#the sheer ache of like. Needing it to be real because maybe that would somehow win respect/understanding was insane

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

something very healing watching video essays dressing down the full scale of the aggression and harm that bbc sherlock's queerbaiting did to fans because god so much of that was genuinely violating and vile and ruined some artists' lives/joy very very directly and fucked over tons of young queer people (especially women) and seeing that harm fully addressed and recognized is just. really really nice

[gobblewanker]

The Mystery and The Isosceles

Ch 14: He's Gone; We're Safe

Also on AO3

Ford was a man of many talents, in his years away from everything he’d mastered languages, weapons, codebreaking, and a plethora of other skills. But if there was one thing he still wasn’t good at, it was processing emotions. That was natural. The only feelings he’d needed for thirty years were hate and vengeance. Anything else was a distraction from the goal but now…

But now Bill was dead.

Ford groaned quietly as he lifted a hand to drag across his face. His muscles ached from the earlier overexertion. The deck had been mostly cleared of the remnants of battle by now; Ford sat leaned against the main mast where the sail once again hung properly. There was no sour smell of sulphur and black powder to accost his senses, just seaspray and wind. There was hardly a speck of blood left on the scrubbed decks. There was almost nothing to tell of the ordeal that had taken place, but it had happened. It was real.

Bill was dead. 

Somehow, Ford had no idea how to feel about that.

Well, of course he knew what he should be feeling—relief, satisfaction, maybe even repulsion at the sheer graphic nature of it all—and there were definitely shades of that. But mostly he just felt upset. It was supposed to be him who finally put the demon down. It was supposed to be his vengeance for himself and everyone like him. For everyone who'd been taken and tortured and killed. It was his revenge. It was his duty to all those who came before. And he'd failed.

He'd been preparing to face Bill for decades. He'd known that eventually he would. It was inevitable. Every action he’d taken was in pursuit of that. And yet, once it had finally come down to it, he'd been unprepared. He hadn’t raised a finger to defend himself, much less attack. He'd been scared and pathetic, and everyone knew. Stan had rescued him. Stan had ended Bill. And he’d-

Well, he’d been utterly useless. Not only that, he’d gotten so completely lost to the memories as to lash out at Stan. Stan didn’t deserve that, he was a shortsighted idiot, but he didn’t deserve his own brother hurting him. And if Ford couldn’t even interact with another grown man without hurting him because of some irrational flashback, how the hell was he supposed to take care of Dipper and Mabel? He wanted the children off the ship. He wanted them safe and happy, living honest lives back on land. But if he couldn’t be sure they’d be safe with him, then what was he supposed to do with them? They weren’t safe on the ship and they wouldn’t be safe with him. What was he supposed to do?

Above all else, Ford felt angry. Angry at Bill for destroying him so completely. Angry at Stan for robbing him of revenge. Angry and disgusted with himself for being such a pathetic fucking mess. He was angry. Angry and sick and ashamed.

He couldn't even trust himself. Bill had destroyed him. Broken him into pieces that Ford—despite his best efforts—couldn't fit back together properly. All the pieces had come back wrong leaving him askew. He felt wrong, he felt disgusted. It was as if some horrible parasite was squirming around inside of his soul. His skin crawled, he swore he could still feel Bill looking at him. But Bill was dead. Bill was gone.

Bill was gone, so why didn’t it feel like it?

Ford pushed himself up and whistled for his bird. The seagull clumsily glided from the rigging to flump down on Ford's outstretched hand. Why he still insisted on getting so high up when he could hardly fly Ford didn’t know, but far be it from him to admonish. Just so long as the bird came when called.

“Thank you, Stan.” Ford muttered absently. “I might… I might require some support.”

The bird tilted his head questioningly, before his eyes narrowed in understanding and he nodded resolutely. Scratching the arm of Ford’s jacket he clambered up onto his shoulder with clumsy flipper-feet.

Ford headed back inside the darkened ship, taking a lantern off the wall to light his way down the cramped creaking stairs. He passed the children on their way back towards their cabin, but couldn’t bring himself to speak to them. Both looked at him warily. Of course they would. Of course they’d be wary, of course they wouldn’t want him anywhere near them. Of course they’d be scared. They’d read his journal, they'd seen him break. 

Quickening his pace until he arrived at the lower decks almost out of breath, Ford paused at the bottom of the stairs. It was dark, no natural light could reach so far below decks, his lantern cast long looming shadows that watched him from all sides. The walls were close and the smell of death hung in the air. The bird on his shoulder cooed nervously and buried his face in his hair making noises uncomfortably similar to a distressed child. Still, he showed no signs of leaving. Ford was infinitely grateful for that as he walked further into the room feeling his stomach sink.

The cramped space had been hastily converted into a medical office. There were crates of bandages and medicines, a desk with tools, a table hastily refashioned for operations, and above it all hung an oil lamp that Ford wasted little time in lighting. He placed his lantern down on the bloodied table as if moving through a haze, never taking his eyes off of the far corner.

He wasn’t sure who’d bothered to throw a sheet over the body. Fiddleford, probably. Maybe out of some obligate ‘respect for the dead’ that was in no way earned but still given. Maybe because the man just couldn’t stomach looking at Bill either.

Every step closer made Ford feel more and more viscerally unwell.

It was like a dark cloud hung over the remains. All the malice and cruelty that had practically radiated from Bill when he was alive still clung to the sheet-covered body, and Ford swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. He tried to swallow the primal terror of being alone in a room with Bill. Bill couldn’t do anything to him this time, he furiously reminded himself as he got down on shaky knees. Bill couldn’t touch him, Bill couldn’t see him, Bill couldn’t do anything, he repeated like a mantra to steady his hand as he reached for the fabric.

Soon as he touched the body, however, his hand recoiled and he flinched back with a hiss. The bird squawked anxiously, hopping off his shoulder and hiding himself behind Ford. Ford swore quietly. He should be better than this. He should be able to face Bill again—but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to pull the sheet back and look at that awful inhuman face ever again.

But he had to. Had to prove to himself that it was true.

Moving quickly to not give himself another chance to hesitate, Ford grabbed the corner and yanked the fabric down. He immediately gagged.

The motion kicked up more of the horrible stench into the room. Burnt hair and the sharp smell of alcohol hit him like a wave. The former was new, but the latter he’d had more than his share of. The face was charred, but still horribly recognizable. The cheeks were pulled back as if in a wild grin, the formerly blue eye was shrivelled into its socket and the skin around it was cracked and flaked like paint. The gold prosthetic eye stared up at him with terrifying familiarity, and while it was mostly intact, the uttermost layers had just begun melting off. The drops of gold were frozen on his cheek like tears, burned and fused into the skin. His gold teeth were melted and solidified together in a rigid grimach. A few drops had escaped past what remained of his lips.

Ford shuddered, his breathing picking up as he fought down the memory of Bill drooling through grinning teeth as he cut deep slits into his skin and clawed at his face.

Moses, even confronting the dead body felt impossibly daunting. What was wrong with him? He was stronger than this. He should be, he had to be. Ford forced himself to pull the sheet down further. His fingers struggled to grasp the flimsy fabric, his hand shook and he pressed the other over his nose and mouth to keep from retching. The smell was so overpowering it was like he could taste charred skin in the back of his throat. The chest and arms were burned worse than the face had been, likely as the thick layers of clothing had given the flames more to feed off of. But Ford could still make out a few scars and bruises. He felt as if there should be more of them.

He didn’t want to see more. He didn’t want to see any of it, but he needed to prove to himself it really was Bill. He had to prove to himself that the monster really was gone. Steeling himself, Ford let go of the sheet. It was enough. It was more than enough.

The stairs leading down into the cramped space creaked and Ford startled. He stayed seated on the floor next to the body though, frozen to the spot. Half out of being too shaken to move, and half out of his rational mind reminding him that—at least for the moment—he wasn’t in enemy territory. The light of a lantern came bobbing down the stairs.

“Now whatinne-” Fiddleford corrected his glasses as he set his feet on the bottom of the stairs. “Stanferd? Whatcha- Oh.”

Ford looked between Fiddleford and Bill’s body, swallowing hard.

“I… I was just-...”

Fiddleford regarded him carefully from where he stood, before placing his lantern next to Ford’s on the table and approaching. His steps were almost as hesitant as Ford’s earlier had been. Ford looked back towards Bill.

“I’m sorry, this was idiotic of me, I know. I just had to make sure that-... that…”

“Yes well, ah… I understand ya know. ‘S hard to believe, ain’t it?”

“Yes.”

Fiddleford stepped close enough to put a reassuring hand on Ford’s shoulder before moving away again to start looking through the cabinets and crates.

“What are you looking for?” Ford asked numbly, still not looking up. He wasn’t looking at the body anymore either though. Not really. He was more or less just staring at nothing.

“Bandages, poultices, that sorta thing. Ah was trying to take a look at yer brother’s injuries but the man’s stubborn as a mule.” Fiddleford complained, but there was some fondness in his voice. “Still, do us good to get a proper ship’s surgeon ah reckon.”

“Ah. I see.” Ford chewed his lip, feeling something like guilt nagging at him. “Is he doing okay? Stan.”

