#the barrier was meant to keep the chaos inside to stay inside. but because the shinsu on lower floors aren't as concentrated as upper floor

[deiaiko]

#21 - Wall

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[imkylotrash]

Partnership

Pairing: Sky x reader

Summary: Sky gets hurt on a hunt for a Burned One. You use your powers to take away his pain until help arrives nearly killing yourself.

A/N: I have no idea how these powers work so please don’t come for me, haha. I tried researching a little on the powers of a mind fairy, but didn’t really find anything. 

“He’s never going to let us go past the barrier, you know.” Sky knows you’re right but he also can’t just keep waiting while Silva is slowly dying. The only father figure he truly remembers and now Sky is slowly losing him too. 

“We can’t just sit here and do nothing!” He’s pacing the room so you grab his wrist to stop him from moving and focus on you. It’s not hard to tell that he’s doing everything in his power to stand still. 

“I’m not saying we do nothing. I’m saying we don’t tell Silva.” Realisation hits him. This might just be the dumbest thing you and Sky have ever done, but you like Mr. Silva. And more importantly, you love Sky. So if you can do anything to help, you’ll do it. It only takes the two of you an hour to get ready. 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted out.” He caresses your cheek to let you know that it truly is okay if you don’t want to do this. You’re standing right at the edge of the barrier. One more step and the protection it offers is lost. 

“This right here is a partnership. Where you go, I go.” To prove your point, you take the final step forward crossing through the barrier. You’re rewarded one his private smiles reserved for very few people and it’s enough to melt your heart. There’s a brief moment where you allow yourself to revel in that feeling and then it’s time to get serious. There can be no distractions when hunting. It’s hard enough as it is and you can’t afford to get hurt. Closing your eyes, you let your mind reach out to try and sense the presence of others - specifically a Burned One. Your theory is that they must’ve been humans at some point. Or at least human enough to have some sort of conscious mind meaning you should be able to feel their feelings. In some sense, you can. It’s not so much a specific feeling, it just feels like pain and chaos. 

“Oh my,” you say stumbling a little. The pain is overwhelming, like they’re still burning somehow. 

“Are you okay?” Instantly, Sky is by your side holding you up. 

“I feel it,” you manage to get out through gritted teeth as you focus on locating the creature. Beads of sweat form on your forehead but you’re strong enough to do this. Strong enough to focus through the pain. 

“This way,” you say starting to walk. Sky never lets go of you as you’re walking. A small part of you can sense his fear but you push it aside. You don’t have room to focus on anything other than the Burned One. It’s impossible to tell how long the two of you track the Burned One before actually reaching it but at some point, the sun disappeared. 

“Stop,” you whisper. You see it - right through the tree branches. Sky notices it too and quietly draws his sword. This is the hard part. You’re meant to try and enter its mind and influence its senses so Sky can get close enough to kill it. Two deep inhales before you give him the sign that you’re ready to go. Trying to dull the Burned One’s sense is more difficult than you expected but when you finally manage to latch on, you hold on for dear life. Sky raises his sword and pierces the creature right where the heart would be. It screeches and falls to the ground convulsing. 

“Here!” you yell throwing a knife in Sky’s direction. It lands right by his feet and without hesitation he puts it through the Burned One’s skull. It stops moving altogether and you cannot believe that you actually managed to kill it. Except you didn’t. Just as Sky turns his back to it, the Burned One gets on its feet and smashes Sky into a tree knocking him unconscious. For a second everything just stops. It’s like time is going in slow motion as you grab the sword from the ground and burrow the sword right in the middle of the chest. You hit its core and this time you feel it die. In a matter of seconds you’re right there next to Sky. A branch has pierced through his abdomen and he’s losing so much blood. You can feel his pain as if it were your own. 

“Sky, wake up please.” Suddenly, you’re 5 years old again waking up your parents after a nightmare. He slowly comes to groaning from the pain. 

“What do I do?” Tears threaten to spill but you need to stay calm. You’re too far from school for you to carry him back and you didn’t bring a phone with you. 

“It’s not so bad,” he whispers always trying to protect you but your insides are screaming because of his pain. 

“You’re lying through your teeth, soldier.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He closes his eyes but you force him to keep them open. He can’t fall asleep now because you’re scared he won’t wake up again. 

“You’re losing too much blood. This isn’t good,” you say leaning your forehead against his. That’s when it hits you and you could kick yourself for not realising this sooner. You’re a mind fairy, so you can reach out and lead Farah know you need help. It takes more effort than you’d like and you know it’s because you’re losing strength. But you manage to tell her your location. Now you just have to hold on until they get here. 

“Tell me what to do, Sky. Do you want me to move-”

“No!” He tries to laugh but he’s out of breath so it makes him cough instead. You take his hand and try to focus only on the pain. 

“I’ll make it better,” you whisper as you take the pain from him. 

“You don’t have the strength to do that,” Sky tries to object but he can’t do much. At this point, he’s too weak to even remove his hand from your grasp. 

“I can help. Just let me help.” This time he doesn’t object. He knows you well enough to know that he won’t change your mind. If the roles were reversed, he’d do the same thing. 

“Stay with me,” you whisper when his eyes close again. You press your lips against his feeling his feverish skin. He has to survive this. 

“Always,” he replies sounding weaker than ever. You don’t see them arrive. You don’t remember them transporting you back to the school. You pass out before they even reach you. When you come to, you’re lying in your bed with no Sky. The second you try to stand, someone is there to push you back. 

“He’s right here, don’t you worry.” Mr. Silva smiles silently thanking you. It makes it all worth it to know that you and Sky did get the right one and that he appears to be healed now. He quietly exits the room when you give up trying to leave the bed.

“You need rest, soldier.” You’d know that voice anywhere. You can’t help the small smile on your face when he comes closer. 

“You saved my life.” The joking tone has left his voice completely now, “they said that if you hadn’t taken so much of my pain, my body would’ve given in to the stress and my heart would’ve stopped.” You don’t even care about the what or the how or the why. All that matters to you is that you’re both alive and that you saved Silva. 

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” He cracks a smile and your heart suddenly grows two sizes. 

“You know I love you, right?” He’s holding your hand tightly. His eyes betray him. He’s not as calm and collected as he’d like to appear. 

“I love you. And I’m sorry I scared you.” 

“I thought I’d lost you. You didn’t scare me, you broke me in half.” You pat the space next to you and he carefully crawls into bed with you wrapping his arms around you. The smell of him calms you down better than any medication might do. You’re almost ready to fall asleep again when you hear him say: “I can’t do this shit without you. I need you alive, you hear me?” 

“If there ever comes a choice, I choose you, Sky. I need you to live because a world without you just doesn’t make sense.” It’s an argument you’ll never ever settle but you don’t mind spending the rest of your life arguing about it. 

“You need rest. You’re talking like a crazy person,” he soothes you gently tracing patterns on your arm. 

“Kiss me,” you reply not willing to give into sleep just yet. He complies with your request and lightly brushes his lips against yours. It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. You place your hand on his neck and deepens the kiss. 

“Go to sleep. I promise I’ll be here ready with as many kisses as you’d like when you wake up.”

[subwalls]

i simply think a sensory deprivation curse on c!dream would be like. hm.

raising a world seed into a full-blown server requires some negotiation. it’s not hard, because the universe loves each and every player that exists, but the voices are pickier about it, so it’s still a process.

dream is very good at it. he has to be, to spawn so many little worlds for manhunts and the like. this time, though, he’s asking for a lot more than he normally does: every natural feature the universe has to give, enough room for those he loves, every barrier to keep out those he does not, and enough power to administer justice as he sees fit.

the universe sings in eager delight. the voices twist closer, curious but skeptical. the starlit glimmer of their speech curls around him, staying just clear of the wishing seed he cradles between his hands.

now, hold on. the structures you seek are many. whose eyes will it be to appreciate them, even if they lie at the edges of the world, even if their gifts are not worth the trek taken?

mine, the player says.

the vast space you seek is heavy. whose shoulders will it be to hold the weight of it, when the world becomes too burdened to sustain its own place in the universe?

mine, the player says.

the protection you seek is unyielding. whose hand will it be to carve every permitted callsign into its most protected chambers, to tame the roaring blaze of its defense so that some may pass unharmed?

mine, the player says.

the power you seek is heady. whose body will it be to anchor the soul that must bear that responsibility, which will cave to the rebellion of the world against the will of its soul, if it must?

mine, the player says.

there is silence as the voices contemplate this. they drift away and draw near again, intelligible static moaning quietly from their unseen throats as they discuss amongst themselves. and then, at last, one addresses him again.

this is much to put on you and only you. but you have accepted this. do not forget.

you make this for the joy and laughter of your friends—this is easy to see, young dreamer. do not forget.

a server world is a world that serves. it will serve your friends. we will not tolerate anything less.

we will not tolerate oathbreaking. the world will not tolerate abuse.

you are its vassal.

you are its to punish.

dream says, i understand.

and the universe says, i love you, and the seed cupped in his palms pulses gently, and then fiercely, boldly, life blooming under the sworn promise of someone who will tend to it, and—all at once, the void is forced back. land shudders into existence in a rushing wave that reaches far and wide, and the core of it purrs to life into dream’s heart.

the wind whistles along the plains, laughing through the trees and their countless leaves. lakes lap gently at their shores at the base of mountains that stretch up to the sky, high and waiting.

and dream has his server. he inhales the sweet air and runs his fingers along the grass, curling his fingers along the soft petal of a flower and feels nothing but love and anticipation for what the server is and what it might become.

he lifts a hand and the protective borders of the world roar to him, walls of flame rushing past his senses before a shimmering white list coalesces before him. it is empty until he carves a few callsigns into it. just three, for now, but there is room for many more.

his friends arrive, after that. they play, and they relish, and they ask for more. who is dream to deny them, in a world meant to be theirs? he carves more names into the list. they arrive, they play, they ask. he carves more still, and then more, and more.

there is as much room as dream needs.

they skirmish and play-fight. it’s an easy thing, running rings around each other while shrieking for mercy or blood, building ugly things of wood and faith and cobblestone and friendship, playing pretend without a care in the world.

at least, it was easy, up until—

wilbur soot says, “this is a different server, independent of dream smp.” 

wilbur soot says, “you and yours are forbidden from stepping foot here.”

wilbur soot says, “this is l’manburg, and this is mine, and we will stand our ground.”

wilbur soot, whose father is the winged angel of death, who could nearly call the blood god his own family, whose bloodline is so entrenched in the dealings of voids and voices that he must know what dream had to do to turn a world seed into a haven of a server, this wilbur soot is the one who meets dream’s mask with a wide grin and an open taunt, daring him. mocking him.

and dream, remembering the responsibility he swore to take on as his own and no other’s, the word mine in echo through his soul, says, “no.”

and they war.

(you know this story.)

but it’s odd. it’s odd because after dream’s arrow sinks into tommy’s heart and dashes his soul against the rocks, he tastes ash in the back of his throat. it does not go away when he rinses his mouth out in the clear rivers of his land, nor when he gulps down a bucket of milk, nor when he bites into the cake his allies make to celebrate their victory.

the pastry melts on his tongue with what must be copious amounts of sugar, but he cannot tell that it is meant to be sweet.

dream tastes nothing but ash.

he laughs past it. there is an inkling of fear in his gut, but compared to the rib-shaking thunder of his heart when he’s low on health on a manhunt, it is easy enough to overlook. especially when tommy comes to him.

tommy offers a trade and dream is intrigued enough to accept. he figures that if tommy was willing to give up his most treasured items for this, for what is little more than a name and an toothless claim, then maybe this nation deserves a... chance.

in name, at least. not true independence—no more than a flower can be independent of the land it is rooted in—but there is no need to overreach his control when he’s already proven that they cannot do anything to him and his.

he lets them play. that’s what this server is for, in the end.

(the end. that should’ve been the end, but it’s not.)

not long passes before the fake nation festering like an unwelcome cancerous growth on dream’s land suddenly wants to make itself realer than before. it turns words to action with an election that goes sideways at its peak and buckles under itself. by the close of the day, its new leader has driven out its founding members, lighting the fuse to its own destruction.

dream, overlooking the chaos of it all, sighs.

this nation will never be anything more than a mistake, it seems. whether it is l’manburg or manburg does not matter; it binds its population by excluding something else, and thus by definition is a sin against a world made to be shared.

in the aftermath, dream curls a little tighter around his family, but it’s too late. the first crack has already been made and everyone is all the more fragile for it.

when a few more decide to take leave of the heartland, they do not tell dream. he finds out by the empty houses and unfamiliar flags, and he...

they...

... it’s fine. they did not like the fighting, is all. of course they would rebrand and skirt the violence.

it does not mean abandonment, surely.

dream does not raise his sword against his inner circle, no matter where they place their allegiances. he instead focuses on the one he’s certain is rotten to the core, and he’ll sing l’manburg’s praises if it means that piece of land will finally stop inciting war after war after war.

“its name is l’manburg, not manburg,” he says in the dark ravine of pogtopia, and wilbur cheers and tommy raises a brow and dream feels sick to his stomach.

tommy mumbles something about carbon monoxide poisoning and complains about the smoke from all the torches and campfires and lanterns they use to light up the place. wilbur rebukes that they cannot ventilate the smoke without giving themselves away, and so they bicker, but it occurs to dream that he hadn’t noticed the difference.

the stale smoke-tinged air smells the same as the fresh winds outside.

he’s handed a baked potato as he leaves. he holds it to his face for a beat before tentatively biting into it.

ash. dust.

the lack of taste, he’s grown used to. but his sense of smell is gone now as well, and that inkling of fear strengthens.

he remembers what he promised to the voices. his body will cave to the rebellion of the world, should he stray from its intended purpose. but he has yet to break an oath or abuse his powers. he doesn’t understand.

is it the side he’s on?

if the server vies for him to join manburg, then of course he will flip sides for it. of course he does. he even conspires behind their backs, ensuring that if pogtopia wins l’manburg still does not win.

he was right to, because the day of reckoning comes with the failure of manburg’s leader.

he was wrong to, because dream’s fingers go numb on the handle of his axe when he brings it down on his rival’s shield, and the feeling never returns. something in his chest sours with frustration.

(something cracks, deep inside, ripping apart hairline fractures into something more serious, more troubling. his soul quakes. the universe wails, but nobody has touched the server’s End by law decree, and the void goes unseen.)

dream rips off his helmet and lets time run out the invisibility running through his veins. he yields to pogtopia’s glaring victory with ease, because it was never the nation he fought for but his responsibility to the land it sat on.

and because he still wins, in the end. the ground ruptures as a blast consumes the remnants of manburg, and yet even then dream is the last to move away from it.

he knew it was coming, but reacted last, and not only that but overbalances along the way. he nearly tips sapnap into line of fire when he meant to pull him free from it.

they laugh it off later, but. sapnap looks over his shoulder more often. dream does not meet his gaze, instead contemplating the ground and how he did not feel the rumble of the earth before it blew.

he needs to sort this out. so he goes to find an open field.

he spends hours and then days in that field, figuring out how much he needs to pull back a bow to loose it swiftly. how tightly does he need to hold a weapon before he cracks its hilt? how roughly can he handle his own armor before the thorns bite back at him?

(elsewhere, an entity realizes it can touch, and it does. it uses that touch to kill those who kill on its sacred lands. the rules of the world must be followed. it does not know anything else.)

later still, a mushroom house burns.

dream looks to the smoldering remains with something tight and knotted and insufficient between his ribs, and then he looks to george, upset by the loss but upset more by dream taking back his crown, and he says, “it’s to keep you safe.”

his words leave his mouth, and the world falls silent.

dream blinks.

it’s not silent. he knows this because he can still feel the flames that should be crackling behind them, because george’s jaw is moving, because sapnap is nodding in agreement.

but they are silent. the world is silent.

no, the world is not silent. the world louder than it has ever been in its rebellion and his body is caving to it as he promised it would, and dream—dream does not falter, despite the sudden knowledge that the server he raised loathes every step he takes. he does not stammer.

he repeats the words he cannot hear but knows have left his lips, turns, and leaves.

he does not look back. he does not know that sapnap is calling after him, that george pauses mid-turn, that among the vitriol thrown at his back there is also a worry and a question. but there is no way for him to know, not with the server itself in uproar, devastatingly loud in the utter silence it inflicts on him.

fear claws up his lungs and he breaks from a walk to a jog to an outright run, and he runs and keeps running past all the structures he knows and built until it just forest and land and silence. safe, far, and alone, he digs his hands into the grassy dirt and says is this not what you wanted? is this not what i swore to do?

why do you hate me?

selfish, his precious world accuses. it is not a sound because there is no sound he can hear, but it is a hiss in his marrow, a keening in his soul. selfish, selfish. you leap for control you oughtn’t take and will burn them for it.

they burned me first.

did they? what did they do but till the fertile land? speak. speak. what did they do but flourish as you bid them to, wished them to?

they took from me and would not return it and struck back when i came to them. you are mine. i raised you.

and did you not freely give? is that not the purpose this world serves? do not forget. do not forget. do not forget.

dream does not so much pull back from the foundations of the world so much as it throws him out with teeth bared in warning and talons pressing down over his ribs, the ever-fragile beat of his heart cowed in its cage. it is a thought rather than a feeling, thankfully; just as it is the force of an arrow nearly knocking him down that makes him aware of the two others sticking out from his shoulders, once he lifted his arm to see what it was that had bumped into him.

his blood trickles down his arms as he yanks out the arrows, unfeeling.

fine, he thinks.

and dream, creator and administrator and player who cares too much and brought too much on his own shoulders, takes the injured confused uncomprehending thing so soft in the back of his mind, and puts it out.

enough is enough. his world is his server is his, and it will be brought to heel. even if it does not want him, and he does not want it, it is his to raise or raze and he will not have this haven ruined at the hands of the clumsy and unknowing.

who do you love, he asks it bitterly, yanking a netherite axe out of the air.

all of you.

who do you love, he asks again, and this time he finds his own answer in the way the events churn around one person, one survivor, one person who moves the server with a word and turns it against itself with another and leads every storm that rages: tommy.

all of you.

if you will not be mine, he says, then you will be no one’s. and he knows that this is a dangerous line to walk, and he has seen wilbur walk it to its bloody, deadly end, but he has right where wilbur had only words and songs. dream made this server for a reason and he will not give that up.

so he walks back.

he walks back, and he thinks, sourly, that maybe this is a blessing. the world takes his senses but he is stronger without them, really. who has need of taste or smell on a battleground? he can fight better like this, unfeeling, unburdened by pain.

it is easier to talk over their protests when he cannot hear them to begin with.

“exile tommy,” he tells tubbo, carefully shaping the words on his tongue, “and i will forgive you.”

and tubbo sputters and tommy rages and the world claws at him from the inside out, no, no, why are you doing this, this is not what was wanted.

he is calm, because their words pass over him without ever reaching.

he is calm, because they’re running out of time, and they will agree to him or die failing to. night is coming; shadows fall over them.

and then:

—nothing.

(nothing?)

nothing.

dream blinks. the void stares back at him, unblinking, stars aswirl and dancing, and just as he realizes that maybe night hadn’t come and maybe the void is not rising around him and maybe it’s just that his last sense is failing and maybe the world has rejected him for the last time and maybe everything he swore to do thinks he’s broken them and—

the silence breaks.

why why why why did you break what you swore was yours to uphold why did you lie why do you hurt and abuse and break. you were warned. you were told.

i didn’t.

you did. a server serves and you got in the way. do you not do this for your friends. why give them a beach to build on if you’re only going to punish them for using what they have. why. why why why.

... ,,uhhh honestly i don’t. know where this would go from here but because dream gets stopped early he still gets a chance to be better. the exile arc doesnt happen because dream just like collapses mid-negotiations lmao and even tommy feels kinda weird about stabbing him while he’s unresponsive. but i think i would like for the conclusion to be something like—

the universe says, i love you.

the world says, i love you more.

but it’s the the players holding him to their chests, hearts thumping in syncopation, tugging him from the brink of an edge that might have killed his love in a month’s time, who say, “i love you most. come back to us. come back.”

[it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream]

Silva Lining (Saul Silva x Reader) Chapter 16

Warnings: Swearing

Word count: 2.1k

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The barrier was abandoned as you head back to the school. What was Aisha thinking? Telling the teachers their plan?

You huffed as you walked into your mothers office. Saul had stayed behind at the barrier with the Specialists while you and Aisha were escorted back by your mother and Mr Harvey. Stella, Terra and Musa were the only ones there, Bloom no where to be seen.

“Before you say anything, I didn’t say a thing, it was all this ones doing.” You hitched a thumb in Aisha’s direction. “The only thing I found out was Rosalind has been after me this whole time and has been using Bloom to get to me. She somehow knew the truth about who my mother was and knew she couldn’t use me to free her. So please please please tell me nothings happened yet and Bloom is just taking her time in the creepy hidden room?”

You sucked in a breath, forgetting to breath during your mini rant. The girls just looked shocked, less shocked than normal, they probably expect this kind of stuff now, nothing was easy when it came to your life.

You watched as Farah came back through the door way, having gone in search for Bloom. “They’re gone.”

So here you were, sitting around your dorm, having been shouted at by Mr Harvey; who you don’t think you’ve ever seen angry before. Terra stood up to him and then he locked you all in using magic…. could anything else go wrong. Oh wait, you spoke too soon.

You kicked back in your chair, leather boot clad feet up on the table as you listened to Stella go in on Aisha for being a snitch.

“Bloom is being selfish, the last thing Miss Dowling needs is to be worried about Rosalind.” That made you stir in your seat. Your feet came off the table with a thud.

“Stell, she does have a point there. You know how much shit we’ve cause Dowling, I know with the new found relationship status I could come across as bias but after all, all this shit is happening because of me once again. Can we just stop arguing for one second and figure out how were going to help?”

Your speech was interrupted by the flickering of lights. “Okay did anyone else see that or am I having some weird magic stroke?” The rest of the room murmured. Okay, not a stroke.

“This shouldn’t be happening, Alfea is an outpost it runs on magic.” Terra paced and Musa and Sam joined the rest of them in the room.

Sam, being able to walk through walls, decided to go and check it out. See what was happening.

“Wait I can come with you..” You volunteered but he had already vanished. “Okay thennn.” What felt like seconds later Sam was back through the wall screaming in agony, his stomach sliced open, blood soaked through his clothing.

“There’s a burned one in the school!”

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The courtyard was the busiest you’d ever seen it. Your mother was using magic to slam windows shut, fire fairies were welding them shut completely. Saul was on one side dishing out armour and weapons to anyone who’d take it. Mr Harvey had set up a medical bay for the suspected casualties. Your mind was spinning. The voices had started when Sam came through the wall. Whispers in your mind almost like it was your subconscious. It was fucking annoying.

Looking around you saw a hell of a lot of scared faces. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest, you hadn’t had a panic attack in months but it sure felt as if you were having one now. This was happening because of you. Innocent people were going to be hurt because the burned ones wanted one thing. You. Your eyes scanned the courtyard as your mothers speech rang out. Saul caught your eye, and gave you a look. Scared, worried, love. He conveyed it all with just one look. He was going to get hurt. Because of you. In that moment you knew what you had to do.

Trying to sneak away had failed. Since meeting Stella you knew you’d had a bond more stronger than friendship. You were blood and something about that gave her an edge. She knew you were about to do something stupid, she could literally feel the dread running through her veins.

“Please tell me you’re not going out there alone, how many times is it going to take for you to realise were better off as a team.”

Stella made you jump as she spoke up behind you, with her was Aisha and Bloom. Your ran your hands through your hair, pulling the long strands up onto a bun, the bobble on your wrist secured it in place.

“Actually, I could use some help.”

So the plan was set. Bloom would stay and distract Saul and your mother. They’d been keeping such a close eye on her lately that they were certain she was going to be the one to do something stupid and reckless. Oh how the roles had reversed. Aisha and Stella were coming with you, you needed Stella there to help you ground your powers. Like you’d always said, she was the light to your dark and vice versa. Aisha, well, she was a fucking powerful and smart fairy, couldn’t hurt to have her on your side.

Sneaking behind a wall just off the courtyard, you held your hands out allowing smoky black tendrils of magic flow freely from your shaking fingers. The portal opened and with one last look back at all the fear and chaos inside, you stepped through.

-Saul’s POV-

We got back to the school just in the nick of time. The courtyard was full of scared, fear fulled fairies and Specialists and all Saul could think of was his girl and why the fuck she wasn’t in the courtyard with the rest of the students.

