#the grim reality is something that dawns on them later

[explodingstarlight]

spent a month mashing two of my long term hyperfixations together into an AU, bone apple teeth

I wouldn't consider this a crossover as much as an inspired AU because autism brain drew parallels between the two narratives and I think it would be fun to explore the earlier years of the apocalypse, before the world is absolutely decimated (alongside many of the resources), before the fam loses Donnie and Raph, et cetera. I have Plans™

Paying homage to this iconic panel from The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: National Anthem:

Still finalizing each of the bro's code names, but here are the initial drafts and close-ups of their designs:

Riff-Raph

Donamite

Antimatter Master-Plan

Magic Mic

[panakinthedisco]

PART 2 | HEAVEN ━━ Marcus Acacius

summary: betrayal brews on the horizon, and you, as the daughter of venus and the protector of the noble general must ensure his safety. but amidst from the chaos, general acacius began to perceive that you were far more than a mere tradesman's daughter.

author's note: thank you so much for the support of part 1 of heaven!!! i've been on the moon ever since i saw pedro wearing tunics and being sweaty soooo here you go with part 2 :)) also, i might flesh out this series? but we'll see hehe

warnings: eventual smut to later chapters (sorry girlies, no smut YET in part 2 huhu but there is sexual tension). mentions of misogyny, violence and also implications of sexual abuse.

word count: 4.8k

check out the spotify playlist of this mini-series or you can visit my account.

Early in the morning, the camp was bathed in the soft, golden light of dawn. The air was crisp and fresh, carrying the earthy scent of dew-soaked grass. You woke up early as you made your way to fetch water. The soldiers, still groggy from the previous night's revelry, paid you little heed as you approached the well.

The rhythmic sound of water splashing into your bucket was almost soothing, but your ears caught snippets of a conversation nearby. Two soldiers, their voices hushed and conspiratorial, were discussing a matter that made your heart quicken.

"Did you hear?" one of them said, his voice low. "Emperor Geta and his brother, Caracalla, are planning something for General Acacius. They're going to present him as a gladiator for their entertainment."

The words sent a jolt through you. You continued to draw water, careful to keep your movements steady, but your senses were heightened, your attention fully on the unfolding dialogue.

"Why would they do that?" the other soldier asked, a note of disbelief in his tone. "Acacius is one of our best generals."

"It's because of his connections," the first soldier replied. "Some of the other generals are jealous. They're conspiring against him, whispering lies into the ears of the emperors. They want him out of the way."

The daughter of Venus felt a surge of anger and fear. The thought of Acacius being reduced to a mere pawn for the amusement of the emperors was intolerable. He was a man of honor and valor, deserving of respect and admiration, not this betrayal.

You knew you had to act quickly. You had to go to Rome and use all your divine influence to change the minds of Emperor Geta and Caracalla. Your thoughts raced as you considered your options. You can leave the camp by evening and should walk through the dusty roads up until the crack of dawn, you’ll also ask the guidance of your mother as the war in Rome is becoming a pandemonium. The power you wielded as the daughter of Venus could sway even the most stubborn of hearts, but it would require cunning and resolve.

Lost in your thoughts, you were startled by a rough voice. "Hey, what are you gaping at? Are you eavesdropping?" one of the soldiers barked, suspicion in his eyes.

You quickly composed yourself, offering a demure smile. "I apologize," you said softly. "I was merely lost in thought."

The soldier grumbled but seemed satisfied with your response. You gathered your bucket and hurried back to Acacius's tent, your mind racing with the weight of what you had heard. The morning light seemed colder now, the serenity of dawn shattered by the grim reality of betrayal.

Inside the tent, the luxurious surroundings did little to calm your turmoil. Acacius, the man you had watched over and guided, was in grave danger. You had to protect him, had to find a way to thwart the treachery brewing against him. Your resolve hardened, and you vowed to use every ounce of your divine power to save him from the machinations of envious men.

You pace restlessly, your mind a tempest of thoughts. The urgency of the situation pressed heavily upon you, and each step you took seemed to echo with the gravity of the betrayal that loomed on the horizon.

You paused by a polished bronze mirror, your reflection a reminder of your divine heritage and the power you possessed. Your heart aches with the weight of your duty, your resolve hardening with each passing moment. How could you protect Acacius from the treachery that threatened to engulf him? How could you, a disguised goddess, influence the minds of emperors and their co-augusti?

Your thoughts raced, weaving intricate plans and possibilities. You knew you needed to be near the emperors, to whisper in their ears and sway their decisions. But the path to their presence was fraught with obstacles, each more daunting than the last.

You could invoke your divine beauty, a gift from your mother, to gain entry to the imperial court. As the daughter of Venus, your allure was undeniable, capable of turning heads and softening even the hardest hearts. You imagined yourself walking through the marble halls of the palace, your presence a beacon of grace and elegance. With carefully chosen words and enchanting smiles, you could plant seeds of doubt about the conspirators and paint Acacius in the light of a loyal and indispensable general.

But beauty alone was not enough. You needed to understand the intricacies of court politics, the hidden alliances, and the ambitions that drove men to betrayal. You considered seeking out the palace’s servants and courtiers, those who moved unseen through the corridors of power, gathering whispers and secrets. With their help, you could navigate the treacherous waters of the imperial court and find a way to protect Acacius.

Your thoughts turned to the gods. You could appeal to your divine kin, seeking their guidance and intervention. But the gods were capricious, their motives often inscrutable. You would need to tread carefully, balancing your requests with offerings and prayers, invoking their favor without drawing undue attention to your true identity.

As you paced, the fabric of the tent rustling softly with your movements, a plan began to take shape. You would use every resource at your disposal, every ounce of your divine power and mortal cunning. You would infiltrate the court, weave your way into the emperor's confidence, and expose the treachery that sought to destroy Acacius.

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed the passage of time. The sun climbed higher, its rays growing stronger, casting the tent in a warm, golden light. Your mind, however, remained in the shadows, sifting through the myriad possibilities and honing your strategy. 

Finally, you stopped, your gaze steely and determined. You would go to Rome, don the mask of a noblewoman, and place yourself in the heart of the empire’s power. You would protect Acacius with every fiber of your being, for he was more than a mortal general. He was a symbol of honor and integrity, a man worthy of her divine protection. And the pact of his mother to Venus, something you deemed precious and eternal.

The air was filled with the faint scent of incense, a calming presence amidst the turmoil of your thoughts. You were lost in contemplation when the flap of the tent rustled, and Acacius emerged, clad in his gleaming armor.

He moved with the grace of a seasoned warrior, each step purposeful and strong. His presence filled the space, commanding and authoritative. You were momentarily stunned, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him so early. It was his custom to inspect his soldiers at the break of dawn, ensuring their readiness and morale.

"Remove my armor," he commanded, his voice steady and deep. "I need to take a bath."

His request took you by surprise. You had not anticipated such an intimate task. The astonishment must have shown on your face, for Acacius's gaze softened slightly, though his command remained firm. It was clear that you had never bathed a man before, let alone a general. Yet, you nodded, stepping closer to him, your hands trembling as you reached for the straps and buckles of his armor.

As your fingers fumbled with the ties, your proximity to him felt both electrifying and daunting. The warmth of his body seeped through the cold metal of his armor, a stark reminder of his humanity beneath the warrior's exterior. You tried to steady your hands, but they continued to shake, betraying your nerves.

Acacius observed you closely, his piercing eyes noting every detail. "No," he said softly yet firmly, "remove it while you are in front of me."

Confused, you hesitated, but his gaze held no room for argument. You swallowed hard and moved to face him directly. The task felt even more daunting now, the intimacy of the moment heightened by the direct confrontation. You could feel the intensity of his stare, and your hands shook even more as you resumed your efforts.

Slowly, with trembling fingers, you began to unfasten the straps of his armor. The metal plates of his breast armor were heavy and intricate, each piece meticulously designed for protection. As you worked, you could feel the weight of his scrutiny, his eyes never leaving your face. Acacius knew right away that you’re not familiar with removing armor, let alone a breast plate. 

"Have you ever removed someone's armor before?" he asked, his voice gentle yet probing.

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. You were not accustomed to such tasks, your divine heritage far removed from the duties of a servant. Reluctantly, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "No, I have never done this before, my Lord."

Acacius's brow furrowed slightly, and then, to your surprise, he reached out and took your hand in his. You were much closer to him, feeling his breath on your cheek. You hope that he’s not hearing the way your heart is beating right now — and suddenly, the touch of his calloused fingers against your skin sent a shiver down her spine. He guided your hand to the already loosened string of his armor, his touch both firm and instructive.

"Here," he said softly, "let me show you."

He demonstrated how to untie the strings properly, his hands moving with practiced ease. You tried to focus on his instructions, but the sensation of his rough, calloused hands against your own skin was distracting.You could feel the warmth of his touch, a stark contrast to the cold metal of the armor.

As you silently worked together, Acacius's eyes never left your face. "Your hands are soft," he remarked, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Quite peculiar and unusual for a tradesman's daughter."

You looked up, meeting his intense brown gaze, your fingers halfway through untying the strings. His eyes searched yours, filled with a mix of suspicion and something deeper. "Are you telling the truth?" he asked, his grip on your hand tightening slightly.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yes, it is true," you replied, your voice trembling slightly. But you could feel his grip becoming even tighter, the pressure making you squirm.

Acacius's eyes bore into yours, demanding honesty. "Who are you truly?" he asked, his voice low and insistent.

You winced at the tightness of his hold, your mind racing for the right words. "I am telling the truth," you insisted, your voice wavering with a mix of fear and determination. "After you saved my life, I am always grateful to you, my Lord. I would never betray you."

For a moment, there was silence between them, the air thick with tension. Acacius studied you intently, searching for any hint of deception. You could feel the weight of his scrutiny, the intensity of his gaze almost overwhelming.

Then, slowly, his grip on your hand loosened, though his eyes remained locked on yours. "Very well," he said finally, his voice softening. "But know this: I do not tolerate deceit."

You nodded, relief washing over you. "I understand, my Lord." You whispered, your voice barely audible.

“You may continue.” He finally said, letting you continue untying the strings of his armor. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. Now, without his hands guiding you, you moved more surely now, though still with the delicate care of someone handling something precious.

Piece by piece, the armor fell away, revealing the taut muscles and sun-kissed skin of the man beneath. You marveled at his strength, his physicality, a living testament to the battles he had fought and won. There was a raw, undeniable power in him, yet a gentleness in the way he stood still, allowing her to perform this task.

The memory of that sun-drenched afternoon lingered in your mind like a cherished secret. You had hidden yourself beneath the sprawling branches of an olive tree, its leaves whispering softly in the warm breeze. From your concealed vantage point, you had watched as General Maximus guided Acacius through rigorous training exercises.

Acacius stood shirtless in the courtyard, his bronzed skin glistening with sweat under the midday sun. His muscles rippled with each movement, a testament to his strength and discipline. His body, sculpted through years of relentless training, was a masterpiece of power and grace. Every sinew, every line of his physique, spoke of a warrior in his prime.

You were hidden in the shadows of the olive tree, marveled at the sight. It was not foreign for you to see mortals in such a state, yet observing Acacius stirred something deep within you. You found herself captivated by the play of light and shadow on his skin, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the sheer vitality that radiated from him.

Your heart quickened as you watched him, a sensation both thrilling and bewildering. You, a divine being, felt a stirring of emotions that should have been foreign to you. The sight of Acacius, so strong and yet so human, evoked a sense of admiration and something more profound, something that unsettled you.

You thought, why would a goddess feel this way to a mere mortal? You had witnessed countless men in their prime, warriors and heroes whose deeds were sung in the halls of Olympus. Yet, none had affected you as Acacius did. There was a purity in his strength, a nobility in his bearing that transcended mere physicality.

You recalled the way he moved, each step deliberate and controlled, the way his muscles flexed and tensed under the strain of his training. He was a living embodiment of human potential, and you found herself drawn to him in ways you could not fully understand. It was not just his physical form that captivated you, but the essence of who he was—his honor, his courage, his unwavering determination.

As you watched from your hidden perch, a soft sigh escaped your lips. You knew you should not feel this way, that such emotions were unbecoming of a goddess. Yet, in that quiet moment beneath the olive tree, you allowed yourself to indulge in the forbidden allure of your feelings. You were the daughter of Venus, and love, in all its forms, was your domain. But this—this was different. This was a quiet yearning, a subtle pull towards a mortal who had somehow ensnared your heart.

The memory of that day, of Acacius standing shirtless and magnificent in the courtyard, stayed with you, a constant reminder of the delicate boundary between divinity and humanity. 

As you reached the final ties, your fingers brushed against his chest, and you felt a shiver run through you. Acacius, too, seemed affected, a flicker of something indefinable passing across your face. You looked up, meeting his eyes, and for a moment, the world outside the tent ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, caught in a web of unspoken emotions and silent understanding.

The last piece of armor fell away, and you stepped back, your task complete. Acacius stood before you, now unarmored and vulnerable in a way you had never seen him.

“Remove my greaves,” he demanded, his voice low and authoritative.

You nodded obediently, feeling a mix of apprehension and determination. Kneeling before him, you carefully began to untie the straps of his leg armor. Your fingers, still trembling slightly, worked diligently to free the intricate bindings. As you worked, you could feel his gaze upon you, heavy and intense.

When you finished with his first leg, he spoke again, his voice softer but no less commanding. “Look at me.”

You lifted your eyes to meet him, the world narrowing to the space between them. His brown eyes were piercing, searching yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “Have you prepared the water for my bath?” he asked.

“Yes, my Lord.” you replied, your voice steady but soft.

Satisfied, Acacius nodded slightly and allowed you to continue. You moved to his other leg, your hands more confident now as you untied the remaining greaves. As you finished the task, removing the last piece of armor, and stood back, your heart pounding in your chest.

Acacius turned and walked to the other side of the tent, where a small wooden tub awaited. The bath was modest, but the water was warm and inviting, prepared with care. As you approached the tub, you knew what was expected of you next. The task ahead would be challenging, testing the limits of your resolve.

Your internal thoughts swirled with a mixture of duty and an emotion you struggled to name. Acacius stopped by the tub and looked over his shoulder at you, a silent command in his eyes. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself for what was to come. The intimacy of the moment, the vulnerability it required, was daunting.  

The air in the tent seemed to thicken as Acacius stood before you, his eyes dark and unreadable. With deliberate slowness, he allowed you to remove the rest of his clothing. You felt a rush of heat to your cheeks as you unveiled the powerful form beneath the remaining layers. His sun-kissed skin was marked with scars, each one a testament to the battles he had fought and the life he had lived. His chest and shoulders bore the marks of a warrior, and his arms, sinewy and strong, told stories of countless victories and hardships.

As he stood naked before you, you tried to maintain your composure, though it took all your willpower not to look away. The sight of his body, so raw and real, stirred something deep. Each scar seemed to draw you in as years of observing him, you knew each detail of his scars as if it was a composition written for you, and how each line of his muscular frame called to you in a way you could scarcely comprehend.

Acacius dipped into the wooden tub, the warm water embracing him as he leaned back and closed his eyes, a sigh of relaxation escaping his lips. You stood there, still holding his clothing, your mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. Just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the silence.

"Massage my back."

Your heart skipped a beat at his command, but you nodded, obedient as always. Dragging a wooden chair to the side of the tub, you positioned yourself behind him. Your hands hovered uncertainly over his shoulders, the warmth of his skin radiating up to meet your palms.

You hesitated, your fingers trembling slightly. But you had no choice; you had sworn to protect him, and this was part of that vow.

Finally, you placed your hands on his shoulders, your touch feather-light at first. His skin was warm and surprisingly supple beneath your fingertips, the scars rough ridges against the smooth expanse. You began to knead the tight muscles, your movements tentative and gentle.

As you worked, she could feel the knots of tension in his shoulders start to loosen. Your hands moved with increasing confidence, the softness of your palms is a stark contrast to the hardness of his frame. You traced the contours of his back, each touch a blend of reverence and care. Your fingers pressed into the taut muscles, working to release the built-up stress of countless battles and long marches.

Acacius let out a low groan of satisfaction, his body relaxing further into the water. You marveled at the resilience beneath your hands, the way his body seemed to respond to your touch. The scars that adorned his chest and shoulders, once symbols of violence and pain, now seemed to tell a story of endurance and strength — each story that you carefully sewed to his victories. 

Your hands moved lower, massaging the length of his back, tracing the lines of his spine with a delicate but firm touch. You could feel the power coiled within him, the latent energy of a man who was both warrior and leader. Each movement of your fingers was a silent prayer, a promise to protect him as he had protected so many others.

Acacius's breathing grew deeper, his body surrendering to the gentle ministrations. You knew this moment would pass, that the demands of war and duty would soon reclaim their place. 

As the silence in the tent lingered, broken only by the gentle sound of water, Acacius finally spoke, his voice a deep rumble that resonated through the quiet space. "Tell me more about yourself. What happened to your parents?"

You paused, your hands momentarily still against his back, before resuming the gentle massage. "My father died years ago," she began, your voice soft and tinged with melancholy. "He was a great man, strong and kind. After his death, my mother took over the trading business. She was brilliant in many ways, but it was difficult for her. Most men do not respect women who own businesses."

Acacius listened intently, his eyes closed, his body relaxed under your touch. You continued, "I adored my mother. She was intelligent and resourceful, always finding ways to keep the business afloat despite the challenges. I wanted to be like her, to have her strength and wisdom."

He asked quietly, "Where is she now?"

Your voice wavered slightly. "I don't know. She always left our home, going on long trading journeys. It was hard to know when she would return. There was always a sense of solitude in our house."

As you spoke, your mind wandered to your strained relationship with Venus. Though you were the daughter of the goddess of love, your bond had always been fraught with tension. Venus, with your beauty and power, had high expectations, and your demands often felt insurmountable. There was a constant pressure to live up to your mother's legacy, a burden that weighed heavily on your heart. You yearned for a connection, for a maternal warmth that was rarely given. Instead, you were left to navigate her duties and emotions alone, much like the mortal girl you now portrayed.

Acacius could hear the solitude in your voice, a subtle undercurrent of longing that mirrored his own hidden sorrows. He remained silent, allowing you to continue the massage, his thoughts a complex weave of empathy and curiosity.

Midway through your ministrations, Acacius finally spoke again, his tone softer, almost gentle. "You should take a rest."

You nodded, your hands slipping away from his back. "Thank you, my Lord." you murmured, stepping back. You turned and left him alone, the fabric of the tent rustling softly behind you.

As you exited the tent, your mind was awhirl with conflicting thoughts and emotions. You had shared more than you intended, revealing a vulnerability that you usually kept hidden. The bond between you and Acacius, forged in the intimacy of that moment, felt both comforting and perilous. You are the daughter of a goddess, tasked with protecting a mortal warrior, but in that brief exchange, you felt something shift—a connection that went beyond duty, touching the very core of your being.

The evening descended upon the camp with a quiet, enveloping darkness. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth, mingling with the remnants of campfire smoke. You stood at the edge of your tent, your heart heavy with an unfamiliar ache. Your thoughts were a tumultuous sea of emotions, crashing against the shores of your resolve.

You were alarmed by the feelings you harbored for General Acacius. Every interaction, every touch, had deepened a connection that was both forbidden and perilous. You knew you had to leave, to distance yourself from the growing attachment that threatened to unravel your purpose. The decision pained you deeply, a sharp, twisting sorrow that felt almost unbearable. Yet, you were resolute. You could not allow your feelings to compromise your duty.

As the camp fell into a hushed slumber, you prepared for your departure. Dressed in a dark cloak that shrouded you in shadows, you moved silently through the tent, gathering a small cloth bag containing food and water for your journey. Each step was deliberate, your heart aching with the knowledge that this might be the last time you see him.

You stepped out into the cool night, your divine powers cloaking your presence from the watchful eyes of the soldiers. The shadows seemed to bend to your will, enveloping you in a protective embrace as you moved through the camp. Your footsteps were silent, your form almost ethereal in the dim light. You glanced back once, your eyes lingering on the tent where Acacius slept. 

With each step away from the camp, the weight of your decision pressed heavier upon you. You reached the edge of the camp, the forest looming ahead like a dark, beckoning void. Your heart clenched, a pang of regret momentarily halting your steps. You turned for one final look, your gaze sweeping over the sleeping encampment.

The sight of the camp, nestled under the starlit sky, brought a vague sense of closure. You felt the sharp sting of loss, the realization that she was truly leaving Acacius behind sinking in. 

Your general. 

Your Acacius. 

Taking a deep breath, you turned away, your steps now resolute as you ventured into the forest. The trees closed around you, their branches whispering secrets in the night breeze. You moved with purpose, her heart heavy but determined. You would continue your journey, protecting him from afar, hidden within the shadows of your divine will.

As the camp faded into the distance, you whispered a silent farewell, your words carried away by the night wind. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but  you would not falter. 

For Acacius, you would confront emperors, defy conspirators, and change the course of destiny itself.

CONTINUE READING: PART 1 | PART 3 ━━ AVAILABLE ON AO3

☆ MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION | SOCIALS | SIGN OFF BANNER MADE BY. @ALDERAANDORS

[case-almost-closed]

I asked earlier

An Akai x fem reader who has a miscarriage after she found out that he’s “dead”, the reader is a Kudo who then becomes really pissed off when she finds out that her family knows that her boyfriend is alive and didn’t tell her so she runs away and tears later she ends up with Furuya and they’re both getting married, Akai (Subaru) attends Y/N and Furuya’s wedding but regrets it

:)

Dawn's Embrace

Furuya Rei x fem!Kudo!reader (past Akai Shuichi x fem!Kudo!reader) Words: 2.5K Warnings: Angst, miscarriage, betrayal, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comofort (If you're rooting for Akai) A/N: Thanks for the request. That's a bit different than what I usually write but I took it as a challenge and hope I succeeded. Sorry that it took so long, however I did not really have any inspiration for it, until today and then wrote this thing within two hours.

She had never understood how powerful words could be. Yes, they were a means of making your thoughts and opinions understandable to the other person. They helped communication and could trigger emotions. She had been aware of all this. But she would never have believed that simple words could trigger such pain in her.

He is dead. I'm sorry.

Jodie looked at her pityingly from tear-filled eyes, but she paid no attention to her friend. A lump formed in her throat and she felt like she couldn't breathe, her head spun and she felt light, gasping and panting until a breath of oxygen reached her lungs. Instantly she regretted it. The sharpness with which that breath hit her had been unexpected, made her think clearly and reality came crashing down on her, mercilessly and without consideration.

Her eyes burned, but no tears came to her eyes, did not roll down her cheek and did not allow her to release the pain that was building up in her chest. The grief, anger and pain built up and suddenly she was faced with a flood of emotions that burst over her and swept her away.

 She screamed.

It was a bloodcurdling scream that came from deep inside her. She could feel her throat scratching and aching and felt like someone was ripping her throat open and she couldn't help the grim satisfaction that was building inside her. Maybe it would be possible to scream herself to death? She didn't know, but if the sharp pain in her stomach hadn't hit her and robbed her of her voice, she might have found out.

She gasped out, pressing her hands to her stomach, feeling like someone was plunging a hot blade into her stomach. Another scream escaped her, but this time it wasn't fuelled by grief. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Jodie knelt beside her, hand on her shoulder and panic written all over her face. She wanted to answer, wanted to tell her what was wrong, when she was overcome by another wave of pain and didn't even have time to scream. Instead, she curled up and fell to the floor, where she lay with her hands pressed to her abdomen, trembling and convulsing.

"I'm calling an ambulance," Jodie shouted, and although she tried to cover up her panic, it was still clear to hear. "Hang in there." Hang in there. If she hadn't been too blinded by her pain, she would have laughed derisively. A sob escaped her throat, the first of many, and her hands wandered down her stomach as if hoping to find the cause of her problems. In a way, she did.

Something wet touched her fingers, making her freeze and pull her hand back, which was covered in a red liquid. Blood. She couldn't help herself - another scream escaped her.

Two hours later, she lay in a hospital bed, her face buried in her pillow, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

A miscarriage.

The doctors had explained to her that a miscarriage could be induced by emotionally traumatic and physically hurtful incidents, but she had not listened to them, just lay impassively in her bed. Her brother, Yusaku, had visited her and tried to talk to her, but she hadn't even given him a glance. Today she had not only lost her unborn child, of whom she had known nothing, but the last part of Shuichi that she had left.

~**~

They say that time heals all wounds. She wasn't so sure it was true.

It was early morning, the sun had not yet risen, only a slight glimmer on the horizon, and she knelt silently in front of the lake she had visited so often with Shuichi. The thought of him alone brought tears to her eyes, which she purposely wiped away.

It had been two years since he had passed away and she still felt the pain that she had carried with her since that day. The loss of her partner and her child had lessened and was now no more than a dull throbbing in the back of her mind, but some days it erupted randomly and without consideration.

She rarely came here anymore, unable to hear the happy laughter of the children playing and painfully realizing that this could have been them. They could have been a little family, not perfect but enough, if Shuichi had just come home that day. For a long time she had been angry with him, cursing his name and his stupidity in not being careful and wishing she had never met him.

This anger had since faded and given way to resignation. There was nothing she could do to change the situation.

For two years she had been sure she would never be able to move on, never be able to love anyone else. She had thought she was done with it all. This morning, however, she had woken up and for the first time in these two years had the feeling that - yes, she could move on. Yes, she would get over him and yes she would, at some point in the distant future, be able to love again.

She didn't know how long it would take or how successful she would be. She knew it would be hard and painful and heartbreaking and maybe it would take her more than a few tries. But in the end, she would survive and move on. Because that's what Shuichi would have wanted her to do.

She breathed out shakily and placed the wreath of flowers, which she had been holding tightly in her hands, on the smooth surface and gave it a little nudge. Waves lapped as the wreath slid across the water and a few tears rolled down her cheeks, but she couldn't stop the small smile that crept onto her lips.

Carefully, she stood up, smoothed her skirt and turned to leave the park, only to collapse in shock, slip and land on her butt. Behind her stood a young man with a tanned complexion and unusually blond hair, who had his hands buried in his trouser pockets and was now looking at her apologetically as she clutched her chest to calm her racing heart.

"I apologize," he murmured, inclining his head in an apologetic bow. "It was not my intention to frighten you." She breathed in and out a few times to calm her racing heart before raising her hand. "It's all right. I was lost in thought and should have noticed you."

He shook his head, however, and took a step towards her to help her up, but waited for her nod of approval before he touched her and pulled her up. "Please, it was my fault. You could have fallen into the water or hurt yourself, and all because I wanted to watch the sunrise."

She smiled slightly and patted the dirt off her skirt. " It really is the most beautiful thing to watch from this spot. And please, nothing has really happened."

 "With respect, something has happened." He paused for a moment before bowing his head slightly. "I am aware that you are probably grieving, but I would ask you to allow me to invite you to tea." She hesitated. "It's really not necessary, you don't have to go to any trouble." But he shook his head. "It's no trouble. Please. Will you allow me?“

For a moment, she was tempted to refuse. He didn't seem like the kind of person who would take offense if she did refuse, and to be honest, she didn't really feel like drinking tea with a stranger. However, when she saw the gleam of hope in his eyes, she couldn't help but smile slightly.

What was that again about new beginnings? She nodded slightly and a bright smile spread across his face before he held out his arm to her.

" May I have the honor?" She chuckled slightly before linking in and following him down the stony path. She looked up at him out of the corner of her eye and noticed that his hair had taken on a golden sheen. The sun had risen.

A new day had dawned.