“Wish I could reassure ya, but medicine ain’t my strong suit. Still, I’ve got a few home-remedies from back at the farm, and nothing seems to keep that man down fer long. Ain’t the first time I’ve had ta patch him up.”

Ford nodded. Maybe he should go check on Stan too. Directly or indirectly, Ford was the reason he’d gotten hurt after all. He was about to do just that, when something caught his attention and Ford felt the blood go cold in his veins.

“Wait-” Ford gasped. Fiddleford was at his side in seconds.

“Stanferd? Stanferd what’s wrong?”

Ford ignored his friend’s concerned tone. His focus was back at Bill’s awful burned body, his hands were hovering over his chest, but he refused to touch him. Instead he just searched frantically with his eyes.

“He-” Ford remembered thirty years ago with mounting dread. He was one of very few people who’d spent significant time close to Bill—far longer and far closer than he’d wanted to—and gotten out of it alive. He knew what Bill looked like. He knew what Bill was supposed to look like, and there had definitely been something off, hadn’t there? “He has a scar. A deep one, across his throat. I didn’t notice when we were fighting, it’s under his shirt, it- I can’t find it-”

“Ford, calm down.” Fiddleford sent a fleeting glance at Bill’s body then very pointedly pulled the sheet back over it. Ford reached over to pull it back off, but Fiddleford caught his hands and held them gently but firmly between his own. “Ford- Stanferd, look at me! Look at me, please.”

Ford fought back control over his breathing. If he wanted to, he could pull his hand’s loose, but he allowed Fiddleford to keep hold. It was grounding, familiar, and Fiddleford had never flinched away from his six-fingered hands like most people. He still didn’t. He’d taken his hands unflinchingly.

“Ford, ya hear me?”

Ford nodded.

“Good. Now, you listen to me.” He spoke kindly, but with authority. Ford had the sneaking suspicion it was the same voice he would have used with Tate when they were younger. Had Tate survived Bill’s attack? How many people hadn’t- “Ford, no, yer getting caught up in yer own head again, stop that. Just breathe. Just listen to me, alright?”

Ford took a deep breath before nodding again.

“It’s okay. We’re alright, yer alright.”

“But the scar-”

“Don’t think like that, that’s what he wants you to do. The scar probably ain’t visible under all them there burns. He’s in a bad way, you saw that. We both did. The man’s barely recognizable.”

“I recognize him. I spent way more time with him than-”

“Ford, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Ford did. Fiddleford’s eyes were kind and set in determination. 

“You went through hell an’ back Stanferd. None of us are denying that, you were there, you saw ‘im. But look at us both. We’re old, he might not’ve looked it, but so was he. Years change people. Scars fade.”

“They don’t disappear.”

“No. They don’t. But they fade, and he was burnt. There probably ain’t much to be found anymore. ‘S the trauma speaking. You have every right to be traumatised after what you went through, but it’s still yer head bein mean to ya. Don’t let it be.”

“I’m not traumatised.” Ford hissed between clenched teeth. Maybe Fiddleford was right, maybe the scar just wasn’t visible. He collected himself and folded his hands back in his lap.

“Okay.” Fiddleford sighed. “Okay, I… Okay. I’m going to get back to making my rounds checking on the injured crew, then but-... Look, ‘s not yer fault. Okay? Even if you are traumatised. I’d be. I am. I think we all are.” Fiddleford got back up, collecting the medical supplies as well as the torch and heading back towards the stairs. He turned before leaving though, looking back at Ford one last time. “But it’s over now. Alright? He can’t hurt us.”

Ford nodded silently, somehow finding that hard to believe.

Despite the gnawing anxiety, Ford eventually made his way to the cabin Stan had shown him earlier. But sleep was anything but restful.

Ford awoke alone in his cabin to a voice calling his name from outside the window. It was familiar, but so raspy and echoey that he couldn’t possibly place it. The only problem was that there shouldn’t be anything outside, except for endless stretches of water in all directions.

Merfolk, maybe?

Cautiously, Ford pushed himself up from his warm bed and approached the window. It was cold, why was his cabin cold? They were in the tropics, weren’t they? Subtropics, maybe, but it should still be plenty warm. He kept the blanket around him as he shivered, he could see his own breath form billowy clouds. Outside his window there was an endless pitch black sea. Just like he knew there’d be. The sky was dark above, no stars, but a large yellow full moon glanced at him knowingly. The voice reached his ears again: ‘Ford’. The wispy rasp floated up from—

From the water.

Ford looked down, leaning far out the window. He almost fell as his heart jumped into his throat and the lingering cold gripped his lungs. Bill. Bill’s badly burned body floated face up in the dark waters, staring at him. The gold eye and his sharp, sharp, grin were all that was visible: All that wasn’t burnt beyond recognition. Bill's sharp voice kept whispering his name over and over as he stood frozen.

Suddenly hands grabbed him from behind and dragged him back inside the cabin. Ford’s yelp of alarm turned into a choking gasp as he came face to face with Bill. Intact, this time, and smiling viciously. Ford pushed against him furiously, his hands were no longer wrinkled and covered in age spots, the hair that fell into his eyes as he frantically shook his head was brown. The blanket around his shoulders wasn’t there anymore; replaced by a garish golden yellow jacket that smelled like death. Bill released him with a sharp barking laugh and Ford fell backwards onto the floor of the cabin. Bill’s cabin—Bill’s cabin aboard The Isosceles. The floor was covered in blood, his head spun, his clothes were torn and everything hurt.

“No, no no no!” Ford screamed. His voice came out smoother—younger—but cracked and broken and breathlessly terrified. “No! This isn’t real! This- this was over! This was over thirty years ago!”

“Aww, really?” Bill cooed through his sharp joyful grin. “But I missed you! Didn’t you miss me? Admit it! You missed me.”

Bill’s back was turned to the eye-shaped stained glass window. The same window through which the image of a port on fire would forever be burned into Ford’s mind. Bill approached him, steps light and expression amused. Ford didn’t think, he got onto his feet and ran. He threw open the door of the cabin and bolted outside. He could smell smoke, he could see burning outside the window. He didn’t want to see it—not again, never again.

The hallway darkened in front of him. The walls closed in. Smoke filled his lungs as he coughed and hacked. There was blood on his tongue. There was blood everywhere. Bill materialised out of the darkness in front of him and Ford wasn’t quick enough to stop before crashing against his chest. Bill didn’t budge. He caught Ford’s hands and pulled him close. He didn’t look formidable, Ford should be able to pull loose, but he couldn’t. Bill held his wrists tightly, his nails digging into the skin.

“Let me go! Please- let me go! Not again-!”

Bill laughed at him, it was sharp and cruel. The smoke swirled. Ford heard the crackling of fire just seconds before it broke through the ship’s walls and engulfed them. Bill’s face burned and sizzled. His hands turned skeletal, but didn’t let go. Ford felt the fire lick at his own body, and it hurt. It was like a swarm of tiny creatures eating at him. He smelled burning hair and alcohol.

“I’m coming for you. I’m coming for you. I’m coming for you-” Bill mocked in a sing-song voice through the flames.

Ford shot up in bed, a scream on his lips.

The seagull on his bedpost shot up with a startled squawk. Ford threw the cover off himself and pushed as far against the headboard as he could, taking several quick gulping breaths. The cabin was warm, and the heat made Ford choke on his next gasp for air. He scrambled out of bed and ran for the door. Fresh air, he needed fresh air. The bird made to follow him, but Ford slammed the door and ignored the loud worried squawking.

Ford practically ran up and out on deck. He paused, stumbling slightly as his head spun and ears rang from the sudden burst of adrenaline and activity. Then he made a beeline for the taffrail and leaned over it, hugging himself as he shook. His eyes were squeezed shut, he startled when he realised that, opening them and scanning the water's surface. But no, there was nothing there. Bill was dead, Bill was lying covered by a sheet in the depths of the ship. He was gone. Ford was safe.

He repeated the words to himself like a mantra—‘Bill is dead, you are safe’—until the shaking finally subsided and Ford began to be able to breathe normally again.

Fuck, that nightmare had felt real. It had felt so much more real than any dream should. He’d heard Bill’s voice, he’d smelled the smoke, he’d felt the fire burning him. He swore he’d really felt it. It was so much worse than any nightmare he’d ever had. So much more real and cohesive than something made from his own exhausted mind should ever be. What the hell was that? Was he losing it?

A demonstrative cough shook Ford out of his defensive huddle against the railing. He turned sharply to look, and came face to face with Stan sat on the stairs leading up to the wheel. Stan was slouched, sitting halfway up and looking at Ford with a conflicted expression.

“How long have you been there?” Ford demanded. He tried for an angry tone, but his voice cracked halfway through. His heart was still hammering inside his chest.

“‘Bout half an hour? Couldn’t get comfy enough to sleep.” Stan shrugged.

Ford noticed the bandages under his sleep-shirt and turquoise striped trousers. The one at his shoulder caught his attention specifically, and Ford shrunk in on himself.

“Ah.”

“Nightmares?” Stan asked evenly.

Ford rolled his eyes, drawing a hand over his face in exasperation. He should probably be ashamed to have been seen so worked up. But after the battle against The Isosceles, he could hardly sink lower now could he? 

“Whatever gave it away?”