His heart beat rapidly as he gave orders and handed out weapons and armour to every student he could. He was alerted to Y/N’s presence when he heard screaming and panicked cries from across the room. She was helping her friends carry Harveys kid, his torso clawed away at by the hands of a burned one.

He was too distracted, he couldn’t go to her straight away people would notice, even amongst all this chaos, they still had to be clever and careful. He was busy talking to Sky, still trying to keep his girl in his sights but he failed. Now seemed the only chance that he might get to tell Sky the truth about Asterdal and that’s what he did. How he killed Skys father to save himself after Andreas turned on him. Sky didn’t want to believe and he was pissed, but it needed to wait until after. After the burned ones weren’t knocking on their front door. He looked around again for you, wondering where the hell you were.

“Are you seriously looking for Y/N after you told me you killed my father?” Sky seethed, rightfully pissed off. “I don’t know where she is but she asked me to tell you she loves you, and she’s sorry, she said she would have said it herself but it would have been too obvious.” With that Sky walked away to the front line before Saul could ask him what she meant by sorry.

The burned ones were banging on the doors, windows, you name it. They had arrived. Farah parted the crowd of scared students like the red sea, Marco behind her telling people to keep their nerve. Saul joined them at the front armed and ready. Screams erupted as glass fell from the towering ceiling above. A fairy shot fire from his hands directly at the burned one who had fell through the roof. It charged it’s way towards the specialists, swords drawn, they charged forward, only to stop when the burned one changed coarse, leaving the students behind.

“What the hell was that.” Terra panicked and looked around for more signs of burned ones.

“They’re all moving together… like they’re looking for something.” Saul looked at Farah, realisation dawning on his face.

“Where’s Y/N?”

-Your POV-

The air was colder than usual. Maybe it’s because deep down you were scared shitless and the nerves were getting the better of you.

“Y/N you do know my mums gonna be here soon, with an actual army!” She ran after you, trying to keep up with your long strides.

“Stell, the burned ones have always been after me, from the start. I can’t stand back and not do anything. I know how to stop them, I’ve had the power all along, I’ve just been too afraid to use it. I need to draw on more power than I ever have before. That’s why I need you both here, so you can try and stop me if it gets out of control.”

You could hear the burned ones getting closer, their menacing growls echoing through the spindly trees. Shadows bounced around the outskirts of the space you were standing in. You didn’t realise you were crying until Stella brushed your tears away. Both fairies grabbed your hands.

“If anything happens, tell Saul I love him. I’ll never stop loving him even in death.”

You gave Stella one last hug and did the same with Aisha, taking a deep calming breath you stepped forward, your heavy boots squelching in the waterlogged field that overlooked the school you’d come to call home.

When you knew your friends were far enough away you opened up you senses, giving in to the power you possessed. Your eyes turned black and your body began to slowly lift from the ground, arms outstretched. You could feel the power swirling inside you. It’s presence made you gasp. Around you, a smoky black fog, your body was consumed in it, a visual representation of the power you held. You looked down to your fingers, to your body and smiled.

Fairies used to have wings but they had lost the ability to perform transformation magic so adapted and didn’t need them anymore. So it came as a surprise when you felt giant wings burst from your back, glowing black and white. This is what it meant to be the answer to all the realms problems. You smiled again, tears threatening to spill due to the feeling of being whole. This is who you were meant to be all along and now you had finally found yourself.

The burned ones sprung from the depths of the forrest. Your boot clad feet hit the ground with a thud and your smoky, bright wings fanned out behind you. You were ready. They charged towards you, their growls filling the air. Your hands shot out and your black tendrils of magic shot into their chests, ripping out the spark inside them. You watched as one by one they crashed to the ground around you. Their monster like growls no longer.

Your wings retracted and you breath deeply. The burned ones that had once surrounded you no longer deformed and burned. But there, laying on the ground, humans.

“What the fuck?”

You heard running footsteps and looked up dizzily to see your mum and Saul running towards you in worry.

They stopped, looking around at what had unfolded. “Well done Y/N.” You mother was tearing up, shocked, happy and proud. You stumbled towards Saul. He ran to you, swooping you up in his arms.

“Farah what’s wrong with her?!” Saul was panicked, brushing the hair back from your sweaty forehead. Your mothers hand came to rest on Sauls shoulder.

“It’s okay Saul, she’s just weak, let’s get her back to the school.”

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

That night, the lights came back on in Alfea. Your friends surrounded you as you lay in bed, all talking about the events that had unfolded and how you had earned your wings. How Stella and Aisha had helped you in your time of need. How Terra and Musa had helped save Sam, and how Bloom had helped distract everyone to make the whole plan a possibility.

As the girls chatted and laughed, you zoned out, looking around at each of them. You couldn’t believe how lucky you were. A girl from no where in England, finding out she was a fairy, finding an amazing group of friends who she knew she’d have for life. Finding Saul, finding her mother, finding herself. She couldn’t help the happy tears that fell.

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

Oh my goshhhhhh! I hope you liked this chapter! I really enjoyed writing it! So much dramaaaa <3

As always please let me know what you thought! Comment, like, re-blog and if you wanna be in the tag list let me know!

CHAPTER 17.1 -------- CLICK HERE

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Savage

(A Dark Swan/Dark Hook vignette)

It was cruel, she knew that, knew that she shouldn't do it – but she was slipping a little more every day in her steadfastness to keep some small part of herself from the darkness, and his kiss had made her remember, had called her back to herself if only for a moment. She needed to feel him, to remember what it was like to be loved by him, held by him. She needed it as she needed to breath, and she was just far gone enough that she would drag him through hell to get it.

My muse wouldn't leave me alone yesterday, and this was her demand. It takes place during S5 Ep2 - “The Price”. I'm very pleased with how it turned out, and I hope you all are as well. Please read through the tags if you have any triggers.

Rating: Explicit (sex, language, trigger warnings - rough sex, hate sex, verbal humiliation, degradation, anal sex, come marking, emotional manipulation) 

AO3 - FF

Savage

Killian could hear the sound of glass clinking to his left as she spoke, but drowning out even her voice was the the call from dead ahead, a heavy, bolted door looming – whispering, drawing him closer. His breath quickened, his body thrumming with something he couldn't place as it neared, and then like the tide receding all at once, the pull was broken, Swan's hand appearing in front of him, the scent of rum burning sweetly as his eyes found hers.

“I still also know the fastest way to a pirate's heart is through his liver,” she smiled, drinking in his gaze, tumbler of rum extended in her hand.  

“There's an even faster way,” he breathed, desperate to find his Emma once again in those eyes that were like looking through frost.

He swallowed her small gasp greedily, pouring every ounce of his love for her into the kiss, her taste a balm for his misery as he clung to the hope that this would be enough to bring her back to him, but the touch of her fingers in his hair was hesitant, and then it was gone altogether. Their lips parted, her words filling the space between.

“Now there's the pirate I remember,” she teased, leaning back in to claim him once more, but the sound of her voice, distant and unable to bridge the gap between them made him pull back entirely, his eyes taking in everything that their kiss hadn't changed.

“It didn't bloody work,” he breathed, panic threaded through each word as he stared at her unbelievably.

“You've been talking to Belle.”

The distance between them seemed to grow even as she stared intimately into his eyes, something in them luring him with a dark whisper.  

“Why didn't it work?”

“It didn't work because there's nothing to fix,” she retorted, her voice climbing in a way that felt almost human – almost like his Emma. “This is who I am now. Why can't you accept that – why can't anyone accept that?”

“Because this isn't you,” he insisted, knowing that somewhere beneath the guise of the Dark One, his Swan was still there, waiting for him. “What the hell happened in Camelot?”

“That seems to be the question of the day,” she nearly spat, face hardening as she looked away from him and moved toward the door.

“Then bloody answer me!” he roared, anger rippling beneath his skin like something alive as she turned, her face as closed to him as his memories.

“I wish I could.”

He strode across the distance to where she stood, needing to find something between them that felt familiar, something that felt how it used to be – that they were it for each other, meant to be.

“You can tell me anything.”

There was a flicker of something at the edge of her mouth, words she was holding back, but then they were gone, replaced with a tired smile as she slung her arm over his shoulder in something that was far from an embrace.

“But that would be no fun,” she purred, leaning in, their breath mingling and noses bumping as she inhaled him, “and I'm tired of talking – now, do you want to stay, or not?”

“Sorry, Swan,” he said, pulling back just enough that he could gaze into the eyes he knew were hiding something. “This may be who you think you are, but this isn't who I am.”

He felt the weight of her arm fall from his body, her head tilting curiously as she watched the battle he knew she would see inside of him – how the small step he took away from her clawed at his chest. Regret rose bitterly in his throat as he made the decision to leave her and moved toward the door, the exit that would be their last chance all too close – and then she spoke.

“But what if it is?”

He could hear the hint of truth in her words, something that fell oddly between the Emma he knew and the coy demeanor of the Dark One.

His footsteps stilled against the floors of the house she'd called her own, the soft white curtains of the door separating him from outside, a barrier between what he knew, and what she was tempting him with.

“No more games, Swan,” he growled, turning about and bearing down on her, though it seemed she had expected as much. “What does that mean?”

It was cruel, she knew that, knew that she shouldn't do it – but she was slipping a little more every day in her steadfastness to keep some small part of herself from the darkness, and his kiss had made her remember, had called her back to herself if only for a moment. She needed to feel him, to remember what it was like to be loved by him, held by him. She needed it as she needed to breath, and she was just far gone enough that she would drag him through hell to get it.

“You've always been a pirate, Killian – a man playing hero. You don't remember Camelot. What makes you think you haven't forgotten one more black spot on your heart, and that I became exactly who I needed to be...for you?”

“More riddles,” he hissed, the nauseating wave of fear in his stomach overwhelmed by anger, his fingers wrapping painfully around the bare skin of her arm as he drew her close and gently shook her – his hand barely feeling like his own as he did so.

Panic surged in his chest as he struggled to ease his grip, but her words had woken something inside of him – something dark and vengeful, something that wanted to make her understand how much he was hurting. How was it that there were no ends he would not go to for her, and yet she still wouldn't trust him, wouldn't give him the truth?

“You see,” she shrugged, stepping into his anger and stroking the painfully tight line of his jaw as her eyes flickered toward where he was leaving bruises on her skin. “It's never far below the surface, Killian, who you are.”

“You're wrong, Swan,” he muttered, forcing his fingers from her around her arm and stepping back, his breath coming on a shudder.

“Stay with me,” she coaxed, but beneath the impassive demand he could hear her for the first time, feel her – his Emma – and the temptation was too much for him to turn away from again. “This is where you belong, I promise you, Killian.”

She brushed her lips against his once more, her body calm as his raged in front of her, a storm caged within a glass bottle, savage and waiting to burst free.

Time seemed to still as she waited for him to respond, her lids heavy with desire as she studied the chaos churning beneath the clear blue gaze focused only on her. Her warmth was so close to the surface, and yet unreachable. He wanted to shake her until that thin layer of ice shattered, until she cracked and the truth came pouring free. He wanted to feel her skin hot and pressed against his own, alive, her precious control swept away as he made her scream his name over and over.

He wanted, gods, he wanted.

And so he took.

Maybe he was exactly what she said he was.

He slanted his mouth roughly against hers, taking no care for her comfort as he bent her backwards, the steel of his hook snagging her dress and tearing down the side of it, the firm, pale swell of her breast and its rosy peak bared to him from beneath the remains of her torn undergarment. Satisfaction pounded through his veins like the sea itself as she returned his kiss with equal passion, the glass tumbling from her hand and shattering against the floor as she threaded her nails into his hair, biting his lip hard enough that he pulled away, and giving her the opening to take back some control, yanking him closer and slipping her tongue into his mouth, the both of them falling to the floor.

He returned her aggression, biting her lip roughly and reveling in the sharp hiss of pain he drew forth. She held a finger to the swollen wound and pulled it away to show him what he had done, a bead of red blood staining its tip.

“There you are,” she teased, and before she could utter something else he didn't want to hear, – words that would stir the fury within him more than it already was – he was pinning her down, the back of her hands smacking the hardwood floor as he pressed her roughly into them, brace and hand equally demanding of her submission as he hovered over her, darkness swirling in his gaze.

“Shut up,” he hissed, ignoring the creeping certainty that something was wrong, that this should have all gone differently – that somehow, he'd ruined everything, “and don't bloody move.”

She obliged with a smirk, her eyes hungry as she followed the path his hook made against her skin, dragging along her collarbone just enough to leave a red welt before snagging on what remained of her dress and freeing her other breast for his perusal. They rose and fell with her excitement, nipples hardened and begging to be touched.

He pinched one roughly, delighting in the keen of pleasure his unkind touch pulled from her, her hips bucking beneath the spread of his legs, still wrapped in the useless fabric that had once been her clothing.

That wouldn't do.

He rose to his feet, ignoring her cry of frustration at the thought he was leaving – he had no such intentions. She'd woken something inside of him that he couldn't name, but it was angry and tired, wretched and needy, and he planned on letting it have its way with her.

He looped his fingers and hook into the balled up material around her hips and dragged it from her body, her feet kicking at it eagerly, pale legs falling back to the floor and opening for him – her arousal soaked through her panties and shining at the edges of her thighs.

“Look at you, Swan,” he hissed, tossing the garment aside and kneeling over her body once more – claiming it, “all powerful, and yet here you lie on the filthy floor, cunt sopping wet and begging to be filled by a dirty pirate.”

He dropped down, hook digging into wood as he fisted his hand among her tightly coiled hair, each silver strand drawn back into perfect obedience. He took pleasure in yanking until she gasped, feeling the strands that had once been a beautiful, soft gold pull free.

Emma let herself feel it all, the throbbing pinch at her lip, the stinging tug of his hand in her hair – let herself feel human again. Pain, pleasure – it didn't matter. Each of them was a sword that cut through the darkness suffocating her, surrounding her and whispering, making her forget who she was and why they were here to begin with. She needed all of it, needed him to remind her – or she'd lose everything.

“How does it feel, Dark One, to beg like a bitch in heat?” he growled.  

His words were another jagged cut, another blade she'd need to take responsibility for, but they reminded her what tears felt like, even though she wouldn't let them fall.

“I haven't had to do much begging, now have I?” she quipped, lips twisted in a smirk as she rolled her head purposefully against his grasp, her scalp burning, “and you seem plenty eager.”

“Oh, you'll beg for it,” he promised darkly, “because if you don't, I'll walk out that door and leave you lying here in your own desperate need.”

It was a lie, she knew. He could no more leave her now than she could ask him to – yet another choice she'd stolen away from him.

His cock was raging against the confines of his jeans, and in his heart he knew that whether she begged or not, he'd be taking her right here, sating the gnawing hunger that was burning through his gut and trembling at the tips of his fingers – but he wanted to hear it, wanted to hear the Dark One pitiful and helpless for something she couldn't otherwise get – his willing participation in her little game.

He released her roughly, the back of her head knocking against the floor as he stood and loomed over her, fingers nimbly unfastening the button at his crotch and freeing his throbbing length, its weight heavy in his palm, swollen head thick and glistening with his own smeared arousal as he jerked it over her naked, writhing form.  

“Is this what you wanted, Swan? Is this why you brought me here?” he sneered, eyes flickering closed for a moment as his fist rolled over the head of his member, his entire body shuddering with anticipation at having her. It felt too long to have been without her, without the tight clasp of her walls, the way she arched into him, the soft caress of her fingers against his face, the way she'd sigh into the air when his stubble razed her neck.

His hand slowed as his mind conjured memories of Emma golden and warm, welcoming beneath him, offering herself up and shyly taking the praise he showered on her – her curls long and splayed on his bed, hips bucking into his mouth, his name falling like a dream from her lips...

“Having second thoughts, pirate,” Emma goaded, noticing how his movements had stilled, his face taking on a look that was far away in another time, another place. “Still think you're the hero?”

Her words dragged him from his reverie, reminding him that this was not the same Emma lying beneath him anymore.

“Tell me, Killian, how much of a hero will you be when I find someone else to give me what I need?”

Blind, red rage overcame him at her words, at the thought of her seeking release with someone else, another man's hands mapping the curves of her body that he knew so well, the pieces of her that were the same no matter which version of her was lying before him.

“Make no mistake, Swan – Dark One or not – you'll always be mine. This body,” he snarled, dragging her roughly to her feet and tossing her bodily onto the nearby sofa, his temper flaring anew at her smug look, “is mine – and while you may entertain ideas of soothing that ache somewhere else, we both know you've been ruined for other men. It will always be my cock you imagine filling you completely, my seed painting that beautiful skin of yours, my hand at your throat, pushing you over the edge, isn't it, Swan?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged, spreading her legs lewdly in front of her and dragging a finger – the one still smeared with blood from her bitten lip – through her wet folds, pink flesh parting to reveal her tight center throbbing for him, “but a girl can only be so patient – Dark One or not.”

He was on her before he could rightly understand how he'd gotten there – no memory of crossing the distance between them – but his nails were digging into her thigh, yanking her forward so that her pert bottom hung over the edge of the couch, the sound of a table clattering to the floor behind him as he kicked it out of the way and knelt between her splayed legs, his hand moving to angle the raging hardness of his cock against her core.

Feeling her warmth for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he surged forward.

She cried out beneath him, her body flexing as his entire length was buried inside of her, impossibly large and tight and feeling as if he were splitting her in half in the most sinfully perfect way. There was no breath of a reprieve before he was dragging himself free and repeating the action, his hand gripping her side as if it were the only anchor he had, his hook rending the cushion beside them as he pounded relentlessly into her.

“Tell me then, Swan,” he panted, his words broken by the wet sounds of her arousal spreading between them both, skin slapping against skin, “is this what you needed? A good fucking by a ruthless pirate?”

She bit back the words pushing against her closed lips, words he was dragging up from somewhere deep and forgotten with each thrust of his body into hers, words she couldn't say – I just needed you, Killian, to pull me back, no matter how much it hurt. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

Her sharp breaths built into a whimper as her body opened around him, his thickness stroking every hidden place within her, waves of pleasure rippling through her core and shooting down her legs, building in her body like something that would snap and tear her apart. She was near her climax, but one look into his eyes, hollow and hungry above her, made her realize he was far from done with her.  

With a pained grunt he pulled out of her grasping depths, ignoring her keening pleas as he lifted her up and flipped her over, her chest tossed against the back of the couch as he spread her legs, revealing her abused sex to his gaze. She shuddered wantonly as his fingers explored her, spreading her wide and dragging the slick wetness from her walls before smoothing it over her clit and pulling a broken cry from her lips.

“You should see yourself, Emma,” he rasped, shoving several fingers back into her at once as she jumped away from him toward the couch, whining at the nearly painful sensation, “so open and ready for me. No other man would have you, would they, Swan? Not like this, stretched open by a filthy pirate – rather used, aren't you?”

He threw the words at her purposefully, meaning to hurt, to wound her the same way she'd wounded him – the way she'd made him doubt who he was and what he could be. His cutting words reminded him that whatever had happened in Camelot, she'd done what she had to match him, to equal the the black-hearted pirate he would always be. He needed her to feel just as broken.

“Another man would simply leave you wanting, Swan, but not me. I'm yours as much as you're mine, so tell me, love – do you want it?” he purred, swiping the belled head of his cock along her folds once more. “Do you want me everywhere?”

“Yes,” she hissed, knowing what he was going to demand next.

“Then beg for it,” he commanded, slapping the side of her ass with his throbbing length, staining her cheek with the mix of his precum and her own juices . “Beg for it, and I'll give it to you.”

She wriggled against the couch, the words leaving her pitifully as she searched for the feel of his length anywhere against her.

“Please, Killian,” she moaned – she could give him this, could let her control slip for just a second. It wouldn't break her, not entirely.

“That's not good enough, Swan.”

“I need you,” she whispered, every word she pushed past her lips far too close to the truth of what she wanted to say, too dangerous. “No one has made me feel what you do. There's no one else, there never will be. Please, I want you – need you, all of you...”

“Where do you want me?” he purred darkly, his fingers swiping the viscous arousal seeping from her folds and dragging it higher to where her tight ring of muscle was bared for him. “Do you want me here as well? Is every part of you mine, Swan?”

“Yes,” she hissed, thrusting back against the pressure of his finger as he pushed against her unyielding muscle. “Need you...everywhere, Killian, please...”

“That's a good girl,” he praised, and rising up on his haunches, he pressed the tip of his cock against her opening. It had been some time, but he knew she could take him like this, remembered how tight she would be around him – and if it was too much, well, he wanted to make sure he left his mark with his body as well as his words, something inside of him demanding it.

His grip was uncompromising around her shoulder as she moved instinctively away from the burn of him entering her, pulling her firmly back and only making him stretch her more quickly as she breathed out soft, desperate noises beneath him.

“Just like that, Swan...take it, darling...gods, you're so bloody tight.”

“Yes,” she ground out, her body finally relaxing as the thick head of his cock slipped fully inside of her, every inch that followed a welcome burn pushing back the fog of darkness she could never truly escape from.

He paused in his thrusting, and Emma both heard and felt a cold wetness spreading between her cheeks, his saliva dripping down to meet where his cock was settled tightly inside of her ass, his fingers spreading it thickly along his shaft as he worked himself further into her.

“I'm going to fuck you so deeply that you'll be able to taste my seed as I spill it into you, would you like that, love?” he panted, his body rutting into hers as his saliva spread between them, easing his intrusion just enough. “You're not going to be able to sit without remembering how it felt to have me fill it up – is that clear?”

“Y-yes,” she stuttered, gasping and biting her already bruised lip as he drew far enough out that she thought he would pop free, her body already craving the fullness of him as he left her empty. Shameful pleasure ignited along every inch of her skin as she bowed beneath what she had turned him into for her own selfish needs, at what she had forced him into becoming because she was weak.

She couldn't help but remember the times they'd done this before, how deep he'd been, how connected they felt, and she let that memory wash over her, taking away the guilt and leaving only bone-deep satisfaction as his cock reamed her, his balls slapping against her sensitive flesh as he took what he needed from her, what she'd forced him into wanting.

“Oh god...” she moaned, her thighs trembling alongside his own as he sped up, her back sinking lower as he gripped her sides painfully between his hand and brace, his own groans joining her own. He thrust erratically into her pliant heat, the tight grip of her channel dragging his orgasm from him at the same time hers tore past every last barrier she had, her core clenching achingly around nothing as he swelled impossibly large and burst deep inside of her ass.  

His nails bit into her as he growled and pushed harder against her, the zipper from his pants branding her skin as he pumped rope after rope of his hot release into her. Then with a harsh breath, he yanked himself free and grabbed her, twisting her down so that she fell onto her back against the cushions, staring up at him as he jutted his hips forward and jerked the last of his cum from his balls, splatters of his seed landing across her cheeks and chest as he groaned out his satisfaction.

Emma closed her eyes, regret and guilt surging back in to fill the emptiness that he'd left behind, her body sore and longing still as he rose shakily to his feet, stepping back from both her and the couch. How much farther had she pushed him toward that looming darkness in an attempt to pull herself back from its edge?  

The air stilled between them, both of their breaths settling as they watched one another, knowing that between them, something had shifted – some path washed into nothingness behind them.

He tucked himself back into his jeans, feeling like some of the tension he'd been shouldering was gone, perhaps the burden of what he had needed to live up to vanished. His eyes drifted along her body, limp and splayed across the couch, his release leaking from her abused body and dappled like stars across her chest. Her lips turned upward into a slow smirk, one that they'd often shared before after making love – though this one was changed, haunted by shades of things he didn't yet understand.

The need to suddenly be somewhere else – far from this place she'd called her own when he didn't really know her anymore, when he felt as if he didn't know himself – rose up like the bottom of the sea greeting a long awaited friend.

This is where you belong. I promise you, Killian, her voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Whispering, whispering.

But it wasn't his Swan that whispered at the edges of his mind, and instead of turning toward the front door, he found his steps leading him toward the back of the house, back toward the basement door that had caught his attention earlier – when she'd distracted him with a drink and some nameless hope that had fled his body along with his release into her.

This time, she didn't stop him.

A wave of her hand made the bolt slide free of its own accord.

His hand wrapped around the knob, and when he turned back to look for her, she was standing in the hall, silver hair perfectly coiffed once more, her body hidden beneath the sinuous black of her dress, the only reminder of their activities the ring of bruises blooming around her arm like dark flowers.

She nodded, encouraging him forward – and the handle turned smoothly beneath his palm, ushering him into the darkness below.

END

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Potential tw for those who need it: disability, mental issues, possession, referenced violence and death

Horrorswapfell

Same rough premise as my take on Horrorswap but to sum up— the Fallen Human comes through on a Neutral run, leaves the Underground in disrepair, without solid leadership and no souls.

