered if Hange was watching too. Was she screaming? He could imagine her cheers so easily and he found himself trying to pick it out among what could have been hundreds of other voices.

Her voice was unique, nostalgic, memorable. It should have been easy. But the cheers were too faint. Even in the silence, he found it difficult to split them into individual voices, let alone isolate one out of hundreds. He leaned back on the cold wall, slipped onto the floor and closed his eyes.

“Levi?”

Levi had assumed it to have been a dream at first. The voice he had been raring to pick out among the crowd was right next to him. He willed himself not to open his eyes for fear that the voice might just disappear.

That small voice had opened up to sounds of steps then the brush of cloth on tiles. He felt a warm hand behind him, pulling him gently away from the wall and the warmth of something around him. Levi let out a cough, only then, when the cold was replace by warmth, did he realize how chilly the room actually was.

“You can really sleep anywhere huh?" Her voice had been too near, right next to his ear. Her breath tickled his ear and brushed past his neck. Even before he realized it, he had opened his eyes, Levi was already returning the subtle smile Hange had given him.

“What were you dreaming about?” It had become routine for Hange to ask that question. Levi couldn’t blame her. When he was at his worst, sometimes that was the only thing he was willing to talk about.

“Nothing. I wasn’t sleeping. I was just thinking,” Levi answered. “How are the results?”

Hange shrugged. “You saw it yourself. Elijah grabbed gold in the vertical jump. Mike silver…” She paused for a second.

“So none of the other jumpers after them got higher scores?”

“They still didn’t beat your record from last season.”

“I don’t need that reassurance,” Levi said. “This would have been my last season anyway. I’m gonna graduate, find a job, forget this sport then find out some other kid beat my record in a few years.”

“Why did you leave after Elijah cleared the 2.3 meter bar then?” Hange didn’t at all sound like she had wanted to provoke him. Levi was certain all she had wanted were answers.

“Why were you staring at Elijah like that when he jumped?” As he thought back to the final straw that had made him stand up and brave the stairs and the whispers from the crowd just so he could leave the field mid tournament, he realized exactly why. Hange hadn’t even noticed the way her eyes lit up at him. Somehow, that was enough to have Levi shaking as he saw the confusion in her eyes.

“Staring like what?”

“Your mouth was wide open and your eyes were stuck on him.”

“I just got a little excited I guess. When I see jumps that high, sometimes I feel like I’m flying myself,” Hange said. “Or I dunno, I’ve never flown before but it’s just so easy to get lost in it sometimes.”

“Did you feel that same way? When I jumped?” Used to jump. Regret weighed on him. As the seconds ticked as he waited for her answer, that regret gradually took over and pushed at his chest, making it more difficult to breath. It had been that one movement after all, that impulsive and reckless decision that had him there in that dark unused locker room instead of outside in the tournament.

It was his last season anyway. He had consoled himself so many times before. But it wasn’t the season and the career-ending injury that had him heavy hearted at that moment. Impending retirement in sports loomed for most college athletes, especially in their senior year. Levi had prepared himself for it already.

At first, it had been the loss of that one unique sensation, the blue sky above him, and the his body detached from the earth for that split second, the loss of that memorable and unique experience of having both air and gravity as his enemy as he flew through the air with the wind blowing through his face as if executing their own plans to stop him. When the dreams returned and when he had started to write them out, eventually the weight in his chest lightened, replaced by another one.

As he spent more time observing Hange and talking to her in between her thesis writing and his own writing, he noticed it fester slowly. Only when his chest lightened, set free from that other weight, did it start to make itself known.

Hange never stopped watching jumps, turns, tumbles, runs and spins. Sometimes, she would turn on the tv in the living room to some athletic meet. Sometimes, she’d just be scrolling through her timeline, liking whatever inhumane stunts an athlete was showing her at that moment. She had those same raised eyebrows, that same gaping mouth, those same dilated pupils and that same glimmer in the eyes that he wished was just the glare of the screen.

And I never stopped following him since. Had she looked at him with that same expression? That same exact expression she had given Elijah? Would there ever be away to look back at those moments, zoom into her and look for everything from the raised eyebrows, gaping mouth, dilated pupils and that glimmer in her eyes?

Did you look at me that same way? That was all he had wanted to ask. Hange wouldn’t have known though.

“Of course I did.” Hange answered. Levi could only wish it were true. Without seeing that same expression, he would never know.

“But I’ll never jump like that again. So I don’t think you’ll get that from me anymore.”