“You ran up to deck in the middle of the night like the devil himself was on your tail. ‘Sides, you’re all jittery. You used to get all jittery when you woke up from nightmares as a kid.”

Ford didn’t answer. He looked back over the water again, running a hand through his hair. Stan fell equally silent, and for several moments both brothers seemed content to just let the air hang between them. Out of nowhere, Stan held a bottle out towards Ford who raised an eyebrow in return.

“Ya look like you need it.”

“Is that the stuff you lit Bill on fire with?”

Stan blinked, apparently caught off guard. He turned the bottle in his hand and looked at the label.

“Ah, shit. Is that ‘in bad taste’ now too?”

Ford snatched the bottle out of his hands and took a swig. It was warm in his gullet, and that made him flinch. But he took another mouthful anyway and sat down one step below Stan. It was easier that way. Neither of them had to look at the other.

“I’m sorry about your shoulder.” Ford said. “Does it hurt?”

“Eh, Fidds is pretty decent with first aid. I’ve had way worse.”

“I’m sorry for that too.”

“Not your fault, Pa was the asshole.” Stan nudged Ford with a foot and reached his hand down. Ford passed the bottle back. “Right now I’m honestly more worried about you. Ford… What happened to you out there? You used to be… Well, not like this.”

“It’s complicated. Last time we saw each other we were—what—seventeen? Things change. I’m not exactly happy with the way you turned out either.”

“Why not?”

Ford’s breath caught again, and when he continued his voice was rougher.

“Really? You really don’t understand why I’m so upset at what you’ve done to yourself?”

“Okay, yeah, Bill was a pirate captain and what he did to you was absolute fucking bullshit. I’ve done none of the things he did except steal from rich assholes who had it coming.”

“We’re practically strangers. How am I supposed to know that’s the truth?”

“You…” Stan shifted uncomfortably. “You could start by actually talking to me, you know. Like I’m not some-... Some stranger. Or a threat.”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Ford didn’t know. They hadn’t seen each other in decades. He didn’t think Stan had done anything nearly as bad as Bill—okay, that one he was actually pretty certain of—but there was no way to know.

“About what?”

Stan paused for a long while. Then he sighed, suddenly sounding every single one of his almost sixty years.

“Look, I know Bill hurt you, but… Hell, can we talk about that? I mean, yeah I’d already fucked up before that but that was where things really went down the drain didn’t they? If Bill hadn’t taken you, neither of us would be where we are right now. And for whatever little my word is apparently worth to you, I swear I hate him just as much as you do. You weren’t the only one he hurt, and I would never be like him.”

The nightmare rose unbidden to Ford’s mind again and he cringed in on himself. He opened his hand demonstratively and a few seconds later Stan passed the bottle back to him.

“Bill… Bill ruined my life.”

“I know.”

“I went with him because if I hadn’t he would have killed everyone I cared about. I tried to save my friends, but all I did was make him angry enough to come for my home instead. It was my fault. If I hadn’t tried to trick him, Gravity Falls would have never been targeted.”

He remembered it so clearly. Most of what Bill had done to him was a muddled blur—partially because he didn’t want to remember and partially because he’d been so weak and tired that it all got fuzzy—but that first night he remembered. He remembered hands in his hair and a hissing voice in his ear, he remembered shackles on his wrists, he remembered fire dancing outside the window and screaming voices carried on the wind.

“Okay.” Stan answered and his voice sounded exasperated. “You do realise that’s bullshit, don’t you? Hell, Sixer, you're smarter than this. Bill destroyed Gravity Fall, not you. You wanted to save lives, he wanted to end them.”

“Perhaps. But it was still my shortsightedness that made him attack.” Ford sighed. Of course Stan refused to see the truth. Of course he refused to accept that Ford carried part of the blame. He’d always been loyal to a fault. It was reassuring in a way, to see that part of Stan remained. He was still himself in that regard. But he was still frustratingly wrong. “And then you decided the best way to ‘help’ was to turn my home into a safe haven for the exact same kind of people who had destroyed it.”

“I did what I had to do.” Stan’s voice instantly became defensive. “But that doesn’t matter, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you.”

“Why?” Ford snapped back angrily. “Why is it always about me?”

“Always about you? Oh yeah, because nobody ever mentions my mistakes! Moses, Ford, did we even grow up in the same port!?”

“Fine!” Ford snapped back, throwing his hands up. “Fine, it doesn’t matter!”

And there was that same familiar old stubbornness. Apparently, Stan had never lost it either.

“Bill did-” Ford began, but his voice caught in his throat. “Bill- when I was trapped with him aboard his ship Bill-... He… I…”

Bill’s hands holding him down, cutting, burning, beating—trapped, can’t escape, can’t run—

‘I’ll let you die’

‘I get to do whatever I want’

‘Our little secret.’

Ford fell silent again. Where was he even going with this? What was even the point of this, why should he be opening up when Stan was stubbornly refusing?

“It’s okay, you don't have to say anything.” Stan spoke again, quietly and uncharacteristically gently. His gruff voice was impossibly gentle. “I… I kinda know.”

Ford’s head shot up.

“What?”

“Bill.” Stan spat the name. “He talked about it. All the fucking time, liked how furious it made me. Bastard thought it was funny.”

Ford swallowed hard. Suddenly everything felt very far away. The wooden steps under him, the sky above, the sound of the waves crashing against the hull of the ship… None of them felt real. Nothing felt real except the realisation.

Bill told. Of course he did. Why, of all things, did he feel betrayed? Betrayal required there to have been trust at some point. Of course Bill told. Anything to make it hurt more.

Stan knew. Stan knew so much more than Ford had ever wanted anyone to. Stan had spoken to Bill, Stan had read his journal, Stan had seen him cornered by Bill on deck. Stan knew. Stan knew about every weak, pathetic moment in Ford's life and none of it had been Ford's to tell. None of it had been up to him to share. All of it had been laid bare without his permission. The familiar sickly shame pooled in his chest.

"Ford-" Stan began carefully when Ford didn't answer. He stood up to move closer, but lost his balance and tripped over his own feet. Ford reacted fast despite his mind being a mess, rising to catch his twin and steady him before Stan could break his neck falling down the stairs.

It was first when they were face to face that Ford noticed how pale Stan was.

“Stan!” Ford exclaimed angrily, shaking his brother’s shoulders. “Why aren’t you resting indoors? you look terrible.”

“Oh, give it a break, Six. I’m fine.” Stan pushed Ford’s hands off, swaying on his feet as he did so.

“Bullshit.” Stan’s face was pale in the moonlight. When Ford had caught him he could feel the heat of a fever through his clothes. There were dark rings under his eyes and sweat on his brow. “Seriously? You expect me to speak honestly about the worst experience of my life when you won’t even acknowledge you look dead on your feet!”

“I’m fine.” Stan growled. “I’ve had worse. Besides, the rest of the crew needs me to stay strong.”

Ford wavered on his feet, hands clenched into fists at his side. Hypocrite. Stupid, stubborn, hypocrite.

“Fine!” Ford hissed back, turning a heel and marching back into the ship. “Fine. Don’t come crying when you collapse from exhaustion.”

“Why do you even care!” Stan yelled at his back. “Why do you even care if you can’t stand being around me anymore?”

“Maybe I shouldn't!” Ford slammed the door shut behind him. He staggered and fell against the wall as soon as he was out of sight.

Bill was gone. Bill was gone. Everything was supposed to be okay now, so why was his head still so messed up?

[whump-a-la-mode]

Ok so I had a prompt idea? We’re all familiar with the “villain is sent to a ‘rehabilitation center’ that turns out to be secretly torturing the villains there” trope, but consider this: scared villain is captured by a kind hero and sent to a villain rehabilitation center, and villain has never experienced such warmth and kindness! Not to mention frequent visits from hero to check up/see how they’re doing. Maybe it’s no good but just a thought I had; I love your writing so much!! 💛🌼

(No pressure though, I know you’re probably busy!)

Oh, I absolutely love this prompt! Evil rehab centers are all well and good, but I’d never thought of one as being a source of comfort. I hope you like this! I was going to do some more with it, but it was already running a little long ^^

Thanks so much for the prompt!

CW//Arson, burning buildings, smoke inhalation, fear of death, gross food, mentions of torture, animal disease

As though singed by smoke, Villain’s lungs burned.

Even as they gasped, they felt as though they could not inhale a single breath. Yet, somehow, they had enough air to keep going.

It wasn’t as though they had a choice.

They were unsure, at that point, if their legs were truly moving at all. They had lost feeling in them far too long ago to be able to verify such a thing. Somehow, though, they were moving forward. Even if they wanted to, they didn’t know if they could stop, with momentum pushing them as it was.

Everything was riding on this. Days of keeping ahead, of leading the chase. If they stopped moving for just a moment, it would all be wasted.

And their life would be over. If they stopped running now, there would be no Villain left.

In that instant, they understood what it was to be a rabbit. When there was a fox on your tail, there were no do overs. No second chances. It was run or die.

As long as they could, they were going to run.

Villain couldn’t remember the name of the building in which they had managed to find the briefest of respites. Despite its sprawling size, there was nothing truly remarkable about it. Perhaps it did not have a name in the first place. At some point, it had been some sort of industrial complex-- the home of half a dozen separate companies, each clashing and butting up against one another.