Asgore was left alive, but has no interest in taking the throne. The people are restless and angry and want a leader who will act decisively. He steps in only long enough to appoint General Alphys of the Royal Guard the official successor of his late estranged wife and then back into the Ruins to mourn again.

Alphys, though she doesn’t really want the position nonetheless accepts the burden with grace and becomes the Empress of the Underground.

The plan is the same as in Horrorswap: her right-hand skeleton Sans, the Captain of the Royal Guard, will bring her the Next Human that falls, she’ll subsume their soul to cross the Barrier, and then break it from the other side with whichever humans she can find.

Until then, martial law is declared to ensure utmost efficiency with the Underground’s remaining resources and keep everything from breaking down any further than it already has.

The overall atmosphere amongst monsters is strained and tense, but everything works like clockwork for the few months it takes for another human to appear.

Sans captures them, escorts them to the Capital and to the new Empress, who kills them and absorbs their soul.

And then…

Alphys is unable to subsume it.

The human soul in Alphys’ now especially monstrous body wins control and goes berserk—a startling reminder for the watching Guard and civilians of the shocking and terrifying power of one human soul.

In fact, everyone flees as the beast rampages around the palace, wanting only to get out of the way of the destruction.

Only Sans remains to bait the creature, using his speed to dodge its heavy blows and hopefully tire it enough for his Empress his friend to get control.

Even he can’t dodge forever, of course.

Only one brutal swat of the beast’s whiplike tail lands, but one is all that’s needed. The sound of crunching bone startles Alphys enough inside of the creature to give her a foothold toward control.

She digs in as hard as she can and yells for Sans to run; to let her take it from here.

Normally, Sans might protest, if just for the sake of his own ego…but disoriented, very badly wounded, and in an amount of pain he’s actually never been in before, he obeys the order and blindly shortcuts home.

Papyrus is, expectedly, horrified and alarmed at the state of his brother and does his best to take care of him and keep him from dying because it was close, it was very close.

His task is only made harder by the complete and utter breakdown of…everything outside, more fighting and looting than even the Royal Guard can stem, wherever they are.

(Sans was meant to lead in Alphys’ absence and keep things running normally, but…)

Papyrus goes out of doors into that chaos as sparingly as possible, only to scrounge around for what food and healing items he can find, and he has only the barest awareness of Asgore returning from his self-imposed exile and calming things again by force.

A little late, but better than never.

There’s no word on Alphys for a long time, no certainty that she’s still alive on the otherside, or that if she is, wherever she is, she’s even still in control.

Papyrus doesn’t know and doesn’t care to know—it’s safest to just barricade himself and his critically injured brother in the house and hope that no news is good news.

Sans is, of course, in no state to protest this plan.

Alphys does return, eventually, with all the necessary souls to shatter the Barrier and set monsters free. She’s deeply unsettled by her experience with the soul that took control of her and still feels that she can hear it in her head, fighting her still.

She has no desire to be Empress anymore and begs for Asgore to stay on as the ruler of monsterkind.

Monsterkind, equally unsettled by the power of humanity and the chaos of both the Fallen Human and the brief breakdown of social order, are willing to accept Asgore as their Emperor, and to accept making peace with humans to stop the fighting now.

Asgore leads monsters to the Surface and integration with humans, and even negotiates Alphys’ prison time to asylum care.

Monsterkind can begin to heal.

Horrorswapfell Sans (Pitch)

The Creature’s tail hit him full in the face, shattering the bone between his eye-sockets entirely—though all his other broken bones from the fight have healed by now, he’s still entirely blind thanks to the gaping void in his face

He’s far too stubborn to let this affect him, of course, and has determined to go on as usual, making use of every adaptation that might help him. He carries a cane now and has started learning Braille…he’s thinking of putting in for a seeing-eye dog, too, while he’s at it…

He’s actually dealing with everything very well. While he’d of course prefer to still be able to see, being so badly hurt and put out of commission for so long forced him to rely on others and let them help him, all while he actually couldn’t do anything in return…and he wasn’t…immediately discarded? There were a lot of ways he’d have preferred to realize he has worth beyond what he can do for people, but beggars can’t be choosers, he supposes

Amidst learning how to do things again without a major sense, reestablishing his independence, he stumbles into boxing at a local gym. He never particularly liked the up-close-and-personal physical sort of fighting before, preferring to use bullets, but he actually finds it’s great for blowing off steam and boosting his ego when sight or no, he can still go toe-to-toe with his opponents and win more often than not. He’s gaining a bit of notoriety on the semi-pro circuit and is kicking around the idea of making a living out of it

If only it weren’t for his brother…

But he’s on the Surface, and even if he can’t see it, he can still feel the wind and the sun on his bones and he can still do everything he wants to do up here and he’s...he’s happy! And sorting things out with Papyrus...will come when it comes.

Horrorswapfell Papyrus (Nemo)

Physically, he’s fine excepting a few more scars than before and just a bit more LV than he ever wanted. Emotionally, well… he’s pretty rattled after how basically the stability of his whole worldview kinda crashed and burned back there

Seeing his untouchable big brother so hurt and helpless actually really scared the hell out of him and it made him step up a lot. He learned a lot of self-sufficiency in those couple of weeks Sans was out of commission, most by trial and error, and it gave him a new respect for everything Sans had been doing for both of them

And, unfortunately, a new kind of fear of the dangers out there in the world that can strike at any time: it started gradually on the Surface, but it isn’t long before he has a case of full-blown agoraphobia and hates to leave the house, knowing it’s not rational to just stay indoors forever, but struggling to rein in the fears and anxieties that creep in whenever he steps outside

Or when Sans steps outside, for that matter, especially when he’s going to a fight—he’d really rather Sans stop the whole boxing thing altogether and stay home where it’s safer, but Sans wouldn’t budge and they had a whole blowout about it, where…some things…may have been said, and…

Suffice it to say, things are strained and they’re not…talking very much…

Papyrus is really trying to work on himself, hoping that if he can get through some of his hang-ups, the rest will be easier to push into place. He’d love to travel someday, and he’s experimenting with photography in his downtime, hoping he’ll be able to take pictures of stuff worth being photographed

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Until Forever - Sirius Black

Hey you beautiful people! Last chapter of Part I. 

MASTERLIST I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X |XI | XII | XIII

Chapter 14. 1978.

           Darkness was infinite and pain would linger on forever. There was no hope; hope was the biggest illusion human kind had manufactured in order to keep going when there was absolutely no fucking point. A black void was everything that ever was; nothing more that the absolute nothing. She felt weightless, as if the waves of the raging black sea could tear her to pieces, throw her to the rocks. Then, she felt as heavy as the universe – drowning in the mere thought of water. Her body felt tired, her mind was restless; not in a good way. She though that life went on but to her, that was the saddest part of it all.            It could end two ways, both equally tragic. Either she would die amongst the rest or she would live. She didn’t know what worse. Truly, never having the chance to see her family again or staying behind? Her entire body got goosebumps and her hands were trembling. She had tried to drink her problems away, just for a few hours, but it only made her sadder, lonelier.                Until she left. She wasn’t celebrating – she couldn’t celebrate the new year. Each passing second, fate was approaching them, faster than she had ever realized. Usually, it was the past that made people sad; well, she was the exception to that as well. She really wanted to go home, for this to be over, to give up Hogwarts and magic and the people. She just wanted her home back, her life, her choices – the ability to choose.                          She was making a run for it. After half an hour of pretending, she said her goodnight, only to few people – well, to the Potters. She couldn’t deal with questions and avoided them like bullets. Once the doors closed behind her, all the silence of the world crushed upon her; and it was louder than the loudest sound. It was suffocatingly loud. Refusing to go back inside, she climbed to her room, kicking her heels off, before even closing the door. A soft tune was stuck in her mind and the Greek poem that accompanied it – the moonlight sonata.              

Let me come with you.

This house can’t bear me anymore.

I cannot endure to bear it on my back.

You must always be careful, be careful,

to hold up the wall with the large buffet

to hold up the table with the chairs

to hold up the chairs with your hands

to place your shoulder under the hanging beam.

And the piano, like a closed black coffin. You do not dare to open it.

You have to be so careful, so careful, lest they fall, lest you fall. I cannot bear it.

Let me come with you.

This house, despite all its dead, has no intention of dying.

It insists on living with its dead

on living off its dead

on living off of the certainty of its death

and on still keeping house for its dead, the rotting beds and shelves.

Let me come with you.

Oh, are you going? Goodnight. No, I won’t come. Goodnight.

I’ll be going myself in a little. Thank you.

              She softly spoke the words to the still air as she was looking outside of her window, a wave of nostalgia crushing to her like a tsunami. She was deep into her thoughts, into her world of roses, poems, stardust and a serene chaos. She felt at peace in the midst of a hurricane, within dramatic lines, written by poets with elegant noses and strong beliefs. The music kept repeating memories, stirring them up as it went on. She didn’t want a happy ending, she sadly realized; she wanted tragedy, passion and catastrophe; she wanted everything and nothing. She wanted absolution. Just like every heroine in the ancient tragedies; it was in her nature.                      He didn’t dare to speak, to make a sound; he held his breath in fear of waking up from the tender dream he was having; a vision right before his eyes. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, but he felt pulled towards her as if he had no other place to be; as if he was meant to be in her room. She knew that someone was watching her, and she already guessed who but took her time to face with him, with an all-knowing smile.               He was caught of guard, trying to retain his posture and temper or he would just turn around and run away for good. Feeling rather ashamed that he got caught, not that he was invading her privacy, he looked at the floor, blushing ever so slightly. She really didn’t mind. How could she?                    “Do you like it?” she airily asked him, as she remained by the window. He gulped. He knew she was talking about the poem he heard her recite but he couldn’t shake her image, entering the ballroom. Yes, he loved it.                        “I didn’t know that one” he admitted quite subtly. She wasn’t surprised; it was by a Greek poet and it was an intense portrayal of the subject of loneliness and alienation of the uncommitted individual. The lady in the poem represented that part of the old world, which the poet thought it was condemned to perish with its aristocratic past because of its aversion to adapt and participate in the process of change. She thought that if anyone understood that feeling, was him.              “I know” she melodiously informed him. She was enticing and it was hard for him to stay away. Not that he wanted to, in any case. No, he didn’t know which magical poem had stolen her heart but he did know that she was standing under the moonlight, her essence becoming ethereal. How evident it became? She didn’t believe in happiness and that scared him; he could feel for her but even he believed that there has to be a better way, it has to get better. She seemed to contradict him by simply suggesting that there was no point in … well, anything.              Such a hopeless wanderer’s soul, she had. She was made from a different material, a nihilist and an idealist, a desperate romantic and a catastrophic pragmatist. How wonderfully vague her outlines were. Maybe it was because she was wearing a gold waterfall for a dress, but he knew better – he just couldn’t stop gawking.; to be fair he was an 18-year-old boy.            “Why did you leave so soon?” he asked her without hesitation, as if al the barriers had collapsed under the moonlight. She solely focused on his eyes and he could not avert his gaze.                   “Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques - I believe it is” she quoted Verlaine and that, he did know. Sad beneath fantastic disguises. Why would she ever feel that way? He was only fooling himself. He was lying, pretending not to feel the way he did, pretending that there was nothing between them, pretending he was happy torturing Marlene, pretending everything was fine and the way they were supposed to be.         “Votre âme est un paysage choisi” he quoted back, letting her know that his French was so much better than hers and that he paid attention to the details. He truly did. It was almost inappropriate for her to like him or even to think about how his eyes shined liked spilled mercury under the moonlight. However, the biggest problem was that it was unrequited.                             He took one step towards her direction, fully aware of the fragile moment they shared. She saw the shift in his eyes and her entire mind was screaming to her to shut up. Everyone else was probably celebrating in the midst of an upcoming war but she was fighting another one all on her own. Keeping secrets from the people whom their fates were sealed and she could not do a thing was becoming heavier by the second and that broke her.        

           “What – what is really happening here, love?” he questioned her with a slight anger lingering on in his voice – anger that he didn’t know he was experiencing. She was surprised by the very thought of him being angry. He wasn’t angry at her per se, he was really shaken off about not being in the known, having blanks that he had to fill by himself when it should have been her answers instead of his imagination.              She wanted to tell him everything and then her mind went to the time he spent in prison for no reason at all, and she swallowed hard. How would she ever be able to come clean about that. Remus was a bit easier – yes, he was still very hurt and shocked and everything in the middle but Sirius… it was always different with him. It was always different when it came to him – she was …                  “I want to tell you but it’s too much. Please don’t ask me to be honest with you. Not on that level. Anything else, I will answer. Not that” she finally told him. At least, she was acknowledging all the hypocrisy and all the lying, he thought. He wasn’t looking for that answer though, he wanted the real reason behind her entire existence in his life, and so he closed the gap between them. His tall frame was towering over her, her back was pressed to the wall next to the window and his eyes were piercing her face for clues.                    “No. You don’t get to do that. I have been nothing but honest with you about everything. You don’t get to hide now” he pushed further, making her arch her eyebrow. As he realized that he had overstepped the boundaries, he tried to take a step back but her finger was already poking his chest through his unbuttoned shirt and undone tie.                  “You? Honest? Really? Is that what you tell yourself before you go to sleep? That you are honest with me? Or that you’re honest with yourself? Because neither -                        “Fine, what do you want me to say?” he cut her off, revealing his hot temper with a flush that appeared in his face – something she had never seen before and she had to remind herself that this Sirius was not the one from the books. He wasn’t a character anymore; he was a real person – breathing down on her.                            She closed her eyes, not wanting to create any more tension that what had already been created but he was not having it. He wanted answers, now more than ever, even if he knew that he, himself, had been lying all that time – this was not the same. He was lying about his feelings; she was lying about everything.                        “Who are you? Who could you possibly be to come here through the fucking sky? To come here and turn everything upside down. To make me question things that I thought I had figured out long ago. To make me jealous of my own best friend and to make me want to destroy every sound thing. Who are you?” he bombarded her with accusations that he wanted figured out now. And all it took was one hot second before she screamed the answers back to him, each hitting like a bullet to his heart, each being louder and louder only to finish off with a dead silence.                        “You think you are the one suffering? I have been trapped here for too long, I miss my home, my family, my life. I want out. I am done playing a stupid part in this scenario. I know everything. I know how are you going to end up, when, where, who dies, who lives, who fucking betrays – because I came from the sky. The fucking sky. I don’t know how or even who I am anymore. I thought you were a book character and every single thing was only real in my imagination and the pages of seven books. But no. I fucking live in the damn past – not mine. NO. A past from a different possibility. Twenty years before my birth date. And of course, out of every mistake I could possibly make, every choice gone mad, I had to - ”.

           Usually, there were two basic motivating forces: fear and love. When people were afraid, they tend to pull back from life, when in love, the open up to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement and acceptance. And while fear was easier, almost natural to them, they knew that they had to step outside their comfort zone.                  Not finishing off her sentence, leaving it there hanging in the middle of the thick air between them, was her way of giving him space to decide and her a breather. Her mind was yelling at her to stop and think about all those things that actually mattered but not every act was a result of sensibility. Her accusing finger was still on his chest; as a matter of fact, her entire palm was being pressed against his skin – not his shirt anymore. The information was not new to him; he knew, deep down he did.              Each night before he would fall asleep, he was trying to decode and figure her out, even just a bit. He was repeating the things she had said during the day, realizing just how much of an insight she had and wondering if it was just that or… It started of small, a few words of more than wisdom were spoken, a few things were said that she could not possibly know about… and the ever-present aura of secrecy. Her tattoos were one thing, her words were another. It wasn’t news to him and she noticed that. Her anger calmed down to a side smile.                “But you already knew” she concluded and her touch became gentler against his chest. Gentle as a fire. He looked at her with a desperate look, as if he wanted to do so much, to say so much but couldn’t. Sirius was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a cheater.             Instead of pushing her against the wall and kissing her like he had already pictured in his head about a million times, he stepped back and he sat on the bed, eyes always glued to her.              “I think I did” he agreed, more to his own mind than to her words. She took a deep breath and used the chair in front of the boudoir, to the left of the big window, facing him while at the same time keeping her distance.                          “I still don’t think I can tell you everything, Sirius” she softly apologized but he shook his head.                    “It’s okay. It’s okay if I am the one dying, love, or the one going mad. You will tell when or if you’re ready. I’m sorry for… this” he said, indicating the space between them but she brushed it off. How much longer would she able to keep it hidden from James and Peter, she didn’t know.                  “Sirius… it’s not that simple. I know what I know from the books. So, basically, from I come from, the dimension and the time period, you, the boys, Hogwarts… magic, everything is fiction and contained within seven books that are not even about you. While these books go on, you are older and have gone through a lot. I know that part. I don’t know if it will happen the way it was supposed to, since I am here and I wasn’t supposed to, I think, but I also can’t change much in this plot. Or even if I can, I don’t know if I should. Messing with time and history is not something I am looking forward to do. Although, if I could change some things, I would without blinking” she admitted, staying as close to the truth as she could, without revealing too much. How could she face him and tell him what was about to happen to him in a few years? He wouldn’t even get to turn her age before Azkaban… and that hit her differently.                        “I know that there is something dark in the things you are not saying. And I know that I am neither the one who dies nor the one who lives from the way your eyes never met mine when I said it. Maybe the one who goes crazy but not exactly. That’s okay. It would happen either you were here or not. It’s better that you are. I don’t know if it is for you… I cannot imagine the weight of all those things. I am sorry” he told her sincerely. They shared so many things; intuition, depth, passion. And a five-year gap.            “So you see, celebrating didn’t feel appropriate” she concluded airily. But he looked at her in a perplexed expression.                  “On the contrary. We should. Now more than ever. Because after all, we only have this moment, isn’t that so?” he proposed and she was astonished because he was right. He didn’t want to talk about it more, knowing that something bad happened to all of them, and that she didn’t want to say what. He understood her – it was cruel, such disastrous things being delivered by her. She held answers to questions they hadn’t even thought about yet. He could never blame her for not coming forward. Even though he wanted to be her confidant, the one she would spill her heart out he knew that she wouldn’t. Some things were better left unsaid… but…not forever.                      “You should go back to your friends” she suggested, as she felt worn out, wanting nothing more than to get out of the dress and makeup.                                  “I thought we were friends” he chuckled darkly, earing a fixed glance from her piercing eyes.            “Oh Sirius. You and I…we could never be friends” she admitted and there was not a single shy cell in her body. Her entire mind had shut up and every word coming out of her mouth was a sharp slap across his face, hitting him with the truest statement she could have said. He licked his lips and tamed his tongue not to respond the only way he truly wanted to as he got up and buttoned up again, to rejoin the party.                      “Remus knows?” he asked but it came out as a bold statement. He was jealous he wasn’t the first one to know this, or how her lips felt against his. He shook the image out of his head and focused his eyes one her. She was radiant but she wasn’t fooling anyone – she might have worn a gold dress but she was the moon, dark, secret and almost untouchable. Almost.                    “He does” she confirmed, realizing just how jealous he could get. She didn’t like possessiveness, mainly because she was the one being possessive in her previous relationships, but with Sirius…she could, perhaps, turn a blind eye. He was unexpected in every way, to her. He was biting his lip, deep in thought. It was tragically doomed and yet he found beauty among the disaster. It was fragile and soft, so tender but raw, catastrophe pouring down at everything. It was problematic – making homes out of people. But he had never felt more at home than with people; his best mates, his school, her.  His house never felt like a home and yet he was surrounded by it. And now, a strange feeling washed over his heart. What was he doing, letting her go?                He waned to kiss her, without a warning, with permission, without even deciding to do so but simply because he couldn’t think of anything else. He needed that breath she was holding. It belonged to him and he wanted it back. But there was that small voice, so ever faint, that told him it was not the time nor the place to do so. He had to physically stop from heading towards her rather than the door. And he didn’t know why he stopped.             “Love, I…” he started but she gave him a sharp look.                        “Don’t” she whispered and he left with a heartbreaking look on his delicate features.       

           She found an excuse not to return to the party. She would find an excuse to return to Hogwarts as soon as possible, otherwise her entire being would implode and no one would even notice. She would just collapse under the pressure of knowledge and no one would even understand how hard her life had suddenly become. She was the girl who wanted to know everything, who went looking for knowledge every place she visited and she had become the girl who wished she didn’t know the future, who was oblivious and blissful, who stayed silent and didn’t challenge the world.                It was too early. Too late maybe. No one was partying, no one was in the living room, no one was making any sound. She tiptoed around a bit. The fireplace was livid, calming and consuming at the same time as if it was calling to her. Everything will end up in flames. Not ice, but hellfire. It was the saddest thing she could have thought of. Protecting a breakable heart. What if she got the chance to leave?              “Would I?” she whispered to herself. No. And that feeling of knowing that she wouldn’t be able to leave even if she did find a way, that she wouldn’t go back to her own family and her own life, that very feeling made her realize that this was indeed her home, that the people in this reality were her family and that this was her now. And she had to fight for her home and her family. She had to at least try.              “We missed you at the party” a soft voice caught her off guard. She took a deep breath. This was it. This hide and seek had to end. Once she turned around, he saw how serious she was and immediately understood that something was off. His eyes were tired but alert, his whole body language was signaling that he was able to grasp the severity of whatever she had to say to him.                        “There is something I need to tell you but you’ll need to sit down, James”.

__ Taglist: @must-be-a-weasley-92​ @megalificent​ @fific7​ @maraudersangel​ @tb-ctn 

[thefanficmonster]

Hey Vy! 📚🌻 Here!

How is your week going? My roller skates just got here and I'm so happy omg! My protective gear haven't got here yet so I'm trying not to fall but a almost hit my face so many times- i have to stop for some time now because I need to clean my room :_: but here's your three words of this week: Paradise, curly, radio

A lot a lot looot of loveee,

📚🌻.

Hi darling 📚🌻 !

Please be extra careful until your protective gear arrives, I'd hate to hear you've injured yourself 🥺 Anyways, hope you have fun with your roller skates (always stay safe though)! 🥰

Here comes a short drabble with your three words! This one’s gonna be a little different though - no OCs and not for the Resident Evil fandom, but rather the How To Get Away With Murder fandom, more specifically - for my favorite relatioship/characters on the show! Hope you enjoy!

All my love, Vy 💌

Better

Laurel Castillo x Frank Delfino (How To Get Away With Murder - AU: Canon Divergence; AU where the characters tolerate each other XD)

Warnings: Slight spoilers (Nothing too major though), Swearing

Laurel runs a hand through Chris’ curly hair, admiring how peaceful he looks now that he’s finally asleep. He’s got a fever that’s been giving him crying fits for two days now. Having to deal with a sick two-year-old while simultaneously trying to keep up with work and her final studies has been exhausting to no end. She’s been receiving some help from Michaela who seems utterly desperate to keep herself busy at all times, even when she’s supposed to be relaxing just so her mind doesn’t spiral into the void of loneliness she’s fallen victim to as of recent. Connor and Ollie have babysat for her a few times as well, another gesture she’s incredibly grateful for. Asher has offered to look after the toddler too on numerous occasions but that’s one offer Laurel’s never taken up. She appreciates him offering her his help, but everyone would justify this action of hers considering how reckless Asher can be at times - aka 90% of the time.

The Keating 5 has come through for her when it comes to both looking after Chris and keeping up with her studies, proving their friendship to be  one of those rare ones. However, Keating 5 aside, she’s received the most amount of help from one particular person. Someone who’s prepared to turn up at her doorstep at three in the morning if she needs him.

Frank Delfino

The two had a rocky start, to say the least. Their on-again-off-again relationship as colleagues with benefits. Their constant back and fourth. Then came Frank’s disappearance and Laurel’s involvement with Wes, all occurrences blowing huge holes not only in their romantic relationship but also their friendship which has always been a second away from ceasing to exist, all things considered. Friendship is hard to maintain with such a strong, hypnotic and magnetic romantic connection. Some people just weren’t meant to be friends, ever. Frank and Laurel are among them.

Speaking of Frank, the man’s been rather concerned lately, the lack of calls and messages from Laurel worrying him more with each passing day. He overheard Michaela mention Chris’ fever in passing conversation with Asher when she was bailing on a date with the excuse of helping Laurel look after the sick toddler. He’d been surprised to hear that, initially thinking it was a cheap excuse of Michaela’s to avoid spending time with Asher considering things between them have grown sort of complicated. But when Connor confirmed this claim of hers, Frank couldn’t help but grow very concerned. He’s grown used to knowing what’s going on with Chris and Laurel before everyone else so having someone else be in the know while he was kept in the dark made him feel oddly jealous and hurt.