~**~

Her flashing gaze shifted from the man in front of her to her brother, who was standing beside his wife, holding her hand. "You knew?" Her voice was calm and cold, completely emotionless, but a full-blown volcano was boiling beneath the surface. "You watched me grieve for four years, saw me give up on myself and said absolutely nothing? Nothing?" Yusaku cleared his throat and started to say something, but she cut the word off at the back of his throat. "Don't even think about giving me some bullshit about 'we had to think of the greater good' or 'we were trying to protect you' because that doesn't work on me anymore."

Anger and disappointment mingled in her chest and she had to close her eyes to stifle tears. She didn't know whether they were tears of anger or sadness. She heard the crunch of a leather jacket and looked up. Shuichi - no, Akai - had taken a step towards her and was now watching her with calculating eyes. Eyes that she had once loved and that now looked at her with such irrelevance that she wondered how she could have ever had feelings for him. "It remains the truth, whether you like it or not." He fixed her with those cursed green eyes that had once been a home to her, but now reminded her more of the color of poison. "It was for your own protection." His gaze fixed on the person behind her. "And you seem to have gotten over it quite well."

She felt Rei move behind her, presumably to grab him by the collar, but she was quicker and hit him with such force against the cheek that his face flew to the side.

"How dare you," she hissed. Gone was the calm, calculated demeanor from before. Anger and hatred showed clearly on her face as she stared up at him and if looks could kill, he would have to be pronounced dead a second time.

"Can you even begin to imagine how much I've suffered? How much I grieved for you, Akai Shuichi? I lost my child, our child! I was so consumed by grief and sorrow that I stopped eating properly, didn't take care of myself and almost died. Damn it, I wanted to die from it! I wanted it to end and the only reason I'm still standing here is because Rei picked me up, took care of me. I wouldn't be here without him, you fucking asshole!"

She glared at him and, doing some soul-searching, realized that she couldn't find an ounce of love for him. He wasn't worth the effort. "I probably would have died if it hadn't been for Rei. Because I loved you, more than anything in the world. And what are you doing? Betraying me, backstabbing me and telling me the most unforgivable lies. And now you expect, you all expect, that I can just carry on as if nothing had happened."

"It was necessary," he returned urgently, but she only laughed scornfully. "Yes, to keep you hidden from this organization. But from me?" She turned away in disbelief. "Everyone knew you were alive. Jodie, Camel, Shinichi, even my brother and his wife. You told everyone but me. Your girlfriend. So don't tell me it was necessary to keep it from me when everyone else knew."

Akai's gaze wandered to the man behind her. "And what about your lover? Didn't he keep things from you too?" "Yes, he did," she admitted and for a split second her gaze flashed to Rei, who was looking at Akai with such hatred that she would have shivered in his place. "He let me know as soon as he could, though. You didn't. You had hundreds of opportunities and didn't take a single one. Besides, there's a difference between pretending to be dead and fibbing about your profession."

The hatred slowly ebbed away and gave way to disappointment. She turned away and reached for Rei's arm. "I'm through with you. I'm through with all of you. Leave me alone, don't contact me anymore. I don't want anything more to do with you." She could hear her family's protests and pleas, but kept walking. Rei placed his hand on her back and the warmth she felt calmed her somewhat. Not a single word came from Akai.

~**~

She kept her promise. Two years had passed and not once had she contacted one of them. Akai had intended to give her two or three days to calm down before contacting her again. But when he had arrived at her apartment, it had been empty. She had changed all her contact details or blocked him and everyone else, the same with Furuya.

It had taken them a year to figure out her whereabouts and Akai had intended to confront her as soon as he stood in front of her. But when he had seen her from across the street, arm in arm with Furuya, shopping in her arms and laughing, he had done nothing, just stood there and followed them with his eyes until they were out of sight.

Just like he was doing now.

Yukiko had put him in the disguise of Okiya Subaru one last time, in which he now stood at the edge of the festivities. It hadn't been difficult to get in, and due to the fullness of the room, he didn't stand out. Even if he did, he probably wouldn't have, because his eyes had been glued to her since the beginning of the wedding. She looked beautiful, like a goddess. The white dress hugged her figure perfectly, the makeup accentuated her features, and the smile on her face was filled with such love every time she looked at Furuya, her husband, that he felt sick.

His eyes followed their movements as they danced and laughed and, with a sad smile on his lips, he put the glass of champagne down on the tables and turned around. He had blown it, he had to admit that to himself. She no longer loved him. And as he saw her now, arm in arm with Furuya, he wondered if she had ever loved him the way she did the blond.

He had never seen her so happy. He took one last look over his shoulder at the bride and groom.

Apparently she had tripped and he had caught her, whereupon she now buried her face in his chest, laughing. She had earned it, he decided, and turned away for good. All he had wanted was to see her happy and safe, and if he couldn't be the one to give her that, he would let Furuya take her place.

As much as it bothered him, even if it didn't matter what he thought. Only as long as she was happy.

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ] [ All In One ] part 16, MDNI

this is a looong chapter, but since it’s the last one, I didn’t want to split it into two parts. enjoy!!!

Simon isn't scared of dying. He has always seen it as a natural part of the life cycle, as constant as the changing of the seasons and as certain as the setting sun. It's an inevitability that he, like every other person, will have to confront sooner or later. The idea of squandering precious time and energy worrying about something from which there is no escape has always seemed utterly pointless to him. But now that the Grim Reaper's cold, skeletal hand was rapping on the door, he found himself, much to his surprise, being swept up by relentless and towering waves of terror that ebbed and flowed but never fully receded. Yet, it's not the fear of his own demise that disturbs him—he doesn't give a damn about himself. His anxiety is rooted in a concern for you. The two of you have just met not so long ago, and the thought of losing you fills him with immense dread. He isn't ready to let you go yet.

For the past several days, Simon hasn't engaged in any of his usual activities. Mostly, he shadows you, his gaze tracing your every move with the piercing scrutiny of an eagle. You, on the other hand, strive to maintain a facade of normalcy, a mask of composure and contentment, as if to reassure him that everything is fine. But Simon has an uncanny knack for perceiving the truth. He is adept at picking up on the subtlest of cues, the faintest hints of lies, and interpreting them accurately. His ability to read between the lines is unparalleled, and it doesn't take him long to realise when you're attempting to fool him. Thus, you stop trying to put up a brave face, realising that it's nearly impossible to hide anything from Simon.

Every night ends with you collapsed in his arms, tears cascading down your face like a relentless waterfall. Simon stays with you, holding you tight until you drift off into a fitful sleep. He strokes your back gently, and twirls strands of your hair between his fingers, while his voice, soft as a lullaby, whispers sweet nothings into your ear in a futile attempt to erase the bitter taste of another dreadful day. His efforts to distract you, though temporary, have some effect. Moments of peace, however, are fleeting. As soon as your gaze falls on the bandaged wound on his arm, the harsh reality pulls you back in, swallowing you whole and making you feel as if you're drowning. Simon, realising the sight of his wound makes you sob each time you see it, starts wearing long-sleeved shirts all the time.

Each dawn is a mirror image of the one before, as indistinguishable as two drops of morning dew. You and Simon sleep in until the late afternoon, neither of you having the energy or will to face the day. Most of your time is spent tangled in the crumpled sheets, talking about anything and everything. You delve into discussions about your lives before the world broke apart, offering glimpses into your pasts. He shares stories about his life before the streets were overrun by the biters, about his friends and his time in the military. In return, you tell him about your carefree childhood and how you had meticulously planned your future.

At first, these conversations provide a welcome respite. They allow you both to escape momentarily from the grim reality waiting beyond the walls of your house. But as the day turns into night, and the conversations continue under the soft glow of the candles, you are both painfully reminded of all you have lost and everything you are about to lose.

"You can't just leave the bed, Y/N," Simon insists with a tone of genuine concern. His hands, warm and firm, rest on your shoulders, pushing you back down onto the soft mattress. His touch, though full of care, is also unyielding. He is fully aware that in your current state of weakness, you are too frail to fight him. "You're sick and you need to rest."

"I don't want to waste the last few days of my life lying in bed," you mumble in response; it's difficult to speak because your throat hurts. He nods, but remains adamant, refusing to let you sit up. His fingers carefully comb through your hair, untangling the knotted strands that frame your fever-flushed cheeks. When you gaze into his eyes, it's like peering into a stormy sea, where waves of pain, fear, and worry relentlessly batter against the rocky cliffs. Until this morning, there had been no signs that you were going to die.

After you and Simon got bitten, both of you had assumed that the disease would cause you to fade away quickly. But luck had given you a little more time than you'd expected, and this is the first time you are forcefully reminded that those terrible bites have serious, actual consequences.

"I'll stay with you," he says. You nod in gratitude, inching closer to the frigid wall as he lays down on the narrow mattress. He carefully draws you into his embrace, pulling the covers over both of you and tucking you in tightly.

A wildfire rages beneath your skin, an agonising inferno that burrows deep into your marrow. Every breath you draw is a struggle, akin to lifting a mountain with every rise and fall of your chest. Keeping your eyes open is a tremendous effort. The slightest shift in your position feels as if your bones are grinding together, an excruciating symphony playing out in your frame. Pain resonates in every corner of your body, screaming its presence into your consciousness. You yearn for a respite from this relentless torment, a sanctuary where you can leave this agony behind. There's only one way to escape this, but you know Simon would never let you choose the easy way out.

"Do you think this is the end for me?" Your voice is barely audible, and Simon must lean in closer, pressing his ear against your lips when you speak so he can catch the faintest hint of your words. Your throat is scratchy and parched, your mouth feels like it's full of bitter, coarse sand. Despite Simon's efforts, urging you to drink water or tepid tea as if they were soothing elixirs, nothing seems to douse the discomfort.

"No, of course not." He shakes his head, his gaze drifting upwards.

This is the first, but not the last, time he lies to you. A tremor runs through his exhale, betraying his internal turmoil. Deep down, buried beneath layers of hope and denial, he knows that the odds of your recovery are slim. The cruel hands of fate are slowly pulling you away from him, threatening to reduce you to a mere whisper, a shadow, a faint echo of your vibrant existence. The thought of a world without your laughter, your warmth, your presence is unbearable. Simon refuses to let the thoughts of you passing away cast their dark, monstrous shadows over his mind right now because he knows they will shatter his heart into a thousand shards; he needs to be strong for you.

"I had convinced myself that death wouldn't come knocking at my door, that I was somehow immune to the bite. Yet now, I'm confronted with the reality that my days are numbered, and the bill is due." Even though exhaustion gnaws at you, stripping away your strength, you keep talking.

Your arms coil his sturdy torso, your hands resting upon the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Beneath your fingertips, you sense the reassuring and steady beat of his heart. You rest your head on his shoulder. You are overheating. All you want is some space, to throw off the constricting covers and let the cool breeze wash over your fevered skin. But you can't risk pushing him away. What if that was the last time you got to see and be with Simon? The potential that this may be your final moment enveloped in the secure embrace of his arms terrifies you. You cling tighter to him, refusing to let go.

"You should close your eyes. Rest," he says, after noticing that you are struggling to stay alert.

You resist, your will compelling you to stay awake, to remain present in the moment. But your body betrays you, and the allure of sleep is too potent to ignore, too enticing to resist. His fingers trace a gentle path up and down your side. His touch is as soft as a whisper against your flesh. It's a calming rhythm, a silent promise that he's there, with you, a constant presence in the quiet stillness of the night. Every so often, he dips his head to place a gentle kiss on your forehead; his lips linger there. Before you even realise it, the comforting rhythm of his touch and the gentle cadence of his breathing lull you into a peaceful slumber. And there, in the tranquil silence of the night, you both surrender to the embrace of sleep.

As the first rays of dawn pierce through the thin veil of darkness, your eyes abruptly shoot open in response to an overwhelming sensation. It feels as though every fibre of your being is under siege, a relentless assault that leaves no corner of your flesh untouched. The pain is so intense, so all-consuming, that it feels like every bone in your body is breaking into a thousand fragments and then reforming, only to shatter again in a relentless cycle of torment. Your head is spinning, caught in a stormy whirlpool of confusion and disorientation. Your vision is fuzzy. The world around you fades in and out, like a badly tuned television set.

You turn your gaze to the side. Simon, unaware of your internal struggle, is still fast asleep. His calm, rhythmic breathing provides a stark contrast to your own laboured gasps, each one sounding like a desperate plea escaping your parched lips. Despite the turmoil churning within you, part of you is flooded with relief that he's finally getting some much-needed rest. He has been plagued with insomnia for the past few days. And now that he finally has the opportunity to rest his weary eyes, you refuse to be the one to disrupt his peaceful slumber. Your own discomfort, no matter how unbearable, will have to wait.

In a hazy state of drowsiness, you attempt to roll out of bed with all the grace of a newborn foal, taking extra care to not generate too much noise that might disturb Simon's sleep. You leave the bedroom. You don't know where you are going or what you want to do, but your feet guide you, leading you down the creaking staircase.

A nagging dryness persists in your throat. So, you look around for something to quench your thirst. As you enter the living room, your eyes catch sight of a water bottle perched precariously on the edge of the coffee table. You slowly lean down to grab it, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Suddenly, your legs give way beneath you, buckling under the strain of your own weight. With a gasp, you topple over, your surroundings tilting on its axis. The sharp edge of the table corner comes into contact with your head with a sickening thud, and your vision blurs. Before you can even register what has happened, everything goes black, and you lose consciousness.

Simon, after a few restless hours of sleep, wakes up. He is surprised, almost shocked, when he notices the conspicuous emptiness of the cold bed. He calls out your name into the quiet room, his voice rebounding off the walls like a lone echo in a cavern. But he only receives a faint pitter-patter of footsteps from downstairs in response. His heart constricts with the cold grip of fear, like a vice around his chest. A thought, as unsettling as a crow cawing in the dead of night, crosses his mind. What if you got hurt while he was sleeping? He berates himself for his momentary lapse, for allowing himself to close his eyes.

Springing from the bed like a startled hare, he dashes downstairs, his feet skimming the steps. When he finally finds you, you are standing alone in the kitchen. Your back is turned towards him, your silhouette is etched against the pallid morning light as you gaze out of the window in a daze. Your body sways slightly, a clear sign that you are struggling to keep your balance, to resist the pull of gravity. It is evident that your fever has escalated.

"You should be in bed," he says, exhaling a sigh of relief. His worst fears, previously pounding in his chest like a wild drum, are assuaged as he looks at you. Given the circumstances, you look relatively fine.

You say nothing, though.

"Come on, let's go." He takes a step closer and tugs at your hand. To his astonishment, your temperature has gone down. Your skin, which was previously radiating with a burning heat, is now strikingly cold, almost icy to the touch.

As he stands there, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts, he grapples with the enigma of how you seemingly outwitted the fever without a trace of medication. It is perplexing, to say the least. As you slowly pivot, he drags his gaze away from your interlaced fingers and looks at your face. He stumbles back, gripping the edge of the counter when he realises... you are dead.

Your eyes, a haunting shade of pale grey, are devoid of any discernible emotion. Your face is eerily expressionless. The side of your head is smeared with crimson blood, contrasting sharply with your pale skin. The slow, deliberate movement of your jaw is the only sign of animation - opening and closing in a rhythmic pattern, your teeth clashing together with a harsh, metallic sound. Your movements, though delayed and sluggish, have a predatory quality about them. It is as if every single motion is calculated, deliberate, and incredibly menacing. Then, in a matter of mere seconds, you spring into action. With the agility of a panther, you pounce on him, a guttural growl escaping your lips that reverberates in the stillness.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, and your nails pierce his flesh. Simon's eyes widen as he watches your body thrashing violently, as you try to sink your teeth into him. He freezes for a split second. But then his instincts take over, and he drives his knee into your stomach, propelling you to the side and causing you to collide with the fridge. After regaining his composure, he dashes around the counter.

His gaze sweeps across the kitchen, desperately searching for something, anything, with a sharp edge. You are already limping towards him when he grabs the knife. His arm raises. The glint of the blade reflects in his wide, terrified eyes. His grip tightens around the wooden handle. But when it's time to strike, he hesitates, his resolve melting like a candle in the scorching sun, and he cannot follow through. Killing you, even if you are already dead, is something he refuses to do. Simon recoils with a sudden jerk, his eyes locked onto yours. The knife clatters to the ground. He turns on his heels, the noise of his boots on the tile floor ringing out like a hollow drumbeat as he flees the kitchen. In a move borne out of sheer desperation, he grabs the nearest piece of furniture - a heavy oak table - and heaves it against the door, turning it into an impromptu barricade to keep you at bay.

For the rest of the day, he sequesters himself away within the confines of your bedroom. The room acts as a sanctuary, a place that diligently preserves your memory. Each item, each piece of furniture, even the air itself, seems steeped in your essence. Methodically, almost ritualistically, he navigates through your stuff... Simon looks at your pictures and uncaps your perfume, letting the scent permeate the space. His thoughts, like leaves caught in a whirlpool, inevitably drift back to the previous night, replaying it in his mind like a film reel with vivid clarity. The sobering realisation dawns upon him that those fleeting hours yesterday were the final ones that you two have shared together.

You become the only thought that occupies his mind, a constant, unyielding presence that leaves no room for anything else. The world outside ceases to exist; all that remains is you, the memory of you, like a haunting melody echoing in an empty hall. When the weight of the world, heavy as a millstone, becomes too overwhelming for him to carry any longer, his emotions take control. Overwhelmed by grief and frustration, he starts wrecking the room. It's a physical manifestation of his internal turmoil. Simon berates himself, the self-loathing growing with each passing moment, spreading like wildfire in a dry field. He despises the fact that he could not save you from your fate. But of all the regrets, one stands out in stark contrast: he had never voiced his true feelings for you. You died without knowing that he loved you.

After an extended period of causing chaos and disorder, akin to a storm ravaging a once peaceful landscape, he finds himself entirely depleted, a hollow shell echoing with an emptiness inside. Every fibre in his body feels numb, devoid of any sensation. He curls on the bed. The sheets, though devoid of your warmth, still carry the familiar scent of you. As Simon shuts his eyes, he can hear the faint echo of footsteps downstairs. Even though he is aware you are no longer alive, knowing that you are still in this house, with him, makes him calm down and fall asleep.

When he awakes the following morning, he is greeted with the unwelcome sensation of a fever. His body feels hot, and every move is a struggle.

The following three days, he spends in bed, trapped in the prison of his own thoughts.

On the fifth day, as he closes his eyes one final time, the grim serenity of death descends upon him, wrapping him in its stiff embrace.

On the sixth day, you and Simon are dead, roaming in the empty house. And even though you both are just a few steps away from each other - since Simon barricaded the kitchen - he and you never cross paths ever again.

TAG LIST: @randointhecloset, @lurkinwbreexy, @breadpitt69 , @browtfyoudoing , @yelenassafeplace, @itsthealice, @naxxsstuff, @lotionlamp, @aquarianix well, this is finished, fi-na-lly, haha. I’d love to know what you think about it. :) aannd, I hope you had as much fun reading the story as I did writing it!

[atlascripts]

Warnings: none, just soft fluff & comfort

spin off idea is that peter isn't the bad guy, maybe an anti hero at most

His vision was blinded by the flashing lights of old memories and nightmares. The memory of his childhood, when his parents looked on, as if the devil possessed him; haunted him. It was the fear in their eyes that scarred him, he was terrified, having been only a child, unaware of how or why his powers would physically distort and destroy things and people around him. He too thought he was broken but…he didn't want that, he wanted to be saved as his parents had assured him. But instead only chaos came his way, he would slip into an unknown territory, being chased by his childhood demons that had manifested into a physical form. By the time he'd come to escape the upside down, the grim reality dawned on him. Blood, broken bones, dead people…everywhere. Amidst all this recollection his visions would throw him into his time at the Hawkins lab and he tossed and turned in bed in cold sweat.

'Peter'

A faraway voice called him out. He was chasing through the same nightmares again, the hallways, the tunnels, the forest, running as far as his feet could take him. And the voice came again.

'Peter'

And he woke up startled, sitting up in bed, panting.

"Peter?" You called out, you had been trying to get him out of his nightmare since he kept tossing and turning so much.

"Peter are you alright?" You asked and he nodded feeling the nightmares slowly disperse as he got a grip of his surroundings.

A cozy little home, decorated with such love and care, something he wasn't used to. Little boxes of stuff still unpacked were seen in the lounge spread about.

"Peter, hello?" You snapped your fingers in front of him. He finally looked at you and weakly smiled,

"Sorry." he responded in a hush.

"At least you're here, I thought that Vecna dude was after you, almost gave me a fright." You spoke and handed him a warm cup of hot cocoa you had made for yourself but seeing he just woke from his state you let him have it. The blanket was thrown to the side and he shifted to sit up. He watched as you helped yourself in the kitchen to make a fresh cup of hot cocoa for yourself and he only looked on, the way you went about your day. Something about having a loved one around him in this manner made him want to keep staring or at least steal glances when he could.

"Do you want something to eat?" You asked turning to him and he got flustered breaking out of the trance.

"Uh no thanks, later maybe."

He took a sip of his hot beverage and looked over at the brightly colored bulbs in one of the boxes.

"Fairy lights?" he asked and you nodded,

"I always wanted some in my home, I finally got my hands on them."

"I'll help set it up," he spoke with a smile as he got up and looked at the other things in the boxes. There were polaroids of you with your family on different trips, photo albums, and other random things. A sense of home Peter didn't have growing up and he let out a sigh unknowingly. You noticed and sat down next to him. You didn't know much except that he had a troubled past and was looking for a place to call home, people to call his own.

"Oh gosh I look so silly there please don't look at that." You tried to reach for the album out of his hands but Peter smiled wide, it was so cute to him as it was cute to you seeing him smile like that. The picture was you in your princess outfit for halloween.

"Oh wow is this you?" He teasingly asked.

"Yep I was obsessed with wanting to be a little fairy princess, specifically with butterfly wings." You shared.

"Butterfly wings, got it." He repeated making a mental note with the same damned smile and seeing him like that really made you feel something. Gave you butterflies if you were honest but it also gave you a small sense of comfort, he was your friend and you really wanted to help him.

"Oh look it's the family polaroid camera, I was looking for this everywhere." You spoke rejoicing from relief.

"I am sure there's some film here. Maybe we can take some photos once we set up the place." You looked at him and Peter only smiled softly nodding. He was then picking up the boxes ready to unload and help finish the set up.

"Yeah sure we could do that." He seemed shy in his response or maybe he didn't have an association to taking memorable pictures with friends and family. But this would be the start you told yourself.

~

Peter had his hands on his hips as he stepped back to see the lights all set up and a few photos hanging by them of your family and friends. He seemed happy with his efforts.

"Peter, look here." You spoke then and immediately held up the polaroid facing you both and clicked a snap. The film reeled out and you blew on it a little.

"I wasn't even ready." Peter pouted.

"You look great, trust me, wait till it's developed."

He was still being all sulky but you grabbed him by the arm, "C'mon let's fix ourselves a snack and we can watch something on the television then." He followed behind but protested.

"I don't even know how to cook, why would you want me anywhere in the kitchen."

"So you can learn?" you retorted.

The two of you made some home made sandwiches and paired it with regular old store bought juice or some beer as you liked.

As you were placing the food on the table, along with Peter he saw something that caught his eye, a picture hanging on the fairy lights. It was the one you just took, it felt candid on his part and despite the silliness it was beautiful he thought to himself. He kept staring on seeing how it tied in with all your memories. That he was a part of it. Something broke inside of him or maybe, bloomed seeds of a 'found family' comfort. He was part of your life, he was your friend, maybe even family?

You noticed him getting solemn and lost in the moment, you caught on that this was his first time experiencing this sort of warmth.

"Do you want it? You can keep it if you like." And you saw his eyes light up like a little kid. You smiled so wide at seeing his reaction and immediately unclipped it and handed it to him.

"Oh wait one last thing." You said as you grabbed a pen and wrote at the back, 'with love, your best friend!!' and added a small heart at the corner.

Peter held the polaroid in his hands, his eyes welled up at the corners. You noticed the stray tear escape and wiped it away from his face and he looked up at you. This moment alone felt so different than anything he had experienced. You hugged him, wrapping your arms around him and he was just processing it at first. And then hugged you back, his grip getting just a tad bit firm as he buried his face in your neck unable to stop the tears silently falling. You didn't break away and gave him his moment, you knew he was dear to you maybe even something more, definitely something more.

When he felt ready he slowly backed away and looked at the polaroid again and then at you. He may not have realized how much he was truly in love with you, his gaze lingered and softened as you stood there just sharing the moment.

You were both startled though a little comically by the phone ringing and Peter had a red flush on his cheeks as he looked away.

"I think the food is getting cold." He spoke, trying to play it off as it was all fine.

"I should uhm check the phone." You darted across the room then but the phone stopped ringing.

You mentally pulled yourself together and went and sat back down, turning on the tv and snuggled up a little with him talking about what you two speculated would happen in the tv show.

~

Amidst the comfortable moment none of you noticed the faint ticking of a clock far off, slowly, very slowly closing in and the faint flicker of a fairy light was gone unseen by you two.

[n1kolaiz]

"You want to know what death is? I'll tell you. Death is the loss of life. Despite everything doctors like me attempt... a patient's life can still fall through our fingers. You think death lies in the apex of science? Anyone with such little regard for life will die by my hand."

Character Analysis: Yosano Akiko

Age: 25 || Ability: Thou Shalt Not Die

BSD CHAPTER CHAPTER 65-66 SPOILERS

table of contents:

1. Author counterpart.

2. Yosano's history.

3. 'Angel of Death' defined.

4. Yosano and Atsushi.

YOSANO BRAINROT!*(#&!*@#($

1. Author counterpart.

Having been given the “Sho Ho” at birth, Yosano Akiko’s counterpart—the real-life author—was known for her zealous take on both feminism and pacifism.

Side note: Once again, to avoid confusion, I will use the name Sho Ho in reference to the real-life author, and Yosano in reference to the BSD character.

Sho Ho's writings were pretty much out-of-the-ordinary in her time, and despite being suppressed by the social norms of gender hierarchy, she sought to reform society’s view on the cultural perspectives of women and their sexuality (She expressed her love for a woman in one of her poems, but many still argued on whether she identified herself as queer or not.)

"Thou Shalt Not Die," Yosano's ability, is actually named after one of Sho Ho's most famous, controversial poems. She wrote it for her brother, who was a soldier in the war between Russia and Japan (1904-1905). In her poem, she expressed her general distaste for war and how her brother was a part of it.

O my young brother, I cry for you Don't you understand you must not die! You who were born the last of all Command a special store of parents' love

Would parents place a blade in children's hands

Teaching them to murder other men Teaching them to kill and then to die? Have you so learned and grown to twenty-four?

- excerpt from Sho Ho's poem, "Kimi Shinitamou Koto Nakare"

Her words were blunt enough to inflict guilt on her brother's conscience, as she wasn't afraid to express her disapproval over how her brother took part in the typical violent bloodshed and manslaughter of war. Such opinions perturbed the authorities, and her work was eventually banned from the public for a period of time. Later on, it was used as an anti-war statement.

2. Yosano's history.

Now, as for the character in BSD, Yosano is seen to be generally strong-willed, and later on, we see that she is terrifyingly compassionately ambitious in the way she treats her patients. She treasured life itself, and hated the thought of losing a patient.

Yosano had developed her relations with Mori Ougai back in the Great War, when she was just 11 years old. Her ability was a great benefactor in saving lives. Realistically speaking, she was used for her ability to heal injured soldiers and diminish the effect of any casualty acquired.