Yet, the structure had long since been left to rot. They had a feeling that mold clinging to every corner had something to do with that.

Just a week ago, they would never have dreamed of so much as going someplace like this. The air smelled rotten, and breathing it left a sour taste sticking to their tongue. Not to mention the fact that several animals of varying size and danger had already claimed the rotten complex as their home.

But, they weren’t the same Villain they had been a week ago. Stumbling upon the building had felt like a gift from above, and, the night prior, they’d managed to get some honest-to-god rest among its sodden carpeting.

It was the most rest they’d gotten in days, despite the fact that, halfway through it, they’d awoken to a diseased rat with its teeth buried in their forearm. They’d had worse awakenings.

After shooing away the animal, they’d managed to sleep an hour or so more. Then came the worse of their two awakenings, that night.

The shouting voices of heroes.

Villain didn’t know how they’d found them. There was no trace, no trail. They had no vehicle-- instead moving through the woods on foot. ‘On foot’ was quite literal in that instance, considering the fact that they’d lost their shoes three days ago to a patch of quickmud.

But, still, they’d been found.

They didn’t no how long ago it was, that they’d been awakened by those voices. With the darkened building’s clocks hanging stubbornly on the wrong minute and hour, there was no way to tell how long it had been.

How long they’d been running...

Villain skidded around a corner, hissing as their foot caught on an uprooted carpet tack. Had they been this way before? It was impossible to tell-- all the halls looked the same.

The halls repeated, just as the heroes’ footsteps did.

How were they not tired?

Maybe because they’d eaten. And slept. And had water.

Villain had found that stream the other day, though...

Everything about them seemed to be repeating. The walls. The footsteps.

The lies of the heroes.

“Just stop running! We don’t want to hurt you!”

They couldn’t count just how many times they’d heard those words. Lies. Of course they were lies! Or, perhaps, it was their own sick attempt at a joke. We don’t want to hurt you, we just want to kill you!

Villain wasn’t ready to die. Not just yet.

Another corner was taken with haste, and their nostrils were overwhelmed with the scents of rust and oil.

The garage was massive-- reaching further upwards than the shreds of sunlight filtering through dusty windows could reach with their furthest rays. Its concrete floor stretched out, seemingly, all the way to the horizon-- dotted only by support beams, and whatever scattered machinery and supplies the company had not deemed valuable enough to bring along.

The source of the scent of gasoline was quite rapidly made apart. Stacked haphazardly in the corner, red gas containers stood. Their reek alone made it well known that they were far from empty.

But the gas was far from Villain’s main concern regarding the garage.

In the past few days, they had become awfully good at finding exits. It was with a ruthless instinct that they scanned the room for one.

But, in the end, they reached a terrifying conclusion.

There was one exit. It was the same door as the entrance. The garage doors on the other side of the chamber had long since been chained shut, and there was no time for lockpicking.

The heroes flooded in.

It was with an exhausted hopelessness and steadfast stubbornness that they kept running forth. Of course, with their terrible luck, they did not make it very far. A rebar pipe caught their toes, sending them sprawling onto the concrete, pain shrieking from a thousand different, tiny wounds.

For a few seconds, Villain let themself breathe. They figured that, at the very least, they should let themself enjoy their last moments alive.

Their relaxation did not last long. They refused to die laying down. Trembling from exhaustion, pain, starvation, dehydration, and terror, all at once, they staggered to their feet. For a moment, their vision blurred, before solidifying once more.

Half a dozen heroes fanned out before the entrance, guarding it ruthlessly. Faux looks of concern painted their countenances.

From the array of aches and pains swarming Villain, a single one, all at once, made itself known. Something pressing up against their leg.

Their lighter.

Their trembling gaze flicked to the pile of glimmering red gas cans. It was behind them-- only a few steps back. If they could just...

“Villain!” The person in the front of the group called out-- Hero. “There’s nowhere else to go. It’s okay. Everything’s okay. You just need to come with us. You can’t survive like this much longer, you know that!”

No. What they couldn’t survive was the heroes.

But, they didn’t have to.

Villain took a step back, inching towards the pile.

“Come on, buddy!” Another hero called. “What are you so afraid of?”

It was the heroes who should be afraid. Another step back.

“There’s nowhere to run, Villain.” Hero spoke once more. “Just come with us. No harm will come to you, I swear to it.”

No.

Villain wasn’t ready to die. Not today.

They took the final step, until they were mere inches from the pile. With a well-placed kick, and a horrible clattering, the cans toppled from their precarious pyramid. The reek of gas grew tenfold as brown liquid spilled out, onto the concrete below.

Stepping back from the gasoline-- they were ready to go, not just yet-- they reached into their pocket. The heroes had no time to identify the object they pulled out. By the time they realized what had happened, the lighter had already been thrown.

The flame leapt into the air with such force that Villain was thrown back, tossed to the concrete like a ragdoll.

The faux compassion on the heroes faces turned to an emotion that was very, very real.

Fear.

Spreading so fast that its growth could be heard, the inferno pounced, grabbing onto the base of a wooden support beam and licking its way upwards.

“Everyone!” Hero shouted-- terror in their voice overpowered by sheer determination. “Get out! This building’s not stable.”

“W-what about you?”

“If I’m not out within five minutes, send someone in after me.”

“Are you certain?”

“We’re heroes. And, sometimes, that means saving villains, too.”

Despite their clear reluctance, the other heroes, one by one, nodded, allowing their terror to spur them to flee.

When the last of them was gone, only two remained in the garage. The villain and the hero.

Villain looked upwards, watching as the flame reached the top of the support beam and rippled onto the ceiling.

There were only two ways this could end. They knew that.

Either Hero lost their nerve and fled, allowing their prey to escape, or they both perished in the flames.

No matter which came to pass, there was only one thing that mattered:

They would not die by the hands of a hero.

“You’re scared.” Hero began. Another stupid speech. “I know. I know you’re scared. This last week has been hell for you, I know that. But it doesn’t have to go down like this. You can still make the right choice. 

Please. Come with me. I don’t want to hurt you. Believe it or not, I don’t want you to die!”

“You’re a bad liar, you know.” They croaked.

Villain’s lungs were already torn from gasping. The slowly-rising smoke only served to salt their wounds.

Before them, a flaming ceiling tile fell, spraying them with embers.

“You don’t want this! I know you don’t! You don’t want to die!”

“Why do you think I’m doing this?! Of course I don’t want to die, you fucking idiot!”

“Then come with me!”

“It’s like you don’t even hear yourself.”

The building shuddered as a support beam splintered and collapsed. The force of it sent Villain, once again, to the concrete, bathing their face in smoke. As they scrambled to their hands and knees, they could not help but let out a shuddering cough.

“Villain! Watch out!”

“Wh-”

The ceiling tile struck their head, burying them under its accompanying rubble.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Warmth... and music.

They awoke to warmth, and music.

The first of the two came in the form of something soft, heavy, enveloping them, making them feel as though they were buried within a cloud. The music, too, seemed to surround them-- there were no words to it, just the soft, lulling tone of a piano, accompanied by the occasional splash of waves.

It was confusion that first whispered to Villain, when their leaden eyelids at last agreed to open. Above them sat an off-white sky, stretching out to meet with a light blue wall. They blinked once more.

Where...

The chase the heroes the running the building the gas the fire the rubble the-

Villain jolted upright, tossing off of themself a heavy, fleece blanket. Trembling fingers gripped the mattress below them as they scanned the world around, instincts kicking in, searching frantically for an exit.

The room was small, walls colored a soft, baby blue, and lit by a pair of lamps with warm, orange bulbs. The few items of furniture were made of a light brown wood-- three small nightstands, two in corners, and one next to the bed in which Villain lay.

Next to one of the stands was placed a small writing desk and chair, while the other was accompanied by a potted plant, petals just starting to emerge from its buds. Embedded in one wall, a window stood, a small radio perched upon its sill.

The door was at the room’s far end, next to their bed. A wooden door with brass handle-- easy to break down.

But guarded.

Before the door, a figure stood-- a person dressed in a bright flannel, from the breast pocket of which stuck an overabundance of pens.

They did not look particularly strong, but, then again, neither did Villain. At the sound of their movement, the figure turned to face them, a smile growing upon their round face.

“I didn’t even notice you waking up.” They hummed. “Good morning.”

There were two options for escape: The door or the window. Neither was particularly desirable, but they had to choose one...

“Hey, buddy.” The stranger’s voice felt almost as warm as the fleece blanket. “You’re looking a bit like a deer in the headlights, there. I’m sure this is all a bit overwhelming, and I’m sure you’re pretty confused. I’d be confused too, trust me.”

No. There was no confusion in Villain’s mind. They were focused on one thing, the only thing that mattered: Getting out of here!

The flannel-wearing figure took a few steps towards the bed. In instinctual panic, the villain scrambled to their hands and knees, shuffling backwards until their spine was flush with the headboard.

“Hey, hey, shhh.” They hushed. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll stay right back here, okay?”

“L-Let me out of here!”

The figure frowned.

“Bud, I’m not sure that you’d last another day out there. Not in the state Hero found you in.”

Hero. Of course they were working for Hero.

“I’ll explain everything, alright bud? But let’s just start here. My name’s Doctor. What’s yours?”