And he could only hold his worries and assumptions at bay so long...

Responding to the knock at the door, knowing who it probably is at this hour, Laurel contemplates whether opening the door would be the right thing to do. She’s double-checked that it is indeed him, that bringing her more uncertainty than comfort, oddly enough. She’s been doing her best to distance herself from him and his life for quite a while now. She’s been meaning to give him an opportunity at a normal life, away from her mess and chaos. She’s been wanting to give him an escape from the fiasco she always finds herself dragging him into.

But he still comes back to her, by his own choice.

“Laurel, it’s me.“ His coarse voice reaches her from the other side of the door.

“Yeah...“ She trails off, forcing her hand up to turn the lock, “...I know.“

Opening the door reveals the concern on his face a lot better than she saw through the peephole. It makes her heart swell up and all she wants to do is throw her arms around him in a tight embrace. But she can’t do that, she won’t. She’s not willing to give him any reason to hold onto her whatsoever. In her eyes, he deserves a lot better. And maybe he does, but he doesn’t want anything or anyone better.

“Hey...“ he mutters, unsure of how to start of the interaction. Things have never been easy between them and, looking back, it seems like they’ve only gotten harder. Somehow, their connection has only grown stronger though. A connection he wants to uphold and a connection she wants to sever.

“Hey...What are you doing here so late?“ Ok, that’s a sustainable question considering it’s 10PM, but then again he’s come to her apartment at odder hours. Only difference is, those other times, she called him over.

“Though I’d check on you. You’ve been rather dead with calls and texts recently. Also missed Chris, heard he had a fever so I got worried.“ She hears the undertone of accusation in his voice loud and clear. It makes her bite her lip with guilt she wishes she wasn’t feeling, especially when she’s supposed to be doing the right thing.

You can’t decide for him. If he wants to keep coming back, that’s on him.

That thought hasn’t crossed her mind yet. It almost feels like she’s letting herself off the hook, feeding into the temptation to embrace what her and Frank have.

“You hungry?“ Now that is a bit more out-of-place question, but it’s accompanied by her taking a step back to allow him inside, “I ordered Thai food I never got to finish.“

He follows the signal, growing a bit more hopeful now that she’s let him in the apartment, thinking maybe she isn’t avoiding him after all. “Loss of appetite?”

“Partly.��� She replies, hearing the click of Frank locking the front door before following her in the kitchen where the hanging lights are dimmed. “Chris was throwing a fuss all day, I couldn’t really do much but focus on him.“ She motions to the living room where the coffee table is littered with sheets of paper and highlighters, some of which have found a spot on the floor as well. “Not to mention the ton of crap I need to do for school and work.“

“Would’ve been a lot easier on you had you called me, you know?“ He comments, walking over to the fridge, taking out the two packs of Thai takeout, suggesting she had been expecting him. She wasn’t really, she was just quietly hoping he’d show up at her doorstep.

“Didn’t wanna bother you. It’s nothing serious, a simple cold, I can handle it.“ She replies, approaching the small vintage radio in the corner of the kitchen counter, turning it on to a quiet volume so some tunes could fill the silences that are bound to occur frequently with the amount of tension between them.

“You could never bother me, Laurel. I’ve told you countless times before...“ putting the food he’s now moved onto a large plate into the microwave and turning the machine on, he turns to look at her, “I love Chris like he’s my son. In my eyes, he is my son and I love him with all my heart. Just like I love you.“

Instead of allowing the deafening quiet to take over them again - the soft music from the radio aside - Laurel lets the loudness of her mind surface. She lets it seep through the barriers she built in order to protect herself and protect everyone around her from herself: “Do you never stop to think you deserve better, Frank? Better than some grown-ass woman with her life in shambles and a kid whose father’s dead. Do you not think you deserve someone who knows what they want and where they’re headed with their life? Someone who...” her confidence is slowly leaving her to fend for herself and so she does, the best she can. “Someone who can cook and do their projects and work and take care of her son simultaneously. Someone better, Frank! Do you never want someone better?”

She hadn’t realized her eyes had been darting all over the place, looking everywhere but at him. How that her gaze has once again landed on his face, she feels her stomach turn at what she sees. That concerned, hurt and disappointed frown only further fuels her guilt, making her wish she’d never opened the door in the first place.

“Laurel, where’s this all coming from? Did Bonnie say something to you cause if she did...“ she cuts him off.

“No, she didn’t. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now actually. All I am to you is trouble and a burden and...“ he gets back at her, cutting her off himself.

“And you’re none of those things, Laurel. Your view of yourself is interfering with your perception of this, of us, of what we have. You and Chris are my family. The family I choose. It’s not about deserve or idealism - it’s about what brings you joy and makes you feel complete. What and who makes you feel at home. Who is your home.“ Always cautious of her personal space, Frank takes a hesitant step towards her and another when she doesn’t back away. “Lord knows it’s no paradise, but what we have is special, Laurel, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything in this world.“

Against her best attempts at keeping her emotions at bay, Laurel feels her eyes brimming with tears as she gazes up at the man she’s never been in the clear with. She never realizes what he means to her until it’s too late. She only realized she loved him when he disappeared. She only realized he meant the world to her when he had already slipped from her grip. And she refuses to continue that pattern.

Instead, she’ll work on finding out what they are exactly and even if she doesn’t reach that epiphany, she’ll still embrace it, no matter the oddity and unfamiliarity of it all.

“Thank you.“ she manages to whisper past the knot in her throat.

“Don’t thank me, you should never thank me for the things I do for you or Chris. I choose to do them. I choose to be here. I choose you because I want you. You and no one else, Laurel.“

Just then, the microwave beeps, alerting the two that their close-to-midnight meal is warmed up. Taking the plate out and placing it on the counter to cool down a little, he turns to her with a small smile on his face, “Let’s see what’s so troubling about that project of yours, shall we?”

And just like that, the tension has lifted, allowing for a smile to appear on her face as well. That ease of the mind is not something she’s been very used to throughout her life, constantly having shit to worry about and people to deal with. That’s why she’s never wanted to be a burden on someone’s back. She’s never wanted to be a major part in someone’s life, at least not until she gets her shit together.

And although she might never get her shit together, she’s got someone she loves and someone who loves her by her side. Lord knows he hasn’t been on top of his own shit either. At least they’ll be figuring it all out together.

[spicycreativity]

Soft-Shoe Shuffle - Ch 1

Chapter: 1/12 Rating: T (for language) Content Warnings: Canon-typical Remus content. This chapter only: alcohol use Characters: All Pairings: Moceit, background Prinxiety, background Intrulogical (yes I played a little game of "pair the spares") Additional Tags: Hey it's the fic I published on Anon because I was embarrassed of how utterly pretentious it is!, post-PoF, sickfic, dirty poetry, humor interspersed with philosophy and Janus-typical pontification, this is VERY speculative and will get Jossed in the future lmao Summary: After claiming his place in the Light and coming face-to-face with the consequences of his actions, Janus finds himself unwillingly re-calibrating his moral compass. For selfish reasons, of course. But one apology snowballs into several, and soon he's running around the Mindscape with a low-grade fever and a guilty conscience as he desperately tries to regain some sense of self. Oh, and he's definitely not falling in love with Patton, so don't even bring it up. One Last Note: I wrote this in an ADHD fugue state. It is HEAVILY influenced by Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment, but there are also references to poetry and various other works of literature. I also deliberately used symbols, themes, and motifs. Most of them are pretty in your face except for the recurring ouroboros, which is used as a symbol of rebirth. ...Told you it was pretentious.

When you wake up to the promise of your dream world comin' true With one less friend to call on, was it someone that I knew? Away you will go sailing in a race among the ruins If you plan to face tomorrow, do it soon

Janus appeared in the Dark side of the Mindscape, elation swelling in his chest. Even the ringing headache and bitter taste in his mouth couldn't hollow the unfamiliar triumph that warmed him to the core. Caught up in his own thoughts, it took a moment for him to register the sight before him: Remus, upside-down on the couch, his brow furrowed and face an alarming shade of purple.

For a moment, Janus stood stock-still as he tried to get his bearings. He must have been more flustered than he'd realized-- He'd been aiming for his bedroom.

But here he was, staring down at Remus, who was definitely going to burst a blood vessel (or several) if he didn't flip over soon.

"That's not horrifying at all," Janus said, thinking it would be rude to dismiss Remus, especially since he had probably been eavesdropping. He had likely heard everything. Everything. Even the ugly parts.

"Do you remember when Thomas read that post about Nutty Putty Cave?" Remus asked in a strained, strangled voice. "That spelunker who died because he got stuck upside-down?"

"No," Janus said, before realizing his mistake. "Yes." He definitely wanted Remus to remind him of the gory details.

"That's what I thought," Remus said with a wicked grin.

Janus sighed through his nose. Remus, though he thrived on attention, seemed content enough to continue his experiment by himself. On the other hand, if Janus didn't bring up a certain insult he'd levied at Roman, Remus most certainly would, and at a time where it would cause the most upset and turmoil. Better for Janus to deal with it now, even if he would have to fight the tension pulling his muscles taut. He wanted to dance. He wanted to scream.

Hesitation proved to be Janus' downfall, and by the time he'd opened his mouth to broach the subject at hand, Remus had beaten him to the blow. "You're not usually this quiet, Oralboros. Snake got your tongue?"

Janus, again, sighed. Rather than answer, he doffed his hat, set it on the coffee table, and clumsily arranged himself upside-down next to Remus. The change in position immediately made his head throb. He ignored it. "I definitely meant it when I called you 'evil'."

Remus' eyes widened in faux-shock. "You called me evil ?" he shrieked, voice ringing out high and clear. "Me? How dare you. I'm an angel!"

At least Remus was taking it well. "Sarcasm is my thing," Janus said, realizing that he might make it out of this without having to properly apologize.

For some reason, Patton's face flashed into his mind, and a subsequent twinge of guilt made his tongue go sour. Fine. If there was ever a time to start telling uncomfortable truths… "But I am sorry I said that."

"Wow!" Remus laughed. "You must be upset." A red stain began to spill across his left eye. "You don't apologize."

"It’s not like I care about your feelings or anything." Janus would have liked to have drawn himself up to his full height, but it was impossible to do while upside-down. "As much as I'm enjoying watching your blood vessels slowly burst, would you please turn over before you hurt yourself? I've suffered enough psychological trauma for today."

"Oh, fine." Remus kicked his legs and landed neatly on his toes like a gymnast.

Janus, by contrast, got his arms tangled in his capelet and nearly folded himself in half before he found his balance again. "I meant to do that," he said, turning to grab his hat so Remus wouldn't see the blush on his face.

The sudden sensation of blood draining from his head made the room whirl. He steadied himself against Remus' shoulder until it slowed somewhat, but nothing could dampen the horrible ringing in his ears.

"Well," he said, adjusting his shirt. The sudden appearance of his conscience had taken the wind out of his sails more than he cared to admit, and all thoughts of dancing bled out of him along with a good deal of energy. "I'm not going to go scream into my pillows until I tire myself out."

"Being an agent of chaos is hard work," Remus said with a sage nod, "but that doesn't sound very relaxing, Mr Self Care."

"It's a form of meditation, if you think about it," Janus said.

Remus made a face. "You know I don't do that."

"...Meditate?"

"No, think."

"Ah. Well." Janus made only a token attempt to hide his fond smile. "Good night, Remus. Please stay up late and injure yourself."

"Can do, Snakeypoo.”

Janus turned. It was close enough, he might as well walk to his bedroom, especially considering how well his last attempt at appearing in it had gone.

The reason why that had been so difficult became apparent in mere moments. Janus froze in the hall and dropped to his knees at the giddy wave of horror and delight that made him too light-headed to stand.

He knelt in front of the empty stretch of wall where his door had been previously.  Heat flooded his face.

"Jay?" The rounded toes of Remus' boots appeared in his line of sight. Janus zeroed in on them, the mud splatters and stains on the soft leather. "You have an aneurysm or what?"

Janus, unable to speak, motioned for Remus to turn around. He couldn't deal with this right now.

"Ohhh," said Remus. "Well. Good luck with that ." He hauled Janus to his feet. "So you're a boner fide good guy now, huh?"

Janus stared over Remus' shoulder at the empty stretch of wall where his door used to be. "That depends entirely on who you ask."

Remus shrugged and rose up on his toes. "You can scream into my pillows instead, if you want."

"As tempting as that is…" Janus trailed off, his eyes still fixed on the wall. It was tempting, despite the constant chaos in Remus' room. But he'd have to face the Light side sooner or later. It wasn't like he could move his room back, not without psychologically damaging Thomas and undoing all the work he'd done. "I'm really looking forward to getting insulted some more."

"Alright," Remus said with a shrug. "Try not to throw me under the bus this time, alright? Unless it's a real bus…" His gaze became dreamy, unfocused. "And it's doing 50 in a school zone and there's a whole pack of screaming kids in the crosswalk--"

"Goodbye, Remus." Janus turned and left.

--

The barrier between the "dark" and the "light" sides of Thomas' brain had been a joint venture. It would have been there in some form no matter what, but it was Janus and Roman (with Patton's tacit blessing) who had worked to put up something more physical between them.

Janus ducked under the red curtain, trepidation percolating in his stomach, but what he found on the other side was anticlimactic to say the least: It was dead silent on this side of the barrier.

Janus wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. He knew by now that the so-called "Lights" had issues working out their interpersonal issues, and this most recent conflict wasn't the kind of thing you just got over. It did follow that they would all go off to lick their wounds for a time.

Hesitantly, toe-to-heel, Janus crept down the hall. It felt for all the world like he was sneaking around a vast hotel, right down to needlessly ornate design on the plush carpeting. That was probably Roman's doing.

Janus focused, trying to call the Mindscape to work for him. He wanted to go to his room.

The Mindscape listened. Janus turned a corner and found a row of doors stretching down yet another brightly-lit corridor. His eye was immediately drawn, not to the brilliant yellow of his own door, but to the figure huddled in front of it: Patton sat with his arms wrapped around his legs, forehead resting on his knees.

"Looking for someone?" Janus asked, slightly louder than necessary.

Patton jerked his head up. "Oh! Janus!" He plastered an unconvincing smile on his face. "You sure pop star-tled me."

Scaring Patton hadn't brought Janus nearly the level of schadenfreude he'd thought it would. He crossed his arms over his chest, extending a third to help Patton up. "Take your time getting to the point.”

"Oh." Patton accepted Janus' proffered hand and got to his feet. Warmth spilled from him, permeating the fabric of Janus' glove and gently heating his palm. "Well, it's just…" He took a deep breath. "I noticed your door and I thought-- Well, I wanted to make you feel welcome!"

A high-pitched tone resonated in Janus' skull. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from wincing at the mounting pressure-pain-exhaustion in his temples. "Aren't you just a saint ." Patton's face fell. Janus fought the urge to swear aloud. He usually had a better handle on himself, and he knew better than to alienate potential allies. "I mean, thank you, Patton. Truly. I appreciate it." Patton had proven himself useful. Janus should at least cultivate that relationship, even if it meant a little discomfort.

"Have you eaten?" Patton asked. "It's a little late, but I could make something if you wanted." He paused. "Maybe we could play cards or something." Another pause. "O-only if you want to, I mean."

Janus let his face remain impassive even as he internally cringed at the idea of staying awake for even another second. It would be so easy to brush Patton off with a few honeyed words and disappear beyond the barrier of his door. But Patton had stood up for him today, or at least he'd tried to. Janus sighed. Quid pro quo. "That sounds like an utter waste of time."

"Are you… I'm sorry, sometimes I can't tell when you're…"

"Yes, Patton. That sounds lovely."

Patton actually hopped in place, an adorable little jig that absolutely didn't send a confusing little shockwave of fondness through Janus' ribcage. "Really?"

"Really," Janus lied.

He followed Patton down the hall into the living room, which opened into the dining room and the kitchen. Janus studied his surroundings, trying to take in as much as his exhausted faculties would allow. Even in the absence of other Sides, the living room felt warm and welcoming. All the lights were on, and they bathed everything in gentle golden light .

"You're awfully quiet," Patton said.

Janus shook himself. "I was just getting my bearings."

"I guess you've never really been over here, huh?" Pattton opened the refrigerator. Was he actually going to cook , instead of just manifesting something? How quaint. "Do you like grilled cheese?"

It had been a long, confusing day. Doublespeak came to Janus as naturally as breathing, but he was obviously running circles around Patton even when he wasn't trying to. "Yes," he said, hoping to telegraph his sincerity by not emoting at all.

It seemed to work. Patton studied him for a moment before turning back to the fridge. "Then that's what I'll make."

Janus took advantage of this temporary distraction to clamber onto one of the barstools. The slick velvet of his capelet tended to disagree with surfaces like wood and vinyl, and he needed a moment to arrange things so he didn't look as unbalanced as he felt.

He watched Patton work in the kitchen, a detached coolness washing out the scene. Quid pro quo, he reminded himself when he felt his facade begin to slip. He owed Patton this.

He certainly didn't feel the slightest twinge of guilt, that he had been the one to orchestrate this breakdown. Yes, the Light Sides had loaded the gun, but in the end it was Janus who had pulled the trigger.

He shook his head and thought about playing cards, good Bicycle playing cards with holes punched through them like they'd come from a casino. "What should we play?" he asked, pulling the deck from his breast pocket.

Patton looked up from the stovetop, his eyes flicking to the cards in Janus' hand. "Do you know Kings in the Corners?"

"Not personally, no."

Patton laughed, but there was something cold about it. "It's really simple," he said. "I'll show you how to play and you can tell me if you like it."

--

It was nearly impossible to cheat at Kings in the Corners. Janus doubted this had been a calculated measure on Patton's part, doubted he had the capacity for that kind of foresight, but he respected it just the same.

They played in funereal silence, staring each other down across the light wood of the dining room table. Janus, ill-inclined to take off his gloves, utilized a napkin to keep from staining them with melted butter from the grilled cheese Patton had made. Neither one of them smiled. Neither one of them spoke.

Janus pulled a card from the deck to indicate the end of his turn and glanced up at Patton. His face was somber, almost sorrowful, and it clashed against the gentle domesticity of the dining room, with its floral table runner and mismatched placemats.

Janus started to laugh.

"What is it?" Patton asked, cheeks darkening. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

Janus swallowed down another peal of laughter and cleared his throat, unable to wholly restrain the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You look like I’m holding you here at gunpoint." It was somewhat ironic, considering Janus was the one who felt like he couldn't leave.

"What?" Patton smiled, but it was more akin to an offering than an expression of joy.

"It’s not really funny. " Janus wasn’t quite sure how to make Patton understand.

Patton sat back with a sigh, placing his cards facedown on the table. "But I guess it is pretty funny, huh? In a really sad way."

Janus almost asked what was sad about it before realizing that Patton probably missed his friends. Instead he said, "Yes" and stifled a yawn behind his free hand.

"I'll make coffee!" Patton leapt to his feet and was off to the kitchen before Janus could so much as blink.

The newfound solitude made it that much harder for Janus to ignore his headache, which had only worsened in the hour or so he'd been playing cards with Patton. Despite the nonchalant facade he'd tried so hard to project, he'd been holding himself tense.

Maybe the night (or morning, at this point) would be easier to tolerate if he had, say, a bit of gold rum.

The corner of a flask dug into Janus' hip. He smiled.

"Just how late are you planning on staying up?" he asked Patton when the latter returned holding two mismatched mugs.

"Oh, I don't know," Patton said. Lied. He set a mug down in front of Janus and then resumed his seat, the cards forgotten by his elbow. "I'm… A little scared of what tomorrow will be like."

Janus eased the flask out of his pocket. "Rum?"

"Oh, um," Patton said, staring at the flask. "I don't know…"

Janus raised an eyebrow, working something out. He landed on it a millisecond later: Patton wanted to be convinced. Easy enough. Janus opened the flask and poured what he hoped was a shot into his own mug. It was black, he noticed, except for the yellow snake that wrapped around it, its tail firmly in its own mouth. Ouroboros. "Surely you don't intend to make me drink alone?"

As Janus had expected, Patton buckled the second he was pushed. "I guess not."

It was funny, Janus mused as he carefully tipped rum into Patton's coffee, how lying was only off-limits when Janus suggested it. Hilarious.

But now wasn't the time for bitterness, now was the time to repay the debt he owed Patton. "Cheers," he said, pocketing the flask once more.

"Cheers."

Janus sipped his coffee. "You put milk in this," he observed.

Patton's smile was surprisingly sly. "I know you want me to think you take it black. Virgil did too, at first. I know you ‘Dark Sides’ have an image you like to uphold."

"And how does Virgil take his coffee now?" Janus asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"With Snickers-flavored creamer."

"Well, I do take my coffee black," Janus lied.

Patton's smile never faltered. "We'll see, kid-- Uh, Janus."

"Patton," Janus said, before he could start thinking about the implications of Patton wanting to call him 'kiddo,' "you are planning on sleeping tonight, aren't you?"

"Maybe eventually," Patton said, suddenly unable to look Janus in the eye. "At some point."

"Tomorrow will come whether or not you sleep. It's definitely better to pull an all-nighter and feel like garbage instead of facing everything with a clear head."

"I know." Patton leaned forward so he could rest his head on his hand.

For a moment, Janus was tempted to mirror him. Sitting up straight was becoming quite the chore. "I know how the others love a calm, rational discussion."

"Oh, I wish." Patton's expression turned wistful.

Janus stifled a yawn behind his hand. He had half-expected the coffee to counteract the depressant effect of the alcohol, but all he had to show for the combination was a racing heart.

"I'll be fine out here if you want to go to bed," Patton said. Without seeming to realize he was doing it, he brought his hand to his mouth and bit down on his thumbnail.

It was a tempting offer. A day ago, Janus would have taken it. After all, it wasn't like he cared about Patton outside of professional courtesy. They weren't friends. But guilt nagged at him and wouldn't let him entertain the idea of abandoning Patton for longer than a second.

"That's a remarkable impression of a window," Janus said, waiting for Patton to look confused before elaborating, "I can see right through you."

"You got me." Patton smiled sadly. "That's something I've always admired about you, Janus."

Now it was Janus' turn to be confused. "What?"

"You're so… clever."

Janus narrowed his eyes. "Please do keep trying to change the subject."

"It's just… I don't want to have to lie there and, and think about today and everything I did wrong. I hurt Thomas. I hurt my friends." Patton's eyes were shiny behind his glasses; the unshed tears sparkled in the light when he locked eyes with Janus. "Aren't you going to think about the same thing?"

Anger flared, perhaps prematurely, in Janus' chest. "About what you did wrong today?"

"About what you did wrong," Patton said timidly.

"I," Janus said icily, "didn't do anything wrong." He stared Patton down across the table, jaw set, daring him to push back. Let him lecture and nag, let him prove that he hadn't changed no matter what he said.

But Patton only nodded, his face lined with misery. "Okay," he softly. "I think you're right, Janus. We should go to bed."

Janus thought about how much faster he could get to bed if the table was cleared, and all the dishes and cards vanished in a blink.

"Um, Janus?" Patton said.

"Yes?"

"I don't regret everything that happened today."

"Oh?"

Patton only nodded and sank out.

Janus made a beeline for his own room; better to find his way there on foot rather than risk appearing in the wrong spot.

Once inside, he looked around to ensure nothing was amiss, eyes roving over the dark wood of his bookshelves and desk, his mirrored closet doors, the leather armchairs across from his bed.

Everything was exactly as Janus had left it. He nodded, satisfied, set his hat on the nightstand, and sprawled out of top of the covers without bothering to further undress.

One hazy thought crawled to the surface of his mind before he fell asleep: At least he wouldn't be one of the regrets haunting Patton tonight.

[picklesmin]

Soap Bubbles and Memories

They were allies, they were friends, but sometimes they were even more than that to Olimar. And under the soap and grime that coated them now they were a needed blessing, and a haunting curse to a mournful father’s heart.

So I decided to make “Outside A Galaxy Of My Own” a series instead of a multi chaptered fic (though some arcs may have multiple parts)!

Thought of this when I was bathing my little brothers, and it started out intending to just be cute but devolved into sadness. Oh Olimar, why can’t you just stay happy for me?

-

This planet was host to so many different terrains that Olimar never quite knew what environmental hurdle would be thrown at him, and as such he wasn’t always quite prepared either to face it. No, too many times had him stumble into a pool, scaling rocks, and even frozen snow.

It never seemed to matter what mess the pikmin found clinging to them at the end of the day either. When they slid down the tentacle like appendages of their onions the next day they were always sparkling. As the onion was a nest, he supposed that meant it was equipped to groom them as well.