Initially, she wasn't aware of this, until one of her close friends pointed it out by subtly accusing Mori of manipulating her to participate in the War under the close-to false pretence of 'saving lives.'

As much as her ability did save lives, it also forced soldiers to return to the frontlines and suffer injuries over and over again. The soldiers were never given the opportunity to return to their families because of her ability. This obliged them to carry on in the war without any excuse, inserting them into a vicious cycle they had no escape out of.

Metaphorically speaking, Yosano's hatred for Mori sort of mirrors Sho Ho's disdain for war and fighting, don't you think? The way Kafka materialised Yosano's past was quite interesting because he used chapters 65 and 66 to explain Yosano's dislike for Mori, reflecting how Sho Ho used her poem to explain why she condemned the idea of war and how her brother was part of it.

Before the effect of her ability was fully understood, however, every soldier praised and thanked her for what an angel she was. One of the soldiers she had befriended and gotten close to even kept a tally of the number of times she had saved him. He was the one who gifted her the butterfly hairpin she wore all the time.

The weight of the truth that her ability was a curse rather than a blessing fully dawned on her when her soldier friend ultimately committed suicide, because the fact of being indefinitely trapped in the throes of war agonised him until his spirit gave out. This drove Yosano to loathe her ability, or rather, how it was used.

In the time she participated in the War, Yosano was given the alias 'angel of death' due to the control she retained over the battlefield, but I thought that perhaps Kafka had a reason behind giving her this title, so I did my research.

3. 'Angel of Death' defined.

Side note: I wouldn't want to disrespect any culture or religion, so if my citations are inaccurate and/or disrespectful, do feel free to correct me/let me know! I did research out of pure curiosity, and I don't intend to twist the significance of any of the interpretations.

I had to grow up learning about the basics of religious stuff, so it's kind of nice to study something out of the box, and very much against my father's rigid belief system :D

ARCHANGEL ARIEL

(archangel: an angel of higher rank)

I came across the few characteristics of angels/goddesses and their roles, and the one which really caught my attention was the female archangel, Ariel, the angel of nature.

[ source ]

In Hebrew, the name Ariel means 'altar' or 'lioness of God,' and her role is to heal. In addition to that, she is also recognised as a helper to another one of the seven main archangels, Raphael, whose role is to provide physical and emotional healing, too.

She is the protecter of the environment and the animals therein, and is bestowed with the duty to oversee the order of heavenly bodies as well as earth's natural resources. She assures the sustenance of food, water, shelter, and supplies of human beings, much like how a nurse is to a patient I suppose.

In relation to Yosano, I think this part is pretty self-explanatory, or perhaps this is blown out of proportion HA, so take this as a suggestion rather than a fact, because I'd like to believe that Kafka had a reason for giving Yosano a title as such.

In the past, I've come across the angel of death only to perceive it as a female grim reaper of some sort, so it was pretty cool to find that the word 'angel' and 'death' made up a title of a someone like Ariel, one of the purest forms of humility and compassion.

GREEK GODDESS PANAKEIA

For my beloved (wannabe/or not) students of Greek mythology (much like myself, let's make a cult!), you've probably heard of Panakeia, the goddess of healing. Medicine finds most of its vital significance in Greek history, and in its mythology, Panakeia is actually known for her ability to heal any kind of sickness.

[ source ]

Her name means 'panacea,' which is actually defined as a remedy for all diseases. Terminal diseases and injuries lead to death, right? This would bring us back to Yosano's ability to nullify any injury's effects on a person, keeping them from death itself.

Now, we know that in order for Yosano's ability to work, her patient, or victim, has to be in a near-death condition in order for her treatment to take effect. This can't exactly fit into the description of resurrection, but it can be described as some sort of rebirth.

GREEK GODDESS PERSEPHONE

So another goddess which reminds me of Sho Ho/Yosano, is Persephone, the goddess of spring and rebirth. Before Hades, the god of the underworld, fell in love with Persephone to take her to live with him, Persephone lived a happy life.

Hades, with his nature of darkness and the like, was captivated by how pure Persephone was, and stole her away from her former life to live in an environment which differed sharply from her natural aura of purity.

[ source ]

Remember when Yosano's friend left a note behind before he killed himself? The note said nothing except for, "You are too righteous." Take that as you will, but figuratively speaking, you could say Mori takes the role of Hades in the story, while Yosano can be portrayed as Persephone.

Sho Ho can also be a parallel of Persephone, in that she had to adapt to the realities of war and disharmony, while Persephone had to adapt to the raw darkness of the underworld with Hades.

Sho Ho stood against society's norms and decided to reform it, making her one of the most well-known feministic pacifist in history, while Persephone managed to escape from the underworld to return to her former position, earning the title the 'Bringer of Life,' or the 'Destroyer of Death.'

Furthermore, the way Sho Ho's anti-war poem took its effect later on, reflects the way Persephone restored balance in the world after returning from the underworld.

4. Yosano and Atsushi.

chapter 66; Yosano: "It's my fault that those close to me died... Is there some place where it's okay for me to live?"

chapter 8; Atsushi: "If I have any chance of saving them all, of returning them home safely, would that mean it's okay for me to keep on living?"

I couldn't help but think of Dazai and Atsushi back when I was reading through these panels. Ranpo (my beloved), along with Fukuzawa, accepted Yosano as she was, despite how her ability was a cause of despair and misfortune.

Ranpo looked past her mistakes and the entirety of how dark her past was to welcome her into the Armed Detective Agency. Dazai, on the other hand, knew who Atsushi was and what his ability had made him do before anyone else, and still decided to provide a safe place for Atsushi to find his sense of belonging, journeying with him as he learned to use his ability properly.

For more info about Dazai and Atsushi's dynamic, you can check out the analysis I did for Dazai :D

Atsushi desired to save people to prove his right to live, while Yosano made her wish to achieve the recovery of all her patients the reason for her existence.

Others would prefer to accuse both Yosano and Atsushi of having a saviour complex, but the reason why they pursued to save people with utmost dedication, stems from the nature of what their past was like. You know the saying 'from broken to beautiful?' Yeah, it's something like that.

The way their pasts were written out gave them a desire to change, which was, I daresay, initiated by the people who took them in: Ranpo and Dazai. Their abilities were demonised because of how they were used, but once they broke from their abilities' effect over their lives, they honed their skills to control them for the right cause instead.

In a less cynical point of view, I believe both Yosano and Atsushi stood for what was right, and wanted nothing but to achieve peace and harmony in whatever way they could, even if it meant risking their own lives to save others.

So yeah, that's it for my rants today. Thank you for reading, and if you have anything to add, go ahead! I'm open to discussions ;)

[babyybitchhhwrites]

Sukuna x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit./R-18+

Words: 3567

Warnings: body horror, torture porn, cannibalism, urination, dead dove do not eat. 

Just took a fucked up idea and ran with it. This isn’t much, but its honest work. Happy end of hiatus. : ^ ) 

♥♥♥♥

Slowly, slowly you move. Bidden by nothing more than a single pointed glance from the man across the room. His eyes follow you, always watching and all seeing. Your heart thunders inside its cage of ribs. It's hard to breathe, but he’s still looking so you keep moving. Almost lose your balance on the dutifully polished hardwood floor, your thumb and forefinger not quite enough to steady you. Bare knees ache with the pressure of holding up the majority of your weight and he, of course, does not miss the way you falter.

Sukuna’s mouth splits open in a toothy grin. 

You forcibly swallow the bile rising in the back of your throat, the raw stump at the end of your left arm burning something fierce with needle sharp pin pricks. It still hurts.

“Are you having trouble getting around, little one?” 

A mute shake of your head. Another fumbling shuffle forward. 

He’s waiting, expectant and quiet; infinite patience etched across the cruel face you’ve come to recognize as the center of your universe. You have no choice but to answer his exigent summons. Even if it caused you physical distress and mental anguish in equal measure. Even if you died in the process of bending over backwards for his baneful wishes. You were compelled just the same as if he’d barked a command at you, his well trained little pet.

It’s a tedious, cumbersome journey from one end of the room to the other. Your body was simply far too battered and broken to respond quickly and you’d long since lost your voice in the time you’d spent in his care - weeks, months. It was hard to tell when every waking nightmare bled so seamlessly into the next. Your very autonomy was gone. All that was left were the whims and fancies of the monster slowly consuming you one piece at a time and now he’d called you to his side. You knew better than to disobey. 

But it wasn’t speed he seemed to care about. Rather, it was your unfaltering submission to his endlessly vile inclinations and it clearly didn’t matter if you needed five minutes or five hours to drag yourself over to his throne of pillows. You suspected he’d be just as happy watching you squirm across the floor, worm-like and helpless, which was surely only a matter of months away from becoming reality. He’d be sure to keep you alive long enough to see such an amusing spectacle with his own eyes.

Your gait is awkward with only one mangled hand to brace on, but you push through the discomfort. Making him come get you was a fate much worse than whatever he already had planned for you, so it was easier just to comply. Save yourself the terror that inherently came hand in hand with displeasing him. It wasn’t any less harrowing, but at least it was easier. 

And Sukuna watches you every step of the way, drinking in the pitiable picture you paint as you hobble closer like a wounded animal. He clearly enjoyed demeaning you like this. Stripping away your humanity, systematically removing what made you you with near fiendish glee until you were the empty husk of a woman struggling to get to him despite knowing only bad things awaited you at his side. By his own design, you were less than cattle. 

At the very least cows had to be led to slaughter, sometimes by force if they sensed their impending doom. All you required was a single, silent look and you were in motion, slumping over to him despite every survival instinct in your body screaming at you to do the opposite. It was obvious which creature had more dignity. 

“Good girl,” He murmurs, a small eternity later when you were finally within arms reach. You could all too easily extend your hand and touch him with the tip of your last remaining finger but you don’t dare. He doesn’t make a move to close the remaining distance either. Just keeps watching. 

A quiet whimper rises in the back of your throat as you painfully drag yourself the last few inches separating you from him until you’re prostrated between his feet. The rich, expensive silk of his kimono brushes your shaking shoulders and the sensation makes goosebumps erupt across your skin. You can’t seem to catch your breath. Every inhale is short and quick. Each exhale a small burst that robs you of more oxygen than what you were able to take in. The fear vibrating through your naked body is palpable, you can almost taste it in the air, and he can sense it too. The way his eyes - all four of them - turn up in delight is all the proof you need of that. 

“You’re trembling, dear. Are you cold?”

Another mute shake of your head.

Wordlessly, Sukuna lifts a hand and you flinch. Reflexive tears spring up in your eyes, pooling along your lash line so instantaneously that it almost catches you off guard. He pays it no mind though. Couldn’t care less. 

His knuckles touch the spot between your shoulder blades before dragging a slow path down the length of your spine. Jolting at the contact, you instinctively try to arch away from him. But there’s nowhere to escape and all you do is impotently twist, awkwardly contorting your body like a cat in heat. The nerves feel like they’re alive and they dance under his touch with such intensity that you almost cry out in distress. The most you’ll allow yourself is a half strangled gasp, but startled horror quickly dawns when you realize you’d vocalized a sound suspiciously like that of a groan of pleasure and you freeze.

Pausing at the small of your twitching back, he regards you with a quiet, unreadable look. You quickly avert your gaze so you don’t have to stare directly into his horrible face anymore, as terrified of the man as you were ashamed of the humiliating noise you’d produced. There was nothing enjoyable about this. Nothing in this arrangement that brought you pleasure. He knew that as well as you did and you weren’t about to explain yourself to the likes of him. 

The terse silence was almost suffocating.

At length, Sukuna hums. Thoughtful. Contemplative. Amusement coloring the wordless commentary even as he slides his hand back up the path it had just traveled. The sensation is no less powerful the second time, and you tremble under his attention. You make a concerted effort to bite down on your cracked lip and silence yourself, though, and he chortles when he reaches your shoulders again without another peep out of you. He found it all so very funny. 

“If you aren’t cold,” He croons, soft and disarmingly gentle. “Then why do you shake like this, hmm? Surely you don’t find joy in being touched by the likes of me.”

You close your eyes. Swallow your nerves. 

Clenching your jaw in grim resolution, you bring your face around and pin the demon with a hollow, unamused stare. Sukuna merely smiles, leers at you with unconcealed humor wrought solely from your expense. His hand shifts against your back and sharp talons replace the rough but smooth texture of his knuckles. Your blood pressure spikes, so fast you feel momentarily faint. The sweet release of oblivion does not claim you though and you quake as he drags inhuman nails across your neck in a thinly veiled threat that seemed superfluous at this point. You were all too aware of what he was capable of. There were three raw nubs where fingers used to be and a blunt stub where your left hand should have been. You didn’t need to be reminded that he was a monster. 

He doesn’t linger long, however, and instead casually drags his claws up to your clammy face. Feather light so as not to tear you to shreds but enough to leave a burning, fiery trail in their wake. You suck in a haggard, choking breath of air. Try to brace yourself against the next cruel punishment he intends to inflict on you. But, to your astonishment, all he does is touch the pad of his thumb to your mouth in what you can only assume is a twisted mockery of affectionate gesture.

Your stomach violently clenches, threatening to expunge its contents right then and there. 

Sukuna, of course, pretends not to notice. “Such a quiet little lamb. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think I took your tongue. You do realize you can still speak, don’t you?”

Without waiting for a response, he tugs on your lower lip. Pulls down until your mouth grudgingly parts and he can worm his thumb inside. You yelp when that unnaturally sharp nail nicks the roof of your mouth, the coppery taste of blood flooding your palette even as he finds your tongue and presses down on it so hard your gag reflex activates. Heaving wetly, you try to pull away. He puts a stop to that quickly enough by curling his fingers under your jaw, locking you in place with all the unyielding force of iron. You’re entirely helpless to stop it when he tilts your face up and peers into your mouth with near clinical detachment. A terrified little croak rises in the back of your throat. You really are going to be sick.

“Maybe I should relieve you of this next.” He muses. “You certainly aren’t using it.” 

Emotions swinging to the extreme, you issue a slurred protest and implore him with big, glassy eyes. Plead for some semblance of mercy on his part. It’s a lost cause, you know it is. He’s never once taken pity on you in all the time you’d been acquainted with him but you can’t help this irrational panic from squeezing you in a death grip. Fingers and hands were one thing. A tongue was something else entirely. You didn’t want to be robbed of your speech even if you’d barely used it for anything other than screaming since he brought you here. There really wouldn’t be any of your humanity left at that point, and the looming prospect terrified you perhaps more than anything else he’d done up until now.

You wanted to cling to that last remaining vestige of your former self with a desperation you hadn’t realized you still possessed. Even if it was foolish to do so. Even if it would hurt all the more when he finally, inevitably, took it away. You weren’t quite the same as an animal just yet. Not yet, and your ability to talk was proof that you were still human on some level. 

It wasn’t much, but the thought of losing that distinction very nearly sent you into hysterics.

Sukuna barely even stirs though, dully observing the way you rock on your knees and shake your head. The spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth hardly register in your mind but he watches its slow descent down your chin with nothing short of distaste. You’re almost certain he’s going to rip your tongue out right on the spot, just to spite you for such an unsightly display, and yet you can’t bring yourself to stop. 

Wracked by a sudden onslaught of cold, wet chills, you jerk against his hold. It succeeds only in making him tug on your mouth so hard the joints actually pop and you wail in startled distress as pain shoots through your head. The realization that he could simply tear out the lower half of your jaw with one quick yank turns your blood to ice. You can’t breathe. It feels like you're vibrating right up off the floor and, heaving loudly, your arms fly out in a misguided attempt to keep him at bay. 

The throbbing stub where your left hand used to be bumps into his forearm, further shocking you on some level. It was incredibly easy to forget you were missing such a vital appendage when the phantom sensation of a palm and opposable fingers still felt so real in your mind. The disconnect is mirrored in your right hand when only thumb and forefinger find purchase in his robes but you can almost feel the  missing digits curling into silk as well. Your alarm doubles, then triples. He’s still gripping your jaw painfully tight. Just watching. Always watching. Observing from his elevated seat of superiority. 

You let out a wheezing groan, shuddering when your bladder abruptly evacuates. 

Sukuna curls his nose as the unmistakable pssssss rises loud in the otherwise silent hall. Your eyes promptly roll back and you slump against his legs, drained of your ability to fight. The piss spreading in a puddle underneath you feels blistering on your chilled, sweat soaked skin and it almost hurts. Almost burns the same way a boiling hot bath makes your mind register pain when you first step in. This, too, becomes more bearable the longer you sit in it though and you don’t even have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about wetting yourself at this point. You were so scared. So tired. 

He waits until you’re done. Lets you finish pissing all over the polished floor before pulling you up by your jaw. A low, faltering moan tumbles out of you as you acquiesce, rising up on your aching knees even when the meat of your thighs try to stick to the drenched wood but there’s no more protest left in you. The king of curses will get whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. 

If your tongue was what he desired then that is what he shall have. 

“Filthy.” He utters the word like its poison. “You truly are a detestable creature, you know that? I should just kill you and be done with it.” A disappointed shake of his head accompanies this statement. “Tell me, girl. Is speech really that important to you?”

You nod weakly and let out a broken, halfhearted whimper. 

“Oh?” Sukuna raises an interested brow at that. “Really? Then show me.” 

Numb shock washes over you when his saliva coated thumb slowly retreats from your mouth and you sway, thoroughly caught off guard. You don’t understand. He’d never taken your feelings into consideration before. Never asked for your opinion. He clearly didn’t care what you wanted so why was he playing this game now? You couldn’t make heads or tails of it and, certain this must be some sort of trap, you warily stare up at him with tightly closed lips. There was definitely some sort of trick here, but where? 

Predictably, his patience runs out in a matter of moments. 

“Well?” He prompts with a vicious swat to the side of your face, jerking your head around.

“Please!” You blurt. It doesn’t even sound like you anymore. 

The smile that graces his mouth is downright fiendish. “Ahh. So you do remember how to talk. Surprise, surprise.” Simpering, he props his chin on the palm of his bent hand while the other reaches out to swipe a stray clump of hair off your face. You flinch, shaking so hard your breath comes out in quick sporadic bursts, but he pays it no mind. Two sets of red, horrible red eyes dance across your pinched expression for a long beat before he seems to reach some sort of conclusion. “Do it again.” 

You’re too stunned to even balk. 

“If you still have use of your words,” He explains in the even, haughty tone of someone talking to a child. “Then you should utilize them, no? Especially since you claim to be so attached to them. Come on, darling. Speak for me.”

One taloned finger trails down the side of your temple, across your cheek and stops at your quivering chin. With far more care than you would have ever thought him capable of, Sukuna tilts your face up at him so that you have no choice but to meet his delighted gaze headon. The sick satisfaction staring back at you makes your stomach drop. It suddenly occurs to you that this, too, is simply another part of the game. He finds this so very entertaining - and not just the systematic torture he’s subjected you to. It’s everything about your humanity that sparks his interest and that’s the sole reason he wants to play with you like this. 

You’re not just food for him. If you were, he would have likely already killed you by now. No, there was much more to it than that. Sukuna had brought you here to his barren, rotting domain for dinner and a show. 

“Please …” You say it again, as if it will help.

Humming in faint approval, he drags his nail lower. Across your jumping throat and along the ridge of your collarbone even as it subconsciously tries to twitch away from him. Slowly, tortuously slow, he traces a taunting path straight down to your wrist - the one with a hand still attached to it - and you choke on a terrified shriek when he wraps steel corded fingers around the appendage. Your eyes are wide open but they see nothing; mouth running on autopilot even as he guides your trembling hand up to his face. You can’t do this. You can’t.

“Please. Please. Please, please, please pleasepleasepleasepleaseplea -”

“Mm. Please what, darling? Tell me.”

A quick tongue darts out to tauntingly lap at the pad of your outstretched finger. You attempt to recoil in visceral disgust, horrified beyond measure, but his grip holds strong. He doesn’t even have to try. His strength is just that much greater than yours, and all you manage is a skittish jolt as the wet muscle drags across your prickling skin in a farcical impersonation of much, much more pleasant activities. 

You let loose some awful, hysterical squawk. It feels as unnatural in your throat as it sounds in your ears, and your finger twists violently to get away from Sukuna’s mouth. Curls at such an awkward angle it’s likely a small miracle it doesn’t snap in half right then and there. The uneven, jagged nubs he’d left you burn with a pain so intense it actually brings tears to your eyes and you don’t even realize when they streak hot, wet paths down your cheeks until you blink and notice the sodden quality of your eyelashes. You’d merely traded one horror for another. How could you ever have been so naive as to believe one was preferable over the next. 

“Little one,” Sukuna regards you plainly, bringing you back to the moment, and you glance up to find his mouth hovering just over your painfully contorted finger. A suffocating lump forms deep in your throat, threatening to asphyxiate you. “You have more words at your disposal than ‘please’, don’t you?”  

“I … I - I ca-”

That horrible tongue of his slithers past his teeth, glinting softly in the flickering light of a nearby candle as if it were little more than a slimy pink snake. But rather than attack your remaining finger again, it lashes out at the webbing between the joints. Warm and slick, it pushes in and digs into layers of muscle and sinew - in search of what, you do not know - and your breath hitches. 

Rather than being dulled, the nerves in your remaining hand were actually painfully sensitive after the crude amputation of your fingers and a sensation not unlike a static shock zaps through your heaving body. It settles somewhere in the general vicinity of your belly button, your stomach twisting in painful knots, and you let out a hoarse, startled scream. Your whole system instantly runs hot as molten warmth floods every nook and cranny inside your soft, fluttering guts, so fast and so suddenly it actually knocks you off balance. 

Knees giving out under the intensely unexpected sensation, you collapse in your own puddle of piss. The sharp, wet slap makes your ears ring but you barely even notice it. The stabbing pain rides the line of something you don’t quite have a name for. It’s not pleasure. It’s not ecstasy, but something else entirely. Something that far exceeds your limited depth of perception. Too much and not enough at the same time. Horrible, yet wonderful. Your body was alive with it and, cursing him, you grudgingly squeeze your thighs together to stop them from quaking.

Oh, how you despised him for doing this to you.

“Pl - plea - please … s - stop …”

The demon hums in vague approval. “Now why would I do that?” 

Those crude lips brush against the raw, stinging tip of what used to be a finger as he sucks the paper thin flap of skin into his mouth and worries it, making you outright seethe. Your vision crosses for a split second, then doubles. You can’t even see straight anymore. Can’t even fully comprehend the moment when he stops applying that delicious suction to the webbing between your joints and redirects his attention to your forefinger instead. 

You’re still panting, gasping for air, when he opens his mouth wide. 

You shake uncontrollably with nerve induced chills when he covers it straight down to the knuckle and seals his lips. 

You whine, mewling out in desperation when you force your eyes to somewhat focus on his horrible face only to find him watching you. Still watching. Always watching. Watching, watching, watching.

Your mouth warbles open. “Please …”

Crunch

[shinobicyrus]

Meeting for the First Time Again

A short little DS9 fic inspired by @c-rowlesdraws more alien redesign of Dax. Here’s a re-imagining Sisko’s reunion with his old friend.

Besides bearing DS9’s new Science and Medical officers, the USS Bhaskara was offloading much-needed support personnel and medical supplies for both the station and Bajor. With the Enterprise being called away earlier than anticipated, the Bhaskara would likely be the last Federation ship any of them would see for weeks.

Major Kira had accompanied Sisko aboard, and had stood straight-backed and on edge during the formalities between him and the Bhaskara’s captain. Charitably, Sisko figured it might not have been comfortable for her to be stuck in the unfamiliar close quarters of a Federation starship, or it maybe being surrounding by over a hundred sapients of a dozen different species all in their matching, pristine uniforms.

He still hadn’t come to a final verdict with her, yet. Certainly she had no love for the Federation. Hadn’t been at all shy to disclose that fact either, which he couldn’t help but privately admire. It was the kind of refreshingly straightforward attitude that Sisko didn’t encounter as often as he liked, anymore.

At least he knew where they stood. There may never be any friendliness there, but there could at least be a mutual respect, if they didn’t give each other brain damage butting heads all day.

Well. That was what their new doctor was for.

He was human and very young. His blue uniform was freshly replicated, and a medical bag hung off of his shoulder as if he expected to start performing first aid the moment he stepped off the ship. Sisko had read his file. Doctor Julian Subatoi Bashir had the highest qualifications of any medical practitioner he’d ever seen, and the academic accolades to have his pick of duty assignments.

Instead of research or a ship’s physician, he chooses a barely-functional Cardassian monstrosity on the furthest fringes of Federation space.

No one makes that choice unless they have something to prove. That never boded well. Sisko could only hope the few weeks tending to a people trying to recover from decades of slavery and genocide will give the good doctor a good dose of sobering reality.

Thankfully, Captain T’Shel was vulcan and took zero offense when Sisko politely declined their offer of a light tea in their stateroom. With the amount of work still needed to get DS9 up and running, it was only Logical he take his officers and return to work as soon as possible.

Their disembarkation went without incident, though Sisko half-expected the airlock to jam again. Next to him, Doctor Bashir took in the grim Cardassian architecture of the promenade with that eagerness unique to academy graduates on their first assignment; his eyes sparkled with adventure and Sisko marveled that he himself had ever been that young. 

DS9’s Science officer was more sedate, flowing over the tall rim of the airlock on many legs with a smooth, liquid grace. Two pairs of stubby but strong limbs pushed her long body upright and brought her flat, vaguely amphibian head at about his chest-level, passably mimicking a biped.

“Commander.” Major Kira looked uncertainly at her charges. “If you’d like me to give these two a tour of the station – ”

“You and Doctor Bashir go ahead, Major.” He turned to the trill and saw her already looking at him. The face of a stranger. Still, he smiled at her. “I’m afraid I have to put Lieutenant Dax to work right away.”

Dax nodded, unperturbed at being put to work so soon after a long starship journey. Not even time to throw her pack into her new quarters.

Major Kira for one just seemed relieved. The sidelong glance she gave Dax made it clear how unused she was to dealing with non-humanoids. Sisko couldn’t bring himself to judge – all of her interactions with off-worlders before now had involved Cardassians.

Before she could herd him away, Doctor Bashir half-ran past Kira to Dax’s side, stopping them from leaving. Sisko was too surprised – and too curious of Dax’s reaction – to chide him.

This time.

“Jadzia!” He adjusted the strap of his bag, completely heedless of the disgruntled glare Major Kira had leveled at him like a charging phaser. “I was thinking. Maybe we could…” He cocked his head, boyish smile shy but still precocious. “Get together later. For dinner?”

Dax did not answer immediately, as if he...she were weighing the question. As one second, then another ticked by without a response, Sisko watched the fear creep into Bashir’s eyes as it slowly dawned on him that he was holding up his commanding officer. Sisko said nothing to add or alleviate his anxiety, and Bashir stammered, looking to him and then back to Dax. “O-o-or a drink?”

Dax blinked slowly. Her mouth curled into a shape a human would find friendly. Her voice was thick, melodious and warm like rain on a muggy day. “I’d be delighted.”

Three words was evidently all it took to leave Doctor Bashir a dumb, grinning blob of hormones stuck in place in front of the airlock. Dax and Sisko left him to be pried off the deck by the Major.

They walked side-by-side down through the promenade. Sisko kept his strides small so the four shorter limbs on Dax’s lower body could keep up without much difficulty.

While trills could stand upright just fine, walking without all eight limbs was another matter; like expecting a human to hop around on one foot all day. Any Federation-raised citizen wouldn’t think twice about trill walking past low to the ground, but Curzon had stubbornly mastered the art.  