Villain only then noticed that they were shaking like a leaf. Whatever this method of torture or interrogation or whatever it is was, they wanted no part in it. They just wanted to go home! To get out! Warm bed or not, this was a prison. They were sure of it.

But, the bed was comfortable, and there wasn’t a single rat in sight...

“How about this...” Doctor coaxed. “You tell me your name, and I’ll tell you what’s going on, okay?”

A trade. Information for information.

Was it worth it? They supposed there was little use in lying.

“V-Villain. My name’s Villain.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Villain.”

“Now, wh-what is this p-place?”

Doctor nodded.

“This is the Supervillain Memorial Villainous Recovery Center. We’re in the city, right by the river. Next to the botanical gardens, if you know where that is.”

They were really telling them the location of their prison? Surely it would have been better to keep such a thing secret. That is, assuming they were telling the truth.

“I believe you’ve been asleep for about... seventeen hours.” Doctor glanced to their watch. “Yep, just about. You’ve been here for maybe half that time. After you got caught in the fire, Hero brought you to the hospital. They bandaged your wounds and brought you here. I hope you slept well.”

Villain almost laughed at that, before a realization struck them. They had slept well. Sure, remnants of the specter of fatigue still haunted them, but for the first time in days, they felt awake enough to think clearly.

But, this was still a prison.

Right?

Prisons didn’t usually have soft beds and fleece blankets, but...

No. It was a trick. This was a prison, and they were a prisoner.

“Let me go.” Villain insisted, though it was halfhearted. “Y-You can’t keep me here! I’m leaving. I need to leave!”

Doctor frowned again, biting their lower lip.

“I’m sorry, Villain, but for now, you’re going to have to stay here. But, I promise, you’ll like it here.” They sighed. “I know you’re scared, and confused, and a thousand other things. But, here, you’re safe. There’s other people here-- quite a few of them, in fact. And, at one point, they were all like you. But ask any one of them. This is the best place for you to be.”

Other people?

“Where are they? W-What are you doing to them?!”

Doctor smiled.

“They’re in our main wing, right now. I believe everyone is eating lunch right about now. I don’t know about you, but where I come from, lunch isn’t a form of torture.”

Villain pursed their lips.

“Then, where am I?”

“This is our arrivals wing. You’re going to stay here, for a few days. Until you’re comfortable, and we can make sure all that smoke is out of your lungs. Then you can join in with everyone else. I’m gonna move over to the side of the bed now, okay? I won’t touch you.”

Even with the warning, Villain couldn’t help but flinch as Doctor approached. They moved to the nightstand at the bed’s side, plucking a small, red box from its surface.

“Hero told me to give this to you, when you got up. It’s not exactly the most nutritious thing to start your day off with, but I think you deserve something tasty.”

They offered the box. After a moment of hesitance, Villain snapped it from their hands, drawing it close to their chest. Was it a threat? Some kind of warning? Morbid curiosity took hold of them, prompting them to open the box’s lid.

Chocolates.

A dozen chocolates, laid out in the design of a star.

“I can eat these?”

“Go ahead.”

Without hesitance, this time, they popped one of the candy pieces into their mouth. Its flavor overwhelmed them, strong enough to nearly knock them over. It’d been days since they’d eaten anything that didn’t come off a bush or from the dumpster.

“Um...” Villain looked back up, closing the box. “So, when are you going to kill me?”

Doctor laughed.

“Hero will be visiting tomorrow. With how long they can talk for, I think you’re only in danger of dying of boredom.”

This was a prison. Of course it was.

Yet, as they glanced down at the box of chocolates, they could not help but forget all thought of panic and escape.

[theskywaslookingback]

hands

“Somehow I thought the place would have been smaller,” Martin says, bag slung over his shoulder as he looks up at the cottage. “It’s nicer than I would have given Daisy credit for.”

Jon hums, pulling his bag out of the boot of the car they’d borrowed from Basira and letting the lid fall shut with a heavy thunk. The cottage sits nestled at the base of a large hill, surrounded by lush green grass and the last vestiges of summer flowers. Far off in the distance a couple of cows graze lazily, just small dark shapes in the dying sunlight. Bugs hum in the air around them. It’s small and quiet, just the kind of place Jon thinks Daisy might have liked, actually.

The cottage itself is stone painted a stark white, with dark blue, peeling shutters closed tight to the windows. One of the shutters lies broken on the ground, and the glass it had been protecting is spider-webbed with cracks. Two terra cotta flower pots sit on either side of the front door, both empty. There was no evidence that a welcome mat had ever been laid between them. To the left of the door was a box filled with what had once been firewood but was now damp with mist and rot. Jon shuddered to think about creatures they might find lurking in the bottom of that box.

“Charming,” Jon says, the corner of his mouth turned down in distaste. He finds the key in a false rock on the right side of the cottage, just where Basira had said it would be, and lets them inside.

It’s clear from the moment they step inside that Daisy had not visited this particular safe house in quite some time. The air inside the cottage is thick and unpleasantly cold, smelling of dust and age. Dust motes catch in the dim light of the bulb as Jon turns on the light, and he’s displeased to see cobwebs sitting stubbornly in the corners of the room. The wood floor looks old and worn, scratchy looking area rugs dotted along like haphazard patchwork quilt. Jon loathes to take his shoes off.

“Well,” Martin says from behind him, crowding in close, “at least the electric is working.”

Jon shoots a withering glare over his shoulder and steps inside, letting Martin close the door behind them. He drops his bag next to the uncomfortable mound of fabric that someone generous might have once called a settee and goes to check on the rest of the place.

Jon checks the taps in the kitchen and is relieved to find the water running. There’s an expired  box of Tetley’s in the pantry that will have to make do until they can make their way down to the village to do a proper bit of shopping, and a couple cans of peaches that might be passable as dinner or breakfast if he can convince Martin to eat them.

He can hear Martin moving about in the sitting room, the creak of the windows and shutters as Martin pushes them open to get the place aired out a bit. “Might be a bit chilly with the windows open,” Jon says.

“There’s a radiator,” Martin replies, “I’ll see about getting it on.”

“Right.”

The hall light flickers when he turns it on, but it gives him enough light to see by. The cottage itself has only four rooms - kitchen, sitting room, one bedroom, and one bath - and Jon can’t bring himself to be surprised that the only bed appears to be a full size. He checks the dresser drawers and finds them empty, thankfully, no nesting mice or other visitors.

The bed is a utilitarian thing. One pillow, though he’s frankly surprised it even has that, white sheets with tight tucked corners, and a navy blue duvet. Jon pulls it off the bed to shake off the dust and sneezes, his eyes watering. He opens the single window with a little difficulty, having to stand on his tip-toes to get it all the way open, and unlocks the shutters. Night has settled quickly over the little valley, but the moon is bright and nearly full, pouring silver light into the room.

When Jon makes his way back into the sitting room Martin is crouched in front of the radiator and frowning, the sleeves of his button down shirt rolled up to show the light brown skin of his forearm. He has a birthmark on his left arm, nestled next to the crease where his arm bends, a dark spot like a smudge of dirt that Jon wants to press his mouth to.

Jon clears his throat, the tips of his ears burning a little. “Any luck?”

Martin jerks a little, swinging his head up to look at him. Jon feels his mouth go a little dry at the sight if he’s honest. Martin’s dark hair sweeping over his forehead, those sleeves rolled back on those thick arms. He likes the look of Martin at work, those calm dark eyes fixed on a problem that Jon knows he’ll find a solution for. Martin sweeps his eyes over Jon, head to toe, before looking back at the radiator. “I don’t know what Daisy did to this thing, but I think it’s well and truly dead.”

“Did you try plugging it in?”

Martin gives Jon a glare worthy of one of his own and Jon feels his lips turn up into a grin without his permission. “It’s a gas radiator, Jon.” He sighs, “Hopefully the gas is just turned off and it’ll be an easy fix, but we’ll be stuck without it tonight.”

“That’s...not ideal.”

Martin hums in agreement.

Silence settles between them, a not unwelcome weight that Jon’s been getting used to the last few days. “Tea?” Jon asks after a moment for lack of anything more helpful to do.

“That would be lovely, actually. Did you find some?”

“Daisy had some in the pantry, it’s likely ancient, but--”

“Tea is tea.”

Jon wrinkles his nose but doesn’t outwardly disagree.

“I’ll just get some things put away then,” Martin says, picking his bag back up off the floor. “Do you want me to take yours?”

“Leave it. I’ll get it later.”

“Alright.”

Jon finds Daisy’s kettle under the sink and starts to wash it out when he hears Martin say something from down the hall. He turns off the water. “What?”

Martin appears in the entry, biting his lip. “There’s er, there’s only one bed.”

Jon furrows his eyebrows. “I’m aware. I saw the bedroom, Martin.”

“Yeah it’s just--“ Martin trails off, his cheeks flushing. “How are...how are we going to sleep?”

Jon remembers the two days they’d spent in his flat, sleeping in the same bed, their hands tangled together even when sleeping because the thought of being separated was too much to bear. But that had been right after Jon had walked Martin out of the Lonely, so he supposes those were extenuating circumstances, Martin needing an anchor to find himself again. It should be a relief that Martin feels safe enough to want a little distance again, but mostly it just sets off a dull ache in his chest.