That wasn’t always the case however.

“Damn,” the father cursed to himself in a panic as he barely managed to cling to the bark of the rotting log that had snapped under their careful feet. One hand was barely grasping Louie by the pants as they dangled precariously over a strange pit.

“The pikmin!” Olimar shouted in alarm as he stared down at a small group of wailing little pikmin desperately trying to keep themselves afloat in a tarry substance. Even the blues were sinking.

Instinctively Olimar blew harshly on his whistle with several sharp breaths, but while his little comrades desperately tried to reach towards him, they couldn’t free themselves. Even their little arms could barely wave in distress. A winged pikmin attempted to flutter over to its siblings, but after pulling uselessly the poor thing was only suctioned into the chaos of black taffy.

“No good.” Louie shook his head and let his whistle dangle again. “It’s tar, they can’t get out.”

Olimar turned desperately to his partner and then back to the drowning and sinking squad. The mere thought of attempting to turn his back on their faithful companions struggling to live and begging him was utterly inconceivable.

“I can't just not try.”

Puffing his cheeks in frustration at the rather expected answer, Louie nodded curtly and without a word, stretched his hand down to let the captain slowly lower into the pit.

Olimar could feel the disgusting, congealed substance begin to sink against his thighs but regardless, using a few rocks sticking up, he maneuvered over to the struggling pikmin.

Exhausted and slowly being consumed in the mass, the poor creatures couldn’t even reach out to him. Gritting his teeth as he strained against the pressure of the pit, Olimar extended his arm out and tried to scoop the pikmin into him. After several tugs, he managed to loosen them, and the terrified, filthy creatures took refuge on his helmet.

Louie grunted as he felt Olimar’s weight become even heavier. “This was a stupid idea.” But he knew his fatherly boss and he knew he never let anyone struggle without trying to save them.

Olimar was much more difficult to lift thanks to the extra weight on his head, but after a few complicated attempts the group was catching its breath back on shore.

“That’s my exercise for the day,” Olimar joked, gazing skyward and still feeling his head heavy with pikmin. “But it’ll be dark soon anyways.” The pikmin were practically glued to his head.

Louie fiddled the dial on the onion and their squad began climbing up the legs, sliding into the opening of their vessel. He peeled the five pikmin on his captain’s helmet and threw them at the onion’s legs.

Like one of those ‘splat’ toys Olimar’s son had at home, the poor creatures merely made a wet sounding splat as they hung there like velcro, bewildered. Neither explorer could resist a snort.

“This is a bit of an issue,” Olimar hummed as he watched the blinking, chattering little pikmin. Were it not for their unique shape, you’d hardly be able to tell which type was which, sullied under all the black goo. “The onion has to groom them. It can’t take them like this.”

Louie stared at the dirty pikmin and shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t do much…”

Olimar’s thoughts were already winding as he surveyed their environment carefully. The only thing nearby was a small pond, and that was useless...unless…

“What are you doing?” Louie’s eyes widened slightly as he watched Olimar pick up the messy pikmin and head towards the water. Judging by the way the critter’s eyes absolutely bugged out, the poor pikmin were wondering the same thing.

“Testing a theory…” Holding a confused yellow pikmin, Olimar sat down in the shallows of the pond. He had the creature propped up on his shoulder, its eyes staring the water down with trepidation. Olimar held it out and his soft smile gazed into its terrified expression.

“It’s alright.” He cursed the ever present language barrier between them, because being able to speak their dialect was exactly what Olimar needed right now. “You won’t get hurt, I promise you.” The yellow pikmin’s chest rose and fell quickly, ears pinned back with pupils the size of a full moon.

As he moved to lower the pikmin into the water, it squealed in fear and folded its tiny legs up like a frog. When Olimar tried again, the frightened thing broke free of his hold and clawed up his arm to take refuge on his helmet.

“Meeeep! Meeeeef!”

“That went well.” Louie’s normal monotone held a slight teasing to it and Olimar glared half heartedly back at his young charge.

The captain craned his neck to try and look up at the pikmin and smiled sadly when he saw it was shaking. “You’re alright, I promise.” He picked up the chittering leaf again and immediately it began squealing and scratching the air. “Hey-hey!”

Olimar lifted the slightly wet creature from the water with one hand supporting its back and with his other hand he cupped the pikmin’s tiny, delicate face with the care and experience of a patient father. “It’s me! It’s me…” Teary eyes gazed up at him earnestly and Olimar held the pikmin at eye level, hoping his tone at the very least could soothe where words could not. Although the pikmin was still visibly panicked, it appeared to be listening.

“It’s me,” Olimar repeated, his tone akin to the gentle fatherly one he used with his children (and sometimes Louie) when they were upset. “Come on, you know I won’t let you drown.”

But did they? Did they really? So much about the symbiotic relationship they shared was such an enigma. To this day Olimar still didn’t know why the pikmin followed him, served him, and especially laid down their own lives willingly, even knowing how many perished in his leadership. For all he knew the little thing in his arms was thinking he was planning on executing it!

Olimar moved his thumb over the yellow pikmin’s cheek, brushing away the tear that was there. The gesture seemed to be calming the little leaf’s shakes slightly and he smiled. “You willing to try?”

Although the pikmin remained understandably nervous, gradually its little muscles relaxed and eventually its tiny legs hung down. Olimar shifted the pikmin in his arm and held it in a partially cradled position in his lap. The moment blackened toes touched the water, the yellow pikmin squeaked, but a few gentle shushes from the Hocotation and it went quiet.

Olimar allowed the pikmin to sink down a little further, until the water line was just under the creature’s chest. Its eyes widened as it instinctively raised its head, visibly trying to keep its stem as far from the water as possible. Olimar cupped his glove carefully over the delicate leaf, leaving ample room for it to breathe, while being shielded.

The gesture was like magic, relaxing the pikmin almost instantly. Its ears flicked inquisitively and Olimar nodded. “It’s the stem,” he informed Louie. “That’s what happens, that makes sense. These creatures are sentient plants, and any plant can be drowned if it’s exposed to too much moisture.”

Louie walked out of the ship with scrub brushes and watched a dirty blue pikmin happily fling itself into the pond. “And the blue ones?”

Olimar waved a hand dismissively. “Well there’s always exceptions for every part of nature.” He was glad he didn’t have to fight with the blue ones. Although for the most part now the yellow pikmin was utterly compliant and even interested in the strange environment it was never safely able to be in.

Olimar smiled encouragingly over his shoulder at the tiny group of pikmin watching nervously from land. “Any of you comfortable being next?” Propping his pikmin on his knee he was able to reach a hand out to the small group.

A winged pikmin, grounded from the tar, stared at its siblings and back at the Hocotations. After a moment it came closer with an affirming chirp.

“Well, they’re certainly getting braver!” He rubbed his yellow pikmin’s cheek softly and felt something tug inside him when a soft purr was the response. “Louie, they like baths,” he practically gushed, trying to keep his smile from splitting his face. It was just so unexpected, so adorable.

Louie merely sighed and took a hold of the winged pikmin. “You’re gonna bathe them from now on.” It was a statement, not a question and that’s what made Olimar’s cheeks bloom a dark red of embarrassment.

“Of course not!” he barked with an affronted scoff, nearly jostling the little pikmin in his lap. “Don’t be ridiculous, Louie. We’re here on a mission, which I’m well aware of and what’s required of me. But, well, you know the scientist in me—I’m just excited with this new discovery!”

“Hmm.”

The derisive hum only served to make Olimar redder and he instead turned his gaze to the yellow pikmin. Its chitters were that of amusement and curiosity and Olimar watched a tiny claw flick the surface and watch the water droplets. The Hocotation smiled and exhaled after a moment. “Well, time’s ticking away. We should probably clean them.” As tempting as it was to just sit there and watch their adorable antics.

“Guess so. Got the stuff.” Louie had a bucket in his hand with various sizes and textures of brushes. He also had a liquidized soap. He flopped down into the water and squirted some soap out onto one of the brushes.

“Louie wait, we don’t know if their skin can tolerate that!” Olimar exclaimed and winced as the sanitized sponge slapped lightly down onto the yellow pikmin’s tiny arm. He anticipated a pained cry, but while there was a surprised squeak, the little creature was only confused. Its small claws rubbed along the peculiar, slimy substance with a croon.

“Well, it doesn’t seem to be burning this one.” Olimar chuckled as he watched the chittering little thing play with the soap on its hands. The goopy substance mingled with the surface of the water, creating foam. Olimar had to bite back a laugh as he watched the yellow pikmin’s eyes dilate as wide as a cat’s upon seeing the first of the soap bubbles float upwards.

The little yellow pikmin’s chatters became far more excited after a series of entranced noises. It was now standing in his lap and attempting to reach up and catch one. The slowly setting sun reflected on the kaleidoscopic surface, and the array of colors encased inside made the pikmin want it more.

“This isn’t playtime, you know!” Olimar told the pikmin, but by now he couldn’t help but laugh. Even the winged pikmin sitting in Louie’s palm was making grabbing hand motions.

Perched on his knee with surprising bravery, the yellow pikmin jumped up and clapped the bubble. It naturally popped and the soul shattered expression on the poor little thing’s face could have made Olimar cry.

“They don’t work like that,” he informed the nearly tearful little leaf. “I know, my children made the same tragic discovery… You won’t be able to hoard these in a treasure pile I’m afraid.” But with the copious amount of soap now in the water, the bubbles were doing a swell job at hoarding themselves into a pile!

By now this unexpected development and a sight that none of the other pikmin had ever seen was beginning to attract the three dirty pikmin standing on land. They made impatient little hops and noises until a grumbling Louie walked over and tucked them under his arm.

“Whoa!” Olimar was almost too late to snatch a brave little red pikmin that literally leaped off Louie towards the bubbles—and subsequently—the water. “I think we’ve transitioned from being fearful of baths to being fearless of baths a little too quickly!”

“Your idea,” Louie reminded him as he sat in the shallows and began to carefully scrub a rock pikmin in his hand. It cooed and its eyes followed a trail of bubbles that floated upward.

“And your fault for bringing in the bubbles!” Although he knew soap was more than a necessity for this type of filth. “But at least they’re enjoying it.”

The original yellow one still in his lap strained its tiny arms to grab at the foam, and chuckling, Olimar scooped a mound towards the creature. “Oh fine, I’ll indulge you. You want to see something funny?” Abruptly and carefully, he shoved a handful into the little thing’s face. It squeaked and twitched around its cheeks, staring up at their leader.

“It’s a bubble beard!”

The yellow pikmin was only confused for a moment before its eyes narrowed with a mischievous sounding chitter. And before Olimar realized it, a sizable splash of water had slapped into his helmet, making him flinch. Louie snickered and the red pikmin on the Hocotation’s other knee repeated the motion its sibling had done.

“Ack!” He could hear what sounded like the pikmin giggling at him and suddenly Olimar found himself transported back to warm memories. Memories of a heated bathroom and far too many plastic and rubber toys. Their musical giggles, the gap between his son’s teeth, his daughter’s pruny, pink hands as she touched his face with soapy fingers...

“Captain?”

Louie’s uncharacteristically soft and concerned voice broke Olimar out of his reminiscing, and that’s when he realized his young underling was a blur in his vision. Wiping his helmet from the water, Olimar felt a wetness spilling down his cheeks. That wasn’t from the pond, nor was the clench in his chest.

“Olimar?” Louie’s voice was even softer and Olimar felt the small creatures in his lap lean against his slightly shaking chest. Louie stood up and walked over to the captain’s side. Completely out of his comfort zone, he didn’t know what to do, but he still felt himself laying a hand on Olimar’s shoulder and squeezing it. It was usually the fatherly captain doing such for him.

Olimar gave a slight sniffle and was vaguely certain he felt tiny hands rub his arm through his suit.

His hand lingering on his captain’s shoulder for a moment, Louie awkwardly stood back on his feet. “The sun is going down more.”

Somewhat embarrassed, the older Hocotation cleared his throat and stood, picking up the soaked and clean pikmin. “They’re practically shining now, we should hurry up and dry them.”

Louie merely nodded in agreement and shook off his boots as he fetched a large towel that was draped over the bucket of cleaning supplies. Olimar didn’t say much as he wrapped up the group, but Louie didn’t miss the way he swaddled the pikmin and held them much closer than necessary.

“I wish we had more moments like these.” Olimar’s almost...solemn confession broke the silent tranquility. Louie blinked slightly and looked to his boss, whose gaze was on the bundle of content and slightly purring creatures in his arms. The aching gnawing at his heart was barely lessened by the creatures cradled against him, but he was desperate to try and fill any part of the void that he could.

“Moments where we could just relax…” the captain clarified, watching the yellow pikmin as it played with some moisture on its fingers. “Where we can just sit here with them, get to know them. Maybe not have that sidetracked by instantly losing them to the jaws of any of this planet’s voracious predators.”

Louie’s lips pursed quietly and even his shoulders seemed to sag in agreement. He wasn’t sure if he’d bonded as strongly as his boss had to their squad, or even this planet, but he couldn’t deny he wanted a break. “More time to cook...sleep... Yeah….the pikmin.”

As Olimar’s hands massaged the tiny backs and shoulders of their pikmin through the fabric, Louie gazed through the trees to where some stars were already beginning to peek through the setting sky. “You know...I bet they’d like them.”

Olimar looked at him. “Wh-who?”

“Your family,” Louie said quietly as he looked over at the now sleeping pikmin. “Your kids. I...I bet they’d like them.”

Olimar’s mouth creased and he could barely hold back another round of tears. “Yeah...I think so too.”

[wonderlustlucas]

i hemoglobin you - byun baekhyun

⇢ prompt “Yeah, but Baekhyun doesn’t really talk romantics with me.” ⇢ pairing baekhyun x gender neutral reader ⇢ word count 4.8k ⇢ genre fluff ⇢ warnings swearing. kinda descriptive when it comes to the actual needle idk i’m bad at warnings if needles make u uncomfy don’t read. ⇢ summary You’d think, after some time, your crush on the annoying little shit named Byun Baekhyun would fade away. Fortunately for him (and you), falling out of love with someone brighter than a star is near impossible. Plus, needles are scary and even med kids need their hand held sometimes. Alternatively: Junmyeon found dead in a ditch.—friends to lovers!au ; college blood drive!au ⇢ a/n ok yes i realize this is an odd setting for fanfiction but like,,, my school had a blood drive & what happens in this is exactly what i experienced, minus the whole crush revealing they like me with a kiss thing. so i decided to WRITE IT OKAY?! also, i really tried to make this gender, color, absolutely everything reader neutral but then when i was editing i saw the nurse call y/n ‘miss’ so if i missed anything pls lmk so i can edit it!!! thank u & i hope u enjoy ♥︎

If it weren’t for that time you tried anal with your ex-boyfriend back in high school, you’d consider Byun Baekhyun to be the biggest pain in your ass. If asked, you definitely could come up with a hefty list of all the things about him that annoy the living daylights out of you, things from the unnecessary high volume of his voice to the time he introduced himself as “Bacon” on the first day of your internship at the hospital.

Truthfully, however, it all comes down to one certain realization: seeing Baekhyun’s stupidly cute smile has become the sole thing you look forward to everyday. For the first two years at university, you did not know Byun Baekhyun. You knew of him. As fate would have it, you were bound to meet at some point with an undergraduate enrollment of around four thousand, and your sanity began its downward tumble the third week of junior year.

At the time, you couldn’t quite put your finger on why he left such a sour taste in your mouth. From a distance, he was a star; this great, big bundle of sunshine and joy, full of life and spirit and in the eyes of someone as mild-mannered as yourself, he was magnificent and everything you wished you were. But, once the barrier between you fell and your relationship swiftly jumped from strangers to friends, you realized just how polar opposite you were. Always going out of his way to meet new people and a little too chaotic for you personally, Baekhyun draws attention to himself without even trying. And you can’t blame him— it’s hard to go unnoticed when you prance around with a thousand-watt smile and the energy of a three-month-old golden retriever.

Sometimes, you wished he had chosen one of the arts as his major rather than health sciences.

Nevertheless, it is hard to ignore such an innocently beautiful soul such as Baekhyun. No matter how many times you told yourself to find a new lab partner, no matter how many countless nights you found yourself rolling out of bed, bundled up in your blankets and into the cold hallway of your residence hall to knock on Park Chanyeol’s door and tell him to open the window for his frost-bitten roommate hiding in the bushes, no matter how many this or how many that’s, you couldn’t help but fall in love with the friendship and chaos that came with Byun Baekhyun.

If it weren’t for that time you tried anal with your ex-boyfriend back in high school, you’d consider Byun Baekhyun to be the love of your life.

“Absolutely not,” you interrupt, looking up from your clipboard in order to search the crowd for the younger boy. Baekhyun groans, wrapping his arms around your waist and dropping his head on your shoulder. “C’mon, ___. He’s fine, you know Sehun.” He whines, adding a drawn-out ‘please’ against your ear. It makes your stomach sink for reasons you’d rather not disclose.

“Baek,” you scoff, wiggling out of his grip despite his best efforts of keeping you against him, “are you serious? Sehun quite possibly may be the smallest person in this room. He needs to rest.”

“He’s twenty pounds heavier than me!”

“Taller, too.”

“___,” he groans, crossing his arms over his chest and mustering his best straight face. It makes you laugh.

“I’m not arguing with you. He did Power Red; he’s not going anywhere. If he didn’t want to miss chem, then he should have made his appointment later. It’s one class. He’ll be fine.”

“Why must you be so stubborn?” Baekhyun sighs in defeat, combing muted silver hair away from his forehead. Your eyes follow the movement, distracted for hardly a second, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “I learned it from you,” you smile, nudging his arm with your elbow. The signature tilted smirk returns. “Tell Sehun I’m sorry, but I—well, we—can’t risk letting him leave. He could have a delayed effect and end up passed out in the staircase. Twenty more minutes and he can go.”

“I get it,” he hums, snatching the tentative schedule out of your hands before you can even protest. For as rash as he may be, Baekhyun is not dumb. And even if he was, he knows that when you are as unrelenting as you are now, there’s no point in arguing. “I think I’m gonna try and donate.”

“What?” You exclaim, maybe a little too loud if all the Red Cross employees shooting annoyed glares your way is anything to go by. Baekhyun truly is started to rub off on you. “I thought you were scared of needles?”

“Heights, ___,” he scoffs, “needles aren’t my favorite, but if I’m going to eventually put them in other people, I better get used to them for myself.” As he explains, he rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie and presses at the soft skin on the inside of his arm before stretching it out for your examination. “I mean,” you hum, holding him still and feeling around for a thick enough vein, “you definitely have the veins. Do you want me to hold your hand?” You sing the last part cutely, lips puckered out at him.

“Will you? Since Sehun has to stay over there, I have no one else,” Baekhyun retorts, using your previous resolve to his advantage. You can’t tell if he’s oblivious or simply choosing to ignore your mockery. Rolling your eyes, you drop his arm and reach for your clipboard, tearing it out of his grasp. “Don’t you have anything else better to do than annoy me? Aren’t you supposed to be watching the donors?”

“Well, yes, but—”

Baekhyun starts, trailing behind you before the shout of his name promptly cuts him off. “Baekhyun! Can you help Jongdae carry in more water?” See, precisely as you were saying.

“But I like annoying you,” he pouts, hugging onto your arm and holding on tight. “Sorry, Baek,” you offer, feelings in shambles because 1) he is so cute you could cry but 2) he’s really distracting and now you finally will be able to focus, at least while he’s gone. Frowning, he releases your arm at last, combing his hair back and once again, you feel like throwing up.

“Go see if you can donate when you’re done,” you remind him, nodding toward the rather quiet donor room. “Yeah, I will. Wish me luck,” Baekhyun grins, blowing you a kiss. Without a second thought, you blow one back.

You have begun walking on an incredibly unstable rope, you realize, the thin line distinguishing the way you look at Baekhyun diminishing each and every day. On one side, he is simply your friend, your lab partner, a coworker of sorts. Comrades working toward the same goal, and once it’s reached, you go your separate ways. But on the other hand, he is much more than that. Now that you no longer live on campus, days spent bullshitting in the dining hall or dorms over, you most certainly do not spend as much time together.

And yet, nothing has changed. Except for your feelings, of course. This time last year, you were minding your own damn business when Chanyeol had to go and mention how much time Baekhyun spends with you instead of him. “Sorry?” You had offered, unsure of what the crease in his brow meant.

“No… don’t be sorry,” he hummed, deep in thought and stabbing at his salad in disinterest, “not to be blunt, but he usually bounces from person to person each week. He’s been sticking to you for, what, six months? Something is up.”

“Don’t you live with him?” You asked, confused. What was he getting at here?

“Yeah, but Baekhyun doesn’t really talk romantics with me.”

“Romantics?” You exclaimed, spit flying from your lips. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice.

“He definitely likes you. God, it all makes sense now! Okay, I need to do some interrogating,” suddenly rushing, Chanyeol was up and swinging his bag over his shoulder before you could blink an eye. “See ya, ___!”

“Wait!” You yelled out for him, but the obnoxiously tall boy just kept running, dodging students meandering around the dining hall. Slumping in your chair, you eventually turned to look out the window, watching as he continued his flight across campus. “Good talk.”

Nothing ever came up afterward. No answers, no clarifications, nada. Chanyeol never brought it up again, despite the expectant raise of your brows the next lunch you had alone with him. You were content shrugging it off— it was out of your hands. If Baekhyun liked you, so be it.

Or so you thought. Turns out, having such unanswered questions dangling over your head every time Baekhyun left his friends for you at parties, fell asleep with his head on your shoulder during chem, or arrived at your front door with your favorite boba in hand just because he ‘was driving by’ left your mind racing almost as fast as your heart. You thought, for some time, that you could dodge such budding emotions by countering it with all the things you didn’t like about Baekhyun. (Spoiler: it didn’t work.)

Even now, as you watch him catch up with Jongdae, the left side of your brain has already begun arguing with the right. You miss his annoying ass already, one side points out. But he was a distraction, now you have double the students to check in, the other reasons. With a heavy sigh, you shake your head to rid such enraging thoughts and turn to said students, counting each one before making your way to the first in line.

He can’t donate. You realize this before he has even left his seat.

From across the gymnasium, you have continued glancing his way as he went through the mini physical. Just before the finger prick, he shot you a thumbs up and a beaming smile bright enough to challenge the Sun before jerking in his seat at the sudden pinch. Laughing, the grin you returned has not even left your face before his shoulders are sagging, a cloud of disappointment replacing the anxious excitement that was there hardly ten seconds ago. Your smile is gone just as quickly as his.

Standing, Baekhyun nods one last time to the nurse before making his way over, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck from side to side. “Low iron?” You guess, opening your arms for him to nestle into your side like the little munchkin he is. “Yeah,” he mumbles, miserable, and you cringe knowing he’s going to be like this all day now. “I wish I could donate, but…” You drone emptily, trying to change the subject despite the deceitfulness of your ‘wish.’ Over your dead body would you lie on one of those tables and have a harpoon in your arm.

“You should, now that I can’t,” he hums, breath warm on your skin. Convincing as snuggly Baekhyun is, it’s not happening. “Yeah, I’ll pass,” you snort, offering a faux smile to a group of sophomore girls making their way in, shooting confused and envious glances your way. “Make sure to grab a water before starting your Rapid Pass, ladies. If you have not eaten much today, there are snacks by Katie,” you spew, pointing to said girl across the room, “if you have any questions, let me know.” With one last feeble smile, you turn your back to them because, well, it’s awkward facing multiple females whose eyes are trained solely on the boy clinging to you.

“You’re hot when your all doctor,” Baekhyun whispers, lips brushing ever so softly against your collarbone. Suddenly, you regret taking your sweatshirt off during lunch. Swallowing past the panic rising in your throat, you scoff. “Doctor? What doctor are you seeing that directs their patients toward donuts, muffins, danishes—”

“Hot ones, I guess,” he interrupts, smirking against your skin. “Ooooh ‘kay,” you wheeze, heart racing and eyes wide as you wiggle away from him, “y’know, maybe I will donate. Just so you stop bugging me.” Gasping, Baekhyun fakes a bullet to the heart. “Ah, but here’s the thing,” he counters, following close behind as you make your way to the front table, “my job is to distract donors from the needle, hold their hand, tell them ‘good job!’ So, it looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Groaning, you choose to ignore the inexhaustible boy and smile to Lauren once you have reached her. “Do you know if anyone can cover for me for a little? I’m going to try and donate.”