I can get it elsewhere. Levi had prepared his heart for that reply. He was at least ready enough not to lash out.

“Because you offer other things,” Hange said. “These stories about Captain Levi and Hange Zoe… Commander Erwin Smith? When we’re up late at night and you start talking about those contraptions that get us flying through the air like birds? I don’t know if it’s the way you describe it or if it’s the passion in your eyes but… it’s like I could have been flying too.”

“You were flying.” And Levi held on to the image so tightly, that the words flowed too naturally out of his mouth. If he hadn’t been staring at the blank ceiling above him, recalling easily how she had tumbled and turned so freely in the air, he probably would have been conscious about how much of a madman he had sounded like.

Hange didn’t seem to mind though. “Even if just in my own dreams, it would be nice.”

The dim room only made the transition from consciousness to unconsciousness a little easier. The coat over his shoulders and the warmth that it kept close to him didn’t help keep him awake either. His dim surroundings blurred into nothingness, the last two sensations he made out was the arm around his shoulder and the faint discomfort as he dropped his head onto what could have been a bony shoulder.

You were flying.

It was as if his dreams had heard the conversation of a while ago. Squad Leader Zoe, Commander Hange Zoe. Dreams of her came in snapshots, in crumbs that indulged all his five senses. The whizzing of cables, the explosion of gas, familiar yet distant screams of excitement, week old sweat.

Her greasy hair on his hands. Then Levi found himself on horseback, his and Hange’s faces were a little too close for comfort. It didn’t take much to remember why though.

She had said something about wanting to meet an abnormal titan and he was in the mood for jokes.

                                A Tale of Two Slaves

“Of all the years and tournaments you could have ditched, it had to be the tournament with my first ever golden medal performance.”

“Nanaba, I’ll make it up to you promise…”

“To think you’re the one who roped me into this sport in the first place…”

They had the whole taxi ride to start an argument. Levi was grateful at least the conversation only reached that topic when they were already in the elevator on the way to Hange’s apartment. Hange had prepared some hard drinks, some soft drinks, some chasers and a lot of water. He was sure that the argument with devolve into something a little less coherent and might actually fizzle out within an hour or so with the right cocktail mix.

He had gone through that same bout of adventure with his own teammates after all. Nanaba continued to talk her ear off while Mike and Hange cleared out the dining table. Levi sat on one of the chairs, making himself useful by opening up the bottles handed to him by Moblit.

“I’m gonna need something hard first. Imagining being awarded that gold medal then looking in the crowd for the person who inspired me to try high jumping in the first place.” Nanaba sat to Levi’s left pouring what could be a nauseating amount of gin into the cup and emptied it within seconds. “And lo and behold, it looks like you were hiding out with wonderboy here in one of the old locker rooms.” She turned to Levi. “So… What were you guys doing there?”

Oddly enough, Levi didn’t understand the question at first glance. It could have been interpreted as an innocent question. When he wasn’t taking into account the cat-like grin, the raised eyebrows and the wide-eyed gaze.

It was Moblit who confirmed her intention. He turned to Hange. “There isn’t anything between you and Levi though right?”

“No one needs to be in a relationship to do anything.” Mike added, begrudgingly wise words from the most quiet one in the room.

“Nothing really…” Hange sat next to Nanaba and poured her own glass of gin, mixing it with some soft drinks. “I just kept him company. And he fell asleep next to me.”

Nanaba turned to Levi, her cheeks much redder than they were a second ago. “You sure?” She cupped her hands over her mouth and whispered in a still very audible volume. “Blink twice if you need help.”

“I don’t remember much, I fell asleep.”

Everyone in the room jumped as Nanaba abruptly slammed her hand on the table. “And you just let your biggest fangirl get away with doing whatever she wanted with you huh?”

“Biggest… fangirl?” Levi asked.

Nanaba turned to Hange. “Don’t you have a folder of pictures of him on your phone?” She dove under the table. From where Levi sat he could only hear the frazzled protests of Hange.

“The pictures aren’t on my phone anymore!” Hange screamed.

“What pictures?” Levi asked, trying his best to ignore the slams and the sounds of struggle from below.

“We did go to all of your competitions.” Mike admitted. “They went for personal reasons… I went for my own research.”

Levi noted that Mike and Elijah tended to alternate second and third place between the both of them. According to Hange that is. He never looked beyond his own experiences and his own injury had made him all the more hesitant to research high jumping stats.