‘Gotta look them in the eye, Benjamin. Think I could have gotten anything done at Khitomer crawling around the Klingons’ pointy boots?’

Watching her walk was what did it. The dignified posture, head bobbing and both pairs of upper-arms clasped behind her back. It was all Curzon, but eerily incongruous. Like looking into the mirror and seeing the wrong color uniform.

Sisko leaned down to ask, “He’s a little young for you, isn’t he?”

“Trills mature a little faster than humans, but we’re close in Standard,” Dax said. “He’s twenty-seven and I’m –”

“Three-hundred twenty-seven?”

“You know I stopped counting, Benjamin.”

“How convenient for you.”

Dax chortled a bubbly trill laugh. “What was that human expression you told me once? About youth and old age?”

“Youth is wasted on the young.”

“A pitfall I’m glad to have avoided,” Dax grinned.

“You’re dodging the question.”

She stroked her whiskers like Curzon used to do when he was pretending to be a forgetful old man. When...she was pretending. “And what question would that be?”

“Whether the man knows he’s chasing after someone who’s technically older than his great-grandparents.

“Of course he knows,” Dax’s upper body stood a tad straighter. “He finds it fascinating. He’s never met a joined species before.”

“‘Fascinated’ isn’t the word I’d have chosen to describe it.”

“It’s the spots. And the arms,” She raised two of them to fend off his raised eyebrow. “Don’t worry Benjamin, I’ve been around humans long enough to be able to spot a harmless crush. He’ll sigh and pine at the ‘unattainable older woman’ shield he put around me until he gets over it.”

“I’ll trust your expertise on the matter,” Sisko said wryly. “While we’re on the subject, what’s your opinion of him?”

“My opinion?”

“You've trained your share of clueless ensigns and terrorized enough trill initiates...”

“That’s true,” Dax agreed. “I happen to remember one young cadet who swore he’d be captain of a starship by thirty.”

“And an admiral by forty.”

“How is that going for you?”

“Further along than Cal. And you’re changing the subject.”

Those whiskers, again. “The subject being?”

“Come on now, Dax. You two were stuck on the Bhaskara for three weeks. That’s more than long enough for you to get a good read on him.”

“Is this an official request from my superior officer?”

Superior officer. Curzon. That…was going to take some getting used to. “If it has to be, but I’d rather be talking with an old friend whose opinion I trust.”

Dax looked pensively at patterns on the deck plating as they walked. “He’s...young. Eager. Brilliant and knows it, but even the arrogance feels like an affectation. Almost obligatory. At least, it’s flimsy enough that I doubt it will last long outside of a competitive Academy environment.”

“He specifically asked to be here.”

Dax’s hum was like rippling water. “He told me that as well.”

“That sounds like a man with something to prove.” Sisko didn’t hide the disapproval in his voice. From another officer under his command, maybe. Not from Dax.

“Yes, but it’s to himself first and foremost. I’m not a counselor Benjamin, so I couldn’t tell you why, but  I’m confident his rough edges will be smoothed over with little bit of time, wisdom, and real-world experience. And,” she added with a thin smile. “The guiding hand of a wise mentor.”

“I hope I can live up to your example.”

“Oh, I meant me. You’ll do too, I suppose,” Dax winked. “I taught you everything you know.”

For the first time since he boarded that godforsaken Cardassian station, Ben Sisko laughed. “Not everything, Old Man.”

[mosaicofdreamsanddragons]

Slow Fade

For @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off‘s pirate au.

Find on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27570436

It was the customer service that broke him.

That’s what Pigsy told MK when asked how he became the chef on a pirate crew, glaring at Tang who was muffling a laugh. It was a true statement.

But it also wasn’t.

Once, many years ago he’d had his own restaurant. It wasn’t much, just a noodle store by the docks, filled with the everyday bustle of sailors, merchants, and other such people a port town attracted. His customers had barely had the room to sit down on good days. But it had been his.

With the constant stream of ships brought many to his little stand hungry for something unlike the rations they’d lived off of on the sea, he was guaranteed at least a few people coming in even on his worst days. Even on days with low ship traffic, he’d always have at least one person in his store: Tang was a regular to put all regulars to shame, despite somehow never paying for his food.

He’d loved it, every part of it. So of course, it hadn’t lasted.

It had been a good day for customers. He’d actually had a line out the door and seating had been scarce. Tang still got in somehow chattering happily about the newest legend of the Monkey King. Pigsy’d had his hands full making noodles and busing tables as fast as one Pig could when he heard a commotion.

“A bowl of noodles. The best you have,” came a pompous voice. Pigsy glanced up to see a very well dressed man shove his way into the store, completely ignoring the line as he shoved his way into the counter.  

“We have a line,” said Pigsy.

“Excuse me?” the rich boy said. “I’m gracing your store because I’ve been told it’s got the best noodles this backwater island can give me. You should be grateful.”

“Grateful for business,” said Pigsy, “but in this backwater island we have things called lines. I simply do not have the room to seat you even if you were to be served now,” he waved his hand around the packed room. “That’s what a line is for.”

“Easily solved,” said the man. He turned to look directly at the customers seated at the high bar. It vacated. All but Tang. Sitting there calm as you please eating the noodles he always seemed to have but never seemed to pay for.

“Move,” the rich boy said. Tang didn’t even bother to look up from his bowl. The boy tried several more attempts to get Tangs attention, face turning a deeper and deeper shade of red until he’d shoved Tang bodily out of the chair.

Tang’s bowl had splattered all over the floor with a clang.

The boy sat down and turned his attention back towards the kitchen. “No problem,” he said before he realized the man he had been talking to was no longer present.

He didn’t even get a moment to register the location of the chef before Pigsy picked him bodily up and threw him from the shop unto the hard stone streets. The boy had been sputtering and yelling about vengeance before he’d left but not before yelling how Pigsy would regret this. It had been a sight Tang said. But Pigsy paid it no mind. He’d had more important things to deal with, like the rest of his customers. He hadn’t thought that boy a threat.

He’d been wrong.

The rich boy had turned out to be the new governor of the whole island. And apparently had nothing better to do then menace noodle shop owners.

Pigsy didn’t notice the drop in customers immediately. Ships still came and went bringing hungry sailors from far away. It wasn’t until a week later, when there had been no new ships coming in that he realized something.

There had been a lot less regulars.

He’d asked Tang if there was some event going on. Tang dropped his usual chatter about legendary pirates and sighed looking grimly at his reflection in his bowl. “I think they’re scared,” he said. “That boy you threw out? He was the new governor. In the last week he’s already dismissed and even executed people he dislikes. They say he’s cleaning up the rot of this town.”

“I fail to see what that has to do with me,” said Pigsy.

“You threw him out of the shop on his first day,” said Tang looking up to Pigsy, the glare of his glasses hiding his eyes, “Everyone things he’s going to come after you, to make a point about how he and by extension the empire are the power in this town.”

“If he really thinks he’s going to clean the corruption out of this town,” said Pigsy with a shrug. “Then he’s got better things to do beside pick on noodles shop owners.”

But that did not bring back his customers. With every new story about the new governor, he’d gotten less and less regulars. Worse was merchants were now deliberately not selling to him. The more honest ones told him he’d been blacklisted, and they just couldn’t afford drawing the ire of the governor and lose their businesses.

Then word started getting out to the sailors and soon even they weren’t coming to Pigsy’s shop. Tang would go out and try to catch them as they came off, directing them towards the stand but there were only so many he could catch, and soon after arrival those sailors would be greeted by gossip about the governor’s least favorite noodle shop.

Then the governor started banning people from going up to the sailors and solicitating them. He claimed it was a preventative measure against thieves. Tang said it was because he’d seen him win some customers over to Pigsy’s.

The only customer he had now was Tang. And it’s not like Tang had the money to keep the shop in business. Tang tried though, every day he’d come in with some new scheme or trick to pull in more customers but even that failed to fix the reality that was Pigsy’s ledger. With the amount of red in it, there really was only one thing left to do.

He plopped the noodle bowl down in front of Tang. “Eat up,” he said gruffly. “It’s on the house tonight.”

Tang looked up, “Pigsy, you can’t afford that.”

“Can’t afford it anyways,” he said. “I’ve been over the ledger. This is the last night we’ll be able to be open.”

Tang looked down at the bowl of noodles. Then he stood up. “If we’re going under,” he said. “Then we’re going to go under properly, with at least one customer.”

“Tang wait…” he called but it was to late. Tang had already stomped out the door with a determined look on his face.

Pigsy stared back down at the uneaten bowl of noodles. His last bowl, that he’d poured his heart and soul into, abandoned in an empty noodle store.

He should eat it, not let the last piece of his store sit on a counter getting cold. Tang would be out all night looking for customers that would never come and tomorrow they would close the shop. It would be a shame to waste it. This fancy meal he’d made for someone, anyone, else.

Eating it would mean he was truly out of business.

The bell of his shop chimed and Tang practically danced back in, trailed by a furry golden sailor. “Look what I found!” he said smugly. “A customer. One customer for our last night.”

The customer glanced around the room. “Nice place you have here,” he said and then his eyes fell on the bowl of noodles. “Already got my order up? Your service is amazing.”

Pigsy half expected Tang to protest when the customer sat down in his spot and ate the last bowl of noodles but instead he settled down next to him and called for some drinks. He starts to cheerfully regal their customer with tall tales of the legendary pirate captain the Monkey King. And Pigsy realized it had been a long time since he’d heard Tang tell any sort of story not tied to how he’d managed to get them customers today.

The stranger seemed to enjoy the tales almost more than Tang and the atmosphere of the little shop became warmer. Pigsy could almost pretend it was just any other late night before their troubles began.

The bell chimes again, and Pigsy looked up, half expecting another customer and wondering if he’d even have ingredients to make more noodles. But the man in question wasn’t here to eat. He glanced around the store with distain before saying, “Are you the owner of this establishment?”

“Yes,” said Pigsy, “What can I get for you?”

“You have received an invitation by the governor himself to join his kitchen staff,” he held out a paper to Pigsy. “Work begins at dawn.” Then he turned and walked out of the store only stopping at the door to say, “Don’t be late.”

“Promotion!” said the customer before he noticed grim look on Tang’s face.

“Don’t do it,” said Tang turning to face Pigsy. “That man hates you, he’s been trying to get rid of you for half a year!”

“I don’t exactly have much of a choice,” said Pigsy staring down at the empty sink. “I’ve checked around. No local business will hire me, to scared the governor will come after them. Short of getting on a ship, and all the ones that come through here are in his pocket and won’t let me on, this is the only option I have.”

“It’s a trap!” said Tang. “Either he’s going to make your life a living nightmare or he’s going to set you up for something worse!”

Pigsy closed his eyes. “I know,” he said. “But what else can I do?”

“Pigsy…,” began Tang.

“Excuse me,” he said and headed into the backroom. He needed time to confront his impending doom.

The next morning he arrived at the governor’s mansion’s kitchen entrance for work exactly fifteen minutes before dawn.

He was regulated to cleaning duty for a massive ball happening that night. That in itself wasn’t unusual, he was new after all, and it would be unlikely the cook would trust him with anything close to chopping for another year. But that set him on edge. The governor had systematically dismembered his business, his big finale couldn’t be something this normal.

So it didn’t really surprise him when he was bumped up from cleaning to serving for the party by special request of the governor himself.  

And it didn’t surprise him at all when said ball was filled with only the most annoying of party goers, who looked at service workers like they were the dirt beneath their shoes or furniture on the wall.

What did surprise him was Tang. Who had somehow gotten a job as a waiter.

“What are you doing here?’ he hissed at him.

Tang just flashed him a smile. “They were desperate for new help and I figured we’d go down together.” He leaned in and lowered his voice, “There’s one other thing…” He stopped suddenly and pulled himself away. “The governor’s coming. I’ve got to go. Don’t worry I got a plan.”

Pigsy watched his only ally in this world saunter off as the governor approached. He waltzed up with a lady on his arm and seemed content to hang out right next to where Pigsy was serving food and engage in conversation about how powerful he and his empire were and how those who lived here were nothing more than cultureless backwater fools who’d gotten to full of themselves after the last governor had been so lax…

Soon the governor ran out of people to talk to and turned to Pigsy, “Enjoying the new job I so generously provided?”

Pigsy kept his face neutral.

The governor leaned against the table between them. “You know, its polite to thank a new employer but I guess you wouldn’t know what was polite, given your general social awareness. You haven’t even apologized for how we met. Such rudeness. It’s understandable why you lost all your customers.”

Pigsy kept his face neutral.

“You must have relied on sailors for a good while there, as you held out longer than I expected once the townsfolk wised up. Honestly it has been infuriating trying to ruin you and that little friend of yours. But it doesn’t matter now does it? Now you’ve learned your place working for me.” Very slowly he raise his glass and dumped its contents onto Pigsy.

Pigsy kept his face neutral.

The governor smiled and then glanced off examining the now empty glass, until his eyes caught sight of Tang offering drinks to guests. “That little friend of yours, he’s a puzzle. I tried to scare him off but no no no, nothing seemed to faze him. Even offered him money to stop going to your store. And he refused. Something he desperately could not afford given his clothing or his previous lack of employment. How does a man such as him even stay fed anyways? Makes one wonder where the money comes from. Evidence enough for thievery. Men have been hanged for less…”

Pigsy’s neutral face cracked.

He wasn’t sure what he yelled at the man. He was certain it included a lot of very creative descriptors as all the anger that had been building towards this pompous petty child playing governor exited him at once. He shook the party to its very foundation and soon everyone was staring at them.

The governor was lying on the floor beside the upturned table when Pigsy’s head cleared. He seemed scared but he smiled up and Pigsy, “You are going to hang for this.”

Might as well go the full nine yards. Pigsy picked up one of the still full glasses and poured it on the governor.

“Might as well hang together then?” said a voice behind him. He turned to see Tang and the customer from last night, now dressed fancily with a mask, hat, and cutlass…the Monkey King, infamous pirate captain.

Before Pigsy could voice his shock at the situation or interrogate Tang, the Monkey King turned to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to the robbery tonight. Alas, I must be going as my ship departs on the hour. Do inform the rest of the navy their precious governor will be coming with me and not to fire lest they damage him. Now, I and my associates will be taking our leave.” He nodded to Tang who rushed forward to tie up the governor. Then he turned to Pigsy. “So what do you say? Care to join my crew as the new ships cook?”

Pigsy looked at Tang who was grinning, over to the tied up governor, and then back at the Monkey King. “As I’m currently out of employment at the moment,” he said, “such an offer sounds lovely.” Then he picked the governor up and followed the Monkey King out the hole that hadn’t been there before he’d started yelling.

Tang noticed his confusion and always down to explain something said, “You probably didn’t notice during all the yelling but we made the hole. Oh and we already loaded a ton of loot onto the ship but we have to hurry if we want to escape before the navy gets here. The Monkey King wasn’t originally going to rob the party for anything more than a hostage until he met us. We made this plan last night right after you got the letter…”

Pigsy stared at him, “This was your plan?”

Tang shrugged as they dashed onto a ship. The Monkey king headed over to the steering wheel, while Tang grabbed the ropes for the sails. “Joining the Monkey King’s Pirate Crew!” grinned Tang unable to contain his excitement, “the best plan I’ve ever made!”

“Grabbing the governor was his idea,” said the Monkey King from above.

Pigsy sighed and dropped the governor down onto the side of the boat. “What are we going to do with him once we’ve outrun the navy?”

“Well I was thinking you could come up with that,” said Tang. “He’s been bothering you and all.”

That was why three months later the governor was found seven islands over standing in a line that tracked back throughout the city. When asked how he’d gotten there he’d turned pale and muttered something incoherent about pirates and noodles.

[codylabs]

December’s Wrath

Chapter 1

It hadn't been a simple decision to leave California and his family and his sister to go spend the holidays in Gravity Falls with Wendy. But that was the decision he had made, and by the time he was really starting to question whether or not it was the right one, he had already crossed the state line into Oregon, and the rumble of the bus's engine had lulled him halfway to sleep. Thoughts like his parents' and his grandparents' disappointment at his absence, thoughts like Mabel wishing he could be there to see her new Hanukkah sweater, thoughts like the price of the bus fare, thoughts like the incomprehensible breadth of miles increasing between him and home, thoughts like the knowledge that the Corduroys had 'apocalypse training' instead of any kind of holiday celebration, thoughts like he wasn't prepared, thoughts like high clouds and dark trees and rare sun, these were the thoughts drifting through his head. Thoughts like he was right. Thoughts like he was wrong.

It was a starless night outside the bus, so all he could see beyond the window was a foot and a half of whirling snowflakes, and his own reflection, both layers tinted a grim color by the bus's pinkish interior lights. Crystals of frost were growing on the outside of the window, his breath was condensing on the inside of the window, and he was fast asleep a minute later, and his dreams were sad and lonely and brave and cold, cold, a terrible and cutting cold that pierced to the bone, clawed like an eagle's talons. His dream was a walking dream, while Wendy called him forward and Mabel called him back. The wind was calling too, but not in any specific direction. It just called.

The dawn came around 8:00, he woke up around 8:30, the bus left him at the stop around 9:00, and Wendy met him around 9:01. He almost didn't recognize her at first, beneath the layers of unfamiliar winter clothes, the gloves twice the size of her hands, the grey jacket and the baggy pants. It was only her face by which he identified her, peaking out from the middle of the hood. There was a light in her eyes and a smile on her lips, and he only barely had time to recognize her before she grabbed him in a hug and lifted him off the ground. "EEEEEYY It's good to see you man!" She hollered as she twirled him around. Her words were drowned out for a split second by the hissing of the bus's brakes as it moved off down the road. "How's it been going?"

"It's been going good!" She hugged her back until she set him back down. His backpack threatened to tip him over as he landed but he managed to catch himself. The ground was icy. He took a deep breath of the chill air as he shrugged the pack higher onto his shoulders and tightened the straps. "Good to see you too! I've really been missing this place! And, uh, and you, and everyone. How about you? How have you been?"

"Oh, same, you know how it is!" She punched him in the shoulder. Her breath crystallized in the air in front of her smile, and for just a moment, she looked to him like the most beautiful thing in the world. "Same as last time you were here, same as last time you called, same... I mean, what changes, man? School still sucks, weather still sucks, life's going great."

"Mood." He agreed, even though school had never really sucked that much for him, and the weather wasn't too bad, was it? It had stopped snowing, at least. "Anyway, I packed as best I could, I got my whole winter... Outfit. On." He gestured inclusively to his heavy jacket, heavy boots, three pants, and gloves, and took some reassurance that she was dressed similarly. "And uhhh toothbrush and sleeping bag and stuff. Is there anything else I need? I've never gone hiking in the winter."

"Nah, you're good. And if you're not, don't worry, we don't set out until after breakfast, and dad'll get you squared away once we get to the house." She led the way toward the Corduroy truck, parked on the roadside. "You got a change of clothes at least?"

"Yeah."

"Eh." She gave a dismissive shrug as they climbed into the truck. "You'll be fine." She was right, she was wrong.

As Dipper tossed his backpack into the back seat and made to close the door, his vision was almost completely obscured for a moment as a gust of wind pushed the vapor of his exhale back into his face. He blinked for just a moment, almost startled, and then as his breath dissipated, his eyes landed on the forest.

The forest.

It was the same forest he'd known before. The same valley, the same cliffs, the same mountains, same dome, same trees, same grass and ferns, he recognized that bend in the road, and that sign, and that water tower. But at the same time, this couldn't be the same place. Could it? The old woods were green, green and brown, and crowned with gold beneath a blue sky. These woods were grey. Grey within grey, grey as pale as snow on the fingertips of the trees and grass, grey as dark as night in the spaces beneath. The sky was grey too, no blue, no shapes of clouds, no penetrating ray of sunshine, all the world stood as if encased in prison.

It was beautiful, to be sure. Beautiful as art. But Dipper couldn't shake the nonsensical feeling that the bus had taken him to some alternative reality, some timeline where the bombs had dropped or the sun had gone out or time had frozen, that his eyes were seeing some grim warning vision and not reality. As he gazed out at that sight that used to look like a playground or a second home or some magnificent untold adventure waiting to happen, he thought, at this moment, that it looked something more like an enemy; a world-sized monster, some overbearing rival of mankind itself. He found himself sizing it up.

As Wendy watched him doing so, watched his eyes travel the landscape with a look so needlessly grim and fearless, for just a moment, he looked to her like the most handsome thing in the world. "Eh, I guess the weather's not so bad." She shrugged.

"...Yeah." He finally climbed fully inside and closed the door. "Not so bad at all." He was right, he was wrong. They rolled off down the road, toward the tall old woods where the Corduroy cabin lay hidden.

Dipper had been expecting some sort of grim, apprehensive, even frightened mood when they entered the house, (the whole 'apocalypse' motif having prepared him for the worst) but was pleasantly surprised to find the place full of laughter. Dan was bent over the stove cooking pancakes and shoveling nuts into bags, while the boys zipped around the house with their backpacks, thinking and rethinking and packing and repacking. Conversation loud and boisterous filled the air, about past trips and future trips and present trips, about weather and trees and old campfire stories and whatever else lumberjacks and mountain men talk about. Wendy joined right back in with it too, reminding her dad to bring the jerky, telling her brother to find the radio, getting told by another brother to bring an extra jacket, and all five of them were arguing about whether one person should carry all the toilet paper, or whether they should all bring their own, or whether they should just rough it off the land and wipe with leaves.

Somehow, though was no tree in the house, and no presents or decorations or cookies or little colored lights either, something about the joy and the togetherness of it all struck Dipper as belonging to a Christmas mood.

"YOU." Dan boomed down in Dipper's direction. He spun with a start to look up into the enormous man's face. "You got a knife on ya, boy?"

"Uh y-yeah. Got one right here." He nodded.

"Got matches?"

"Nope."

"You'll need matches." Dan tapped one enormous finger on a paper on the fridge; a packing list. "Need all this on here. Ask Wendy if you don't know where anything is."

"Awesome. Okay." As Dipper joined the rush, a smile touched his face, and he began to suspect that this would be a good Christmas after all. Different, for sure, different of course, but it may not be so hard, it might not be so worse. This was family, after all, a very close and loving family, and when a family is close and loving, nothing that ever happens to it seems quite so bad.

And besides, Christmas was more than just presents and decorations, wasn't it? More than just a few colorful nonsense traditions. A lot more.

But without all that, what was it exactly?

They were all packed by the time pancakes were done (As they had to be. Part of the Corduroy tradition was to leave immediately after breakfast no matter what; in a real apocalypse they wouldn't have much more warning than that, after all.) With Wendy's help Dipper had managed to get packed with everything on Dan's list, all except for a compass; the family had only six, and the sixth wasn't for using. He'd just finished zipping up his pack by the time breakfast was ready. The warm smell drew them together into the kitchen, and they set in.

"What was your name again?" Dipper looked up from his pancakes to see Wendy's youngest brother frowning across the table at him, mumbling words through a full mouth.

"Dipper." He nodded, and realized he'd never actually talked with any of Wendy's brothers, and didn't actually know anything about any of them. "...I never got you guy's names?"

"I'm Gus." The 11-year-old pointed a pair of thumbs in his own direction. "I'm the cool one."

"And I'm Marcus." Said the 15-year-old, and extended a hand to shake Dipper's. "I'm the actual cool one."

"I'm Wendy." Said Wendy, not even looking up from her phone. "I'm your girlfriend."

"I'm Kevin." Said the 13-year-old. He glanced Dipper up and down. "I bet I could take you."

That took Dipper off-guard.

Wendy snorted.

"Hey, be nice." Marcus snapped. "He's a guest!"

"You be nice." Kevin retorted.

"Everyone fight!" Gus cheered.

"EVERYONE BE NICE!" Dan thundered.

Silence descended rather immediately. u could take him. Wendy texted Dipper under the table.

Not gonna try???? He texted back.

By 10:00 their packs and supplies were all stacked in the back of the truck, and they were underway.

By 10:30 the truck was parked and locked at the end of a narrow logging road, with six sets of footprints leading away from it, deeper into the woods.

That was Friday, the 20th of December. Next week on Wednesday would be Christmas. The very next day, Saturday, was the solstice, when the days would be the shortest of the year and the sun would be dimmest, and the things the light drives out would feel most free to rise.

By 11:00 they were out of range of the cell towers, and there was nobody who could help them.

The sun flared yellow through the briefest gap in the overcast sky.

The wind howled.

A tree broke and fell with nobody to hear it.

The spirit heard it.

[flutteringdreams-matw]

Out of Time (10)

First/Last Read on AO3 Word Count: 7411

Previously: Danny gets taken from the top of his shield two hours before Dan attacks.

Now: Danny v. Dan III - CW: light torture, mentions of ectoplasm, light pyschological torture and descriptive fights from this point forward. Dan is not kind.

Link to the next chapter will be in the replies once posted. As always - please let me know what you think!

---

Danny groaned, opening his eyes slowly as he attempted to regain his bearings. Small blades of grass surrounded his face; where was he? The last thing he remembered was talking to Frostbite -

Reality hit him as he let out a shaky breath. His muscles ached as he moved slowly; trying to hide his pain or movements in case he was being watched. Once he sat up on his knees, he looked around warily. He was surrounded by trees in a clearing; from a distance he could see the top of the shield around Amity Park. He frowned as he realized he wouldn't be able to teleport back easily. It was still dark out, stars still shining brightly overhead. How much time was left?

Danny grimaced as blue sparks moved through him. He shook his head, trying to push it down. This couldn't happen - not now. He succeeded, making the sparks dissipate without a vision. It wasn't until they were completely gone that he realized why the sparks appeared.

It was a warning.

"Pathetic really."

Danny stiffened as he heard the drawl of his evil self. Green eyes darted across the clearing, watching carefully to see where Dan could be. He was close, but still nowhere to be seen.

"Here I was, expecting a heroic little sacrifice from a child trying to protect his precious family, and yet here you are, making truces and strategies like a veteran in an attempt to defeat me. Are you that afraid, Danny?"

Danny's eyes narrowed. "I'm not afraid of you," he told Dan, wincing slightly as he turned his head to his right.

"No, I suppose you aren't, are you?" Dan's voice continued to drift through the clearing, moving from Danny's right to his left. Danny placed gloved hands in front of him, attempting to stand, only to fall back to the ground. He failed to stifle a cry of pain and inwardly cursed. "Oh? Seems like you're a little worse for wear Phantom," Dan said, almost giddily. "What's the matter? Our little discussion a few days ago too much for you?"

Danny growled in frustration, pushing himself off the ground again. He staggered to his feet successfully, glancing quickly to the shield and back to the opening clearing. "What happened to that sporting chance, Old Man?" Danny quipped coolly, opting to look straight ahead to not play into Dan's hands. He was alert, ready for an attack.

Dan appeared before him, cape billowing in the wind from fifteen feet above him. His fangs featured prominently in a cruel smile as he walked in the air, descending an invisible staircase. Danny nearly rolled his eyes at the dramatic entrance. "I said I'd give you until dawn until I attack your shields. We're still an hour or two away from that," he told the boy. "I never said anything about attacking you."

Danny laughed bitterly. "I'd call you a Fruitloop, but that'd give Vlad a compliment." He tensed his muscles as Dan made it to the ground, walking towards him rather than floating or flying. Something wasn't right.

"You know what I learned, little boy," Dan taunted, continuing his slow advance toward Danny. The younger Phantom took a few steps back warily, eyes glued to the foe in front of him. "In watching you protect the town and the Ghost Zone? Not that you have new powers - that you understand your potential." Danny's eyes narrowed slightly. "That shield being up for two days? The ice powers? Teleporting? All these powers came to me much later than you."