Gasping, she ruffles through the papers spread about her for the volunteer log. Then, “You should be fine. After those girls, the next appointment isn’t until two. I thought you hated this whole concept?”

Snorting, you pull one of the laptops towards you and begin filling out the information needed for a walk-in. “Yeah, well,” tilting your head in Baekhyun’s direction, you sigh, “he couldn’t donate, so now I feel obligated to. Plus, I need a break.”

“Ah,” Lauren hums, writing your name and ‘Walk-In’ on a sticker before passing it to you, “are you guys…?”

Immediately catching what she is hinting at, you jump up from your knelt position and quickly return to your station. “Nope! Negative! Okay, bye Lauren! Thanks!” Laughing, she chooses to ignore your antics, watching after you with a knowing smile when Baekhyun realizes you have left and scrambles to catch up.

You’re hoping you won’t be eligible since you left the country for vacation with your family nine months ago.

Never mind. It’s fine.

Perhaps your heart rate will be too high. You’re pretty anxious, after all.

84. Shit.

You flinch when the quiet-mannered nurse pricks your ring finger. Praying that your iron will be too low, you lean forward in your seat just enough to see the machine’s reading. 13.4. Fuck.

“Alright, I’m just gonna need you to read this first paragraph and sign here,” she directs you, using a pen to point at each spot. When she stands to wave for the next potential donor, you glance up to search for Baekhyun. You could use one of his smiles right about now.

And what you ask for, you receive. Finding your gaze instantaneously, he shoots you bright, encouraging grin and a thumbs up. It’s enough to calm your nerves. A little.

Offering an uncomfortable smile back, you return to your paperwork and hurriedly finish up, your leg bouncing ceaselessly. “All done?” The nurse returns, smiling softly at you and taking the papers when you nod. “You can head over to the third table in the middle.” “Okie,” you squeak, nice, “thank you!”

Good god, what happened to never allowing one of these needles to go in your arm? Sure, you have had blood tests done before, Hell, you have even given someone else one! But this… this is different. This is no ordinary needle, and you certainly do not have Byun Baekhyun veins.

“How are you doing today?” The Red Cross worker greets you once you have reached the table, smile warm and comforting. Seoyeon, her nametag reads. “I’m, ah… I’ve been better, honestly,” your voice comes out shaky and weak. You cringe. Going to med school and you’re whining over a needle. A big, fat, wide needle that will stay in your arm for more than five minutes. “Aw, no! Why’s that?” Seoyeon pouts, shuffling through your papers and slapping a big sticker onto the bag your blood, eventually, will fill.

“I have pretty tiny veins, so I’m really nervous this isn’t going to go well for me,” you admit, artfully rolling the sleeves of your tee even higher. Humming as she finishes carrying over the rest of the equipment, Seoyeon helps you onto the cushioned table before standing beside you, reaching for your arms. “Well,” she starts, brushing over each one for a few seconds before tying a tourniquet around your right bicep, “lucky for you, we do in fact check to make sure your veins are big enough. Hansol, can you double-check that this is alright?”

Your nerves seemingly do not know how to feel at the given moment. On one hand, these are professionals. They know what they’re doing. Plus, Seoyeon is lovely and has certainly eased your anxiety. Nevertheless, you realize that if your veins are okay, that needle is going to be in you in minutes.

This Hansol skirts around the table to feel the two veins Seoyeon has gone back and forth prodding. “Hm,” he grunts, pressing harder on the vein set deeper beneath your skin, “this one is good.” Oh, Christ. “Okay! Thanks,” Seoyeon smiles, then, once he has left her side, “you can lie back this way, sweetie.”

“Okay,” you sigh, settling back and resting your head on the pillow. Unsure of how to situate yourself, you awkwardly cross your legs and nestle your left arm into the pockets of your joggers, right arm dangling over the edge of the table. Then, just as you have closed your eyes, “___!”

Oh, good. This should be interesting. “Hey, Baek,” you smile at the boy as he jogs over, stopping on your left side. “You made it! No backing out now, right?”

“No, no. I’m praying for the best,” you hum, turning away from him to look straight up at the ceiling as Seoyeon begins sanitizing your arm. “You’re gonna be fine,” Baekhyun sings, tugging your hand out of your pocket to intertwine his fingers with yours, “if Sehun could do it, so can you.”

“I’m just marking where your vein is, no need to tense up,” Seoyeon interrupts, chuckling at how easily your posture has gone rigid at the sensation. Funny, how you only tensed up because of Baekhyun’s tender gesture. “I know I’ll be okay, I just,” anxiously licking the desert-dryness of your lips, you once again turn to Baekhyun, “I’m not looking forward to feeling this thing in my arm for ten minutes.”

“Nah,” he giggles, thumb swiping back and forth against your skin, “I’ll distract you!” Yeah, well you do that every day anyway, you snort to yourself, shamelessly taking advantage of the moment and scanning over his features, zoning in on the pinkness of his lips and the tiny moles sprinkled about his face. From this angle, even the shitty LED lighting of the gym somehow makes him look immaculate. “Alright, I’m going to count down from three,” Seoyeon interrupts your gawking, though you haven’t really processed her words until she’s on two. “One…” She utters, and you are instantly squeezing your eyes closed just as hard as your squeezing Baekhyun’s hand as the needle first breaks skin.

“Oh, shit,” you heave once it’s completely sheathed, rolling the plastic grip anxiously in your increasingly sweaty hand, “that actually wasn’t so bad.” Now that Baekhyun has moved to stand directly behind your head, you stare straight up at him and muster your best smile. Really— it was not as bad as you imagined, felt just like regular blood work. As long as you don’t focus too much on it remaining in your arm, you’ll be fine.

“See! I knew you could do it,” he cheers, letting go of your free hand in favor of combing his fingers through your hair. “Ooh,” you quite literally purr, leaning your head back to give him further access, “so, Mr. This-Is-My-Job, is this how you distract donors?” Chuckling, Baekhyun continues to comb through the knots that have accumulated throughout the day. “No,” he admits, “I usually just talk to them about what they did over the weekend. You’re an exception, though.”

Christ, you hope he can’t feel the way your face heats up at his words. “Ah, well, this is great. Thanks, Baek,” humming, you cannot help but let your eyelids fall closed. Peak comfort when you're donating blood? Not what you would have expected.

“So, what did you do this weekend?”

“Well, I went to Target, which was kind of disappointing.”

“Oh, yeah! Didn’t I see on your story that you only got one pair of pants or something?”

“Yeah! Crazy, honestly. I needed to pick up some things and they were completely out. Even their clothes were kind of slacking.” Before he can reply, Seoyeon returns to check up on you. Gasping in surprise, she gives your shoulder a congratulatory nudge. “___! Look at you! You’ve already filled up a fourth of the bag.”

“Oh shit, really?” Laughing, you try to lean up in order to see, but there’s no use. “Have you been drinking a lot of water today?” She asks. Well, now that you think about it… “Huh. I guess I have. Nice.” Chuckling, she fiddles with the tape holding the needle in place before turning away once more.

“So,” Baekhyun starts conversation up once more, “did you do anything else?”

“I hung out with Junmyeon on Sunday again.” Suddenly, you wish you didn’t tell him that.

“Oh,” Baekhyun coughs, accidentally yanking too hard on the tiny braid he’s attempted by your temple, “how was that?”

“It was fun. He’s a great guy…” Clearly, you are hesitant and he easily catches it. “But…?”

“I don’t know,” he’s not you, “I feel really immature and lame compared to him. He’s like, super chill and polite and somehow, it makes me nervous and then I act like I’m on crack. He needs someone older than him, not younger. A lawyer, or something.”

“___, you’re getting a degree in Neuroscience. What the fuck is lame about that?” Baekhyun scoffs, undoing the braid and starting over on the other side. “I don’t know! I guess I just don’t have romantic feelings for him. Everyone keeps pushing me to go for it and he really is amazing, but… it’s just not what I want.”

“No one’s forcing you to date him, ___.”

Well, yeah, but he doesn’t know the bit where your friends are doing it so you can get over a certain someone else. “I know. I think he’ll be fine when I tell him I just want to be friends.”

When a heavy silence falls over you, you rush to change the topic. “So! What did you do this weekend?”

“I played New Horizons,” Baekhyun chuckles, giving up on the braid and going back to simply combing through your hair. When you laugh, you feel the vibration in your arm and realize with another wave of surprise that you still have a needle in you. Damn, looks like you’re a pro at this. Who knew!

“All weekend?” You snort. He definitely went out for drinks with Chanyeol or something.

“Yes, sadly,” oh, never mind, “I couldn’t help it. It’s so relaxing. I can’t wait to go home and play.” He sounds ashamed. “Hey,” you shrug, “sometimes we need a mental health day. Or weekend.”

“Or week.”

“Month?”

“Year, I’m thinking.”

In the midst of your giggle fit, Seoyeon returns, evidently shutting the two of you up. “You’re all done! I just have to take a few tubes and then I’ll tell you when I’m going to take the needle out.”

“Wow, was it just me or did that seem really quick?” Baekhyun asks, frantically moving to hold your hand when he notices you wince at the uncomfortable feel of the needle moving slightly as Seoyeon fills each tube. “No, you’re right,” she hums, “six minutes! Wasn’t so bad, right?”

“Not at all,” you agree, blinking up at the ceiling. Still, you can’t wait to be done. “You sure? Your hand is shaking really bad,” Baekhyun murmurs,  hovering directly above your face. He looks funny, messy hair cascading around him and cheeks looking extra squishy. It makes you smile. “Yeah, just nervous for it to come out, actually. Feel like it’s gonna hurt,” you admit, accidentally squeezing his hand when all Seoyeon does is remove the tape on your wrist keeping the line in place.

“Alright, you ready? It’s just going to a be a little pinch,” Seoyeon interrupts, giving your fingertips a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah,” you hum, instinctively sucking in a deep breath and squeezing your eyes shut.

The sensation that first registers in your brain is not that of Seoyeon slowly withdrawing the needle from beneath your skin. Actually, it’s unnoticeable behind the gentle pressure lingering upon your lips, soft to touch and minty in taste. Blistex, you recognize, eyes flying open just in time to see Baekhyun leaning back up. “Did you just—”

“Alright, keep pressure on this for me and keep your arm straight up,” Seoyeon interjects, oblivious to what just transpired as she presses a hefty square of gauze to your skin. You oblige, brain cells going haywire still trying to piece together the fact that Byun Baekhyun just kissed you.

“Do you do that to everyone?” Is the first thing you blurt to the grinning boy, who, surprisingly so, wears cheeks just as rosy as yours. “No,” he laughs, moving to the side and continuing to stroke you hand, “just donors named ___.”

“Oh,” wrinkling your nose, you slowly lean upright once Seoyeon instructs you to do so, “can I ask why or am I just special?” When she busies herself for few moments cleaning up all of the equipment, Baekhyun releases your hand in order to cup your face with both hands. “Well, of course you’re special,” he murmurs, thumbs swiping against your jaw, “but I figured this was a good opportunity to show you how much I like you.”

It takes a fat second for you to realize what he’s just said. Like you?

“I’m gonna kill him,” you groan, definitely not the response he was expecting if the way he retracts is anything to go by. “Kill who?”

“Chanyeol! Like, a year ago he went all detective mode on me trying to figure out if you liked me, but then he never said anything again, so for the past year I’ve been going nuts trying not to fall for you because I figured if he had nothing to say, you probably didn’t like me like that, yet here we are a year later and—”

In the midst of your mindless babbling, Seoyeon coughs, promptly shutting you up and you turn to her with a wince. “I just need to wrap you up, then you can head over to Recovery,” her attempt to hide her smile is futile but you don’t comment on it, instead allowing her to wrap elastic tape around your elbow. “Leave this on for about an hour, or you can take it off after twenty minutes. Other than that, you’re good to go!”

“Thanks so much, Seoyeon,” smiling appreciatively at her, you slowly turn to slide off the table with the help of her grip on your other arm. Before you are even fully upright, Baekhyun has rounded the table to help, slipping his arm between yours. Honestly, you feel perfectly fine, but you’re not about to go arguing right now. Once he starts leading the two of you toward Recovery, he breaks the silence once more. “So, were you finished back there, or can I talk?”

Cringing, you shake your head, avoiding looking him in the eyes. “No, I’m done.”

“Good,” at this, you pinch his arm, “Chanyeol didn’t say anything because I told him not to.” Baekhyun shushes you when your mouth opens to argue. “I thought I would make a move a lot sooner. But every time I went to, I just started panicking thinking you didn’t feel the same, because, y’know, you don’t show much emotion. And then you started hanging out with Junmyeon… but that doesn’t seem to be working out, so I decided to wing it.”

Your jaw certainly must be on the floor. Stopping by the snacks, Baekhyun releases your arm so you can fill your hands with a donut, apple juice, and a bag of Cheez-Its. “Glad to see we’re both airheads,” you grumble with a mouthful of donut, “I say we blame Chanyeol.” Making sure you safely seat yourself onto the mats spread around the room, Baekhyun then joins and sits crisscross across from you. “I agree. It’s his fault.”

Then, once you have stopped laughing, Baekhyun leans in close, face centimeters from yours and evidently stealing all the air from your lungs. God, he sure is beautiful. “This means you’ll go out with me, right?” He whispers, wiping away a sprinkle that has managed to stick itself to the corner of your lips.

“I thought you were going to play New Horizons when you got home?” You tease, raising one arm to sling across his shoulders. Groaning, he finally cups your face in his hands, strawberry pink lips ever so slightly brushing yours as his smirk deepens. “I am, but you can come watch.”

[justjessame]

Glorious, Before the Burden - The Comfort ~ 2

“How long -” Michael and I were having lunch in the village, and the time felt like it was simultaneously ticking past so slowly that I could count the seconds as they went, and flying by at a speed that would cause Heimdall issues.  My gaze met his across the table and I sighed.  He was curious, I knew from MANY similar conversations, about how long I had to find my way back to Asgard before missing the window I’d set for myself.  

Sighing, I set my fork down.  “Not much longer, I fear.” I had the vision more often, with more details added to it - the young woman she was shielding I learned was Thor’s Midgardian lady, Jane Foster, though why she was in Asgard still wasn’t clear to me.  Why the Dark Elf, Malekith, wanted her I still couldn’t say - my focus was always diverted by Frigga’s death, even as she stood tall and confident against her foes.  

Michael reached across the table and patted my hand.  “You can do this,” his smile was both kind and reassuring.  “You are so strong and powerful, I have no doubt you CAN do it.”  Turning my hand, I held his.  Taking strength from his belief in me.  

My largest barrier was my guilt - because the guilt I felt led to the fear.  If I could push past the guilt, then I could theoretically neutralize the fear.  How could I shrug off the overwhelming feeling that I had let him down - that I FAILED HIM?  

I watched Loki’s actions on Midgard - what he’d unleashed upon the realm that we’d first given ourselves to one another in, where we’d first married and become husband and wife.  

Seeing him dressed in a suit, carrying a scepter and looking as dashing as our first visit, I felt my breath catch.  The heat of lust turned frigid when I watched him attack - watched his eyes seemed to light up as the chaos grew around his action - was this MY husband?  When he stood and his Midardian attire returned to what was most familiar to me, my breath returned, but it soon left again - as his duplicates took the corner points - as he and they demanded his new subjects' subjugation.  

An elder - with far more nobility of character than any other - stood and dared challenge Loki, calling into question his right to rule them.  Daring to say that he would not kneel to a man like my husband.  

“There are no men like me,” Loki taunted him, a smile on his face, my own words coming back to haunt me. 

“There are always men like you,” this man had lived through such horrors that my husband could never hope to break him, and I feared for him.

Loki knew it, and when he told the others to look toward their elder, the fear bubbled in my stomach and threatened to rise up.  But a man with a shield intercepted the blast that my husband aimed at him with the scepter - and a new battle began.  

These people, these allies that would soon count Thor among their ranks, had no idea just how deeply entrenched Loki seemed to be with the need to win the fight for control of this realm - reminding me of what Frigga had said - that he’d made a bargain with a terrible being and he’d failed.  

Try as I might, watching Loki’s battles on Midgard from first moment to last, I could never find the moment when he made such a bargain - I could never find a moment where he spoke to a being of such immense power that made his prison necessary.  Yet, where could he have found this army of Chitauri?  That is what he’d called them, I’d never heard such a word or a species.  

I retraced our life together.  Going from our private elopement in London, followed by a far more traditional celebration in Asgard to the moment I was banished.   I couldn’t honestly put my finger on the moment that we stopped communicating, it was so subtle.  

“You’re blushing,” Thor’s voice boomed, and my face burned brighter.  “Does my brother make you that happy, Lady Sigyn?”  

My eyes found Loki, across the hall speaking with my mother, yet I could swear the coolness of his fingertips were sliding along my inner thighs as I sat next to Thor at the head table, waiting for yet another night of our wedding feasts to end.  Biting my lip, I fought to focus on Thor and his attempts at conversation.  “Your brother makes me VERY happy, Thor,” my answer came out breathless because the phantom touch had gotten very close to where I was quite damp and I was finding it difficult to breathe.  

“Are you alright, my love?” Loki was brushing my hair over my shoulder so he could touch my cheek.  “You’re looking far too warm.”  I leaned into his touch, my gaze looking up into his - not willing to draw attention to the fact that one of his duplicates was still speaking to my mother across the hall.  “If you’ll excuse us, Thor -” He was taking my hand and pulling me from the table.  His lips brushed my ear as he led me away from the crowd celebrating our union.  “I want you.  Now.”  

“I could tell,” my lips were barely moving as he practically danced us through the press of bodies and into the empty hallway.  “It’s not fair when you touch me and I can’t see you,” he’d turned me into the first niche he’d found, pressing me against the wall and lifting me so we were face to face.  “I nearly embarrassed myself in front of your brother.”  My arms went around his neck, my fingers sliding through his hair as his face came closer and his hands were pulling up the skirt of my gown while his lips curved into a smile before our mouths met.  

Hungry, his mouth was so hungry which was strange given we’d been feasting for DAYS.  I was hungry too, for him, for the taste of his mouth and tongue - for the taste of other parts of him too.  His fingers were tight on my hips and I smiled as I felt his bare skin meet mine - magic, I loved magic - and then he was sliding deep inside of me and I truly hoped that everyone stayed content in the main hall celebrating because there was no keeping either of us silent as we tried to satisfy at least some of our need for one another.  

Swallowing the almost triumphant sounds that we both made as we crested within seconds of one another, Loki was nipping at my lower lip, gasping as my own panting breaths mingled with his - my shaking legs cradled in his hands and our foreheads pressed against one another.  

“I will never have my fill of you,” he vowed, the bluest eyes I could ever imagine staring deep into mine.  “Ever.”  

“Good,” I was smiling as my fingers slid through his curls.  “Because I can’t imagine a life without you.”  

Waking up after a memory like that - I could almost FEEL him, his cool touch, the way his lips felt against mine - and instead of helping it made it worse somehow.  I’d get out of bed and wander the rooms of my cottage, then the garden.  LISTENING to my instincts and my magic trying to HEAR something that would make it easier to find my way back to him.  Past my pain and my own fears - my fears that he would hate me for NOT being there when he was brought back to face judgement for his crimes, for not standing next to him and hearing what would come next, for not lying to Odin about his survival - I feared his pain and betrayal being turned on ME for failing him.  

Round and round as time passed by, and I’d get more flickers of the day Frigga would die.  Jane Foster, the Midgardian woman that had fascinated Thor so much that he no longer showed interest in the tavern wenches, nor gave attention to Sif as she tried to earn his regard had found HER way to Asgard.  That meant the Bifrost was repaired, and Heimdall was returned to his post in full control.  I knew that changed nothing where I was concerned, being banished I couldn’t demand that he open the doorway and allow me entry.  

However, why was she allowed in?  Clearly something was amiss, since she was trotted through to the healing chambers, Eir was trying to remove something - NO, no it couldn’t be.  Damn it.  

The Dark Elves, the return of their presence and their thirst for it - of course.  If the Aether was inside of this Midgardian, then they would do ANYTHING to regain possession of it, but how did Jane Foster of all beings find it?  

Perhaps - if I could find this woman, if I could find her before she finds IT, I could go with her to Asgard.  Even without my full powers, Thor would be pleased to see me, wouldn’t he? 

[thanks--for--listening]

atlas

are we surprised I caved and wrote angsty wandavision fic? no. not really. also because I was too slow to get this done before 1x05 we’re gonna just forget about that episode right now. (also on ao3)

~

Nobody touched her when it was over. An army of agents, and all they could do was stare.  

The battle had been quick enough. If she was being honest, she didn’t remember most of it. Newscasters would report about a red sky, booming thunder but no rain in sight. Before, that type of attention might have sent her heart racing, might have caused a panic over the delicacy of her public perception. Not anymore. She didn’t care about what they might say. She didn’t care about whoever was behind it, the puppet master pulling her strings. She didn’t care about anything at all. 

—

Cracks had been building since the start. Wanda wasn’t so blind that she couldn’t see them. Dinner. The beekeeper. The imposter. It had lived in her, the pressure, the weight of the walls she refused to let crumble. 

She’d patched them up as best she could. Every hole, every slip, she’d fixed with a spark of red. When bandages weren’t enough, she’d held the world together herself, thrown it onto her back without a second thought. Any pain she had to endure would be welcomed, if it meant salvation. 

But when the curtain fell and the lights dimmed, when the credits began to roll and the actors took their bows, the undeniable truth couldn’t be ignored: her world was bleeding out. And she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to save it. 

—

Interrogation rooms were their own kind of deception. She’d spent enough time in them to know that nobody was ever on her side. Promises made were nothing but lies cloaked in pleasantries that would crumble the minute Wanda opened her mouth. And despite their claims, nobody would ever listen to anything they couldn’t use against her.

She was only vaguely aware of the man sitting in front of her. Suit that screamed government, grey hair that couldn’t hide the youth underneath. She didn’t have to hear him — he’d follow the same script as the others. He’d say he only wanted to ask her some questions, would talk in his most neutral voice, would do his best to keep either fear or disgust or both out of his eyes. When she didn’t answer, he’d get angry. The volume would increase with every lack of reaction, until she could feel his spit on her cheeks and his fists pounding against the table.

It wouldn’t work. All their notes and profiles and desperate attempts to figure her out, and they never learned. She’d spent two days waiting to die. When hunger gnawed at her gut, when fear shook every bone in her body, when an exhale could have brought the whole building crashing down around her, she’d survived. When the only thing standing between life and death was her strength of will, it became a power of its own.  

Threats of making a home out of a prison cell she’d lived in before fell flat at her feet. The straightjacket’s embrace was too familiar to cause the discomfort they hoped for. Her eyes had watched the world disintegrate into nothing. Her body had been torn apart and put back together by the same hands. Over and over and over again she’d let her heart attach itself to another’s, only to end up shattered, pieces jagged and sharp and as dangerous as the rest of her.

Rock bottom had its perks; there wasn’t a single thing these agents could say or do to make her life any worse.

—

Chaos came quickly. She wasn’t sure if everyone else could see it. There was a buzz in the air, a mimicry of the white noise that indicated a lost connection. Standing in the middle of the street, she could see the houses flickering, their occupants an artificial type of calm. They were all watching her. 

He was watching her, too. The facade had faded, the concern of people seeing his real face forgotten entirely. He wasn’t one to panic often, but she could see it in his eyes. They didn’t search for anyone or anything else, didn’t hunt for a culprit the way she had. They just stayed glued to her. “Wanda.” The desperation was quiet. She wasn’t sure anyone else would have noticed it. “You have to make it stop.”

“I’m trying. I don’t know how.”

“What do you mean you don’t know how?“

“I mean, I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know how to stop it.”

“But—but before, you always—“

“That was different! The small stuff was easy, but this...something’s wrong at its core. It’s out of my hands.”

He looked like he didn’t want to ask. “How? How could that be possible?”

“Because,” she said, fighting the voice in her head that demanded she keep her mouth shut. “I didn’t put us here, Vision.” 

The words felt like a confession. It wasn’t her. It never had been. She could fix it, could adjust the world she lived in, but she hadn’t created it. And she certainly wasn’t behind its destruction.

“Then—then we can just leave. Let it fall apart. We’ll live outside, go to a new town, buy a new house. Start over.”

She shook her head. “We can’t.”

“But why—“

“You can’t.” God, she was so sick of crying. The walls tried to close in on her, as if they could feel her heart tightening. She pushed them back, forced air into her lungs and refused to let go. 

“Wanda.” Even now, his voice had a softness, a gentle touch that she hadn’t found anywhere else. “Am I...did something happen to me? Before we came to Westview?” 