“That sounds reasonable.” Levi managed to say. Small talk had never been his forte. Especially when his conversation partner wasn’t leaving much opening to continue.

For a while they were both silent. “It’s a shame. You made the competition interesting. If this didn’t happen, you could have pushed the sport to new levels.”

“Accidents happen. Someone else will show up and do it,” Levi kept his voice toneless as if he were just rattling off a list of inevitable events. That probably was going to happen anyway. His current inebriated state just convinced him that it wasn’t worth pondering at that moment.

“Moblit! Keep my phone and Nanaba, just go the fuck to sleep already.” Hange’s tone and her face then that managed to be both cold and furious at the same time was terrifying. Maybe, because it was the first time he had ever seen her so angry.

“You’re one of my closest friends Hange…. Be happy…” Nanaba slurred.

Happy. Hange always seemed happy, barring that one sleepless night he did see her cry. At that moment though, Levi instinctively looked towards her, his brain somehow expecting to see a smile on her face.

Of course, with what happened just a while ago she wasn’t smiling. She pressed her phone onto Moblit’s hand and whispered something to him. She returned back and sat next to Levi, taking Nanaba’s seat of a while ago. “Well, I had pictures to be honest but just for a few months I guess? I mean I really liked your jumps and I wanted to keep them...”

“No. It’s nice to know I had a secret admirer.” No actually, Levi probably would have found it odd if it were anyone else. He was doing the equivalent of writing fanfiction about her and somehow, keeping a secret folder of photos of him seemed mild. Although she had mentioned deleting it, Levi found himself clinging to the hope that she might still have kept a few.

“Hange, Let me make it up to you,” A voice and a pair of arms came up from behind Hange and wrapped around both of their shoulders. Levi could smell the strong alcohol in them.

“Nanaba, I think you should go to sleep now…” Moblit said. He stood up and started to prepare one of the mattresses Hange had laid out on the side of the room.

“Make it up to me by going to sleep…” Hange mumbled visibly uncomfortable.

Nanaba ignored her. “Levi, could I ask you one favor?”

“What is it?” Levi asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the still half fall glass of tequila in front of him. He had only been taking only small and cautious sips after all.

“Could you kiss Hange?” Nanaba asked “At least, just a peck on the cheek?”

“Kiss?”

“Nanaba! Go. to sleep.”

Levi could hear the rattle of her chair and from his peripherals he could see Hange moving to stand up but before he could have even processed anything else, he felt a hand on his head, a slight push.

And within a split second, he felt wet lips, he tasted alcohol, he saw scenes and he heard voices.

Within another split second they were all gone.

Hange had gone red, he could see it in her cheekbones. She had her hand cupped to her mouth, her eyes wide with what could have been shock or embarrassment. As Levi felt the blood run through his cheeks and his incapacity to do anything but stare, he started to wonder what he had looked like.

“Weren’t you wondering how his lips tasted? During that one tournament?”

“That was a joke…” Hange said. She swallowed a lump on her throat and as she narrowed her eyes, Levi could see the beginnings of what could have been tears. Was it really a joke?

“Nanaba. Let’s get you to bed.” Mike appeared from behind Nanaba and guided her back to the mattress Moblit had prepared. He started whispering to Nanaba so slowly and gently, Levi almost admired him for his patience.

That exchange between Nanaba and Mike had only lasted a second. By the time Levi did look beside him, Hange was already gone and he could hear the door slam behind him.

Levi took a quick glance at both Moblit and Mike who were still trying to subdue an overly excited Nanaba before he stood up. Not bothering to even grab his crutches from the other side of the wall, he hobbled the few meter distance toward the door of her room.

“Hange?” Levi opened the door just wide enough to see it. She hadn’t locked the door at least.

“I still have the pictures on my phone.” She sounded apologetic. She sat at the foot of her bed, her face towards the ground. Levi could tell by the crack on her voice that she was in no mood to look up.

“The pictures of me?”

“I can delete them if you want. I know it’s creepy. I shouldn’t have taken so many during tournaments.”

“And you wanted to kiss me?”

Hange fell limply on the bed and looked up at the blank ceiling. She had looked like she was avoiding his gaze. “It was a weird passing thought. I mean, I know a lot of girls have those types of things but I guess it really is creepy when the person isn’t as big of a celebrity as boy groups or actors. But I’ve wanted to be an athlete since before I could remember. I wanted to jump, to see how it feels like flying through the air. And when I saw you jump, I swear you could have had wings on your back with how well you were able to control yourself up there. You made me feel like I could fly too and I guess I got a little obsessed and ended up thinking a lot of creepy shit. I know it’s weird and I sound like a stalker…”

“No it’s not. I still have the stories about you. I’m just as weird,” Levi looked towards the wall, a gesture of respect for Hange who looked like she was in no mood to look at him.