"You had ice powers?" The question came out before Danny could stop himself.

"Once," Dan replied simply. He continued to walk towards Danny, who in turn continued his retreat backwards. Without warning, Dan flew at Danny, grabbing the boy by the neck and slamming him brutally against a tree trunk. Winded, Danny barely had a chance to recover as Dan's claw like hand closed around his throat, pressing him harshly against the tree. "Why do you have it so easy?" Dan hissed angrily, watching as Danny's hands flew to his neck as he tried to pry himself away from the ghost's grasp. "You, who kept that weakness of humanity for a lot longer than I did. Why?"

"My humanity," Danny managed to get out through a bunch of strangled gasps. "Is a strength." He thrashed in Dan's grasp, lungs burning.

"Is it now," Dan sneered, the hand around Danny's neck alighting with green ecto-energy, tightening still. Danny's eyes tightened as he let out a strangled gasp of pain. "What a fragile idea of strength you must have." Dan let go of the boy, dropping him in a heap and flew to the middle of the clearing. Danny winced, rubbing his throat as he glared at Dan from the ground. "Let's test it then. Right here and right now - show me what my past has to offer."

Danny scowled, pushing himself onto his hands and knees. Dan was baiting him -that was the only reason he brought him out here. I can't siphon energy out of the shield from here, Danny thought bitterly. Teleporting's out… maybe if I can get closer, I can out speed him enough to teleport in? Danny winced, feeling a bruise forming on his lower back. Probably not. Dan raised an eyebrow, watching Danny struggle to stand.

There are only three outcomes - only one is favourable.

"I may be your past," Danny said, holding his side with a wince as he became steadier on his feet. "But you are not my future!" He launched himself at the ghost with a yell, ignoring any rational thought telling him not to.

:-=-:

The tension in the lab was thick as Maddie scanned the radar again, scouring any signs for Danny. She bit her lip anxiously, trying to avoid any worrying thoughts about her son biting off more than he could chew. Tucker was at the other workstation beside her, half an energy drink in as he worked through more of the Fenton Shield code with a determined look on his face. Maddie caught him looking at the radar on occasion, a concerned frown on the boy's face before he dove back into work. She was in awe of how he was able to work at all right now.

"Any luck?" Jack asked gently, touching her shoulder as he came up beside her. When his wife shook her head, Jack's eyes closed briefly and inhaled deeply. "The shield's still up Mads," he told her with a small smile. "Danny's shield's still up." It was a testament of how well she knew her husband to see how scared Jack was in that moment. She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"We're an hour away from daybreak," Frostbite announced, gathering the attention of the lab. "If the Great One doesn't appear at the shield by then, I predict we'll need a backup plan."

"If he's not on the shield by then, I'm going out there and dragging his self-sacrificing ass back myself," Sam retorted darkly, causing some of the Far Frozeners to move away from the glowering girl. "What was he thinking!? Going out there on his own?"

Ethelwulf hovered above the crowd, frowning at her. "He knew it was risky - and he didn't intend to go off on his own. The alternative was to be weakened gradually by some unknown force." Ethelwulf folded his wings as he floated downward. "As much as I disagreed, it was the right call."

Sam crossed her arms in a huff, Jazz coming over to her and nudging her on the shoulder affectionately. Sam frowned at the awkward gesture but said nothing more.

"The shield is still the priority," Maddie agreed. "Danny's not going to let that fall if he can help it. If he's not on the top of the shield, then we don't have to cover him." She looked around to the humans in the lab. "The plan is roughly the same, but instead we can play more defence. We need to buy Danny whatever time he needs to get back."

"Right," Frostbite confirmed with a grim smile. He locked eyes with Ethelwulf briefly before continuing. "I will remain here with Ethelwulf guarding the portal and our base of operations. My people will be in the town patrolling the perimeter for any of those shadow creatures. Once the second shield is up, I'll join the fight myself, as Ethelwulf is the best ghost suited to help the wounded."

Ethelwulf scowled slightly but nodded. "It's important that we stick to this plan - we can't afford any other mishaps."

Clockwork floated into the open now, staring straight at Sam but speaking to all gathered. "Danny's strong, far stronger than we give him credit for. Regardless of how we feel now, we must stick to his plan. Grab whatever weapons you may need and defend the town." Clockwork gripped his staff tightly, feeling time move roughly. "The Time Medallions will allow you to move without the effects of the paradox's hold on time. I do not know the extent of what is about to happen, nor how that will affect our efforts. From now on, keep them on your person. I will remain here; Even with my powers diminished, I may still have some hold over the time stream."

"You can work the coms with me," Tucker said from the computer station. The boy had barely taken his eyes of the screen he was working on. "We need another pair of eyes and I think watching over the time stream makes you qualified for the job."

Clockwork gave him a rare wry smile. "Very well."

"Are we really ignoring that Danny might need our help out there?!" Sam burst out angrily. "We're just letting him fend for himself?"

Jazz frowned, attempting to placate the younger girl. "Sam, of course not," she said, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder. "We're all worried about him, but I trust him. We all do. If he needs our help, he'll let us know."

"Yeah, cause he always does that," Sam said sarcastically, shrugging Jazz's hand off her. She made a break for the stairs. "Regardless the plan, he needs our help. I'm not going to watch him throw himself in danger."

He's my son; how can I just watch as he throws himself into danger?

Maddie's question to Clockwork hit her at Sam's outburst. She turned to Clockwork with wide eyes, finally understanding his response. "We don't," she said in realization slowly, stopping Sam in her tracks. "Sam, defending the town doesn't mean sitting by as Danny faces off against Dan. It means we're fighting with him, even if he doesn't know it. These copies... they're like duplication right?" Maddie turned to Jack, a theory on the tip of her tongue. "The more he splits… the more vulnerable Dan will become. If we take out some of those duplicates or injure them - won't that affect Dan in the process?"

Jack brought a hand to his chin in thought, eyes widening as he got through the calculations. "That's it! That's how we get the upper hand! Maddie, brilliant!" He kissed Maddie on the cheek cheerfully. "Our best defence is also our best offence!"

Frostbite beamed at the Fentons as Sam let out a deep breath, nodding her consent. "Then not a moment to waste. People of the Far Frozen, prepare for battle!" He roared, thrusting his arm of ice into the air. His people mimicked him, before flying out of the lab.

"Us too," Jack boomed, beckoning to the weapons vault. Jack led the way, followed by Maddie and Jazz. Ethelwulf and Frostbite made their way to the infirmary, discussing something in low tones.

Instead of following, Sam merely went to Tucker, still working away at the keyboard. "I know that face," Tucker said, glancing quickly at his best friend.

"What face?" she said innocently enough.

"The 'Screw the rules, I'm going after him' face," Tucker accused. He finally turned away from the screen, glaring at Sam. "What are you going to do Sam? You're no match for Dan on your own."

"Neither is Danny," Sam retorted. "We know that better than anyone."

Tucker sighed, frustrated. "Sam, Fear Island was a year ago. That version of his future self? It wasn't real."

"No, but it had real consequences," Sam retorted. Tucker tried to respond but Sam cut across him. "Tucker, he's exhausted. I don't know how long he'd last toe-to-toe with Dan on his own. At 100% he has a chance, now? If Danny's forced to face him now, there's a lot more than can go wrong. If I go out there, at least someone has his back."

Tucker frowned, acknowledging her words. "What are you thinking?"

Sam sighed, furrowing her brow in thought. "I don't know," she admitted. "We have no idea where he is, no idea what's happening. As soon as we have some idea of where he is, all I need to do is get in and get him out without Dan noticing."

"Danny's recklessness is contagious," Tucker said sarcastically. "That's not as simple as you think. Danny's not in the city - meaning he's passed an army of shadow creatures to get there. How are you going get through? I know how you feel, but really think about this."

"Ahem."

Both teens turned to see Clockwork staring at them. "If you're heading into battle," Clockwork said sternly. "You'll need weapons." He gestured to the lab bench full of weapons they used for training.

Sam frowned, feeling Clockwork's red eyes look through her to see her plans. Realizing that he might try to talk her out of it if she stayed, Sam sighed, making her way over to the lab bench. As she gathered weapons she enjoyed using - wrist rays, portable Fenton Bazookas, ecto-guns - her eyes fell on the small black pouch with Danny's logo beside it, along with a small first aid kit with a note attached to it. Sam looked back to Clockwork and Tucker, both of which weren't looking at her. She opened the note, read it and smiled. She quickly pocketed both items in her jumpsuit pockets before she called back to the computer console. "Where are the Fenton Phones, Tuck?"

"Over here," he replied, gesturing to the small set of electronics next to him. Clockwork floated toward the screens, back hunched as he looked at the various cameras around the city with intensity. Sam made her way back, watching as Tucker picked one of the phones to hand to her. Her eyes drifted back to the Time Master apprehensively, making sure he wasn't in ear shot.

"Thanks," she said gratefully with a small smile.

"Sam," Tucker started, before sighing. Teal eyes met violet, the resolve they both felt reflecting off each other. "I'll be on channel 18 if you need me. If I find him, I'll let you know." He smiled determinedly at the Goth in front of him and echoed the note on the First Aid Kit. "Bring him back."

Neither one noticed when Clockwork smiled.

:-=-:

Danny slid across the grass, squaring his stance as he blocked the current ecto-blast from Dan's onslaught. He grunted, the heat of the ecto-blast rippling past his shield. Pushing against it, Danny reflected it back, sending his own in full force. Both energy blasts hit his target, making Dan grunt as he fell towards the ground.

Danny allowed himself a small sigh of relief as he fell to one knee. They were evenly matched; parrying attacks, blocking blows. However, as the battle continued, it was becoming harder. They still were able to exchange attacks, but Danny needed more time to recover. He groaned as he shot upward, narrowly avoiding Dan's next attack. Green eyes scanned the area quickly, locking onto Dan's body barrelling toward him. Danny's hands lit green as they collided, wincing at the impact. They rolled in the air, Danny wildly throwing ecto-blasts at his attacker. Dan smirked, grabbing the boy's collar and charged toward the ground.

The earth shook as they slammed into the earth. Dan recovered first, flying a few feet in the air as he grinned wickedly. He watched patiently as the dusk cleared and Danny attempted to stagger to his feet. The boy was not faring well. "Is that it?" he asked menacingly. He charged again, kicking Danny in the abdomen.

Danny yelped in pain as he bounced across the ground. As he stopped, he pushed himself up on his forearms, glaring back at his future self's sadistic grin; watching him pant with exertion.

Wait… Danny gasped, watching the ghost carefully; Dan was tired. In the encounters they've had since this all began, neither made Dan show any weakness. Why was he tired now? Danny watched cautiously, stumbling upright as Dan tried to catch his breath.

"Looks like you're getting sloppy," he panted, wincing as he made his way to his feet.

Dan laughed. "Me? Look who's talking."

Danny snarled, masking any truth to that statement; he was at his limit. "Not quite. In fact," he yelled, jumping up into the air. "I can do this all day!" He flew, foot aiming directly for Dan's head.

The older Phantom growled in annoyance. Dan's hand lit aflame, creating small knives of ecto-energy along the tips of his fingers, waiting for the boy to strike. Once Danny was close enough, he grabbed the boy's leg, the energy slicing Danny's skin on contact before throwing him to the ground.

Danny yelled out in pain as he came in contact the ground once again. His vision was swimming now, glaring up into Dan's blue face. Danny attempted to get up, only to be slammed down by Dan's foot as it stomped on his chest. His eyes flew to the shield before shifting back to Dan angrily.

It didn't go unnoticed.

"Don't worry," Dan mocked, pressing his foot harder on the fallen teen. "The shield's still up for now." He released the boy, watching as he slowly got to his hands and knees. "'I can do this all day!'" he mimicked, laughing as Danny winced heavily, his arms shaking. "I'm mildly impressed that you can still keep it intact. I'm sure not for very much longer."

"You'd be surprised," Danny grunted, fist clenching as he faltered again, landing on his forearms.

Dan chuckled darkly, squatting down next to the boy's face as he fell further to ground. "Do you know why I lured you out here Danny? Why I took the trouble of inviting you here to face me once and for all?" He gripped Danny's hair harshly, pulling it upward so they were face to face. Green eyes narrowed harshly at red gleeful ones. "I wanted to see the look on your face when you realized you lost; when that infuriating spark of hope that lives within you gets extinguished and you're begging for my mercy."

Danny's eyes suddenly widened, only now realizing how much lighter it had become. Dan smiled as orange light washed over them. "I did say I'd attack at dawn." Dan's eyes glowed red briefly, just as the sun came over the horizon.

Pain erupted through Danny's being as he felt the shadows attack the shield. He screamed, curling inward on the ground as he forced whatever energy he had in keeping the shield up. Dan released him, laughing at the boy's agony with glowing red eyes. The ecto-energy burned under his skin, desperately siphoning core energy to keep himself conscious; Amity was at stake. His body twitched as something massive hit the shield. He needed to get back - he couldn't do this on his own. His sense of self-preservation kicked in, trying to focus enough to teleport away. Another wave of pain broke through, this time flooding his mind with images of shadows attacking the shield.

"Seems that wasn't enough," Dan's malicious voice managed to get through to him. Danny shook his head, attempting to clear his vision. He had to escape somehow. Dan kicked him in the face, breaking his concentration again.

"Let's see how long you can keep this up."

Danny opened his eyes briefly, focusing enough to see Dan split into two. His vision shifted back to the shield again; Danny gritted his teeth as pain erupted through his entire body. He was overwhelmed. He felt a hand grabbing his arm and flinging him in the air; the burning sting of two ecto-blasts at once; a blow to the head and the full impact of his body hitting something hard at a nauseating speed.

:-=-:

"Sam?"

Sam sighed, holding the Fenton Phone at her ear again. "I'm still here Tucker - haven't gone rogue." She eyed the edge of the shield distastefully as more of the shadows threw themselves at it, being forced back at every turn. Aiming her wrist, she sent a few strong blasts at a particularly nasty one trying to claw its way in. It exploded, making a few shadows pause briefly before continuing the attack. It was early still, but they had been at this for a few hours now.

"Switch to secure channel," Tucker told her urgently.

Sam frowned, switching to channel 18. "I'm here," she said quickly, looking at her surroundings again and shooting another shadow creature beyond the shield. Vaguely, she heard someone yelling orders in behind her to some of the onlookers.

"I think I found him," Tucker said confidently.

Sam sighed in relief. "Remind me to never doubt your tracking skills ever again," she replied, smiling slightly.

"Funny. Ready for the bad news?" Tucker didn't wait for her answer before continuing. "He's a couple miles away - it'll take you at least an hour on foot. Worse, Danny's shield is cracking. Ethelwulf and Frostbite are managing okay on our end but with Danny so far away… we need to start playing offence a little more, else they'll start breaking through."

Sam bit her lip worried, rubbing the side of her arm as she contemplated what Tucker told her. "How's the Fenton Shield going? Can we get that up before that happens?"

She heard Tucker sigh. "Not unless we want to trap Danny outside of the city with Dan and the shadow gang," he replied bitterly. "I'm still working through the sequencing of a mid-morph sample, but that'll still take some time. I don't want to test until I know it's 100%; We need Danny back."

Sam swallowed nervously, looking up at the green shield above her. It shimmered against the sun, pulsing slightly after a major hit. "Not an option then," she said grimly. She saw a faint line on one side of the dome, making her frown.

"No," Tucker agreed. "Sam, this is your call. Danny has a better shot at whatever he's facing if we start shooting up a storm. But with the shield the way it is…" he trailed off, a sense of dread lingering in his silence.

"I'm going after him," Sam told him firmly.

She swore she heard Tucker smile. "I knew you were going to say that," he said. Sam heard some fast typing on the keyboard. "There's a lot of ecto-energy about two miles North-East of where you are now. You'll probably know it when you see it. How many shadows are blocking your path?"

Sam glared at the ones immediately in front of her. "A dozen, maybe more."

"Where's the whelp?"

Sam nearly jumped out of her skin as Skulker appeared beside her. On instinct, she raised her weapon at him. "Skulker?" she questioned, wide-eyed. They hadn't seen the mechanical ghost since Danny collapsed when he returned from the Ghost Zone. Skulker towered over her, seeming to repair his suit since they last saw him.

"Skulker?" Tucker echoed in her ear. "What the hell?"

"You're here, and his family is around the city," Skulker continued, staring at the girl in confusion. "Plasmius, his pet project and the Hunter Girl are circling the shield… but I haven't seen Phantom. I would think he'd be here."

"He's…" Sam started, before gasping. "That's it! Skulker - do you think you can clear a path for me? All you have to do is destroy as many of those shadows as you can."

Skulker frowned. "Why should I help you?" he asked. "I came to assist the whelp to repay my debt. Nothing more."

"Because those things are a part of Dan!" Sam argued, pointing to the shadows in front of her. "If we take those out, it'll weaken his power."

Skulker raised an eyebrow. "The abomination!?" he exclaimed. Before Sam could confirm, Skulker grinned gleefully. "Vengeance." Skulker flew forward with a roar, rockets outstretched as he fought through the mass of shadows.

Sam blinked a few times, watching with disbelief how easy it was for Skulker to change his mind. Remembering her friend, she put her hand to her ear. "Tuck-"

"I heard," Tucker confirmed. He was quiet for a second or two before he spoke again. "We'll lose contact after a certain point; I didn't have time to boost the Fenton Phone signal like I wanted to. I'll cover for you but be as quick as you can. Hopefully Danny will be able to teleport you guys back."

"Thanks Tuck - I owe you," Sam said as she darted out of the shield. A shadow leapt out at her, but was quickly sliced in half by Skulker in a fit of rage. She readied her wrist ray, shooting at various shadow creatures as she weaved through the crowd of shadows.

"Bring back our best friend alive and I'll call it even," Tucker retorted. "Be careful Sam."

:-=-:

He couldn't move, images of the shield being attacked clouded his swimming vision as he laid on the ground completely at Dan's mercy. So the shield's still up, Danny thought drolly, gasping through new feelings of agony from the shield. A faint memory of Clockwork's warning spoke through his mind. There are three possible outcomes here. Only one of them is favourable.

He felt himself being held upright - presumably by a duplicate - head rolling limply in front of him. Vaguely, he felt his rings of transformation appear to threaten to take him into unconsciousness. The shield! He forced them down again, sagging deeper in his captor's grasp.

"Little Danny boy isn't looking so good," Dan cruelly. Danny only managed to growl in response. He heard Dan chuckle from both behind and in front of him. "Maybe we should help him out." The duplicate holding him up tightened its grasp on him. He heard the ecto-energy coming to life. "I'm sure you remember this little trick -"

Danny's vision and hearing were bombarded with images as Dan thrust his hand deep within the teen's chest, grabbing onto his Ghost Core and electrocuted him.

The smell of burning flesh made him nauseous as he blinked at the flames. He looked down at his black soot-cover hands as he screamed. They were just here! He ran towards the flames, going intangible through beams as he called out their names.

"Mom! Dad!" he cried, transforming into his alter ego. "Jazz! Sam! Tucker!"

He kept searching, the heat of the flames becoming intense now. He coughed as smoke burned through his lungs. "Mr. Lancer! Anybody! Please!"

Danny panted as Dan withdrew his hand and the time vision leaving him. Tears were streaming down his face, his voice raw as he tried to regain his bearings.

They were gone…

No…

They weren't.

His eyes opened wearily, looking past his evil self and toward his home. A green shield shone brilliantly in the distance; it seemed so far away.

What was he doing?

Pain seared around his waist, almost as if another foe was attacking him.

The shield… he needed to protect that shield.

He had to focus.

Dan was speaking to him now, waving his hand full of ecto-energy around his face. The hand moved again, drawing back and diving back into his chest.

"Finished so soon, Mr. Fenton?" Mr. Lancer asked him disapprovingly. He shifted nervously, fidgeting slightly as he nodded. Lancer couldn't know he had the answers; how the hell would he suspect that a ghost attack caused him to go through the stupid briefcase anyway?

"I just, you know, studied real hard," he told the teacher with a shrug. It was a lie, but probably a believable one.

Lancer sighed, gesturing him to leave. Danny frowned, but moved to the door anyway.

He may have the answers but if Lancer took one at his CAT, he'd know that the teen certainly didn't remember any of them.

How long had it been?

Someone was screaming… or was that him?

He couldn't tell anymore. His core felt like it was imploding on itself - it was so hot compared to the comforting cold he was used to.

Wait… was he even in ghost form anymore? Was the shield still up?

Brief flashes of black creatures throwing themselves at the shield danced before his eyes. His lungs were burning as he gasped.

What was real?

"One more should do it," he heard Dan say.

Dan. Dan was real.

Danger.

Someone grabbed his hair, yanking it upward. "Can't have you dying on me - not until your entire world comes crumbling down."

He felt the hand around his core again, the raw electricity of his core powers attempting to shield him from the pain. It did nothing for the visions.

"Let go of me!" he yelled, trying to break through the grip of the adults holding him back. He coughed, pushing the oxygen mask away from his face as he attempted to head back into the Nasty Burger. "You don't understand! They need my help!"

"Son," one of the paramedics said gently. He saw a few people trying to put out what was left of the fire. "There's no one left."

"What do you mean?" he snarled, coughing abruptly. "They're in there! I can find them!"

"Here! I got another one!"

His face paled as a tarp was placed over something in the distance.

…

…

Everyone was looking at him. Mrs. Manson was sobbing, Mrs. Foley rubbing her back gently as quiet tears fell from her eyes too.

"This is all your fault!" Mr. Manson was yelling - so was Mr. Foley. Arguing? Why?

"Jeremy! He's just a child - and he lost his family for Christ's sake! Danny, don't listen to him son."

"Why?" he felt his mouth move, so distant from his mind. He looked up at the broken families in front of him. "He's right - it is my fault."

If this was the outcome, he should have cheated... at least… properly.

…

…

He was numb. Someone was just pushing him along as he followed the caskets out of the church. Mr. Lancer's sister didn't come, he realized. Did anyone show up for the teacher? He must have someone.

They were right in front of him but so far away, tucked away in six caskets.

None of the ghosts had bothered him yet - probably thanks to Vlad. Shame really. His ghost half was itching to punch something.

He should have died-

The pain stopped abruptly, the visions leaving him in an instant. Danny felt himself fall, crashing to the ground on his knees and then to his side. He gasped deeply, eyes scrunched tightly as the pain swept through him in waves.

He couldn't get enough air.

Was there electricity now too?

"Danny!?"

Someone was shaking him? That definitely wasn't right. There was no one left … who could that be?

Where was he again?

"Come on, come on," they murmured urgently, shaking him again. "Danny, come on, we need to get out of here!"

He opened his eyes, wincing at the bright light around him as he stared at the figure in front of him. Violet jumpsuit, black hair, worried violet eyes.

It couldn't be…

"Sam?" he rasped, trying to focus on the figure in front of him.

Was she real? Was she here? But he just… more ecto-energy seared under his skin, attacking his lungs.

"It's me," she confirmed with a nod, a worried frown on her face as she looked at him. "Can you stand? Or better yet teleport? We need to -"

He felt the darkness calling him, her voice so far away now.

Maybe she wasn't there.

Danger… they were in danger right? He needed to warn her.

"Run," he croaked as he was pulled into the darkness. Save yourself.

:-=-:

She was a mile out of the town when she heard the first screams.

Sam stopped, her heart pounding in her chest as she heard them. They didn't stop, echoing through Amity Forest through the morning air. Danny! She ran toward them, unease and dread pooling in her chest as she continued. She willed herself to go faster, ignoring the burning of her lungs.

She was probably a quarter mile into running when the screams stopped; Sam skidded to a stop, out of breath as she turned desperately to the shield. It stood where she left it, shining over Amity Park. She let out a shuddering breath before turning, running towards the direction she had heard the screams in. It was eerily quiet. If the shield's still up, he's still alive. He'll be okay.

"Tucker," she called into her Fenton Phone. Static greeted her on the other end. "Tucker, are you there?" No response.

Reluctantly, she put the small device in one of her jumpsuit pockets. Sam looked around, stopping briefly as she noticed some broken trees around her. "Which way," she started before Danny's screams filled the air again. Sam gasped, eyes darting back to the shield before listening to where the screams could be coming from.

She turned to her left and ran again, tripping over a few of the fallen tree trunks. As she got closer, she heard the rawness of Danny's voice as he screamed out in despair. Whatever battle was going on, Danny wasn't doing well. She heard Dan's voice now too, vindictive and mocking under the sounds of the screams.

She was close - she had to be.

When she finally found them, Sam quickly ducked behind a tree, covering her mouth to prevent herself from screaming. Dan had duplicated himself into two, one holding Danny upright, the other with his hand through Danny's chest.

This wasn't a battle - this was torture.

Danny's body arch upward against his restraints, attempting to escape. Blue electricity coursed through his body, eyes scrunched tightly as he continued to scream in anguish.

Dan withdrew his hand, immediately causing Danny to slump down into the duplicate's arms.

He's too pale Sam noticed immediately, wide eyes scanning Danny for any sort of reaction. His head snapped to his chest, breathing heavily as time energy continued to move through him, a trail of ectoplasm running down his face.

"Bravo!" Dan mocked, glaring down at the teen. "Maybe you were right; maybe you can do this all day." He glanced at the town, a frustrated frown appearing on his face. Danny didn't answer; Sam wasn't sure he was even conscious. "Good thing I'm in no rush. Even your core knows it - don't you feel its desperation Danny? The pitiful core energy trying to drive me away is attacking you too, isn't it?"

Sam felt sick, rage bubbling up for the evil ghost in front of her. It was a miracle for Danny to keep the shield up with that attack; how long had he been like this?

Reality caught up to Sam's rage as she looked down to her wrist. There was no way she stood a chance against Dan; if he's this twisted, who knows what else he had planned. She looked back to her friend, who still hadn't moved, frowning. If she didn't do something Danny could… she didn't want to think about it. I need a plan she thought desperately, looking for some sort of inspiration.

"You've lost Danny," Dan said, smirking as he floated back toward Danny's limp body. "Why don't you just drop the shield? I promise you'll see Amity Park again; at least what's left of it." Again, Danny didn't respond, making Dan frown in thought. The rings of light that signalled his transformation appeared at his waist, blue sparks making it appear and disappear rapidly.

Think dammit! Sam cursed as she watched fearfully.

"One more should do it," Dan said conversationally. Sam watched as Dan roughly grabbed Danny's matted hair, yanking his head upward to be face to face with the evil ghost. Sam's breath hitched in her throat as she realized Danny's eyes were both green and blue but barely registering anything. He's using core energy against the time energy! "Can't have you dying on me - not until your entire world comes crumbling down."

Sam watched in horrid fascination as Dan forcefully lit his hand on fire as he reached into Danny's chest. The blue sparks came back in full force as Danny's body went rigid, his hoarse screams loudly pouring out of his mouth. She froze, completely without a plan and unable to help him from whatever that was doing to him.

Don't just stand here! She looked at her wrist ray again before shaking her head and grabbed two ecto-blasters from her belt. She moved quietly, using Danny's screams as cover as she took aim. Make one of them disappear. Just get rid of one of them.

"That's right," Dan spat spitefully, moving closer to Danny's body. Danny's eyes were scrunched together tightly, completely unaware of Dan's taunts. "You feel that pain? It's nothing, nothing compared to what's coming to you Danny. You'll suffer as I had to, watching them die painfully one by one, knowing you couldn't do anything to save them. Then, only then will I end your existence."