The pressure grew, and she couldn’t keep a shout in as her grip tightened on their reality. 

“Wanda, you have to tell me. Please.”

She’d never regretted anything about their relationship. She’d cursed the circumstances, condemned fate and bureaucracy and everything else that kept them apart, but never the bond itself. Not until now. All she wanted to do was look away, but her eyes met his against her will. It was like they were drawn to him, like something cosmic was tying them together. Not even their world collapsing could stop it.

“You—“ her voice shook, the images coming too quickly for her to block out. “You asked me to do it. To destroy it.” The light had been blinding, had robbed her of seeing his face one last time. He’d promised her he felt no pain, but he’d forgotten where her powers came from, the energy source that fueled them both. And in the moment before the blast, when it sent out a desperate plea, a last-ditch effort to avoid combustion, she’d felt it. Even with Thanos to her left, even with the fate of the world in her hands, she would have hesitated. She would have done anything to stop that feeling, to keep him and the stone intact.

It didn’t give her the chance. 

“The stone.” He said it like he remembered. She prayed he didn’t. 

“You begged me. You said it—it had to be me. There was no one else.”

The look in his eyes didn’t change. Even in her worst, even when she’d turned her power against him, he’d never held an ounce of fear toward her. “And did you?” 

She nodded. “I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to, but I did, and then...and then he—“

The sky nearly collapsed; saving it was agony. He reached for her when she screamed, tried to protect her from the threat he couldn’t feel. Wanda wanted nothing more than to run to him, but she couldn’t let go. She wasn’t sure what would happen to him if she did.

He frowned. It looked all wrong on him. “You can’t hold on for much longer.”

“Yes, I can.”

“If it isn’t you, then there’s someone else behind all of this. And I don’t think they’re going to stop until Westview is no more.”

She shook her head. “I can fix it.”

“It’s draining you. I can feel it. I can feel you.”

A shiver went up her spine. “Don’t say that.”

“The boys, the town — can they survive outside?”

“I don’t know!” The barrier pulsed. Billy, Tommy, their neighbors, they were safe so long as they were here. She could fix anything inside these walls; it was outside she couldn’t control. “I don’t know,” she said quietly, more to herself than to him. “I don’t know.”

—

They left her alone for a while. As if they thought solitude might drive her mad enough to give them some kind of confession. As if they thought she still had a sound mind to lose. 

Wanda didn’t care. If she closed her eyes, she could relive the moments she longed to go back to. Vision holding Tommy for the first time. Sharing ice cream in the park. Billy falling asleep in her arms. It wasn’t the same, but it was better than staring at nothing. Better than remembering reality. 

She didn’t move when she heard the door open. It didn’t matter that he’d come back; nothing he said or did could pull her from where she longed to be. The sound of the chair screeching against the floor didn’t phase her, not when she could replace it with his endearingly pitiful singing, echoes from his desperate attempt to distract his boss’s wife. 

“Hey, neighbor.” Her eyes betrayed her, snapped open at the familiar voice. Her hair was different, and she wore an outfit that made it clear she was with whatever group had cleaned up the mess. None of that mattered — she’d recognize those eyes anywhere. They’d belonged to an ally once. A friend. 

The collar around her throat vibrated at her body’s instinctive call to her powers. Those eyes had also belonged to an enemy. 

“I should probably start with an apology.” If she expected Wanda to react to her words, she didn’t let it show. “Although, to be fair, that town pulled me in without giving me much of a choice in the matter. That probably should have been my first clue that it wasn’t your doing.”

Wanda held her tongue. She was a prop, a familiar face being used against her. The good cop in relation to the bad cop she’d met earlier. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of breaking her. 

And yet, the temptation grew, ever so slightly. It was the first time since the fight that she’d seen anyone from Westview. 

“I should also tell you that everyone from that suburban nightmare is alright. I mean, they’re disoriented as fuck, but they’ll survive.”

The question sat heavy on her tongue, itching to come out. She refused to let it. 

Her face softened. “We don’t know anything about the twins,” she told her, answering the very thing Wanda couldn’t ask. “It’s like they just...disappeared. Like they never existed. I’m sorry.”

She shut her eyes again. She didn’t want to think about that, about who else she may have left behind. Who else died with Westview. 

—

“Wanda.” 

“I can fix it.” Her arms were locked above her head, her effort covering their entire town in red. “I can fix it, Vis. I can fix it.”

“You’re the strongest person I know. You’re the strongest person on this planet. But some things just can’t be fixed.”

“No, I can do it. I can stop it.”

“Someone’s doing this to us, Wanda. They’re trapping all these people in here.”

“No. This isn’t a trap. It’s our home.”

“It’s not.”

“Why can’t it be?” The desperation was palpable, but she couldn’t find the energy to care. “Does it matter that we didn’t create this world? It gave me you. It gave us our family.”

“Darling, if I— if I can’t live out there, then it isn’t real.”

“Bullshit. We’re real, aren’t we? Our love for each other is real. Our love for our boys is real.”

“Yes, but—“

“This life, it can be our reality. I can make it our reality.”

“And what about everyone else?” He pointed behind them, motioned to the rows of houses that lined the street. “Does our reality become theirs as well?”

“I—I don’t know. I didn’t bring them here.”

“But if you fix it, if you build Westview’s walls back up, they’ll be trapped with us.”

“I don’t care.”

“I know you do.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t care about anybody else.”

“You’re a hero, Wanda. You care about helping people. You have a good heart and you fight for what’s right. And that’s why you have to let it go.”

Her knees threatened to buckle underneath her. “Why?” She yelled loud enough for the forces of the universe to hear her. “Why do I always have to lose everything to save everyone else? Why does it always have to be me?”

“I don’t know. I know everything else in the world except for why you constantly have to hurt the most.”

She stared at him, memorized every inch of his face. It was a habit she’d developed years ago, when their meetings were few and far between. A temporary fix to tide her over until she never had to stop looking. 

The tears hadn’t stopped since the collapse began, but she felt them fall even faster. “It isn’t fair.”

“I know it’s not. But you have to be the hero, Wanda.”

“What’s the point? What’s the point of winning if I’m only going to lose you?”

“You can save everyone else. All our neighbors and friends. Our boys. I’m not worth hurting them. I’m not worth you hurting yourself.”

“You are.” She begged him to hear her, to believe her. “You’re worth everything.”

“I can’t be.” The desperation she’d monopolized slipped into his voice. “You can’t let me be.”

It was an impossible ask. He was blessed with ignorance, with the gift of the sacrificed. He gave his life, but she had to live with it. To watch him die, twice, and be expected to move on and be okay. 

“Please don’t ask me to do this,” she pleaded, her voice bargaining with him even when she knew it was fruitless. “I can’t—I can’t lose you again.”

He put his palm on her cheek, and she melted into it. “How can you lose me if I’m already gone?”

“You’re not gone to me.”

“And I never will be. I promise.”

She looked up, stared at the red that continued to spill into the sky, forming a dome all around them. Her strength, materialized. When she’d signed up for it, what felt like lifetimes ago, she’d been desperate for some kind of control. Something she could use to protect herself, her brother, her home. A reason to never be afraid again.

“I don’t want it.” It wasn’t the first time she’d thought it, but it was the only time she’d felt confident in the feeling. “I don’t want this power anymore.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. This...this curse, all it ever does is hurt people. All I ever do is hurt people.”

“You have never hurt me, Wanda.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I have. I’ve thrown you so far into the ground I don’t know how you ever came back up. I’ve changed your perception, your thoughts.” She took a breath. “I’ve killed you, Vision.”

“You’ve also given me more joy than I ever thought possible. You’ve given me our family. You’ve given me time, Wanda. Time to experience everything life has to offer. I have never felt more human than when I’m with you. I can’t begin to explain what that means to me. ”

“What good are my powers if they can’t save you? What good am I if I can’t keep you?”

He brought his second hand up, held her face in his palms. “Darling, our life here has felt like a fairytale. Even in its flaws and imperfections, it’s been bliss. But our story has to end. Like every story does.”

Her voice got caught in her throat. “It’s too short.”

“The best tales often are.”

The pressure increased. Any more and she knew she’d be on her knees, crumbling under the weight of the world. Atlas reimagined. 

Her mind tried to balance the scales, the consequences of holding on and letting go. Every calculation only ended in pain. If it was only hers, if he had asked her to let him stay, then maybe...maybe she’d be able to make the choice she wanted to make. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard.

Wanda closed her eyes, gave herself a moment she didn’t have. He’d suffered enough at her hands. 

“Billy,” she whispered. “Tommy.” They’d split up, gone to different ends of the town to try and keep it in one piece, but she knew somehow they’d hear her. 

In an instant Tommy was by her side; not ten seconds later, Billy joined them. 

“I’m putting everything I’ve got into it, Mom, but it’s hardly making a difference.”

“I haven’t found a weak spot yet,” Tommy added, “but I’ll keep looking. There’s got to be an error somewhere. Something we can fix.”

She wasn’t sure she could stand it. Staring at them, she could see her and Pietro, not just in their powers but in their personality. Their determination, their empathy, their passion. Wanda sent up a prayer to anyone who might listen for then to have the future her and her brother had been robbed of. 

“Boys,” she said, her breathing becoming more labored with every passing second. “Hold onto your father.”

They hesitated, gave each other a look before they moved from her side to Vision’s. Looking at him, she saw the understanding in his eyes as he put his arms around them. 

“No matter what happens,” he said, “this family has been my greatest light. And you have been my shining star, my love. My anchor in a world I was never meant for. They may not see you the way I do right now, but they will.”

She could have lifetimes and never find the right words to express how much he meant to her. “You will always be my compass,” she told him. “My guide when I’m losing my way. Loving you is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

It wasn’t lost on her that they’d never exchanged vows, never had a ceremony to profess their love for one another. The world and its cruel sense of irony, giving them the chance only in their conclusion. 

“Mom,” Billy said. “We’ll see each other again, won’t we?”

If there was any part of her heart that had yet to shatter, it imploded at his words. “I promise you that one day, we’ll be together again. I won’t let anything keep me from you two.” 

She wasn’t sure if it was a promise she’d be able to keep, but she made it anyway, and meant every word. Throwing a last ditch effort into the ceiling above her, she straightened her knees, stood up as tall as she could. 

Her eyes met his, for maybe the last time. He’d always felt real to her. Not just a vessel but a soul, one that lived and breathed even when his body didn’t. In a world that had never cared for her, he made her feel safe. She wondered if she’d ever find that feeling again. 

His hands weren’t on her face anymore, but she swore she could still feel him. “You are everything that is good about humanity, Wanda. Never forget that.”

Five seconds. That was how long she gave herself to look at him, at the three of them. Her family. The only thing that mattered. She couldn’t keep them, but she could give herself this one thing. This last moment. 

Wanda let go. She threw herself forward, into their open arms. “I love you,” she whispered, closed her eyes and put herself on repeat. I love you. The world sparked like a cut cable. I love you. The ground beneath them trembled. I love you. The warmth, the weight in her arms, dissolved into nothing but air. I love you. I love you. I love you. 

—

“You know, I understand where you’re coming from. Why you’d stay.”

Neutrality be damned; Wanda let the glare through, let her know exactly how she felt about that assertion. The agent before her had taken a sick kind of pleasure in letting her know how twisted her delusion was, how weak she must have been to not only fall for it, but fight for it. Had she put an ounce of effort into listening to his words, she might have shown him exactly what that weakness looked like. 

“I’m serious.” The agent formerly known as her neighbor kept going. “You were blipped, weren’t you?” Wanda’s face must have reflected her confusion, because she elaborated. “You disappeared. Woke up and realized the world had kept spinning without you on it.”

She didn’t give anything away. It wasn’t a real question. 

“I was, too. Closed my eyes next to my mom’s hospital bed and opened them to find it empty.” She looked up at her, and Wanda could see the tears in her eyes, the pain hidden behind them. It was unnerving, how familiar it felt. “I’ll never understand it. How a person can be fine one day and gone the next. How quickly they can be taken away. How the body can rebel against itself and take the mind and soul with it.”

A voice echoed in her mind, her brother’s teasing just minutes before his last breath. He’d laughed that afternoon. The sound haunted her, snuck into her dreams even now. She didn’t think she’d ever stop hearing it.

“The people who survived, they don’t really get it. How awful it is, making up for lost time. Everyone else has moved on, but for me, the pain was so...fresh. It still is. So, yeah. I don’t blame you. Hell, if I had been in your position, I’d probably do the same thing.”

Wanda wondered what the point of it all was. Whether hearing about her grief was supposed to make her open up, cry about her feelings and bond over their shared trauma. She’d tried that before. It didn't make her feel any better, knowing that other people suffered. Especially since their grief always felt like a luxury compared to hers. A singular loss, a life without constant disapproval from people who held fractions of the responsibility she was chained with. It only reaffirmed what she already knew to be true: the world had a unique and bitter vendetta against her. And it wouldn’t let up until she cracked underneath it. 

“I’m not telling you to make you feel bad, or to try and say that what I’ve been through can compare to what’s happened to you.” Wanda wondered for half a second if they trained them for this, a powerless type of mind reading. “I just want you to know that there’s someone on your side here. Someone who doesn’t think you’re a villain.”

The word made her heart skip a beat. He’d used its antonym with pride. When the world couldn’t make up its mind about her, he’d never had a doubt. If he could hear it, the one-sided conversation, he’d be beaming. Proof, he’d say, of someone who shared his point of view. Proof that he’d been right. Proof that she wasn’t a lost cause.

As she got up and turned toward the door, all Wanda could see was his face. His desire for her to become everything he thought she could be. His love for her in all her messiness, in her broken and angry and scarred state. His need for her to trust that someone else would see her the way he did. 

“I’m guessing,” Wanda said quietly, freezing her in place with her hand on the doorknob, “your name isn’t Geraldine.”

She glanced back at her with a mix of curiosity and amusement. If she heard the way Wanda’s voice had cracked, the hoarse consequence of the sobbing and screaming that had led her through the fight, she ignored it. 

After a few seconds, she smiled. “Can’t say that it is. But it did have a nice ring to it, didn’t it?” Not-Geraldine turned back, reached into her pocket and slid a business card across the table. “Captain Monica Rambeau. Nice to properly meet you.”

Wanda watched her go, waited until the door shut behind her before glancing down at the card. She memorized it the way she used to memorize faces. It was more than a plan for the future, a place to land should she crash and burn — it was hope, a sign that a future existed at all. A reminder she hadn’t realized she’d needed. 

She counted seconds. When enough time passed, she let her head tilt to the side, closed her eyes and only opened them when she felt the familiar red glow. The shock from the collar stung for a moment before it snapped, falling to pieces at her feet. The jacket followed, it’s straps undone with ease. Confinement was fine, for a while, but time was a resource she refused to waste anymore. Not when she still had promises to keep. 

[thatscalledtoughlove]

The Undying Centurion

Pairing: None, but implied feelings for MC (so I guess Gaius x MC?)

Summary: Gaius takes a moment to gather his thoughts before leaving New York.

Author’s Note: I just wanted to write something from Gaius’ POV. Eventually, I might write something that goes into further detail, but for now I think this short one shot is good enough. Thank you to anyone who takes the time to read!

Word Count: ~1K

-----

Gaius Augustine may be a free man, but he had never felt so trapped.

The sorrow all around him was palpable, the permanent damage he had taken part of thrown back in his face at every turn. For the first time in nearly three thousand years he had no purpose. No one to turn to. No one to follow him.

He was completely alone.

Rheya’s face as she crumbled to dust haunted him. He should be glad she was dead. That woman had given life to the darkest parts of him. She had altered his mind, extinguished whatever good still remained…but she had given him a purpose.

Gaius was no saint. His sins were not cleansed because Amy had freed him from his mental prison. There was still a darkness, an evil, lingering inside.

Try as he may to ignore it, it lingered. For far longer than he’d been autonomous, he’d been under The First’s control, bowing to her every command from beyond the tomb where she lay for so long. Rheya knew the darkness inside of him. She sculpted a warrior, gave the Undying Centurion a goal that he had spent millennia trying to achieve.

And now… now he wandered the ruined streets of New York.

No one bothered to look in his direction as he passed by, his cloak trailing in the breeze. Gaius remembered Amy’s face when she’d watched her best friend die. The death of Lily Spencer would stay with him for a long time. Her name would join the ranks of those who he could not save. Of those who fell to the wrath of his Goddess.

“A puppet has no free will. I did.”

Amy may believe that giving him a second chance was the right thing to do, but Gaius wasn’t so sure. He had spent so long that way, had committed countless crimes, had been forged from the chaos he created wherever he went.

Perhaps the man he had been before was dead. The person he was now, and the person he had been for three thousand years, were one and the same.

“So listen, and listen well. This is not your redemption story. You do not get to become some hero in the last act.”

Kamilah’s words echoed in his mind as he walked long into the night. She was right. He may make promises, may have every intention to do good from now on, but that did not redeem him. Sometimes, no matter how hard one tried, their actions were never enough.

After walking for a while, Gaius stopped near the water. He closed his eyes and let the wind blow through his hair, thinking of all the horrible things he had done. Amy’s face came to him, the way she chose to give him a second chance still surprising him. She should want him gone. He had killed her. And yet…

No. Stop it. Whatever attraction he felt for her, it wasn’t meant to be. He’d seen the way Adrian looked at her, known that the two of them were in love. Besides, why would anyone care for a monster like him?

The sun would rise soon. Gaius stood still for a moment, studying the sky. His lips turned down in a frown. Three thousand years old, and gone in an instant. All it would take was some sunlight. Perhaps this was always the way things were meant to be. He’d fulfilled his purpose. Rheya was gone.

“Wait for me!” A voice rang out over the water, stirring him from his thoughts.

With a sigh, Gaius continued on his way. That would be too easy. Too kind. Amy had made the decision to keep him alive for a reason, and he’d promised her that he would do her proud. Despite all odds, it was not his time to go.

“Who are you Gaius? Really?”

The answer was that he did not know. For so long, he thought he did. He thought that vampires should rule the world, that Rheya was in the right. She’d suffered great loss, too. She’d once tried to rule peacefully, before losing it all. Why was it that he got a second chance, while she didn’t?

Gaius closed his eyes again, clenching his teeth when he felt the hot tears running down his cheeks. It had been so long since he felt this way. All the anger, pain, the thirst for revenge…none of it mattered anymore.

Rheya was gone.

He remembered when Amy had reached deep inside, breaking the barriers that had been placed on him down. In that moment, he’d wanted nothing more than for her to kill him. Had it not been for Rheya’s return, he would have let her.

“A thousand years,” he mumbled, thinking of how much he could accomplish in that time. He scoffed, shaking his head while he looked up.

Someone was sitting on a bench several feet away, watching him without a word. Gaius tensed when he sensed the blood flowing through their veins. It would be far too easy to feed with no one else around. The thought tempted him, the hunger he’d been ignoring all night beginning to take over.

Do not do it.

It had been a long time since he’d had a voice of reason. Rheya had not only made him into the worst version of himself. She’d destroyed his conscience along with what kindness he’d possessed. Now, he felt like an empty shell. A ghost of the person he had once been.

Perhaps he wasn’t worthy of a second chance. Some things he could never take back, no matter how much time passed. He was a monster. That reminder echoed in his mind.

You are no hero.

The thought lingered. Gaius felt a lump forming in his throat, casting his eyes to the water once more.

Redemption. His lips curved upward in a slight smile as he considered it. The world has survived. Disaster would not prevail this time. Whatever darkness has possessed Rheya, Amy, himself…it was gone.

He was free.

Only time would tell if that was for better or worse.

With a sigh, Gaius turned his back to the water and began his journey.

[savannah-lim]

Chopsticks and Chopped Heads || Marley & Savannah

Timing: Just after Halloween Location: The Golden Dragon Parties: @savannah-lim and @detectivedreameater​ Content: Gore, violence, blood, head trauma mention Summary: A trip to get takeout turns into Marley and Savannah witnessing the Dullahan together. 

Sometimes, you just really needed Chinese food. Savannah, bless her heart, hadn’t noticed anything too different about White Crest on Halloween versus White Crest at any other time. The place was usually weird as shit, and she’d found the Halloween decorations and novelty purposes that showed up in the stores charming. Some kids (or more accurately, young teens) ran by, still in hyper realistic costumes based on one of those superhero movies she couldn’t differentiate, nearly knocking her flying. “Knock it off!” she called after them, stepping back into the street from the curb and into the Chinese place to pick up her order. She had just finished paying when she caught a glimpse of the Headless Horseman costume from the window. “Oh, come on,” she grumbled, mostly to herself. “Halloween is over. If that horse shits in the street, you better clean it up.”

Get back to normal, the doctor had said. Just try and get back to a normal life. With the caveat, of course, being that she would need regular medical attention for the rest of her life, probably. The anger that had built inside of Marley when she’d heard the diagnoses that Queenie had given her, and the symptoms she would experience, felt like it was consuming her insides whole. Marley wanted nothing to do with it. She didn’t want to have to rely on anyone else to hold her up or keep her healthy. She had been alone all her life and that wasn’t going to change now just because of one stupid injury. One, stupid head injury, albeit, but all the same. Marley wasn’t going to let it get her down. She just couldn’t. And so, taking a walk through town had seemed like a good idea, at first. Until she’d heard all the screaming down the street and stopped in front of the Chinese place, eyes wide. Because, well, there he was. The headless horseman. A dullahan, in the flesh. Her phone dropped from her hands while she stared wide-eyed. “No way…” she breathed, walking slightly towards him. The door to the restaurant opened and Marley stumbled back, glancing inside. She noticed a familiar face, but couldn’t quite place it, squinting at her. “You’re seeing this, right? I’m not, like--” swallowed, hard, “--imagining him, right?” 

Savannah heard the smash as the phone hit the concrete. Oh, crap. It wasn’t long ago she’d lost two in as many weeks. Those things were expensive. Her first urge was just to mind her own fucking business, difficult as that was for someone like her. Pretend you saw nothing and keep walking. It doesn’t matter to you why the other person is so freaked out. But then, Marley addressed her. She seemed vaguely familiar, possibly having crossed Savannah’s path during the last few months when she’d been back and forth to the police station picking up documents and working on the Javier case. That damn case. “Do I see it?” she repeated. “Yeah, I see it. It’s a little late for Halloween.” 

She saw it. Which meant it was real. He was real. Fucking Morgan had been right. The headless horseman was real. “Halloween?” Marley asked, not taking her eyes off the figure in the road, enthralled. “No, no-- this is so much better.” She ushered the woman closer. “Don’t you know who that is?” she asked, turning to look at her, eyes filled with excitement, as if she were a child seeing her idol for the first time. And perhaps, just a little, that was true. The figure lifted his hand. Marley stumbled in her spot a little. He was going to mark someone. “Shit-- get...get back!” Because for all his glory, she was a police officer, and she couldn’t just let people die in front of her. Right? 

“Better?” Savannah repeated, a scoff of disbelief in her words. “Are you one of those cosplayers, like Agatha?” She didn’t even have to know Keen that well to know she’d get all dizzy and excited about such an intense and dramatic display. “I mean, it’s good, but…” Savannah was hesitant, but drew closer to Marley at her request, as if expecting to see something new from the other woman’s perspective. “What am I supposed to be looking at?” she asked, tone more desperate as she moved back with Marley’s instruction. 

“Cos--what?” Marley asked, blinking, then ignored the other woman. She was way too enthralled with the headless man on the horse, whose eyes burned like fire. She almost envied bugbears in that moment, wishing she, too, could recreate this illusion for all time. The figure lifted its severed head, then and thrust it forward and Marley watched as a cascade of blood fell upon some of the people standing in the street. “He marked them,” she said with a strained gasp, feeling her ribs throb at the tension. He then raised the sword by his side. “Oh, shit,” this wasn’t going to be good. Marley turned and shoved Savannah back into the restaurant, just as she heard the squelch. Then screaming. Her head jarred at the sound and she froze up, feeling it pulse and pound. More screaming came from outside as a heavy thud hit the ground. She wanted to look so bad.

“Dressing up? Wearing a costume?!” Savannah exclaimed, as if she hadn’t needed to google the same thing back when she’d heard Keen talk about it. She watched Marley’s face, puzzled by the enthralled stare she gave the rider. She felt like there was a piece of the puzzle she sorely lacked. “Marked? I--Stryder, are you okay? I don’t know what the hell that means--” But whatever it meant, Savannah didn’t have to wait long to find out. Her mouth fell open, jaw wide. She didn’t get the chance to see anything, but she heard it. Sword on flesh. She heard the screams outside as the blood hit the air, and the footsteps of people running. Several of them pushed their way inside the restaurant, covered in blood from the arterial spray that had spread for several feet around the body. “Block the doors and windows,” she instructed, waving her badge, her dinner and its takeout bag abandoned. “Stryder, can you call for backup?” 