Jon feels a sharp pain in his jaw and realizes he’s been clenching his teeth and makes an effort to relax, though his shoulders feel pinned next to his ears. Jon goes back to washing out the kettle, filling it with cool water to boil. He avoids Martin’s eyes and says, “I think there might be some spare linens in the closet. I can take the couch.”

Martin shifts, the old wood floor creaking under his foot. “Are you sure? It doesn’t look very comfortable.”

Jon shrugs. “I’ve slept on worse, when I do manage to sleep. It’ll be fine Martin.”

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

“I am.” Jon says with a finality he doesn’t feel.

He finds a couple of mugs in the cupboard that he rinses out before filling with water and letting the tea bags steep. He brings the mugs back into the sitting room and sets Martin’s down on the table. He takes a sip of his own and grimaces. It’s vile, but far from the worst tea he’s ever had so he makes himself drink it.

Martin appears a minute later from the bedroom  and takes his tea with a grateful little thanks before taking a sip and making a face.

“Tea is tea.” Jon mumbles.

“I’m not sure this still qualifies.” Martin says but drinks it anyway.

They drink the rest of their tea in silence. Martin volunteers to do the washing up while Jon gets his own things put away.

Martin has left him half the dresser for his clothes and made a space for him on the bathroom counter. It feels almost too intimate, their toothbrushes resting side by side, their clothes in the same drawer. Jon tries desperately not to think about it as he changes his clothes for bed and rifles through the little linen closet for a set of sheets.

He finds a set of dark gray sheets and a threadbare red throw blanket that he drags back out into the sitting room. The settee is as uncomfortable as it is ugly, hardly more than a couple of boulders masquerading as a sofa; Although, Jon has spent many a night sleeping on the floor or bent over his desk at the Archives, so maybe he has no real right to complain.

Martin turns off the kitchen light and waits awkwardly for him to finish, hovering around the edges like he wants to say something but doesn’t have the words. “Are you going to be warm enough?” He finally asks, eyes locked onto the throw blanket. The fabric is almost sheer in spots from wear and dotted with holes along one edge.

The chill is almost impossible to ignore, but Jon just shrugs, a jerky up and down motion of his shoulders. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, if you’re--“ Martin bites his lip, “Okay. Good night, Jon.”

“Good night, Martin.”

Martin disappears into the bedroom, turning the hall light off, and Jon lets out a shaky breath when he shuts the door behind him with an audible click.

*

Moonlight seeps in through the open windows, the chirp of crickets ringing along the countryside, a chill settling across the fields as if to prove winter will be along soon. Even in his long sleeve and trackie bottoms, two pairs of socks pulled up over his feet, Jon shivers. He keeps staring at the ceiling, tracing along crisscrossing cracks with his eyes. He kicks his feet and wraps the blanket further up his shoulder and tries to relax. The walls creak and shudder, old pipes groaning and settling inside the wall. Jon throws an arm over his eyes and tries not to think about it. He’s almost asleep when he hears the floorboards start to creak, the soft padding of footsteps coming from the hall.

“Jon?” Martin’s voice is soft, a little strained and raspy like he’s anxious, “Are you still awake?”

Jon sits up, rubbing a hand down the side of his face. “Yes, I’m still awake.”

“Oh,” Martin says. Jon can’t quite see him, can just make out the shape of him, long legs and broad shoulders. His arms wrapped around himself like he can’t keep warm. “It’s...it’s cold, isn’t it.”

“Yes.”

“Might--” Martin clears his throat, “Might be easier if we slept together, yeah? Until we get the heating back up.”

“Are you--” Jon pauses, picking at a loose thread on the blanket, “Would you be okay with that?”

“Would I?” Martin blurts, “I, uh, would you? Be okay with that?”

“Of course. We shared before.”

“Yeah we…” Martin takes a step further into the room. The edges of him blur just a bit, and what Jon can make out of his face looks exhausted. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t, it--” Jon chokes on his own honestly, the lump of it hard and solid in his throat, “It’s okay when it’s you.”

Martin’s mouth drops open into a little ‘o’, a shocked exhale of breath coming from him.

Jon immediately wants to take it back. It’s too much, Jon knows, he’s always been too much at exactly the wrong time. He curls his fists into the blanket pooled at his waist, fighting back the sharp wave of panic that ‘this is it, this time he’s ruined it for good’.

“Okay,” Martin says softly, his lips turning up into a small smile that’s both soft and a little sad, “come on then, maybe we can still get a few hours in before sunrise.”

Jon swallows hard. The panic sits there in his chest, silent and waiting. “Okay,” He chokes out, “alright, let me just--” He gets up and takes the blanket with him, just to have something to do with his hands and follows Martin into the bedroom.

It’s just as cold in here as the rest of the house, but the way Jon’s fingers are trembling has nothing to do with the cold. He picks the side closer to the window, if only so he has something to stare at when he can’t sleep. Martin curls up next to him. The bed is so much smaller than his own back in London. Martin has to draw his legs up just to fit on the mattress, too tall and wide for the little bed. Jon fits just fine, but he’s a little worried about rolling off the mattress during the night. They’re perched precariously, sharing the same pillow, Martin’s warm breath at the back of Jon’s neck.

Eventually Martin sighs. “Here,” He says, shuffling a little behind Jon, “Can I--?” He hovers his hand over Jon’s waist.

It doesn’t-- it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just that the bed is too small for two grown men, despite one being below average height, and it’s cold besides. That doesn’t stop Jon’s heart from beating hard and loud in his chest though, as he slowly nods.

Martin’s hands are large and strong and lovely. Jon’s breath catches when Martin’s arm curls around his waist and he’s pulled back against Martin’s chest. He can feel Martin’s heart beating against his back, thudding almost as loud and hard as his own. Martin’s fingers settle over his stomach, splaying out. Jon thinks his hand could almost cover it completely and it sets off another round of shivering in him that has nothing at all to do with the cold.

“Alright?” Martin whispers.

“Yes.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m-- it’s cold, Martin.”

Martin hums thoughtfully and lets go of Jon for just a moment, long enough to pull the duvet up higher around them before settling his hand back against Jon’s stomach. Jon curls his own hands in front of his face and grabs the blanket so hard his knuckles ache.

“Night, Jon.”

“Good night, Martin.”

Jon is sure there’s no way he could fall asleep like that, pressed so close to Martin that he can feel the warmth of him all along his body, but eventually he does.

[READ THE REST ON AO3]

[glowingbadger]

Okay, I LOVE the Spiky sword boy and his sheer inability to handle most emotions. May I ask how would Felix handle being teased throughout the day by his S/O? Like maybe she wears a little more revealing article of clothing than normal or other small things to really get at him?

Full disclosure, when I first started playing FE3H, a friend of mine asked which route I had chosen first, and I told her I'd joined the Blue Lions. And she had the audacity to look me in the eyes and say, "Because of Felix?" And like, yes because of Felix, but also fuck you.

Anyway, more content from me about teasing an uptight, emotionally congested man with a heart of gold (y'know, for something different xD)

Felix (FE3H) x Fem/AFAB Reader - teasing

NSFW 18+

If you'd known that Felix would be so easy and so fun to tease, you would have tried something like this far sooner. You'd watched him gape openly when he'd first seen you at the dining hall that morning with your blouse opened deep at the front ("It's so warm today!") and a skirt that hugged a little too tight and far too short. Later, you had made sure to sit across from him at the day's strategy debriefing so you could watch him struggle to keep his gaze above the neckline. By the time you'd insisted on joining him to spar in the afternoon, he was so off-kilter that even his swordsmanship began to suffer. Even in less-than-optimal attire for combat, you were able to keep up with him- for a while, anyway.

At last, he rallies his focus and blocks your strike just above the hilt. The impact so close to your grip manages to disarm you, and Felix takes a firm step forward and levels his practice sword at your throat. You're both panting, both red in the face- but you wear a grin while he scowls in reply.

"You had the upper hand a minute ago," he says, not lowering his blade, "If you were actually dressed properly for a fight, this may have been a real match."

"If I were dressed properly for a fight, I would never have had the upper hand at all." You retort, your wicked grin widening. It's the first time you've called attention to his reaction to your ploy- and his expression shows how your acknowledgement only flusters him further. Dark, narrowed eyes scan your body down, then back up.

"You're trying to get under my skin."

"I'd say I'm succeeding." you quip back. You see his chest rise and fall heavily in the moment of tense silence that follows. Finally, he lowers his weapon with an irritable exhale. Every muscle in his body is wound tight, his posture stiff, as though consciously holding himself in place. You bite at your bottom lip, just imagining that restraint snapping and coming undone.

"We're on the night patrol together tonight, right?" you say as you come to stand beside him.

"Uh- yeah, I guess so." Felix mutters. You smile and kiss him lightly on the cheek- a deceptively innocent gesture.

"I'll see you later, then."

Evidently, Felix had managed to collect himself by the time you joined him at the Monastery Gates that evening- at least outwardly. Eyes that had wandered your body all day are now kept strictly in check as you walk side by side around the perimeter walls. He even manages to chat with you more or less as usual as you make your rounds. In a way, you're impressed. But that doesn't keep you from wondering how you could push him just a little more.