Sam's anger flared as she heard the ghost's words. Pocketing one of the ecto-blasters, she took out a mini Fenton bazooka and aimed straight at the Dan closest to her. She fired, blasting the one attacking clear across the wooded area. Dan grunted as he landed hard, his duplicate disappearing. Sam didn't hesitate as she ran quickly to Danny as he fell, the ring of light around his waist sputtering in and out of existence.

"Danny!" she yelled, dropping to her knees as she tried to rouse him. He gasped painfully, attempting to breathe through wheezes. She nudged him gently but urgently, finding Dan across the clearing starting to get to his feet.

"Come on, come on," she murmured, shaking him again. "Danny, come on, we need to get out of here!" They were running out of time.

He opened his eyes, wincing slightly as he looked past her. Blue and green eyes drifted around before focusing on her face. Sam sighed briefly, attempting to move him.

"Sam?" he rasped. He winced as she put his arm around her shoulder, pulling him upwards.

"It's me," she confirmed with a nod, a worried frown on her face as she looked him over. His injuries were worse than she thought. "Can you stand? Or better yet teleport? We need to -" she broke off as Danny grimaced, leaning on her heavily. "Danny? Come on, we need to get you out of here. The shield's still up, you did great." He fell sideways, Sam catching and lowering him to the ground. Dread pooled in her stomach.

"Danny? Stay with me - now's not the time to black out."

His blue eye turned green as he found her face. "Run," he croaked before his eyes rolled backward and fell unconscious.

Sam swore, fearful violet eyes moved quickly from the downed hero to the flamed hair ghost grinning in her direction. They were trapped.

"Sam!" Dan drawled, hands outstretched as he floated upward. Sam glared, moving in front of Danny's unconscious body protectively and holding the mini bazooka close. "Remember me?"

"Unfortunately," she replied venomously, charging the weapon.

Dan laughed. "Such anger," he said evilly. Red eyes looked her over menacingly. "You've changed from how I remember you. Was the jumpsuit an inspired choice?"

Sam said nothing, glancing down at Danny briefly, back to Dan and then to the shield. How the hell is it still up?

Dan followed her gaze with a scowl. "I almost had it," he said angrily. "No matter, the shield is weakened. It's only a matter of time until it falls." Dan smirked as he looked at the unconscious ghost behind her. "As for him, things worked out even better."

Sam growled, firing at Dan and jumping to the side. I need to keep Danny out of the line of fire she thought, running for cover. "We'll see about that!" she yelled, landing another hit square on Dan's chest.

He grunted, wincing at the burn as he moved toward her. Sam smirked.

"One shot means nothing you know," Dan growled, his hand lighting up in ecto-energy and sent four blasts at her.

Sam dodged, sidestepping the first two, flipping backwards at the third and rolling out of the fourth's path. The last one clipped the side of shoulder, making her hiss. Dan panted, trying to recover as he moved toward her again.

Sam frowned thoughtfully, watching as his laboured movements as she continued to put distance between them. She fired a wrist ray at Dan's head, which he dodged. Not giving him anytime to recover, Sam fired another blast from the mini bazooka, watching as it hit him on his right shoulder. He's compromised Sam thought in relief. Mrs. Fenton was right!

"Wow, it only took you ten years to become lame," Sam quipped, a desperate plan coming together. "So slow! The Box Ghost moves faster than you do." Distract him. Keep your distance. Grab Danny. Run.

Dan's face darkened in anger, red eyes narrowing. "You're in no position to be making jokes," he said evenly, sending a wave of ecto-energy toward her. Sam dodged, somersaulting right and fired again, hitting Dan in the face. He yelled, grabbing his face angrily.

"On the contrary," Sam quipped with a smile. "I'm a teenager; sarcasm and angst is what I do best. You're the one who grew up."

His smile made her blood run cold. "How naïve," he spat, duplicating in two again. Sam tensed, trying to mask her concern - she thought he was more worn out. Dan made no move to attack. "I'm sure you realize: I'm not in the business of playing fair."

She fired again; hitting the Dan speaking with her a few times and watching him stumble. Sam turned to attack again and froze. Dan's duplicate had picked up Danny's unconscious form, putting him in a choke hold with an ecto-blast a few inches from his head. "You wouldn't" she whispered, her throat suddenly very dry. She raised her bazooka again. Danny hung limply in the duplicate's grasp, its hand moving closer.

"Humans are so predictable," Dan told her with an evil smirk. She turned again. "You don't get it, do you?" He landed on the ground, walking toward her. "Emotions? Feelings? I stopped caring about those a long time ago Sam. Maybe I kill him now and make my life a little easier. Or maybe I'm just bluffing." Sam readied the bazooka, as he came within a few feet of her, his chest touching the end of the blaster. He glared vindictively at the girl in front of him. "The real question is… are you willing to risk it?"

Sam glared at Dan with such hatred that the ghost almost felt proud. He laughed, holding the blaster in front of him as Sam relented. He grabbed her wrist, alighting it with ecto-energy and watched as she flinched in pain. "Oh Sam," he said in a low voice that made her skin crawl. "I'm so glad you came out to play."

:-=-:

Danny cried out in pain as ecto-energy flooded his veins, thrashing around weakly. He felt himself sag slightly as it stopped, his breathing too loud in his ears as he tried to catch his breath. What happened? Where am I?

"Wakey wakey Danny," Dan crooned mockingly. He felt some tap the side of his face condescendingly.

Anger surged through Danny's entire being, clearing his mind as he opened his eyes, green eyes glaring into the red ones of Dan.

"About time," he continued in the same voice. "I was wondering if we played too much. You've been out for some time now." His face was inches away from the Danny's, almost taunting the teen to attack.

Danny's mind was reeling. His core ached painfully, as did the rest of his body. Vaguely, he realized he was being restrained again. He pulled against his captor roughly, only to falter as something hurt deep within his shoulder. He whimpered pitifully, turning into a small growl of hatred as eyes glowed green.

"Danny!"

He stopped moving, going rigid in fear as he heard his name. No.

Dan smiled predatorily as he watched the younger Phantom's reaction. "Don't worry Sam, he's fine." Dan floated backward into the clearing as Danny stared, wide-eyed. There was three of the evil Phantom; one holding Danny upright, one taunting him and one was restraining Sam.

His eyes found her; Sam was held by her wrists, attempting to escape by kicking the duplicate with her waving legs. She scowled intensely, all of her efforts on attempting to escape. Danny noticed her small wince as she shifted in its grasp.

"Let her go!" Danny roared, pulling against the duplicate's hold with increased vigour, ignoring the severe pain coursing through his body in waves. Rage, hatred and fear burned through him, powering him far more than he currently felt capable. "Don't you touch her!"

Dan laughed, floating closer to Sam and brought his hand across her face. "Or what?" he taunted. Sam's eyes narrowed angrily, spitting in his face as she squirmed in the duplicate's grasp. Dan was unfazed, simply going intangible and floated back toward Danny. "Seems like Sam wanted to crash our party. You should have just brought her along Danny; it saves me the trouble to hunting her down later." He chuckled. "Though, I guess I didn't give you enough time to prepare."

"Let her go!" Danny yelled again, his aura flaring dangerously. He cried out in pain as the duplicate electrocuted him.

"Leave him alone!" Sam yelled angrily, taking her attention away from escaping as she heard him yell. Danny twisted dangerously in the duplicate's grasp through the electrocution.

"Watch that temper of yours," Dan jeered as the duplicate stopped the attack. A neon green glare was his response. "We don't want something bad to happen to our friend now would we?"

Both teens paled at his words.

Dan laughed in response. "You were right Danny," he goaded, floating closer to young ghost. "You see, in all that time we've been catching up, I've realized that we aren't just past and future anymore." He grabbed Danny's face roughly; leering into the younger's glare. "That year inside a thermos made a huge difference. See, I don't remember Sam being this competent in ghost fighting. Nor getting those fancy new powers of yours so quickly." Danny grunted in pain as Dan let him go. "So perhaps I'm not your future after all."

"I'll never be you," Danny swore, pulling against the duplicate's grasp again.

"Yes, you promised, blah blah," Dan dismissed with a wave. "But this is no longer my timeline Danny, we've become too different. Your past is no longer my past." He grinned. "Meaning I don't need you anymore."

Danny's eyes narrowed at the unspoken threat.

"I'm sure Clockwork's told you by now," Dan continued. "The old man meddles more than he cares to admit. Paradoxes, timelines - the whole spiel." Red eyes flicked briefly to Sam before he continued his rant. "The thing is Danny - no matter what timeline we're in, I was you. I know how you think, what your weaknesses are… how far you'd push yourself to save someone you love."

Danny gasped, eyes widening in disbelief. "No…" he whispered.

Dan watched as Danny's brain finally caught on; he was a few feet from Sam, forming a triangle between the three evil Phantoms. Dan held a ball of ecto-energy in his hand, tossing it up in the air leisurely, making it bigger every time it came down.

"No!" Danny yelled louder, pulling wildly at the duplicate. "You won't get away with this! I'll stop you!"

Dan laughed, red eyes finding Sam's wide ones as she caught on too. "'Are you afraid yet - because you should be. I know exactly what buttons to push to break you," Dan retorted, holding the large ball of ectoplasm in his hand. "You're in a bit of a bind Danny. How do you expect to save Sam in time when you're too weak to escape that duplicate over there? I wonder how that will make you feel, watching helplessly as I destroy her."

Sam managed to free one of her arms, moving it to the belt of her jumpsuit quickly. She grabbed an ecto-gun and took aim at the duplicate behind her. It snarled, trying to bat the blasts away while hanging onto her.

"Sam!" Danny yelled, legs kicking wildly at his duplicate.

Dan yelled in frustration at the scene in front of him, taking aim at the Sam and the feuding duplicate.

"Danny!"

Determined violet eyes met fearful green ones as Sam managed to point the ecto-gun at the duplicate holding Danny captive. Danny's eyes widened as he realized her plan, moving his entire body to drag the duplicate into the line of fire. It dissipated, causing him to fall to the ground with a thud. Danny groaned, pushing him up as fast as he could, watching as Dan's eyes glowed again. Rough hands grabbed him, forcing him down to the ground as another duplicate took its place.

"No!" Danny cried, trying to get out of his grasp.

"It's the beginning of the end Danny!" Dan yelled triumphantly. Sam still fought one handed against the duplicate, completely unaware that her plan failed.

Danny had no choice but to watch as Dan fired the Ecto-blast directly at his best friend.

"NO!"

A stab of pain exploded through Danny's entire being as he bellowed that one word; waves of both white and blue electricity pouring out of his body in an explosive blast around him. The world slowed; Ecto-blast moving in slow motion as it inched closed to Sam, only now becoming aware that Dan fired the blast.

Danny's core let out a burst of white light as Danny Fenton appeared, away from the duplicate. Wasting no time, the teen ran desperately to his best friend, leaving his trapped ghost half behind.

Phantom ignored his human half temporarily, his eyes lighting up in blue as he froze the duplicate. He elbowed the now frozen captor from the ground, shattering it as he fell to the ground. He staggered upright and ran after Danny Fenton as the Ecto-blast inched closer to Sam's body. Her eyes were wide, surprised and fearful as the duplicate smirked. Dan was laughing in slow motion.

"We're not going to make it!" Danny yelled desperately to Phantom, tripping over his feet.

"We have to!" his ghost half yelled back, hands glowing blue and sending a ray of ice towards Dan's chest. It hit its target, Dan falling slowly with a surprised look on his face.

With a surge of adrenaline, Danny jumped into the air, tackling Sam just as the blast was about to hit her. Left eye turning green, Phantom disappeared as Danny transformed slowly, more electricity bombarding through his being. He cried out in anguish as the rings of light painfully transformed him just as the blast reached them. Danny, mind solely stuck on saving Sam, ignored both the explosive pain and heat from the blast as he reached deep, finding some last bit of energy to teleport them away. The pain was almost unbearable now, heat searing into his skin as he finally managed to teleport.

As they disappeared, the blast exploded in full force, destroying the duplicate instantly. Dan gripped his chest on the ground, panting as he surveyed his surroundings. Both teens were gone, vanished before his very eyes. He growled, staggering to his feet and floated over the fiery crater in front of him. How could they just -

A small splattering of red caught his attention on the ground. Dan inspected it closely before he inhaled deeply, a slow maniacal laugh escaping his lips. It didn't matter that they were gone - the damage was done. He laughed louder as he turned toward Amity Park. "This world is mine," he said victoriously as he took off toward the town.

[tundrainafrica]

imagine an au where levi is injected with the titan serum??? and he can actually become a titan? how would hanji react?

I ended up having to take a lot of liberties with this because for one, I think the serum would probably not work on him since he’s an Ackerman and in what world would he be the one dying. This is probably not what you’re expecting either but… Enjoy!

Levi becomes a titan and he and Hange deal with the curse after the war.

Levi only has thirteen years to live. 

They were both soldiers and they were faced with the prospect of dying everyday. Hange knew it shouldn’t have hit too hard. In fact, thirteen years seemed generous for the average survey corps member. Regardless, Hange found herself waking up to the world a little darker. Why did it make her sad? Why did she feel a lump on her chest everytime she passed by him? 

Levi was humanity’s strongest soldier. Hange had thought to herself numerous times that he could have been immortal. What could have meant certain death for an average soldier was just a little too easy of a kill for Levi. The many times she had seen him fight, he seemed almost nonhuman. Suddenly, he had a thirteen year countdown hanging over him. Stuck to him was one of the most glaring things about being mortal, a time limit to life. 

“I’m still me.” Levi had said. Of course, he would notice. He knew everything about her. 

“Yeah I know it’s you.”

“Then why don’t you visit me in the room anymore. Why don’t you talk to me like we used to? Why are you treating me differently?” 

It was Levi’s question that had gotten Hange thinking. She had drowned herself in work, she almost did not notice that she had treated him any differently. She shrugged. "I'm not." Maybe her whole world was just different. Suddenly her dreams, the future, her expectations for life after the war, the happy ending that she imagined was tainted, the personal future she had selfishly imagined herself in which kept her holding on as commander despite every tragedy and obstacle was different. Of course, how she saw the world would change. What am I fighting so hard for now? The circumstances of her future changed, of course the circumstances of her present would change too.

I thought you liked titans. You could do all the experiments you want. Hange thought to herself as she saw the hurtful look Levi had allowed himself as it was just two of them in the hallway in front of the commander's office. 

But for what? They knew where titans came from already. What more else was there to study? With becoming commander, with the truth of the titans becoming a reality, Hange had moved on from that part of her life. The idea of titans did not give her the same rush of adrenaline it would have years ago. It turned out, it was never about titans, it was always about finding out the truth of the world which came out in crumbs to the people sharp and bold enough to question it. Maybe that was the reason she had joined the survey corps in the first place. 

Then it hit her then as she gave Levi a onceover, as a move of desperation more than anything else. On top of commander duties, Hange found herself back in the lab again, finding a cure to the Curse of Ymir. Going back to experiments and the strict methodologies she had developed over the years. Through that, Hange remembered another reason why she liked research in the first place. Hange found solace again in the small victories which came with a proven hypothesis or the new questions which came from a solid and concrete conclusion. She liked the excitement of the questions that opened up with each analysis. That one question and the many that had opened up soon after  had kept her busy and had helped cover up for that elephant in the room, Levi’s impending death. With time, Hange was able to convince herself that she had gotten into it for the sake of knowledge. 

That was the magic of being busy, time was going faster. Time was going faster yet the impending death of Levi seemed like something still so far into the future. Levi never mentioned anything about it either. The impending attack on Marley, the alliance and the war against Eren were the problems at hand.

The few times it did dawn on her. It was a light stinging pain somewhere in her chest as she watched him take down colossal after colossal. She pacified it by telling herself, at least she never had to fear for his safety in the battlefield. 

The truth was though, she never needed to fear for his safety. In fact even before he became a titan she rarely did, Levi always found a way out of certain death. 

As the colossal titans fell one by one, as Hange finally jumped to where the weary body of Levi's titan lay, as she pulled him out and stared at his unconscious face, she traced the lines under his eyes, concrete signs of the curse of Ymir, she had to face the elephant head on. 

Levi always found a way out of things. But would he be able to find a way out of the expiration date that lay before him? 

He had eight years left. Hange had eight years to figure something out. 

There was nothing else to experiment on. The titans were gone and with Ymir gone, the nine titans were going to die out with their last vessels.

But why did Levi have to be that last vessel? Why Levi of all people?

Hange found herself cooped up in the lab, slaving over every possible mindless experiment, with the hopes that something would come out of it. Something always came out of it. 

He always knocked but Hange never answered. A few times a day she would hear the door creak open, she knew those footsteps too well. They were his. 

It could have been months or maybe even a year since the war ended when Levi put a hand on her shoulder. She did not need to look behind her to know it was him. 

"Can we enjoy these last few years? Please?"

Levi never said please. As Hange turned behind her, she could understand why he would have been so desperate enough to drop something so polite.

There were dark circles under his eye, he seemed frailer and only then did Hange start to realize that the curse was eating him from the inside out. 

The look Levi gave her, made her realize then the inevitability of it all. Someone had to die with the titans. 

Someone had to die but why did it have to be him? 

"How long was I doing this?" Why does it have to be you? 

"A long time." Levi settled himself on a chair by the side of the room and sighed. "Just give up already."

"You never accepted it. You always fought. You always stayed alive. Why are you telling me to give up now?"

"I'm tired. I wanna enjoy life. I still have a long life ahead of me ."

With the titan shifters dying out one by one, Hange was constantly reminded that even with Ymir gone, the curse continued. Levi was going to die with the last titan. 

"But you're Levi. You don't die. Why does it have to be you?" Why does everyone get a happily ever after while we're slowly counting down to your death? She was no longer commander. She could allow herself that bout of selfishness. 

"Bad luck. I took the serum." Levi shrugged. 

It was good luck for everyone else. Levi was humanity's strongest soldier. The titan serum and the titan he had eaten had only multiplied his power a hundred  fold. A colossal titan with Levi's speed was enough for them to stop the rumbling. 

At what cost though? "Why are you okay dying?

"Why do you care so much about removing the time limit? We all have time limits. Even if I didn't have the curse of Ymir, I could drop dead right now."

A four year time limit is glaring. Knowing the exact moment or the exact year you can die is like a very deep and painful chip on your shoulder. A painful and grim reminder of mortality. When death isn't looming, people can pretend they’re immortal. 

"You were a soldier. We both were. Hell, you're a commander. You're supposed to understand this more than anyone." Levi said.

At that moment, a meteor could have blown up the lab and taken them with it. If someone had planted a bomb in the lab and blew everything up, they probably wouldn't even have any time beyond the next few minutes. 

"The only time we’re sure we have is what’s here now. Will you spend it with me?"

In the end, Hange had chosen to do it for him more than anything else. Levi's argument had made sense. Years of being a commander though had Hange constantly looking to the future. With no titans to experiment on, there was not much work to drown herself in either. 

At first, she stuck by him, silently counting down the days. Overtime, she started to skip days. The journal she kept in the cupboard in the old cabin they shared, was getting dustier and dustier as Hange abandoned the little project of writing out Levi's state as time passed and the curse further embedded itself into his system. 

It could have been Levi's rough upbringing. It could have been the amount of loss Levi had experienced in his life. One thing, Hange only started to realize about Levi years later was he knew how to enjoy the peaceful life after the war. 

She saw it in the way his eyes would subtly light up after sipping some black tea she had brought home from the market. She saw it in the way he carefully ran his hands through the leaves they would spread out on the table before Hange stores them for future experiments. She saw it in the way he would pause for a few minutes to stare at new buildings, new infrastructure as Paradis caught up to the real world. 

Hange had learned to appreciate that. The move to choose to stop counting down and studying Levi  was a little deliberate at first, a result of a bout of shame that came with it. Somehow, Hange felt she was disrespecting Levi's choice as she counted down and recorded everything. Eventually as time went by, she started to enjoy the things that she had taken for granted constantly looking into the future. 

At that final point in Levi's life, when he was spending huge chunks of his day in bed. Hang was starting to appreciate the sensations life offered them. One late afternoon, Hange had helped him out to the window at his request. The time limit was more glaring in his body then. The lines under his eyes never left, Levi was constantly in pain but as Hange sneaked a glance at him, she saw he was occupied, maybe even entranced by the gradual changes in the colors of the sky and the surrounding scenery as the sun disappeared under the horizon. 

It could have been out of respect for what Levi had wanted. It could have been just Hange, learning to appreciate the world through Levi. Regardless of the reason, Hange had to conclude the world was a beautiful place. 

So beautiful. When Hange looked back at Levi once again after the sun had set below the horizon, she could not help but notice Levi had a tear running down his cheek. 

"I don't wanna die."

But why didn't you fight? He didn't tell her because he knew she would have wanted to fight for him. Hange would have worked tirelessly to find a way out.  

They would have fought a  battle with no certain victory. Might as well enjoy what we have right? 

Levi died that night. That one beautiful sunset, the last one he ever saw. 

As Hange put the blanket over his lifeless body and clutched the hand that was still so warm he could have been alive, Hange reflected. 

Ironically, humanity's strongest soldier didn't die fighting. As Hange realized only too late in life, one thing that made Levi worthy of that title was that he knew how to choose his battles. 

[the-writings-of-kaos]

Humans, the pets: pt 5

Abduction log: Pirates

------

“ “surrender your vessel in the name of captain grim’latashock, or face our plasma.” 

The transmission ended abruptly as the pirate ship boarded the ship belonging to the woolly bison, Their reptilian claws clicking along the metal floor as they came to the command room. 

Reptilian pirate: “Bow to the captain Grim, or you’ll eat plasma bolt.”

The two woolly bison bowed, as the reptilian captain entered the command room. Captain grim looked about the command room, before turning towards the trembling woolly bison.

Captain grim: “Where is it?”

Hequ’lutik: “W-where is what?”

The captain growled as they spoke: “The ship pet that made this masterpiece!”

Captain grim showed the two a data slate, on it was the first art piece that little being made. The adorably crude lines that twisted and turned into a beautiful masterpiece.

Hequ’lutik: “I-I swear I don’t know, if they were on this ship I swear on my life that I would tell you!”

The reptilian captain grumbled, before he barked an order to the thirty other crew men surrounding the Wooly bison.

Captain grim: “search the ship, and if our ship scanners have malfunctioned I want all the cargo abourd to be transported onto the Grey Eclipse. Am I clear?”

Crew: “Yes sir, we will get to work immediately.”

The crew men left the command room, the echoes of opened doors and broken locks filled the hallways as the pirates searched the ship. The captain turned back to the still trembling Wooly bison. And spoke.

Captain grim: “if I find this ‘little being’, I will be slicing your organs myself. Don’t forget it.”

———

The purple lights and loud sirens had stopped, he uncovered his ears to see the door to his room had opened, standing there was what couldn’t be anything but a space iguana. Wearing bandit gear. and holding a plasma gun.

“Hello you ugly reptile, tell me. Where have you placed the ‘kind’ Wooly bison, who feed me?”

The pirate had the equivalent of a reptilian lost in a cute over load, plastered on their face. Too lost in appearance of what must be unthinkably cute. Of course, ‘little being’ took great offence to this.

“Fine then, I shall use my fists to ask you.”

———

He had found it! Surely after the captain sees how competint he is, he will receive a promotion! But it was just so cute, I can see why captain would desire such a creature. They are simply the most adorable, little being I have ever laid my eyes o...

A moment later, crewmen gaff’crola found his head on the floor. Without his body. The little being waddled past the headless body, of the once soon to be promoted crewman. Much to the surprise of the reptilian pirates, little being waddled over to them harmlessly. It was almost as if the little creature wanted to give them an embrace, as it approached. They quickly met the same fate as private gaff, their heads rolling on the metal floor as little being waddled past adorably. How cute...

———

“Three little reptiles chased a human, one was met and lost its head. Two were hugged, and slugged to bugs. Time for the boss, blood be shed. Four little reptiles put to rest.”

He hummed an improvised tune, as he smashed the unsuspecting lizards skulls against the floor. They each dawned that same expression when they saw him, the expression one wears when met with something adorably cute. This, however, only fueled his determination to kill them. At least the wooly bison hadn’t been unfunctional at his sight, or been pirates. Bandits... no pirates. Space pirates. Yeah, space pirates. So he walked towards the command room to find the pirate captain, or chief, whatever he was in space. Who cares what grammar he used.

As he rounded the corner, he was confronted with another lizard pair. This time these two aimed their rifles at him, then they hissed. It reminded him of the gardener snakes back in Ontario, still though these guys weren’t much stronger. As he walked up to them he held out his arms, like he had with the last pair. They held out their arms the same, suspecting to receive a hug only to be slugged in the jaw and find their heads rolling away from their bodies. It carried on like this, boring...

———

An odd tapping was coming from the door, captain grim walked over and opened it. Much to his surprise, ‘little being’ was standing there. And they were adorable, the little fluffy hair on the top of its head frilled around adorably. And the soft squishy skin it had was just so cute, even the protective layering it had was soft and adorable.

After a moment little being outstretched its arms, it looked to be unmistakably asking for an embrace. This adorable little being was asking him for an embrace, SO CUTE!

Captain grim: “You, you’re just so unbelievably adorable! Yes you are, yes you are! Yes yes, come here. Let captain grim give you a hug.”

Little being looked confused, but they waddled over and gave captain grim a hug. Not but a moment later, a loud snapping sound silenced the command room. As captain grim fell to the ground, their head turned in an unnatural position. Little being fell to the ground, Hequ’lutik yelped in fear of them hurting themselves. Before the reality that little being had just saved them, silenced her.

———

Hequ’lutik and a Kafr’litik, couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Little being somehow got out of their room, and snuck past thirty reptilian pirates. Just to give the reptilian captain an embrace, and then a broken neck. Hequ’lutik was the first to speak.

Hequ’lutik: “w-what just happened?”

Kafr’litik: “it seems that little being, defeated the pirates.”

Hequ’lutik: “b-but How? They are so small, and adorable, how did they kill their captain?”

Kafr’litik: “see for yourself, he gave the captain an embrace. And then they twisted the captains neck and killed them. I have to say, that’s an amazing hunting strategy.”

Hequ’lutik: “hunting strategy?”

Kafr’litik: “Well Yeah, how else do you explain it knew that captain grim was bad. It followed its instincts, seems it must be just as adorable on its home planet to have developed such a strategy.”

Hequ’lutik: “did... does this mean it probably killed the other crewmen? Are we safe?”

Kafr’litik: “I wouldn’t be sure, it might have just killed the ones it came in contact with. Best we leave now, and send the little being out to get the rest.”

Kafr’itik stood up, pressing a button on the console and detaching the pirate ship. Before activating the hyperdrive engine, and leaving the confused ship behind.

Meanwhile, Hequ’lutik was shakily trying to command a very confused little being to go get the other pirates. After awhile, it left the command room after the loud clicking of the reptilians could be heard. The brief awws of admiration of little being before loud snaps and blunt blows could be heard.