Marley looked back outside. Blood coated the doors, dripping down slowly like paint. She couldn’t look away. The horseman sheathed his sword and pulled out his whip. It cracked with each movement, the bones of the spine clicking together. Marley felt a shiver go up her own spine, licking her lips. She wandered closer, pressing the door open. She didn’t even hear Savannah yelling at her to block the doors, to call for backup. She didn’t care. Even if she died right here and now, she wanted to see him. She couldn’t help it. It was as if she were drawn to him and to the fear and chaos he created. Someone ran into her, screaming, and ducked behind her. “It’s okay,” Marley said to them, smiling, “he hasn't marked you.”

The reality had dawned horrifically on Savannah that this wasn’t a costume, and now she was in full on-duty mode. Her past experiences in White Crest had taught her she needed her weapon on her at all times, so she held it instinctively, flashing her badge. “Everyone stay calm, work together to make sure the doors and windows are covered.” Half of them had already ran through the restaurant kitchens in chaos and fled through the back alley, several others stood in place. “Stryder, what is that thing?” she muttered under her breath. “You seem to know about it. No bullshit. I need to know what’s going to happen if I call backup down here.” 

Marley took a moment to herself to revel in the fear rustling through the air. Each person that passed had their own. Marley reached out and grabbed someone running by, letting herself absorb the fear they were letting off through the touch. They cried out, yanked from her grip and she frowned. “You’re no fun,” she muttered, rubbing her head. She hadn’t fed in a long time, not properly, and this was an opportunity she needed to seize. She looked back at Savannah when the other woman spoke and she smiled again, suddenly excited to share her knowledge with another person. “He’s the dullahan! I wasn’t sure he was real, but he is! He’s here.” Her attention turned back to the horseman. “There’s nothing we can do, now,” she said with a sigh, “we can only watch. He won’t stop until he has his marks.”

Savannah didn’t know Marley well enough to know if this was how she usually acted, but she knew enough to know that this excitement at a dangerous situation was strange for anyone, let alone a police officer. “Stryder, you gotta calm the hell down. You’re freaking them out,” she muttered, doing her best to take control of the situation and give the civilians a task to do to keep them occupied. “It’s okay, folks. As long as we’re all in here together, it’s going to be alright. Detective Stryder and I are going to stay with you until it’s determined to be safe.” She called the station to let them know about the situation regardless, but somehow she knew Marley was right. “We can still try and help.” She kept the civilians back from the doors and windows, making a barricaded line with the restaurant’s tables and chairs. She and Stryder stayed on the other side of it, practically against the glass, watching through their makeshift barriers. “I don’t have a fucking clue what a Dullahan is, and we’re probably going to be here a while, if you wanna clue me in.”

Savannah was working hard to calm down the citizens and control the crowds. Marley wanted so bad to wade through everyone and go to him, go to the headless horseman, but she was being pulled back, pushed by everyone else running into the restaurant for safety. Begrudgingly, she helped barricade the door, shoving tables up against it and chairs to hold them in place. She knew it wouldn’t help, it didn’t matter, but she was also a police officer. She needed to get her head back in the moment. Remember who she was. What she did. Savannah was talking to her again and Marley turned back to look at her, mourning the loss of her one chance to meet the creature in the flesh. Still, she couldn’t complain about the fear buffet now waiting huddled inside the chinese restaurant with her. “He’s a legend,” she said, her eyes still twinkling a little bit. “I’d love to clue you in, but I’m not actually sure you’d believe me.” 

The staff back in the kitchens were blocking the back exits too, much to the annoyance of any kitchen staff who were still due their cigarette breaks. Priorities, right? At least they were stuck somewhere with plenty of food. Not that anyone really felt like eating right now. “It looks like he’s moving on,” Savannah whispered, craning her neck to try and watch the man, person, mythical being? as he disappeared from sight. She listened carefully for the sound of horses hooves disappearing into the distance, breaths coming more easily now. They still needed to wait for someone to ensure the scene was secured though. No leaving until they got the go-ahead. “Try me,” she shrugged. “You’d be amazed what type of crazy shit I believe these days.” 

The dullahan was leaving and the clops of his horse’s hooves made Marley’s heart sink with each moment. And once they were gone, she sank onto one of the tables in a huff and looked over at Savannah. At least the buffet was still giving her plenty of fear to feed on. “Guess there’s no point in denying it,” she muttered, “I’m not currently working so you can’t threaten my job. He’s the dullahan,” she explained, “a spirit. A very powerful and old spirit.” Tried to keep the awe from her voice, clearing her throat. “He marks victims with blood, and then takes their heads. I didn’t think he was real-- he was just a rumor, a legend, whispered among us,” a sigh, “but I guess he is real. And we were so lucky as to meet him in person.” Slid from the table and glanced out the doors, tapping on the glass. There was a lot of blood on the ground, and a lot of dead bodies. Best to play this one cool. “Time from station to downtown in emergencies is no less than 3 minutes. They should be here soon.”

"I don't care to threaten your job, Stryder," Savannah sighed. If anyone back at The Bureau found out what she was up to, she'd be the first one on the chopping block. The FBI didn't appreciate government resources being used to investigate squid-people and mermaids, she was sure. "You just talk about this? Just tell some stranger about it?" she asked, eyes narrowing as she tried to establish whether this made sense or not. She had seen the blood. She had seen the headless man on the horse. And she'd seen the decapitation. "I don't know whether I'd call this lucky." She checked her watch. Sure enough, she could hear the approaching wail of sirens. "They'll need to block everything off and make arrangements for everyone to leave safely before they come for us.” Time enough for Marley to fill in some blanks. "You said 'among us'. What does that mean? What's 'us'?"

“Lucky me,” Marley answered back, rubbing her head. She was getting tired again. Her body always seemed to get tired so much more easily now. She cast a sharp glance Savannah’s way, considering the option of just fear gazing her and bolting-- but she wasn’t that person anymore. She couldn’t be. She rubbed her palms into her eyes before speaking again. “Well, first of all, you asked. Second of all, you’re not technically some stranger. You’re FBI. Not that I trust any sort of authority with this kind of shit.” She gestured lazily outside. “Oh, trust me-- we were lucky. You still have your head on, right?” Waited for any sort of acknowledgement. “Lucky.” She headed away from the doors and looked across all the citizens still crowded in the aisles and tables. Glanced back at Savannah. “Did I?” she shrugged. “I just mean that it’s hard, in this town, to deny shit like this exists. The supernatural has always been a part of my life, whether I knew it existed or not.” A pause. “Welcome to White Crest, I guess.”

Lucky me, lucky us, lucky them. Savannah found it hard to accept that being in this situation had anything to do with luck, unless it was bad luck. "Thankfully, yes, I still have my head. But I'm a stranger to you. We've seen each other a handful of times around the station, but..." She shrugged, not really invested in arguing the point any further. "I never used to believe in any of this shit, you know? I spent months telling myself there had to be some reasonable explanation for what happened to Agent Sterling. I like to think I'm a pretty reasonable person, but at some point, being reasonable means no longer denying what's right in front of you." She could feel the room getting antsy as the sirens drew closer. A few more minutes now. "You seemed awfully excited to see him for someone who knows he kills people." 

“Then, maybe,” Marley said, turning fully to look at Savannah now, her expression mute, “it’s because you are a stranger. Your opinion means nothing to me. Whether or not you believe me means...nothing to me.” She noticed a man coming towards them, and she moved around Savannah to intercept him, reassure him that authorities were arriving on the scene soon and that once it was cleared, citizens would be let out after giving statements. She turned back to look at Savannah. “You know, I wish more people were like you. You have no idea how much of the department still denies this shit, no matter how many weird cases pass their desk.” With a sigh, she leaned against the wall. Her head was beginning to pound now, and little spots ate at her vision. She blinked, rubbing her eyes. “What? You’ve never been fascinated with the morbid? Haven’t you ever wanted to meet a serial killer? Wouldn’t you do anything to talk to someone like Ted Bundy or Jeffrey Dahmer or John Wayne Gacey? I wanna know what goes on inside their minds so bad. I wanna know what makes them tick, what they’re afraid of. What they dream about. Maybe that makes me disturbed or whatever, but it also makes me good at my job.” Police lights pulled up outside and Marley pushed away from the wall. “Cavalries here,” she noted, pointing, “hooray for us.”

"Well thank you. I appreciate the honesty," Savannah said with a humorless chuckle, and meant it. She was usually not quite that blunt, but she'd been accused of being a little on the direct side. Many people were intimidated when women - especially of color - were quite so frank about their thoughts. They were expected to gloss everything up, put a little bow on it. She was guilty of it too sometimes. "Actually," she said, contemplative, "I probably understand that better than a lot of people in this town. I found out someone had wings and my first thought wasn't to be afraid but to ask if I could touch them. People don't get into the FBI because they like nice, happy things." She stood up from her seat at one of the tables, unblocking the door once the officer outside motioned for them to do so. "Alright folks, stay calm, we're going to leave one at a time and the officer is going to take your details on the way out in case we need to take a statement, okay?" When things were in motion, she turned back to Marley, giving her a nod. "I know you're not working right now, but text me if you wanna go out for Chinese food and talk about creepy shit some time, okay?" 

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

Float Like A Butterfly Ch.2 Boundaries

Summary:

Adrien remembers a promise amid chaos.

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

"You know, dude. You don't have to let her do that."

"Huh?"

"Chloe," Nino clarified, watching said girl go with a scowl before his eyes flicked back to Adrien. "You don't have to let her drape herself all over you like that."

Confusion clouded Adrien's face. "What? No, it's Chloe. She's fine."

"Bro, you can set boundaries for your friends! They're the dudes that're supposed to be the most chill with that!" Nino didn't mean to push but he knew how Adrien was about his friendships. "I know you're not the best when it comes to personal space-"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"-but, like, you should really start getting with the groove."

Adrien didn't like the worried frown Nino gave him and hurried to reassure his best friend. "Seriously bro, I'm fine! It's fine." He gave Nino a bright smile as proof.

Nino didn't look convinced. "You'd tell me if it wasn't. Right?"

"Of course, dude! You're my best friend." Stifling a twinge of superhero related guilt with practiced ease, Adrien held his fist up.

The concern in Nino's eyes faded a little. "Okay, bro." Holding up his own fist, Nino returned the gesture. "Just... Remember that if you feel someone's being uncool you can just leave or something, yeah?"

"Promise," Adrien replied with a smile.

"I mean it, man." This time Nino returned a small smile despite himself. His voice losing its gravitas. "Anyone gives you rancid vibes just get the hell away from them."

Truthfully, Adrien hadn't remembered. Oh, he didn't forget. But it stayed in the back of his mind. Untouched despite the many times people he knew gave him 'rancid vibes'. Never once did Nino's words resurface...

Until the Guardian drove him away.

----------

Adrien didn't want to be in class today.

Even if it was Mme. Bustier's birthday. He didn't feel like smiling so Nino wouldn't ask him if he was okay. Like he did every day.

And Adrien lied because... He didn't know why he kept lying to Nino. There was no point anymore, was there? No point in keeping everything bottled up. In holding back tears so his friends wouldn't ask questions he couldn't answer. Shouldn't answer.

His hand was shaking.

I shouldn't think like that. Adrien subtly grabbed his uncooperative limb, holding it still. Trying to shake his brain loose from its spiral. It was a special day. He shouldn't ruin it by-

"-Chloe Bourgeois!"

Adrien bolted upright in his seat. The sound of Marinette's anger shocking him back to the present. What- Chloe did what? But just as soon as Adrien's brain caught up Mme. Bustier and Marinette were out of the classroom.

Everyone was glaring at Chloe. She was ignoring them in that far too deliberate way she had. With her head to the side and her chin up, Chloe was the spitting image of, I don't care what you think. An almost perfectly crafted lie.

Then their akumatized teacher showed up and it was chaos.

Adrenaline surged through Adrien, keeping him grounded as he ran with his classmates. Despite his obtrusive thoughts.

Of course, Zombizou was after Chloe! Why wouldn't she be!? Grabbing a discarded mop when his surviving friends barricaded themselves in the locker room, Adrien turned and-

There she was. Shoulders set in determination, face serious, bluebell eyes red around the edges. Ladybug's mere presence was enough to calm everyone.

Adrien's grip on his makeshift weapon tightened, knuckles white. He turned away from her and took a breath. Trying to keep his turmoil off his face.

You should be helping her, said an admonishing, guilty voice.

She didn't want my help, an angry, bitter voice replied.

"Ladybug vouched for you."

Adrien wondered if that was true.

They were on the school's roof now. Adrien didn't remember how they got up there. Apparently the kissing zombies were becoming an epidemic. And Zombizou was still very focused on a particular individual.

"Chloe! Ha, always Chloe!" Alix advanced on her angrily. Backing the taller girl up to the roof's edge, with kissing zombies below. "You only think about yourself!"

"I don't know why we don't just give them what they want!" Alya added.

"Yeah! Good idea!" Nino backed her up.

... I should say something here, right? Adrien knew he should defend Chloe. Or at least try to de-escalate the argument. Because, by God, did Adrien know Chloe wasn't going to do it.

"Is it my fault that I'm better than all of you?"

Adrien should say something. But Ladybug beat him to it. In two short sentences she quelled his classmates righteous anger. She was right, of course. Chloe didn't deserve to get hit. And she was the perfect bait.

Ladybug's always right...

Thankfully, the zombies' attempts to climb after them kept Adrien focused on protecting those around him. Instead of wallowing in self-pity. Using the mop he still had, Adrien shoved the zombies back while the rest of his classmates went down Ladybug's yo-yo zipline.

But more kept coming.

"C'mon, Agreste!" Kim yelled, giving Chloe a push down their escape line.

Adrien ran and the zombies swarmed.

"Look out!" Max stretched out his arms and used his body as a shield, distracting the zombies.

"Max!"

Strong arms lifted Adrien up and put him on the zipline. Placing his mop handle so he could grab it and not the razor sharp wire. Kim sent Adrien off just as he was swarmed.

... No one had ever sacrificed themselves for Adrien before. He didn't like it.

Rose slipped from the roof of the bus and cried out as a zombie grabbed her leg. Ladybug quickly retracting her yo-yo and saving her.

He saw the look on Ladybug's face. Gazing out at all of the infected people that surrounded them. Adrien could feel the weight on her shoulders through that gaze. The weight of a city. Ladybug felt responsible for every citizen of Paris. They were counting on her. She let out a low growl of determination and went into the bus.

Inside, Ladybug stared at the driver's seat for a moment. "Anyone know how to drive?"

And when no one else spoke up Adrien replied. "I... can." It was the first words he'd spoken to her since...

"But we are a team aren't we? I'm tired of all these secrets."

"O-Oh! Thank you, Adrien."

Adrien didn't think he deserved any thanks but he nodded and got them on their jarring, halting way. Heading for the Eiffel Tower.

Ladybug's proximity was distracting. Not in the usual way, where he couldn't take his eyes off her and his heart sped up excitedly. His heart was speeding but it wasn't from excitement and his jaw hurt from how hard he was clenching it.

Adrien felt... like when Ladybug didn't come to his surprise. Or when Chloe got the entire school punished for something she did. He wasn't sure how those two things were related but the feeling now was much the same. Only worse.

Focus, a familiar voice said. They're counting on you.

So, Adrien shoved his feelings down to where they usually went in public.

Then someone screamed.

Ladybug kept Alix, Juleka and Rose from kissing anyone else while Adrien sped towards the Eiffel Tower. Coming to a fast stop in its shadow. Grabbing Chloe's wrist in one hand and his mop in the other, Adrien bolted for the elevators. Alya and Nino on their tail. Barricading the doors just as Ladybug made it inside.

But they didn't count on zombies in the elevator.

"Alya!" Nino rushed forward to restrain the infected people, pulling them off his girlfriend.

"...There's nothing we can do for her," Adrien found himself saying. "C'mon!"

"He's right," Alya sat up to look a kneeling Ladybug in the eye. There was nothing but trust in her gaze, a gentle smile on her lips. "Just go and save us all."

Without taking her eyes off Alya, Ladybug slowly walked into the elevator. "Nino?"

Tipping his cap, Nino smiled as the doors closed with him still outside.

"Nino!" Ladybug threw herself at the doors as they started their ascent. Her fist struck the glass in frustration.

"...You'll fix it all in the end anyway," Adrien said. He meant it to be reassuring. It came out accusatory.

She doesn't need me.

Shut up!

"Only the best remain." Chloe felt the need to comment.

She doesn't need Chat Noir.

Not if he's wallowing in self-pity, she doesn't!

A growl left Ladybug's lips. "He's your best friend." Her eyes were on him as she ignored Chloe.

She didn't need you then and she doesn't need you now!

... It doesn't matter.

"You'll fix it," he repeated. Staring her in the eye.

And for some unfathomable reason, Ladybug seemed to accept that.

They arrived at the top... only to be surrounded by zombies.

"Ladybug!" Adrien cried out as he shoved Chloe toward her.

The swarm made to chase after them. So, ignoring the kisses already dotting his skin, Adrien used his body and the mop handle he still carried like a barrier. Stretching out his arms the way Max had.

There were so many of them. Pushing him. Grabbing him. Kissing him. Adrien spread his feet and pushed against the floor as leverage.

"Adrien!"

Looking up he felt Ladybug's palm on his cheek. Despite himself he found it comforting... Her eyes were so afraid. "Go!" he pleaded.

"No!"

"You're the only one who can fix this for us. No arguing now!"

So she didn't.

He watched her hurry away as foreign hands grabbed at his body. Cotton was a poor substitute for the protection of his magical, impervious suit. Strangers' lips slathered the skin on his arms, his neck, his face. The last thing Adrien felt was his flesh crawling in disgust as his strength gave out...

---------

Ladybugs swirled around Adrien as the far too familiar sensation of his free will coming back washed over him.

Just in time to see how close Chloe's lips were to his own. Adrien jerked his head back. Chloe followed his movement. NO! His hands shoved her away before he knew he was doing it.

Adrien stared at her on the ground. The alien sensation of unwanted lips on his skin ghosted over his flesh. Without a word Chloe picked herself up and dusted herself off. Adrien turned on his heel and strode away from her.

Ladybug was also staring. At Mme. Bustier coming out of the akumatization. She held her fist at eye level, a melancholy expression on her face. "B- Bien joue," she whispered.

Eyes stinging suddenly, Adrien looked away. Shutting them tight.

"Ladybug? What on Earth-" Mme. Bustier let out a gasp. "The akuma overtook me. Oh, no! I let my negative emotions get the upper hand. How terrible! I'm terrible..."

A jolt went through Adrien at her words.

The teacher's distress apparently pulled Ladybug back from her own distant sorrow. Shoving away things she couldn't do anything about Ladybug focused on what she could do. "...That's not true. It wasn't your fault. Papillon is the one to blame."

It's not the same, he told himself.

Isn't it?

"But I hurt a lot of people."

"No," Chloe's voice rang out. "I did." All three stared at her in surprise. "I forgot your birthday, once again." She didn't sound like herself. "And when I saw everyone prepare a gift for you, I totally lost it." She sounded... remorseful. "Because I too would've liked to offer you something." Sincere. "I'm sorry, Mme. Bustier."

Snakes slid themselves into knots in Adrien's stomach. He could remember the last time Chloe had apologized for anything. They were eleven.

"Thank you, Chloe. Those words are the best possible gift you could ever give me." And Mme. Bustier wrapped her in a hug.

Chloe's eyes found Adrien's and he felt... unpleasant things.

"Um, I should be going!" For some reason Ladybug was addressing Adrien specifically.

"Right... Thank you."

"No problem." Ladybug smiled despite the strain around her reddened eyes. She waited a moment, expectant. But when nothing was forthcoming she swung away. An odd mixture of relief and guilt on her face.

Adrien didn't speak to Chloe as they took the elevator down. He didn't speak to her as Mme. Bustier, still shaken from her ordeal, went home. Didn't speak to her as the Gorilla pulled up and she got in without asking. It wasn't until they were on their way to Le Grande Paris and the privacy screen was rolled up that Adrien spoke.

"...I don't want you kissing me." He didn't look at her.

"What? Adrikins what're you-"

"I don't like it." His tongue felt heavy and there was a tightness in his chest. "I don't like that nickname."

"...You never complained about it before." Chloe didn't say it dismissively, like she would for anyone else. Because Adrien wasn't anyone else.

Adrien did look at her then. "It was fine when we were kids and then, when we got older, I told myself it didn't bother me. But it does." He felt queasy. Adrien wished he had Chat Noir. Chat Noir never had this much trouble expressing himself.

"Well... okay then." Chloe threw her ponytail behind her. "Just Adrien, then."

And Adrien was so relieved when a knot untangled itself in his stomach that he almost let it slide. Almost. "I don't want you trying to kiss me."

"I'm just greeting you." There was no inflection in her words, like she expected what was coming. "Everyone does it."

"Don't. Lie. To me." And it's the first sign Adrien gave of the anger behind his words. Superseding even the guilt in his gut. Not breaking eye contact no matter how much he wanted to.

Chloe broke it first, looking down. "Maybe... when I realized that you were the only boy I could stand I... Started thinking of you as mine. You were my friend!" Her eyes flicked to Adrien and away again. "And I, maybe, thought I was the only girl who was good enough for you."

"That's not your decision," Adrien snapped. The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. And he didn't really want to stop them.

"Well, someone had to make a decision!"

Adrien's eyes burned into her.

Chloe winced. Even her infamous tactlessness had its limits. "Adrien..."

He turned away from her.

"What do you want me to say!" Her voice rose. "That I was selfish!? That I wanted you all to myself!? That I was a terrible friend!?"

"No," Adrien replied evenly, still looking away. "I don't want you to say that."

Chloe took a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry... Adrien."

Oh. The sharp spike in Adrien's chest grew smaller. He looked at her. There were actual tears, tiny ones, in the corners of her eyes.

Before he could say anything the car stopped. And Chloe was out the door.

---------

Adrien stared at nothing. Arms wrapped around his knees on the bed. Allowing the tears that had built up all day to fall.

He didn't want to think about Chloe. Didn't want to go over every time she'd lean in and he'd lean away. Hated the way his skin burned at the memory of unwanted contact. Like it was still touching him.

Wrestling himself away from that train of thought only brought up Ladybug. Adrien didn't want to think about her either. Thinking about Ladybug made the writhing in his stomach worse.

Ladybug was as amazing as always. He could see her setting whatever she felt aside for the sake of the mission. Serious and focused like a great hero should be. No wonder the Guardian likes her more than me.

If he still had Plagg then Chat Noir could've helped instead of running around with a mop of all things! Could've actually been useful.

Chat Noir didn't stop you from being useless before.

A bark of laughter escaped Adrien's lips.

Not one person. Not one person mentioned Chat Noir's absence.

They kinda had more important things to worry about, the rational part of his brain pointed out.

Howling laughter came out of him, shaking his frame. I know. And the knowledge only made him feel worse. Friends, people he saw every day, had their minds taken from them. And here he was, what, whining about not being appreciated?

Fresh tears streamed down Adrien's face as he covered his mouth. Laughter turning into wailing sobs. What is wrong with me!?

Smothering the sound of his sobs with his pillow, Adrien screamed himself hoarse. Fingers futilely clawing at the fabric. Realizing, in between breaths, that he cried out for Plagg most of all. Heat built rapidly in his face as his chest constricted. Adrien let himself mourn Plagg's absence all over again. Everything was too hot, too much. He didn't remember how many times he'd cried over the sarcastic, arrogant little jerk but it didn't feel like enough.

Eventually, the raging storm in Adrien calmed. At least for now. He wiped at the dry tear stains, swallowing thickly. Taking slow, deliberate breaths. Blinking his reddened eyes, Adrien's sight landed on Plagg's mini-fridge.

A painful twinge pulled at his heart but Adrien was far too drained for it to last more than a moment. He stared at it. Having avoided touching the only piece of Plagg that still resided in his room.

Standing on shaky legs, he made his way over to Plagg's things. Kneeling, Adrien opened it, seeing nothing but Camembert. His nose too stuffy from crying for its intense odor to have any effect.

Adrien smiled even as his eyes watered. Closing Plagg's fridge he called for a cart to take the Camembert away. Without Plagg he really didn't need so much cheese.

It was time to let go. Even if it took him years. Adrien had experience with letting people go, after all.