"Soo..." you trail off for a moment, walking a bit ahead of Felix with your hands innocently behind your back, "I was chatting with Sylvain earlier today, and-"

"Sylvain?" he says sharply- and you know your bait worked. Too easy.

"Yup! We had a nice long chat, it was really sweet of him to take so much time out of his day for me."

Felix seizes your wrist in hand and tugs you back to him.

"He saw you like this? Did he try anything? If he did, I'll slit his-"

"Felix, come on," you cut in with a laugh. You face him and gently brush his bangs aside, admiring the way his sharp features are accented by cool moonlight. He gives an irritable sigh and steps forward, and you subconsciously step back in unison.

"You have no idea how people have been looking at you today." he says with a dangerous edge in his voice. You feel your back hit the wall, trapping you between cool stone and Felix's harsh glare.

"I've only been watching how you've been looking at me," you say, closer to a whisper than you'd intended. And in an instant, Felix's lips are on yours. He grabs onto your wrists and pins them above your head, and as he secures them in place with one strong hand, the other tugs up at the hem of your skirt. You whimper into his kiss like a mewing kitten as his tongue thrusts past your lips. He's harsh and unforgiving, and it's all you can do not to lose your breath as his touch runs unabashedly up your inner thigh.

"Felix...!" you gasp as two fingers press against the thin fabric of your panties, rubbing firmly along your wet heat.

"Quiet," he hisses, "Do you want the knights to hear you?"

Frankly, when you see that intense look in his eyes and feel his rough fingers slide into your clothing and between your lower lips, you couldn't care whether the archbishop herself heard you. Still, you manage to bite your lip and stifle a moan as two digits surround your stiffened clit, rhythmically stroking the sensitive nerves and sending sparks of pleasure through your core. Your thighs twitch inward, squeezing around him as he runs his fingers slick across the aching bud, setting your legs trembling. Felix must be able to feel your body going weak- or perhaps, he's every bit as impatient for satisfaction as you are. His touch leaves your needy body before long, and he releases your wrists. But before you can question him, he hikes your skirt up your hips without a word, then fumbles open the front of his pants to free his member, already throbbing hard and flushed a dark crimson.

Then, muscled arms wrap under you and lift you up against the wall. He hooks your knees over his elbows, spreading your legs wide for him as he aligns with your eager pussy. Sighing out his name, you wrap your arms around his strong shoulders for support. Then, you feel his warm cockhead parting your slickened folds. With a low groan rumbling in his chest, Felix pushes into the tight heat of your cunt, stretching you around him as he plunges inch after inch into you. Somehow, he feels bigger than usual. Perhaps a day of teasing has had a more tangible affect on him than you'd anticipated.

Felix brings his lips to your jaw, kissing and biting his way back to your ear, where the heat of his breath sends a shiver down your spine. His hips begin thrusting into you, pumping his cock into you until your overflowing arousal coats his full length. Thick veins drag along your inner walls, stimulating a range of wonderfully tender spots, and your nails dig along his upper back in desperation. You've known that Felix isn't much of a dirty talker- and given the circumstances, that's probably for the best- but the way he softly pants and groans into your ear floods your body with a new, more urgent need. The thought that this is what he's wanted with you, that all day Felix has been one taunt away from fucking you against the nearest surface, is such an intense rush that you can already feel yourself clenching and gripping around him.

"I'm- I'm gonna-"

"Do it," he whispers harshly along your neck, "cum for me- now."

He bucks his hips upward, sheathing himself deep inside of you until you can feel the pressure up through your center. His lower body is partially supporting you, so your weight pushes you down onto his throbbing length. Felix kisses you, not even bothering with skill or finesse- only raw need. And you cum, hard. Your body shudders, your pussy squeezes around him, and the knot of pleasure built inside of you comes undone at once. His kiss muffles your helpless, blissful whimpers, and before you've even ridden the full wave of your climax, his own begins to take hold. He holds you almost painfully firm against the rough stone wall as you feel him shoot his cum into you in powerful volleys, one after another. Felix breaks away from your lips, his head coming to rest at the crook of your neck. He utters a tortured groan as his manhood swells and flexes from base to tip, pouring out the last of his release into your over-used and over-full body.

You're reminded of your sparring match earlier that day. The two of you are both thoroughly spent, panting heavily and struggling to steady your breathing. Felix tries to be gentle when he sets you back on your feet, but neither of you realize how unprepared you are to use your legs again, so you stumble forward into him. You expect a disgruntled comment, but instead, he wraps his arms around you and holds you steady while you regain your bearings.

"Wow..." you murmur, clinging to the front of his shirt, "I should try teasing you more often."

[justreadingfics]

It’s a Deal (Ch. 14)

Chapter Summary: Hearts are broken.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: angst, “The Mandalorian” reference.

A/N: One more chapter after this and we’re done. Thank you, incredible Suz, @bucky-the-thigh-slayer for having my back. Love you. The link to my masterlist, where you can find the other chapters, is on my description. Feedback is highly appreciated.

Tag list for this story is closed.  

There’s that annoying little chilling feeling running down his spine while Bucky parks his bike on the nearest parking lot to your building and steps towards your place. Not the dreadful feeling he gets on missions when his life or others’ are in danger. No, not that one. Is that feeling he gets when he knows something’s up, something’s out of order, not necessarily bad, but something that he needs to put his focus on…

He’s been trying to hold himself from going to your place, he knows that it may sound like he’s imposing himself in your personal space, in your life, but he’s been trying to call you in the last few hours, sent a few messages but you haven’t answered  and then that annoying little feeling came to say hello.

And in his long ass life, he’s learned better than to ignore that feeling. He knows you’re not at work because it’s a Sunday and maybe you just went out somewhere without your phone and he’s just being paranoid or something… But he’ll just check if you’re ok, see those pretty eyes of yours and leave. That’s it.  He may seem like a fucking stalker, but if that is going to assure him you’re ok, then so be it.

And God knows how much he would appreciate a glimpse of you right now.

The little hairs on his neck stand in attention at the sight he catches from the corner of your street and brings him to a full stop. That short little asshole of your ex, dragging a big suitcase with one hand and holding a couple of boxes with the other.

Bucky’s heart races and he frowns, watching when that Eddie guy lets go of the suitcase and balances himself to not let the boxes fall while he types the code to open the front door, getting into your building right after, dragging the suitcase with him.

The air catches in Bucky’s throat before it comes out in short little breaths. His mind runs with all the possible scenarios that would explain that scene… he desperately searches for ones that don’t have to mean what his jumping heart is telling him it means.

He’s not thinking clearly through the mess that his mind has become, but he decides he needs to see it for himself, as dreadful as he is of what he’s going to see.

In a few long and quick steps he’s at the building’s door, typing the numbers he’s just registered the douchebag typing and in a second he’s in the elevator up to your floor.

Once he’s at your door, ready to knock on the wood, his hand stops midair, before it drops to his side while he sighs. Deeply. This is madness… he shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t need to see anything, he can wait and talk to you some other time, when he’s less… anguished… anxious… He knows what he’s thinking, but it doesn’t mean that’s the case. You and the guy had lived together for years… maybe he’s just returning some of your stuff… maybe… damn… he brushes his hand over his face, harshly. He should leave.

And he’s about to do exactly that when the door opens.

Bucky has been calling the guy a short little asshole all this time and, while he still may be an absolute jackass and Bucky surely and easily beats him in height, somehow he feels like the smallest person on earth standing in front of the man right now.

“Can I help you?” Eddie asks, hardening his face after an immeasurable moment of stunned silence between the two men.

“Ahm,” Bucky clears his throat and keeps his voice firm, “Can I talk to Y/N?”  

Eddie lets out a small puff and God knows how much Bucky needs to hold himself back from punching that stupid little face, “She’s not home, she had a call for something at work,” Eddie answers plainly.

Bucky feels when his jaw tightens painfully and his chest puffs, “Then what the hell are you doing here?”  His voice comes out dangerously low as his chin tips up.

A little and annoying smirk twists Eddie’s lips and… fuck, Bucky has a terrible feeling about that. “Not that I need to give you any explanation but I’m moving back. This is my home again.” He regards Bucky for a second after adding, “Our home.”

The words punch the air out of Bucky’s lungs and, looking behind Eddie’s shoulder he sees the numerous boxes… your place… where he had you in his arms so many times now filled with that guy’s stuff next to your things… His stomach churns violently.

“Are you… are you and Y/N...” he can’t even finish the question, the words getting stuck in his throat, choking him like a deadly poison.

“Listen, dude…” Eddie bursts out, “What Y/N and I have isn’t some kind of fling or deal or whatever one small time apart can destroy, we belong together.” He huffs and bites his cheek before continuing impatiently, while all Bucky can do is stare at him, frozen in place, ”I have no time for this. If you have questions you can ask her whenever you want, if she has anything to explain to you, she will. Now if you excuse me.” He gestures towards the elevator.