———

Abduction log: I’m a guard dog, with a 100% kill rate

—————

As always, credits to my fellow authors and prompters. Thank you all and hope you enjoyed

[sazzafraz]

ects snippet one

I don’t see this bit changing a lot so its spoiler freeeeeee

He thinks of acid and bile first. His tongue is on the points of his teeth searching for the stale carrot taste. Dead bodies in a lake almost make him hungry. Like soup, Kyuubi says, now, should add some salt. Naruto thinks of their families and draws from Konoha shinobi standard what he should do next. The Uchiha graves are the only ones he’s seen up close. Found and burned away by his Sasuke years ago, not yet warded against yin spirits. Those small piles had been lumped together too close to the houses at first and then reburied in a Konoha approved location when Sasuke became Konoha’s only Private Citizen. Now they’re done by matrilineal lines and decorated with Uzumaki shells and ribbons from Lightning. When Naruto was asked, allowed, to come Sasuke had him press strawberry seedlings into the ground. Sasuke had been messily eating from a different bowl and had pulp smeared across his mouth and jaw. Then, Naruto had wondered if he was allowed to sweep them away with his tongue, if people did that sort of thing in graveyards. Now Naruto knows that the dead do not appreciate love or lust.

People soup. Naruto counts twice and draws a grid on the shallow shore with his foot. 

Monkey Leader is inattentive to Naruto’s actions. He sits between them and their merchants keeping his gaze on the horses. Only one of them likes Naruto. A chestnut mare with a band of white around her mouth and eyes that make her seem mean -she’s downplaying exactly how vicious she is, but she likes him, and that's more than he was expecting. Naruto pulls the body into the grid and starts with the teeth. Pulls back molars for the guys in T&I. The skin sloughs off the dead man's face, puddles down into his wet clothes. Naruto burns it off with Kyuubi’s power, excellent as always for getting rid of evidence. Molars should be enough.

He has a sort of frustrated passion about this. See, Naruto knows intellectually that this has to be done, is done regardless, because you can’t have dead bodies in waterways. They bloat and rot and make people sick. The kind of sick that people like Giri come to fix and then leverage into destabilising the entirety of the Elemental Nations. Naruto also knows that a missing tooth is a decent price for the families of these poor dead to get closure. The third, worst thing Naruto knows is that things come to see dead bodies, things like him. Ninja like him. Spirits like him. Sons of Oceans and Mountains and tall white pillars to the underworld, like him. None of them, really, should be looking at these dead bodies. 

Six teeth. Naruto eyes a leaf moving out of sequence with the wind. Tanuki, an earth specialist.  Tanuki nods and quiet as a mouse the bodies sink into the shore.

--

Sunagakure welcomes them and their trophies at dawn. They sneak in over the sand tide-line two to a row before even the most thrifty merchant has set their wares. Gaara’s office will not be officially open for another three hours, not even his Twilight Guard will accept a visitor now. So Naruto does what he does, cracks his back and makes a loud exclamation about finding a place to sleep. Monkey Leader sets them on a course through Suna’s cruisy districts and around the intelligence quarter. The Konoha away barracks are part of their recent trade deal. A cushy thing on their end and Naruto knows where his room is. After the Summit, before the War, Naruto quietly moved all the things he previously left in Gaara’s spare bedroom to a Jounin room with an ensuite. This room is at the end of the hall with no windows, nothing in or out. A dead end. Monkey Leader espys him but does not comment. 

In the room Naruto turns off the radio left playing on the dresser. His old book lies with its spine cracked, a pair of pants he left to wash last time crumpled on the bed. His single pillow looks lonely. Someone has been in since he was here last, the footprints in the thick carpet aren’t his own. Following this probably-not-a-stranger he sees that his personals have been restocked in the bathroom, laid on the rim of the strange standing bathtub. The grates have been cleaned. Naruto runs a bath and dumps a satchel with Sakura’s clean, neat writing into the water. A small bag sits next to it and he recalls a short conversation at dinner some nights ago. Sasuke and Kakashi had been having one of their weird bonding moments over Naka rocks. Kakashi would run his bandaged fingers over them looking for some indefinable flaw. Sasuke would say that’s not the point and hand him another. He and Sakura watch this for a few minutes, giggling into their beers. Sakura had just shaved her hair down again and the elfin lines of her face were so perfect he’d had trouble not telling her so. 

“Naruto,” Sasuke says in his low clear voice, “what are you thinking about?”

“Sakura’s pretty,” he blurts out. Sakura lowers her eyelashes for a moment, laughing.

“Yes.” Sasuke agrees. “But what are you thinking?”

“‘Bout rocks?” Naruto shifts his gaze carefully. He’s bowled over often by how much he loves looking at Sasuke. If he does it too fast the soft pink of his mouth and thin scar that meets his ear makes him drool. “Dunno, that one.” He picks one from the pile and holds it triumphant.

“Idiot,” Sakura says. She too picks a rock. “Momentos? Right?” 

Sasuke flushes from his heart upwards, making the pink of his lips plush. Sakura keeps her rock, eventually Kakashi meets his proteges standards and departs with his own. Naruto pockets his but forgets it in the wash. Here it is again in Sunagakure with Sasuke’s hair ribbon around it. 

In reality Naruto does not now nor has he ever had momentos. He has moments and memories aplenty. Long, too long sketches of Konoha night in the main thoroughfare in the early morning. The drift and drag of everyone's footsteps lying in the dirt, on the street, leading to the houses they share with people that want them there. Swing sets. Shrine steps. Stoops. All of them empty, at least when he’s there. A city is a lonely place in his experience. 

Things are better now. He has Sasuke, when they aren’t fighting. Sakura, when she’s capable of acting without compromise. Kakashi, when he isn’t fighting a cold war alone. His other friends, when time allows. Allowance is better too. Assured at the very least. 

Compromise is a word he knows now. A strange little door into the way life actually works. 

See, Naruto’s first idea of how things work is formed at 4pm, 2am on weekdays and 7-11am on Saturdays. There’s a little alcove outside one of the curving windows of Konoha’s Library, high above the main hall near one of the old study nooks not even ANBU use. On rainy days the water sloshes off the side. On sunny days the heat only touches the edges. There is enough room for a boy to escape with a little apple and the free water from the front desk. The window is permanently cracked open to let out the musty air. When Konoha’s long hot days and nights were too much for even the most dogged badgering Naruto would skin himself raw heaving his body into it. A radio plays all day in the library, old records and ads for toilet paper. Like everyone else Naruto drowns out the patriot tunes and concentrates on the old radio head that chooses which stories play at the end of the school day. Hashirama and the Seven Headed Snake, Subaru and the Stolen Sword, Himawari Sunrise, Nariko Ascending. He’s heard them all at some point, drifted away to the tales of heroes and Hokages. 

Naruto’s met Hashirama now and he’s a whole different deal. Tsunade makes more sense when you know that that was her first idea of a hero. 

In The Seven Headed Snake Hashirama does not speak. He does wield a sword of redwood through the thick neck of a serpent so big it blots the sky. His heroism is in his quiet dutiful battle. The way the man telling the story describes his strong back and long hair. That’s your back, he says. That’s Konoha��s back. It sounds so absurd, even to a child training to be a ninja: cut through the sky, mold the earth, call forth life to do your bidding alone. The snake’s carcass, the narrator informs them, is as long as the Naka river, and buried somewhere near the big swell the Uchiha worship. On dark nights its eyes watch the village, warily, for Hashirama’s redwoods stand sentinel. Not even in death can he be escaped. 

People don’t let things like Naruto in their houses. This he knows before he can speak. There is something in him people don't want on their doorsteps. Later he knows it's the Kyuubi. After that he knows that it’s the Uzamaki blood. Even later, when he came home from a war that crushed out the light he thought he could carry anywhere, he knew it was simple mortal fear. Something inside Naruto will never die, and anything more mortal than him knows that. Well, except Sasuke. 

In the warm bath water he caresses his leg, not letting it go any further. Far from home he misses his love. There’s an edge in Naruto, sharp as his chipped tooth, that’s only soothed by long dark hair and a softening body. Naruto leans up to look at the scents and staples Gaara’s left in his room. Sweet aloe and greens. Salt and fresh made sand. He thinks of Sasuke’s skin and Sasuke’s soft smile and how he cuddles close to warmth. Naruto’s had grim reason to be grateful for how hot he runs, this last winter when Sasuke’s feud with their electricity provider cut their power mid cold-snap he’s had happier, hornier reasons to be joyful.

Sasuke has a vicious glee about domesticity that is deeply adorable. He loves arguing with the cashier about his coupons and going to PTA meetings and making trendy sandwiches. He does it with a soft violence that Naruto absolutely does not relate to but finds charming. Never has a man wanted for mass murder been so invested in a collect-a-coin newspaper competition. He plays music and cooks food. He goes to town halls and puts up with the mean crooked smile in their fruit vendors eyes. Naruto loves him so much when he makes noise. Naruto loves him more when it’s quiet at home. Naruto loves when Sasuke will talk to him about things he cares for: plants, dumplings, people. Here, far away from his love, Naruto loves that he doesn’t have to lie to him.  

Naruto drags his hand up to his stomach and uncorks the bath. The soft slush of water is the last noise in the room.

[fromthedust]

Shaun Tan (Chinese-Australian, b.1974 - book illustrator)

Rules of Summer - Never leave a red sock on the clothesline.

Rules of Summer - Never be late for a parade. 

Rules of Summer - Never ask for a reason.

Rules of Summer - Always know the way home.

Rules of Summer is a large-format picture book about a friendship between two boys tested by challenging situations. It's a story with no particular narrative, just a list of mysterious rules such as 'Never step on a snail', 'Never argue  with an umpire' or 'Never  leave a red sock on the clothesline.’ As each rule is broken – not  always by accident – surprising consequences ensue. Readers are invited to decide for themselves what is really happening, and why. Silent crows look on as transgressions accrue, building toward an ominous climax.

Never leave a red sock on the clothesline - This was one of the first images conceived for the book, before I knew what it might even be about. I originally sketched children cowering behind a fence, hunted by a big black dog, but the familiarity of fairytale wolves felt too ‘loaded’, so I transformed the antagonist into a big rabbit. This actually feels more unsettling to me than a wolf – a soft herbivore turned predator. The landscape evolved into a kind of residential area behind old factories, commonly seen around inner Melbourne suburbs where I live. The red sock was added later, adding a mysterious narrative to the picture and offering a natural (if inexplicable) title; and when it came to colouring the rabbit, a deep crimson felt right. It’s not necessarily a demonic rabbit, but might be part of a local mythology known only to these boys. All you know is that it’s probably not a good thing . . .

Never be late for a parade - The older brother has made his first mechanical companion while the younger brother is still playing with found parts, either because of a shorter attention span, a lack of expertise, or that he just  doesn’t understand the peculiar rules, whatever they might be in this instance. He has yet to figure out his place in the world, and is for the moment little more than a bemused, innocent eye. He looks directly at the reader (the only time that happens in the book), inviting us to  make sense of something fundamentally irrational. While the younger brother works away at his ‘robot’ companion, the eldest is always far more advanced when it comes to this kind of  alchemical engineering . . . I wondered if kids could easily construct lively beings out of junk, how quickly might it dissolve into power games, jealousy and corruption? By itself, however, I found this image could be read more openly in a number of ways – the main element being that the older brother refuses to wait for the younger one, and, more deeply, the idea of fun and the anxiety of missing out on fun so often exist side by side. The nature of these creatures and their ‘parade’ is open to imagination. I based them on my study of old tin-toys; clattering, rigid and a little awkward, but full of weird character. I wanted them to look more like wind-up puppets than robots – more shell than substance. Two of the machines / animals are waving to each other, so there is a sense of kinship there, maybe achieving some independent thought or feeling. Each creature is meant to look as if it has a very specific personality. The suburban setting is very important, though I’m not sure why – it could just be that it looks like a place from some childhood memory, a peaceful, uneventful place. I was very interested in the brightness of the lime-yellow hill upon which the younger brother is working, and the strange darkness of the sky (almost like night), which adds a surreal effect, adding an ominous discord to an otherwise whimsical afternoon.

Never ask for a reason - The fight scene is an interesting one – a sudden dramatic  climax. The boys are animated yet the creatures are very still, not knowing what to do, like puppets without masters. I also imagined the fight as being like a campfire scene in a deep black night; and immediate feeling of heat and violence; the secondary feeling a kind of melancholy isolation. My idea for the fight scene began life years ago, inspired by a Goya painting of giants buried knee-deep in a landscape swinging clubs at each other – a deadlocked 'eternal battle', the meaning of which is nicely unclear, but with a feeling of colossal pointlessness. Here, all the entities from previous adventures have gathered to observe the conflict in a kind of bewildered silence. In earlier sketches I had the various creatures falling apart or walking away, as if the magic of a shared imagination has dissolved, but I felt there was something too ‘obvious’ about that. It seemed much more interesting for them to just watch, like a ritual gathering around a fire, unable to intervene, or frozen in time. There is a sense that they are fading from reality by making them all the same desaturated colour, weakly illuminated within a greater enveloping darkness.

Always know the way home - This painting, one of the earliest images imagined for the book, is largely inspired by a recurring dream I used to have as a child. It involved walking home from school (either alone or with my brother) and then suddenly noticing it was the middle of the night and nobody else was around, no house or streetlights, no sound, and even after walking for hours we were no closer to home: a dreadful feeling of complete stillness. This painting, however grim, is really more hopeful than frightening – the boys look small and vulnerable, but they are  secure in their togetherness and purpose, and the road home is clearly marked. They just need to keep moving, and eventually they will reach the dawn light. . . . The painted objects are very stream-of-consciousness for me, and not especially symbolic or allegorical. The huge animal skull is just one irrational ruin among many: gutted institutional buildings, a crashed warplane, bombs, machine parts, craters, and spiky growths. In hindsight, I think there is some similarity with landscapes of World War I, such as those depicted in paintings by British artist Paul Nash, as well as photographs of landscapes devastated by mining, or other environmental disasters: the photographs of Edward Burtynsky are particularly inspirational here (look up the film and book ‘Manufactured  Landscapes’); also, less consciously, ‘The Isle of the Dead’ by 19th century Symbolist Arnold Boecklin. The colour of the image is a little unnatural, a bit poisonous or mineral, in contrast to the more organic  blush of light along the horizon. I imagine this place as a kind of borderland between life and death, death being a completely banal nothingness, whereas this place still has a strange beauty to it – although grim, there’s some pleasure in looking at its scarred contours and wreckage.

https://www.shauntan.net/summer-book

[kashimos-hajime]

wake me up | amaranthine (4/6) | b.b.

summary: A mended heart is stronger every time it breaks.

WARNINGS: swearing, angst, fluff and tenderness, painful treatment practices, blood, tony’s a cute baby, implications of smut :^) pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader word count: 9.2k

a/n: written for @the-omni-princess for her writing challenge and inspired by @the-darklings​ who writes such heart-wrenching scenes concerning john and vipress (my WIFE) and also by the film marriage story. vibe song is the cover of wake me up by fleurie and tommee lee profitt.

amaranthine masterlist

So wake me up when it's all over When I'm wiser and I'm older All this time I was finding myself And I didn't know I was lost You wake, lurching forward as your hand flies to your breast. Cloth meets your palm and you swallow the foul taste in your mouth, sweat dappling your skin and gathering in your throat and underneath your arms and breasts. The figments of your nightmares disappear like ashes in the wind, and you try to catch your breath, your mind reeling. You don’t recall walking back to bed, nor dressing the wound on your chest.

You’d been too exhausted to do anything more but tape some gauze to your chest and settle in the chair in case Bucky needed something

Bucky.

Your heart wilts at the mere thought of him, and everything inside you empties out when you look around your room in your base. He must’ve been the one to bring you here. Has he gone? 

Pushing yourself up, you swing your legs carefully off the bed and lean over to turn on the lamp. The light shining on your clock shows a bitter 4 AM, and you sigh, rubbing at your face. Saturday morning and you’re up at 4 AM.

Saturday. You roll the word over in your head, nearly groaning once you’ve realized what you promised to do. Howard could not have chosen a worse weekend for you to look after his son, but you are not about to let Tony down, and although you want nothing more than to throw yourself into bed, sleep off yesterday and today and every other day until your chest doesn’t feel like a massive bruise, you get up.

You have a call to make.

.

Standing in the corner store, you scour the aisles for cans. If you’re staying in the safe house, you’ll need to stock up once again. You pluck a can of tomato paste and add it to your basket where pasta, soup, bread, eggs, milk and meat already lay. Medical supplies await you in the backroom, and you debate the possibility of making two trips to save your right side some grief. No. It’ll be a waste of time, you chide yourself. You pay these agents for a reason.

The bell above the door chimes and you freeze. 

“Sir, we’re not open yet.” The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who’d been waiting in the backroom comes out and you shift closer to the shelves, your hand reaching for the heaviest can in your basket. 

“The Doctor asked me to meet her here.”

Edwin. A wave of relief rushes through you show yourself to both the agent and Edwin, who soaks in your appearance carefully. His eyes flutter from your face, ragged and pale, to the white blouse you’ve pulled on. Beneath it, you know he can see the white bandages still wrapped firmly to your chest. You wonder if he can smell the sewage clinging onto your skin. You’ve grown so used to it by now that you can hardly tell if you reek.

Your eyes meet his, and you swallow with a sigh.

You walk forward to set down the basket on the counter, tilting your head to the agent to signal for him to begin packing it up for you, and Edwin sighs, adjusting the child in his arms. Leaning slightly against the counter, you look out the windows, at the very beginnings of dawn. It’ll be a few hours yet before the sun rises, and you can hardly believe a day has passed. It feels like only hours ago you hauled a broken soldier back to the safe house.

“I wasn’t aware there was another S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house in Brooklyn,” Edwin begins softly, and your lips press together in a grim smile.

“There isn’t. This one’s mine. Howard insisted on keeping agents posted just in case trouble arose.” Your eyes flicker back to Edwin, and then to Tony. “How is he?”

“Running a slight fever, although he’s been sleeping like a rock through the night. He was quite excited to hear he would be spending time with you, although I assume you’re not quite up to the task?” Edwin’s head tilts and you smile weakly. “I can always stay home, Doctor.”

“No, Edwin, I promised. I—” You throw your arm up, letting it fall without a care. Shaking your head, you try to search for the words— “I need something to go right. The past twenty-four hours… I can’t stay in that place with him.” You feel strangely numb to saying the words and he reaches forward to touch your hand on the countertop. You let him do so, twisting your hand to offer your palm. His fingers grasp yours firmly as if silently telling you you can do this and you bow your head.

“Who, ma’am?”

“Someone… someone I thought was dead. I can’t tell you, I’m so sorry.” You raise your head wretchedly to your friend, and his eyes, warm and comforting, soothe an icy wave that crawls down your spine. “Ghosts make terrible friends.”

“You needn’t explain it to me.”

“Doctor.” The agent returns with your bag, his figure looming at the door to the backroom and you glance at the darkness, your fingers numb as you remember jumping into the sewers with a bleeding man behind you. You stare at him for a moment, taking a deep breath as you try to fortify yourself. He might be awake by now, or maybe he’s gone.

He’d been fast asleep when you’d checked on him this morning, and the absolute agony that had torn through your soul had blinded you, to see him sleeping so peacefully between sheets that never had his name marked into them. 

You know when he leaves—and he will, you know it is inevitable that everyone will leave—you’ll never be able to sleep in that bed again. 

“Ma’am.”

You blink, and the agent’s eyebrows are furrowed together as he stares back, too respectful to break the contest.

“You should go,” Edwin’s gentle voice snags your attention and you turn back to him, lost. “Even ghosts get lonely.”

You reach for Tony and take him with your left arm. His tiny arms latch around your neck and you let out a tiny breath at the familiar weight that settles on you. Tony’s gentle breaths puff against your ear and you kiss his cheek. “He’s asleep, Edwin. I’m sure I can afford a few more minutes of life unhaunted.” Although you mean it to be teasing and a forced smile does make its way onto your face, you see the concern etched onto Edwin’s face and know you need to face the reality of your situation. In the quiet morning, you can pretend you did not find the man you’ve fallen in love with an odd thirty years ago. In the quiet mornings, you can pretend you did not defile your sanctuary, bringing him there.

“I wasn’t talking about him.”

I’m. Not. Lonely. A stiff lump sits in your throat and your smile falls off like a bird shot mid flight. Tightening your grip on Tony, you clench your jaw and walk around the counter towards the agent. He hands you the supplies and you sling it onto your right shoulder with a slight grunt. Staring at the darkness before you, you give yourself a moment to remember why you have lived all these years. Before you descend down into the pathway that will lead you back to your past, you turn back to Edwin.

“Good morning, Mr. Jarvis, and have a good day.”

“And you as well, Doctor.”

.

Kissing Tony goodnight, or good morning, you pull back from the old crib and retreat to the door, turning off the lights and closing the door until it is barely open an inch. Your stomach grumbles, but you keep your hand on the knob, just listening to his tiny breaths fill the room before you tear yourself away.

The first thing you did as a founder of S.H.I.E.L.D. was buy this building, and you’ve spent decades, walking through the building that has changed tenants more times than you can count. No matter what, you always leave one loft empty. You don’t care what Howard or Peggy say about letting go. Ever since Mama Barnes passed, you don’t have the heart to fill up a place where you’ve found pieces of Bucky with those who might wash him away.

You’d planned to visit yesterday for his birthday. Instead, you hide away in the safe house you had built right beneath the building with the man you’ve been grieving over sleeping just at the end of the hallway.

Grabbing your medicinal bag from your room, you head to the kitchen and sit down, digging out some supplies for you to properly take care of your wound. You peel off your shirt, the lights casting your skin in an oily gold as you carefully begin to undo the bandages around your chest.

Does he remember who I am? Your thoughts grow torrential as the silence of the safe house grows unnerving. Or does he only know me as a past mission, if even that? Did H.Y.D.R.A. wipe his mind so completely that he can never come back to me? Will he stay if given the chance? Who does he work for? H.Y.D.R.A. is nothing but ashes now. The KGB? The Soviet Union? The thought makes you nauseous. Or perhaps he works for anyone willing to pay.

You still remember that night in 1949. Only two days prior, an attempt on your life had sent Colonel Phillips to issue an entourage that would follow you and check your home every night before you entered, and you’d been at your wit’s end. You could not fathom why an attempt on your life had to be made, when there were others—Howard, Peggy, the Colonel—who were more important to S.H.I.E.L.D. than you ever could be. 

You are just a doctor, after all, and yet someone wanted to kill you.

And he had been standing there, black mask muzzling him like some dog, dark iron wire hair that separated him from your world, and those eyes that screamed of a caged animal. Eyes you would never forget as he grabbed you with an unseen speed and threw you onto your bed. Eyes that caused you to recognize him twenty years later, still feeling the rush of wind as the knife dug into the mattress beside your ear.

The only reason you still live is the fact that the super-soldier serum had given your leg enough muscle to launch him through the window and gave you enough time to hide away here. In this safe house.

You blink and glance at your chest, at the red hole that has closed on your back but still gapes on your chest, and sigh. Too many attempts on your life have been made and only his eyes have been burned into your head. You close your eyes for a moment, a knot in the middle of your head causing an ache that begins to throb as you try to focus. You know you must get some sleep. Your body protests as you grab the bottle of iodine from your bag and a towel.

Stuffing the towel into your mouth, you feel your gag reflex revolt at the intrusion and your whole stomach convulses painfully. The dryness of the cloth causes tears to spring into your eyes as it continues to poke at the back of your throat, and you twist off the cap of the bottle, your lungs struggling to prepare themselves for the searing pain that is about to seep into your bones. You grab onto the edge of the chair, trying to steel yourself.

This is the life you chose, a voice inside your head chastises just as you raise the bottle to your chest. 

You tip iodine into the hole a bullet left in you and the pain—agony in its ripest form—rips you into pieces. Your nerves sing as they are burned alive, and your flesh recoils as iodine and alcohol slosh through your blood. Your teeth clenched around the towel, a muffled scream tears its way through your throat as you continue to pour a steady, small stream onto the gunshot wound. Your eyes squeezed shut, hot tears begin to race over your sweating skin as your back arches off the chair, head tossed back in torture.

The pain begins to dull into a pulsing fire as it drips down your chest, and you slam the bottle back onto the table, letting out a ragged groan as you thread the needle with practiced fingers. Pushing yourself up and leaning heavily into the chair, you begin the heartrending chore of sewing your flesh back together, and you begin to feel strangely numb to it all. You weave the needle through your skin and muscle, and you don’t feel any of it. Perhaps it is the fire of iodine that has made you numb or the exhaustion adding to the adrenaline that is no doubt pumping through your body, but you just sew mechanically until it is done, tying a knot with one hand and snipping the excess thread within minutes.

Perhaps being a doctor is good for one thing after all.

Covering the wound again, you get up and clean off the iodine that’s dripped down your body and the table with the towel from your mouth, the pain slowly draining away. You carefully slip into the blouse, your stomach grumbling once again, and you decide despite the hour, you need to eat.

Besides the groceries you’d just retrieved from the store, you rifle through the shelves for whatever you can scrape together, and you nearly grin at the ingredients. It’s a tired almost-smile that barely makes its way into your cheeks, but you just want to forget all that’s happened.

You turn the radio on the countertop, and pull flour, sugar, eggs, and milk onto your workspace as some tune begins to fill the empty air. Softly, it weaves into your ears and you let out a relieved sigh.

Waffles and bacon—Mama Barnes always said it was her boy’s favourite.

.

As you set your plate of waffles and bacon down and head to grab your hot cup of coffee, you hear a door from the end of the wall open with a subtle click. Ignoring the sound, you take a long pull, letting the black coffee run through your chilly blood before setting it down next to your plate. You hear his footsteps come down the hallway as you go to grab another plate. He lingers by the door and you set down the second plate before turning around to finally notice him.

His hair is wild around his face, and he looks around blearily, a softness to his usually hard eyes. He’s mainly exposed from the chest up, save for the thing he carries. A red and yellow thing you recognize as your godson.

Of course Tony sneaks out of his bed. 

You let out a short breath of disbelief, eyebrows knitting together at the tender way the soldier carries the two-year old. Like a fragile sack of potatoes, or perhaps a regular sack of potatoes. He no doubt looks awkward and you approach him to save him.

“May I?” you begin quietly and he nods with a small swallow. His eyes search your face for a moment, and you take Tony from the man’s arms. “I’m sorry if he woke you.”

“He didn’t,” is the curt response you receive. Your soft smile doesn't falter as you settle the boy in your arms and turn to the table. 

“Help yourself to breakfast, and the coffee.” You move to walk past him, your head ducked against Tony’s cheek, but a warm hand touches your wrist tentatively and you whirl around, your heart lurching into your throat.

“I wanted to speak to you,” he begins, eyes wide as he soaks in the wariness that must be on display on your own face. “If that would be alright with you.”

“Of course.” You swallow down the knot. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You don’t need to call me that,” you say. Not so seriously. Never as a show of power imbalance. We are equals, you and I. He does not hear your thoughts and he does not reply. He pulls his hand away and walks to the table, and you watch him go with a quaint sensation of something falling in your chest.

You walk down the hall and put Tony to bed, and you nearly smile at how he seems to wriggle in his sleep back towards you. 

“Stay in bed this time, Tony. No wandering back into my room. A guest is staying there,” you whisper against his forehead and he rolls away from your lips just as you press a little kiss against his temple. Smiling to yourself, you pull back and shut the door this time with a soft click.

Returning to the kitchen, you notice him sitting at the table, poking at the plate with a fork and you grab yourself another set of cutlery, sitting down across from him with a quirk of your lip. Despite the slight unease coiling in your gut, you want him to speak to you first—to open up. You want to know everything you’ve missed.

“How’s your gunshot?” he asks, peering up at you through strands of his hair. You perk up, forcing the smile into your cheeks.

“Healing. How are you feeling? You took a hell of a beating,” you return and he experimentally shifts in his seat with a slight shrug. “I want to check on your stitches again later.”