“But, you only started writing them after we met.”

“But the stories are so detailed, it’s embarrassing,” Levi said. “if I made you feel so strongly about this, you felt obsessed enough to sneak pictures. Just remember, you made me feel things too. And these things I felt, ended up making me write. And I’ve never written in my life.”

“How did I make you feel?”

“Like I could fly too.” His dreams could attest to the fact that he wasn’t lying. Levi chose that moment to look at her and their eyes locked even before he consciously tried to follow her gaze. She had lain on the bed, looking more relaxed than a second ago.

Hange scooched over. Levi noticed then with the slight movement that his right knee was starting to ache, having taken the load of all his body weight as he hobbled.

Her scooching over could have been a subtle movement more than anything but with his aching legs, Levi decided the risk was probably worth it. He approached the bed on the side Hange had opened up. “I thought of stuff I wanted to write... Nanaba and Mike were in those dreams too. For a time we would go out for drinks after a long day of training. Meat was hard to come by but sometimes, we would have the budget to blow on a plate of meat and we’d share it. Erwin would be there too. And sometimes, they would joke that we bickered like a married couple.”

“You really built your whole world huh? What inspired you to think that up this time? The alcohol? Meeting Mike and Nanaba? Having our heads bashed together?

The kiss? The visions of the split second chose to remind Levi of their existence at that particular moment. “The kiss?” The words rolled off his tongue so easily and so fluidly.

“You don’t have to call it a kiss if you don’t want to.” We didn’t decide to do it. So technically it isn’t right?”

Levi had wanted to argue. Hange’s denial of that kiss only made his memories clearer and the emotions tied to them much stronger.

That peck had been satisfying, euphoric. It was a cathartic release of pent up emotions. Yet at the same time it had only lasted a split second. In that silent room, on the bed next to Hange, he had enough of a breather to reflect and maybe articulate that particular gesture. His feelings were strong enough to at least convince him to keep it as is. “It’s a kiss,” he said.

The silence stretched for what could have been eternity. “It’s a kiss then,” Hange said. “Did it make you feel anything?”

“I liked it.” Levi kept it to those three words. If he gave his mouth and his emotions free reign, he might just say something he would regret.

“Did you see anything? Did it inspire you to write something else about Captain Levi and Commander Zoe?” It was just like Hange to pull those words out of his mouth anyway.

“If they weren’t constantly fighting for their lives, they might have ended up kissing.”

“And you’re not going to write a kissing scene?”

“They didn’t kiss.” Of course, they wouldn’t kiss during the war. They were fellow soldiers, subordinate and superior, it wouldn’t have been professional in the battlefield.

“Maybe after their relationship develops then.”

“It won’t develop.” The words came out automatically.

“Why not? What about after the war?” Hange suggested. Words like why always bring up more questions than answers and Levi found himself racking his brain for it.

The dreams and the memories or as Hange liked to call it, bouts of inspiration, came in images and scenes and sometimes pieces of information. From what he could tell, Hange and Levi had a strong bond and it would have only been natural that they had stayed close long after the war ended.

And a kiss probably wouldn’t have been too far off. But why didn’t they kiss? Why didn’t their relationship develop? Levi asked himself, as his mind caught up to the words he said.

Maybe because the war hadn't ended yet. But after that there should be potential to develop.

With time, Levi had started to realize a pattern to the dreams though. The answers to the questions came gradually. They came in meetings, conversations and dreams. If he waited patiently, if he just opened up, those questions would be answered right?

Before Levi even noticed it, he had settled on the bed next to her and had fallen asleep to those questions. His brain chose those moments in between the sleeping and waking world to go through the voices and visions that went through him in that split second kiss.

One day in the barracks, he had overheard three of his squad members talking.

“You know I’ve been working with the commander closely right?”

“Yeah?”

“After the meetings, Levi always stays in the room with her and every time I see them together. I can’t help but think, there might be something between them.”

“Maybe you’re just overanalyzing it. You do analyze a lot

“Hey, he was right about the titan shifters and their locations back in Shiganshina."

“We’re talking about romance here, not military intelligence. Besides, can you even imagine the captain and commander kissing?”

“Just because you can’t get a girl with your horse face.”