“What happened? Where are we?” You notice he doesn’t touch the food and you pick up your own cutlery. Perhaps if you show that it’s okay… that he’s safe… he will follow suit to do however he pleases. You cut the waffle and place it into your mouth, testing your own cooking skills with a pleased result. Swallowing, you watch as he stops poking at the food on his plate and begins to eat.

“After we left the cemetery, you were barely conscious from blood loss and pain. We managed to hide in an alleyway before I found a manhole into the sewers and I brought us here. It’s my own safe house; barely anyone knows about it.”

“You trust me enough to bring me here?” 

“What other choice did I have? I couldn’t let you die.” Your eyes fall to the greasy bacon on your plate and you fill your mouth to avoid talking any more. Bucky stares at you for a moment and you feel the weight of his gaze rest on your shoulders before he looks down. The scrape of his fork against the porcelain fills the silence and you try to figure out how to even broach the subject. You feel empty, as if everything you knew has been scooped out of you and replaced with sand. 

You’re not hungry anymore.

“You should’ve.” You have no answer to the vileness in his voice—the hatred you don’t understand the meaning of. “I remember you,” he continues, dangerously quiet. “I tried to kill you in 1949.”

“Yes, well, seems something’s not letting you pull the final trigger,” you reply. You sip on your coffee and he watches you with an emotion you cannot quite decipher. It makes you squirm—it makes you sick. “Is that all you know me from?”

“You said my name is Bucky.”

“It is.” You set your cup down. You can do this. “Your name is James Buchunan Barnes. Your best friend’s name was Steve and you were a Sergeant of the 107th. You moved to Brooklyn when you were three, to the building right above us.” You see him look up at the concrete ceiling, and your lips barely pull into a smile. “Your sister moved back to Shelbyville after the war.”

“Sister?”

“Rebecca. You had three siblings. She’s the last one left.” Your voice has grown hushed as you watch his mechanical arm set down the knife he used to tear apart his waffle. It’s half-eaten and the bacon is all gone, so you don’t know if it means he’s full or if he just doesn’t like waffles anymore. The thought makes you sad. “Your parents, your other siblings—they died in transit to the safe house where Rebecca lives.”

“I killed them,” he whispers and your head jerks up, eyebrows furrowing together as a harsh breath is drawn between your lips. Your stomach twists as he meets your eyes and you see the frantic, muzzled animal within the blue of his irises. “They made me kill them.” He glances down at his plate again, blinking. “I’m not hungry. I’m sorry, I…”

“No, it’s alright.” You stand up too quickly, too sharply that the chair scrapes against the floor, causing both of you to flinch. You bite down on your lip to stop yourself from letting the stinging in your eyes blur your vision as you grab the plates and head to the sink. With your back to him, you turn on the sink to hide the sound of your shuddering sigh. “You should rest,” you add louder, praying your voice does not shake. “I can come to you later.”

You listen to him go and wait until the door to your room clicks shut.

You resist the urge to throw the porcelain plate and watch ti shatter against the wall.

. 

When you think you’ve managed to fill the hole inside you with something other than sand (broken pieces of your heart fit better, even if the cracks reach your skin), you knock on the door.

“Bucky, may I come in?” In your hand weighs the medicinal bag you don’t remember feeling so heavy. A soft ‘yes’ on the other side prompts you to twist the knob and enter and you see him standing there, just staring at himself in the floor length mirror. He’s much more muscular than you remember, lean and toned in his back and shoulders, his arm enough to snap you in two. His mechanical arm moves like his flesh one, wrapped around his bandaged chest, and glints in the warm lamplight. Dark hair falls over his face and it’s a gut punch to the system. Disastrously handsome, and all too damaged, there is barely half of him left for you to hold. 

Heat surges through your body. You haven’t quite seen Bucky like this in a while, and before, well, before it was life and death. Now…

“Do you want me to sit on the bed?” he asks, watching your reflection. You nod and he walks back onto the corner of the bed, sinking into the mattress. You perch down behind him and you notice he doesn’t tear his eyes away from his mirror image. 

“I’m unwrapping the bandages now,” you begin and he nods. He still smells like sewer and you’re surprised Tony hadn’t cried at the smell, and there’s something cold about his skin as you unwind the white cloth. You try your best not to stare at the lines in his back, at the scarring that twists into his shoulder, but your eyes can’t help but stray. The bandages fall away and you’re greeted by the sight of healing red marks. The stitches are already dissolving and you smile at the bruising that mars his back. It means he’s healing.

“Who are you?” he asks in the quiet, startling you out of your thoughts. His healing factor is much faster than yours and you wonder how many doses it took for him to heal from gunshot wounds overnight. Gently pressing onto a yellow-green mark on his shoulder blade, you feel him tense up.

“I’m the Head of Developmental Medicine and Science,” you say, just as soft. “Although, I suppose whoever sent you already knew that because of what Howard is trying to concoct.”

“Who are you to me?” 

Your throat cinches shut, and you paste on a smile just in time for him to turn around to look at you. Tormented, his eyes are hooded by his sagging eyebrows and you see how tired he is, how guilty. You don’t know how you are supposed to answer such a question.

“Shouldn’t you know?” you tease weakly. “You heard me in the cemetery, all weepy about it.” He stares at you for a moment and then turns back to his reflection. A bruise begins to form in your throat as you hold back the stinging in your eyes. This is the man you loved, broken apart like he was nothing and made to believe it, and now... now you can’t even be honest with him. Your fingers gently trail up his back, to his shoulder and you feel his breath hitch. You run your fingers reverently over the scarring twisting into his shoulder and he shivers. “Does it hurt when I do this?” Your fingers dig into the soft flesh and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“No.” You catch sight of his reflection, and you watch as his eyes flutter shut. Shuffling closer towards him, you place a gentle hand on his other shoulder, the smooth expanse of his skin frigid against your searing palm. “It… it feels good.”

“I’ve tended to more war veterans than I can count,” you whisper gently, eyes focusing on your work. His metal hand clenches and then relaxes as you find a knot of tension hiding between his joints. “I’ve treated amputated sites where the patients complain of phantom pain or tension they can’t quite relieve.” You gently dig your thumb underneath his collarbone and he lets out a soft sigh. You wonder if he knows what tenderness is, what love and comfort is. Has H.Y.D.R.A. purged that from his mind the way they killed his memory of you? 

Your shattered heart crumbles at the way he falls apart in your hands.

He seems to melt into you and you peer at his reflection with a bleeding heart. “Don’t stop, please.” His own ice blue gaze stares at you, wary still, but he is no longer stiff. “You’re an angel.” He says it like he’s never known it before, the word a stranger on his tongue. You shatter at the word.

You want to tell him you’ve loved him far longer than you’ve not. You want to tell him you love him, and you have loved him, and you will love him every day, and that has never changed and will never change.

Instead, you say, “You’re not the Devil, you know,” as he stares at you with glass eyes. Your hand trembles against his shoulder, and you feel tremendously fragile. Biting your lip, you try not to tell yourself that everything is okay, knowing he’s alive. 

“I loved you,” he murmurs lowly, “didn’t I?” His flesh hand catches yours and you press your lips together, determined not to lose yourself before him but you know he’s recovering more of his memory the longer you stay in his presence. You tell yourself you can take it if he doesn’t quite remember you—you stay in hopes that he does. “Angel. That’s what I called you. And I loved you more than anything.”

Something explodes in your chest, and you cannot take it, knowing he does remember you. You are washed in shame, in if I tried harder, I could’ve found you sooner and saved you, and it burns to touch him.

“Excuse me.” You rip yourself away just as the searing in your eyes grows to be too much. That isn’t your Bucky. Not anymore, a patronizing voice in your ear whispers. The words are cruel, but the lashes your mind inflicts on itself are cruler. “I…”

You cannot bring yourself to finish the sentence. You are out the door before he can tell you to stay.

.

Hot water pellets your skin harshly as you let out a sob. You barely have enough air to breathe as you lean against the tile and try to soothe the fire that burns between your ears. Burning tears race over your cheeks as you let out another cry, your hand slapped over your mouth in a piss poor attempt to muffle your want to scream.

Eyes shut against the bullet rain, you wish the shower can wash away more than just the smell of sewage. You want to slip into the drain and leave. You want to feel more than just hollow. Your chest heaving, you try to ignore how your lungs gasp and struggle, how much it feels like drowning and there’s no way to know which way is to the surface, and how you feel like you’re in shambles.

Sobbing into your palm, it is cathartic to just scream it out. Although the hiss of the shower is not enough to mask your sobs, you feel the tension in your back unwind as you wail loud enough for it to echo back at you. Soaked to the core, pulsing and cold, you want to feel something—anything other than pain and hollowness.

What if I punch my hand through the wall? Blister myself in this hellfire? Ask him to kill me. Put an end to this misery. 

How have you spiralled.

The curtain rattles against the pole as it is pulled back but you don’t even flinch at the light that streams into your dark little cell. You’d heard him for the past five minutes, pacing outside the bathroom, and now you stare at him through the tangled mess of his dark hair. He’s wearing an A-shirt you left out for him and his tac pants, the smell of antiseptic and cold winter rushing into your stall. His blue eyes shadowed, his gaze drills into yours and you swallow your tears down, your breath still shuddering in your throat as your lips part.

“What do you want?” Your voice, throaty and deep, sounds unrecognizable to you, and he merely stares for a moment. What more can you take from me? What more will I give you?

“I loved you,” he whispers and you push off the tiled wall, staring at him through the stream of steaming water. “I think I still do.” 

All breath leaves your body and your knees nearly give in as you blink tears out of your eyes.

“Bucky.” The name barely flutters past your tongue and you want to say this is not love, you don’t remember me, I don’t want you to, it aches, can’t you see me dying every second you look at me? but you can barely regain your wits before he cups your face and his mouth is hard on yours. You stumble back into the wall and the cool tile against your back causes your mouth to open wider underneath his burning mouth. Every touch sets you on fire, and you can feel the ice of his metal arm gliding down your side as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. You don’t care about the pain from the stitches in your chest or from the jagged remains of your heart digging into your ribs.

Strength surrounds you as he pulls back before you drown in his smell, and you nearly gasp for air. His whispered apologies gloss over your skin and your chest heaves against his as you tell him ‘It’s okay. It’s okay.’ The thick heat of him clouds your vision as his lips brush against yours, catching and gliding reverently as he breathes, his nose tracing through the tears on your cheeks, his eyes closed. 

You pull your hands back to cup his face and he lets out a tremendous sigh, his shoulders sinking as his head drops to your collarbone. Raking your fingers through his hair with one hand, your other travels down the expanse of his back, feeling him breathe, beating, alive. 

You can’t quite feel it yet.

“I’m sorry. Forgive me,” he whispers against your skin. He braces himself against the wall with his metal arm, his flesh one wrapped tight around your waist and you let out a soft sob as he rests his head against your collarbone. Raising your chin, you hold him to your chest and a quiet fills the shower. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” you murmur into his ear. “That wasn’t you. This… this is.” His arm tightens and you let out a sigh at the closeness you’ve only experienced in your best nightmares. You don’t want to wake up. You never do. “This is you, Bucky. Everything you say now, it’s you.” You gently rake your fingers through his hair and your lips find the cord in his neck. Brushing tender kisses up to his ear, you press your cheek into his shoulder. 

“I love you,” he breathes and you can see the moment the world seems to lift off his shoulders. “You are chaos to my thoughts and… and I love you.” Pulling back, he stares at you with a wonder, a light you haven’t seen since 1945. The image of a boy soldier before you causes your lips to pull into the shakiest smile and you let out a laugh, pressing a desperate kiss against his mouth. 

He kisses you back with a tenderness that seals the cracks in you, and you continue to laugh at the brightness in your chest. For a moment, the man you love is not some nameless face burdened with a trauma you cannot even begin to imagine, but Bucky, the Sergeant in the hospital bed.

“So do you remember?” you ask against his hungry mouth, and at last, a hesitant smile presses against your skin. “Do you remember how much I love you?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever forgotten,” he whispers. “It was just buried beneath so much crap they thought I’d never see the light of day again, but I have.” His metal fingers brush away the tears that dot at your cheeks, and you nearly shiver in his arms. Your eyes dart to his pink lips to the warmth in his blue eyes and you close your eyes. “Thank you.”

“If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.” Your nose brushes against his as you hold his forehead against yours. His soaked shirt clings to his chest as you grab at his A-shirt’s hem, pulling up. You don’t know what rules your head, but it is most certainly nothing sane and everything wild.

“Angel—” Just the name, the name you haven’t heard in so long, sends shockwaves through your system and you let out a breath, eyebrows knitting together. In his arms, you feel nearly whole, as if he is the glue that holds you together. Without him, you are nothing more than pieces.

“There’s been no one else,” you promise. “No one besides you. Please.” Your voice softens as the shower begins to run cold and you tremble as he pulls back to stare into your eyes. He searches for hesitation, for the possibility of regret, but you merely touch his cheek and nod. The fire that has been extinguished for near twenty years ignite at the gentlest swipe of his fingers along your waist. “Please.”

“We never…” His words fade as you kiss him warmly. His eyes close and he chases your lips even after you pull away.

“I know we promised that our life will start after the war. But the war is over and life has swept us both away. It was always you. Please let me choose you.” You finally manage to pull his shirt off, letting it drop by your feet and you loop your arms around his neck. You wait in bated breath for his response.

He answers by shoving you against the wall and kissing you as if you are a feast and he is the hungriest man on the planet.

.

His mouth press against the plane of your shoulder, and you let out a soft sigh as he runs a hand down your stomach. You are sore in places you didn’t know existed, and somehow, your arms ache as you reach to turn the clock. In the time between you’ve stumbled into bed with a man back from the dead to now, hours have passed.

“What time is it?” he asks quietly, and you turn back to him with a serene smile. This could’ve been my every morning, you realize dully and your smile shrinks as you brush hair out of his face. He still smiles as if there is someone who will shoot him if he shows any joy, but there is a true light to it. You kiss him quickly, rolling over in his arms.

“Nine.”

“That late, huh?”

“I suppose.” Pulling him close, you sneak a kiss against the corner of his mouth. His hand settles on your waist delicately and you smile, simply embracing him tightly. You feel his heart thud against your ear and you want to sob your eyes out. A thickness in your chest makes you sigh and you close your eyes, squeezing him closer.

“I’m here,” he whispers into your hair. “I’m here.”

“Good.” You tilt your head up to kiss his chin and he grins. “I’ve got to get out of bed and start my day.”

“Hard to believe it’s just getting started,” he whispers and you laugh, kissing the corner of his mouth and detaching yourself from his arms. Scampering over to the dresser, you feel his gaze weigh on your back as you pull out another set of men’s clothes for him and set it on the dresser before slipping a silk gown over your own body. Turning, you roll your eyes when you see Bucky confirming your suspicions. You jerk your head in a gesture to tell him to get dressed and scowl playfully when he doesn’t move. “Are you going to get up at all today?”

“I’m just admiring an angel,” he retorts, and your heart splits painfully. It’s so Bucky of him to say that you want to throw up. “I hope you plan to stay here. It’s not safe for you outside.”

“If you mean my bedroom, no. The safe house, yes. I’m not an idiot.” He finally gets up and you take a moment to admire his sculpted muscles before reminding yourself of the day ahead of you. Phone to S.H.I.E.L.D., to Howard, inform them of what has happened. It’s hard to imagine a world of duties outside of this blissful room. “I’m going to cook breakfast after I wake up Tony. I’d like it if you joined me.”

He sets his hand on top of the pile of clothes, flipping through to find briefs before pulling them on and you lean against the counter with a slight pout. He barely glances at you, his expression hard, and your eyebrows knit together.

“Were my waffles so horrendous?” you ask, keeping your tone light as you rest your chin on your arms and try to catch a glimpse of his face. “Bucky—”

“I can’t stay here.”

“What?” The word pushes its way out of your mouth unbidden and you straighten up, your fingers scratching along the wood of the dresser as he unfolds the A-shirt against his chest. “But—”

“It’s not safe. You know that.” He pulls the white shirt over his head and you pull back, blinking. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you don’t even know what to say to the bluntness in his voice. The clock ticks in the silence as he stares at you for a moment and then turns away, running his hands through his hair. “They’re probably looking for me already, and if they crack down on this safe house, neither you nor Tony is gonna make it out of here alive.”

“Right,” you intone lifelessly, broken-hearted, lost, and you scream at yourself for being so incredibly stupid. Of course you can’t have it easy, you can’t have it peaceful, you can’t have it go right. Resting your forehead against your palm, you smile bitterly to yourself. “Right, how can I forget.”

“Angel—” His arms float around your body as if he wants to touch you but you jerk back, eyes darting to meet his—knife points, razor sharp. 

“They’ll find you. You think I don’t know that?” The way he stares at you, looks at you, softly and with too much tenderness your battered heart cannot take it, makes you want to wretch. “You think I don’t want to pretend that I can keep you safe?” Your voice, bitter and frosted, punches through the air. “I’ve just found you again.”

“My handlers are dangerous.” He looks ashamed for the things he cannot control and he shakes his head, grabbing the pair of trousers from the pile. “More dangerous than you can imagine. All they have to say are the words and you won’t be able to stop me.”

“Then let me help you,” you whisper. You reach for his arm. His blue eyes dart to yours and you see the fear. The fear you cannot begin to comprehend. “Let S.H.I.E.L.D. help you. We can move to another safe house and figure out how to reverse the programming—”

“I can’t. They’ll kill you if they find me anywhere but with them.”

“Fuck, well, I’m not about to let you walk back into the arms of the people who took you away from me!”

“Let them! Let them take me!” He spits the words in your face and you flinch back at the wolf that seeps into his cold eyes. His lips twisted in a snarl, he throws off your hand. “I don’t fucking deserve to be saved.”

“Bucky—”

“You don’t know what I’ve done. I- I don’t deserve to be saved.” You nearly laugh at how you’re back in this situation again. At this stupid back and forth between the two of you. The place has changed but the people stay the same, apparently, and you want to slap sense into him, and erase the glossiness from his eyes. When he blinks, the beginnings of tears bead and you wish to kiss them away.

“You do. You do deserved to be saved. And I just… I want you to stay. We can have the life we want, can’t we?”  

He stares at you wretchedly and you know that you can’t. Not when there are still people out there who want the both of you dead.

“You and I both know that’s not possible so stop trying to fool yourself. You’re much smarter than that.”

The tears come easier this time and you stare at him with glassy, blurry eyes. With every second that passes, you think you might die from the pain, but you don’t. You never do.

A mended heart is stronger every time it breaks.

“So, that’s it?” You’re just going to leave?” Your anger unleashed, your words burn hotter than magma, hotter than hell, hotter than hate. You think of all you’ve been through in the past day: tears, pain, pleasure, soul-splitting agony. You hate him. “You’re not even going to try to make it work? Were you just going to disappear if I hadn’t woken up? Did you confront me just to take me into bed because you should’ve killed me instead if that was your intention.”

“I want to keep you safe.” He is begging for you to stop but you are too furious with how hopeful you’ve allowed yourself to become in his presence. How deeply in love you’ve been reminded you are. How the moment he leaves, he will take your happiness with him. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not true.”

“Then what is? That you love me? Because the Bucky I knew wouldn’t just leave me here alone without a fight, stuck somewhere where I can’t follow him; stuck here, so bloody unhappy, so fucking empty that I don’t even know who I am! I wish you never fucking woke up and just pulled the trigger. I really wish you did because, at least, I wouldn’t be here again letting you rip me apart at the seams. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you with every cell of my being and I hope I never see you again!”

Your heart beats in your throat, a deep pulse that you want to swallow as he stares at you, eyes wide. You suck in a shuddering breath, nails scratching at your scalp. Grasping fistfuls of your hair, you let out a soft cry, the simmering heat in your eyes too much and you shut them tight, falling to your knees. Keening over, you let out a deep, low, note of pain and your face floods with heat. You breathe in a lungful of hot air as hands gently clasp your shoulders and you lash out, letting out a feral scream.

“Let me go! I fucking hate you!” You thrash in his arms but he merely wraps you in his embrace, squeezing you gently as you let out a desperate cry and you feel the sobs pushing their way up your throat. Pushing his chest, you hear him grunt as he falls back on his bottom and your shoulders shake as another sob wracks through your body. He presses his cheek against your wet one and you feel the fight leave you, at the warmth that begins to sink into your bones, the fatigue of the last twenty-seven hours catching up to you. He holds your head to his shoulder, your whole body pressed against his in an effort to prevent you from harming him or yourself and the sanity chains back the monster H.Y.D.R.A. stuffed into you, the one you’ve managed to cage until him. Something about him makes you go feral, wild with love. You could kill on it—you have.

“Shhhh,” he murmurs into your ear, voice dulcet, low in his chest and you open your eyes blearily as he strokes your back. Your fists relax and you let out a whimper as he gently brushes a kiss against your neck. You realize dazedly that you’re sitting square on his lap, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, and you pull back, blinking fresh tears down your face. Somehow, it is your nature to be as close to him as possible. To hold onto him as tight as you can.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, eyes warm and tender as he takes care of your new tears as well. He wipes away every droplet with a care you recognize and you sniff as he smiles. The smile reminds you of the moon, beautiful, mellow, all too kind and brilliant. “Maybe one day, hm? Maybe we’ll have a chance one day.”

You sniff again, wiping at your face furiously with the heel of your hand and try to stop yourself from breaking again as he brushes a slick strand of hair out of your face, behind your ear. He tilts his head just so, still with that lunar smile.

“I’m supposed to be helping you,” you whisper and he chuckles, the sound filling your chest as his hand on your back runs up the length of your spine. “Helping you fix whatever’s in your head.”

“That’ll have to wait.” You lean into his palm cupping your cheek, sliding your hand atop his and his smile melts. “I would stay if I had any choice, you know that.”

“I do.” You throw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and your eyes close. “Stay for breakfast. Just for a moment longer.”

“Okay.” He buries himself closer into your neck. You clutch onto him tighter. “Okay.”

.

“What do you want to do now, hm?” You pick Tony up from his seat and he presses his chubby cheek against yours as you mouth a ‘thank you’ to Bucky who collects the plates and takes them to the sink. He gives you a slight smile as you walk down the hall. Tony squirms and you set him down, letting him run on ahead. He runs down the halls, into your room that you’ve left to Bucky, and you smile to yourself.

Jogging after the boy, you catch him just in time for him to try and climb into bed. You hoist him up, kissing his hair affectionately before planting a hand on your hip. 

“Book!” He claps his hands and you frown thoughtfully, threading your fingers through his downy hair. “Book!”

“You want me to read to you?” you ask rhetorically. “What books do I have in here?” You run through a list in your head as you set the pillows up around him. You’ve got adult literature to keep yourself occupied, but you haven’t been here with Tony since he’s been a few months old. His exceptional memory and intellect means he remembers what you’ve read to him to a certain extent and he won’t want you reading books composed of pictures.

You don’t think you can take on a displeased Tony today.

“I’ve got… letters. Correspondence I never had the chance to return.” You finally give up, perching on the edge of the bed. Tony lunges onto his stomach, landing on one of the pillows with a playful smile and you grimace to yourself. “Do you want me to read to you boring letters?”

“Letters?” You nearly jump. Bucky’s the only person who’s ever managed to sneak up on you, and although you should be more aware, you know he does it when he wants to be unnoticeable. You turn to the door to see him there in white and beige, a far cry from the black death that had followed you days before, and blink. He looks so soft here, with his hair tucked behind his ears and a gentle smile etched onto his face. 

“Yes. Just… work letters.”

Your heat nearly explodes as he walks in. You can’t tell him his letters are what you’re talking about, tucked in a small box here so no history museum or organization can take them. You’re not about to be made into some commodity and you’re not about to be spun into some tragic love story that has ended in sorrow. 

You want to believe that that is not how it will end.

“Well, it’s better than nothing, isn’t it?” 

“I shouldn’t.” You feel Tony tug on your sleeve and you see him with his huge doe eyes staring at you impatiently, his lips twisted in a huge pout. Your heart wrenches and you kiss his forehead, scooting back so he can crawl into your lap. You pick him up and he snuggles up against your chest as Bucky crosses his arms, thoroughly enamored by the two-year old. You sigh in defeat. “In the room you carried me to, there’s a box on the dresser. Inside are the letters.”

Bucky stares at you for a moment, and you only give him a sad smile. He goes to get the box.

.

Paper is sprawled across the bed. You are on your back, arms wrapped around Tony who rests like a tiny sack of potatoes on your chest. The tiny boy’s hands wipe at the tears that continue to drip down your cheeks, an innocent task that makes you smile, but you can’t help the few tears that slip away from your control. As Tony continues to try to fix the tears and fight off the yawn that’s been dogging at him for the past five minutes, you press a long kiss to his forehead, eyes closing. Your hand cradles the back of his head, and he rests his head on your sternum, a tiny little thing you can’t help but feel so much love for. He snuggles underneath your chin and you smile, grateful for this boy who has made this easier.

“This isn’t something you can fix, Tony,” you whisper, eyes opening, and he raises his head against your palm. His eyes search yours and you wonder if, to the extent he can, understands. “I hope you’ll never understand.” You urge his head back down against your chest and run your other hand up and down his back. “Time for a nap,” Tony wiggles for a moment more before finding a position comfortable enough to fall asleep in and you breathe in deeply at the tiny weight on your chest.

“Fuck,” Bucky whispers and you open your eyes. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Watch your language,” you murmur without heart. The mattress dips beside you and Bucky crawls up the bed, his hands full of letters in his own writing. He shuffles through them, eyes scanning each one and then looks at you with wet eyes. “I told you I didn’t want to read them.”

“Yeah, well, apparently I need to learn the lesson of listening to you again,” he whispers and you laugh to yourself, the heel of your palm digging into your eyes. He has read every single one aloud, enough anguish in his voice to kill the strongest man three times over, and yet here he is, reading them again. 

Is this torture? Is that all this love is?

“I love you,” you whisper, eyes closed, the heel of your hand plugging one of them, and you can feel his presence like you’re attuned to him, only him. “I love you more than anything.” His fingers brush against your tear-wet jaw, his other hand delicately wrapping around your wrist to pull your hand away from your face. You open your eyes just in time for his lips to meet yours and you gasp in pain as you taste the salt of his own tears in your mouth. Your heart feels like it’s tearing itself in two, your organs collapsing, your lungs failing, and here he is, kissing you, keeping you alive for moments longer. The heat of him, the smell of sweat and breakfast clinging to his skin, overwhelms you and you let out a small cry when he pulls away. Something dies in you the instant his lips leave yours.

“I love you.” Kissing each tear off your cheek, he whispers it over and over again until you’re sure it is engraved into your skin, and a wave of exhaustion crashes down on your head as you manage to snag a fistful of his shirt before he can pull away again. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“Stay,” you plead. His cheek presses against yours, and you feel his hand, cold, metal, just as alive as yours, lay on top of yours on Tony’s back. “Just until I fall asleep. I can’t… I can’t watch you go.”

“Okay,” he whispers, and he sets the letters aside. Laying down beside you, he slides an arm around the both of you, and tangles your legs with his. You turn onto your side, your forehead pressing against his, and you let out one last confession, one last proclamation with your eyes closed and sleep at your door.

Tony is sound asleep between the two of you, so unaware of the agony that cracks the air. You know Bucky looks at you as you whisper ‘I love you.’ With his thumb against your jaw, the tender press of his lips against your forehead, you want to believe this can be forever.

You cannot bear to look at the devastation in his eyes. You know when you open your eyes again, he will be gone.