Bucky would rather die a thousand times before he would allow himself to continue showing a single more minute of vulnerability in front of that guy… so he sucks it all down his throat and, holding himself in the excruciating pain rushing up his chest like it’s an anchor, he puts on a hard face and just nods, stepping away while he meets, for the first time, the ache he knows is the feeling of his heart breaking.

~~~

 At the sight before her, Natasha sighs and remembers the time when she would find much different scenarios when she would burst into Bucky’s place. Where she would usually find different underwear tossed around the floor and small parties in his room, now she sees a metal armed dude sprawled on the sofa, face deep into not one, but two huge pints of Stark Raving Hazelnuts from Ben & Jerry’s, while Home Alone plays on the TV, and an Alpine lays comfortably on his lap.

Her little head perks up once Nat’s steps into the room. At least one of them acknowledges her presence.  

“Jesus, Bucky...”

He then moves his gaze to her direction, showing off his puffed eyes while shoving a huge spoon of ice-cream in his mouth, “What?” He speaks with a mouthful, “Breakfast?” He makes an offering gesture with the pint.

“I see you at least put on your uniform,” Nat ignores the offer, stepping towards him, kicking aside the many remains and open packages of junk food on her way. She slaps his leg off the sofa so she can sit beside him. As he grumpily adjusts his position to give her room, an equally grumpy Alpine jumps off his lap and aims a gaze of sheer contempt at Nat, before sauntering towards her plate of food in the kitchen.  

“Well… Show must go on, right?” Bucky answers while his saddened gaze fixes on the tv again.

Nat just stares at him for a moment, her heart twisting in sorrow at his miserable demeanor, “Listen…” she says, with a softer tone, “I checked, she really is on a mission.” At that, she spots the twitch on his jaw, but he doesn’t look back at her, “Apparently it was some last-minute thing about Thor and earthly technology.” Nat frowns and shrugs, “That’s probably the reason why she’s not picking up your calls or mine for the last couple of days. She’s just busy. You can talk to her when she comes back.”

“Why?” He puts the pints of ice cream aside as his face snaps at her.

Despite the initial harshness on his tone, there’s no trace of anger there on his expression. Just… sadness… and, honestly, Nat would deal better with the anger. She’s never seen Bucky like this… not after he came back from Wakanda.

Bucky breathes in a shuddering breath, like it’s painful for him to even do that before he continues speaking, “The guy is back to her place, Nat… all his fucking boxes and clothes and shit next to hers. They’re back together. That’s it. I honestly don’t wanna listen to her telling me how much that guy matters to her…” His voice cracks, but he goes on talking, “That she and I was fun, I was a good fuck and all but not good enough compared to ten years with that…” He huffs, “That douchebag. I don’t wanna hear her saying he’s the real deal and not me.” He bites on his cheek, looking at Nat with eyes becoming glossy, “I just don’t think I can.”

“Bucky…”

“Ugh, no, seriously Nat, fuck,” he growls while he narrows his eyes and his jaw tightens, “Seriously, that guy… if he only… shit… he doesn’t deserve her.” Indignance pours out of his voice, which comes out through his teeth while his hands clench into fists, “He doesn’t appreciate what he has… ugh…” He groans, and lets himself fall back into the sofa, “But…” He sighs, and nods, licking his lips, “If that’s what she wants… I’m not gonna try and take it away from her. I won’t.”  He shrugs.

Like she’s sensing the distress in her human, Alpine materializes on the sofa, between Nat and Bucky, and lets out a meow before curling herself against his thigh. Bucky absentmindedly starts petting her neck, staring up to the ceiling.

Nat could hear the pain of his heart shattering through his words. As for her… regret creeps up inside her. Regret for starting this between Bucky and you. She had a feeling that things could go south, but in all the scenarios she pictured for that, Bucky being the one heartbroken definitely wasn’t one of them. And yet, there he is. Devastated. Completely fucked. In a way she never thought she would see him for… love.

Damn… 

“Are you guys ready?”

The three of them turn towards the voice, spotting Steve there, in his full gear and his signature worried and yet soft look that belongs to Bucky.

“Yup,” Bucky taps on his thighs and grabs Alpine in one hand, who meows loudly, and two suitcases, one bigger and one smaller with the other one.

“Are you seriously taking her with us?” Nat checks, following him towards the door.

“Wherever I go, she goes,” he answers, his voice as down as his face.

“Buck,” Steve puts his hand on his friend’s shoulder, stopping him at the door, “Are you sure you’re ok to go on the mission, I can-“

“I’m fine, punk,” Bucky cuts him off, “I’m a grown ass man, I can handle my feelings.” 

As Bucky walks past his friend and moves to the elevator, Nat exchanges looks with Steve. She’s heard Bucky saying that exact sentence numerous times lately, after he acknowledged the way he feels for you.

The difference is that the usual confidence is just not there anymore.

~~~

You’re frowning while looking down at him. His words making their way into your senses. 

You free one hand of his secured hold to reach over and cup his smiling face.

He leans into your touch.

You make a decision.

 Your heart and mind are finally set together in what you now know you want. Hell… you think you know this for a while, but now… with Eddie bringing all those memories and telling you all of that, it did help you get through the split in your heart and mend it back into one. A whole new heart.

One that is all his.

His.

“Eddie,” your voice is soft, while he smiles up at you, “I remember all of that.” You smile, too, referring to the box of memories next you, “Every single memory… everything we shared… those ten years… they helped me mold me into what I am. There’s no me, there’s no what I am today without them,” you state, while, with your thumb, you caress his cheek.

Eddie nods, “There’s no me without you, either, that’s why I’m here.”

“But, Eddie…” you sigh and lick you lips, “Remember how you’ve told me a couple of times I seem different?”

The smile on Eddie's face slowly drops.

“That’s because I am… I’m not just… I’m not just that anymore.” You nod towards the box, “I found out there’s more in me, and honestly, I think there’s more in you, too, that just doesn’t fit to what we used to be anymore.”

He blinks repeated times, staring up at you, and you lean even closer and cup both sides of his face. 

“I’m sorry. This is all part of who I am. You’re part of who I am. But I can’t go back.” You shake your head, “I can’t.”  

He keeps his stare on you and, after a moment, like he’s been processing what you said to him, he lets out a huff, “Are you serious?” he harshly pulls your hands away from his face and gets up, “Are you fucking serious? Is this because you’re fucking that guy?” He raises his voice, gesturing away.

“Eddie…” You tilt your head as a warning sign.

“No, seriously, you’re trading me, you’re trading us for what?” He spits and points to his chest while his face contorts into something ugly you’ve never seen on him before, “A player who will throw you in the trash for the next nicer piece of ass he sees? For what? A good fuck? An eight pack? A few more inches of dick? Come on…”

“Hey,” you snap, rushing up from your seat to level him, “What the fuck, Eddie?” You curse, as he stares back at you defiantly, “First of all you don’t get to talk to me like that, you lower you goddamn tone.” You point a finger at him, “And, honestly? Bucky is not just “that guy” to me. He’s not a player. You don’t know him, and you don’t know who I am with him, you could never know.”

Through the anger bringing red blurs to your vision, you see when his Adam bone bobs, but he keeps an insolent chin lifted up and he has struck something in you by talking about Bucky and your feelings for him in such a belittling way.  

“I didn’t want things to end like that,” you continue, shaking your head, “I really didn’t, but if you’re talking shit you don’t know the first thing about… ugh… fuck that,” you let out a harsh breath, “In one month or so Bucky respected and appreciated me more than you did in ten years. With him I don’t have to pretend I like or don’t like things just not to upset him or whatever, I learned I can be fun and honest… and…  and he fucking eats my pussy, for God’s sake,” you burst out in a rush of spite.

Eddie takes a step back, completely stunned by your words and outburst, while a dead silence settles in the room.

“Wow,” he mumbles nodding his head and looking away from you.

You shut your eyes and breathe in deeply, letting your head drop for a moment, while reason starts to come back to your senses, “Shit… shit…” You curse under your breath, looking up at him again, “This is not about that, Eddie…” you say, being honest with him and yourself, “I loved you, I really did, you are so important… I appreciate our time together so much… but now…” You press your lips in a taut line and shrugs, “It’s over…And, yeah… Bucky may be in my life now, but-“

He snorts, crossing his arms in front of his chest. There’s pure scorn in his gaze for you, but you decide to ignore that. Eddie really matters a lot to you and you don’t want to end it in such a bad note. You want closure for the two of you, so both of you can accept what you had is over and move on with your lives. 

“But this is not about him. Not completely, at least,” you continue, “It’s us Eddie.” You plead, taking a step closer to him, “Our relationship meant the world, but… but I think we outgrew it-”

“You speak for yourself,” he spits.

You sigh at the anger that is still there, spilling through his voice, but you nod, and speaks softly, “Ok, then… I outgrew our relationship, but even if you think you haven’t, that doesn’t mean it would be good for you to insist on something you realized at some point it wasn’t what you wanted anymore. You can’t deny that.”  

You gasp and try to keep your balance when he drops on his knees and latches himself at you, hugging your waist tightly, “I’m sorry, I���m sorry, I know I caused all this, but please don’t leave me, don’t give up on us,” he begs, his voice breaking, pressing his cheek on you, “Please… please.”

“Eddie… Eddie…” You try catching his attention, as he keeps his chant of remorseful and begging words,  “Stop... stop, Eddie, come here.”

You reach down for his forearms, adding some force to pull him up, to which he lets you. 

When his weeping face levels yours, you gently wipe the tears falling down with your fingers, “You ended this because you weren’t happy, either, and it’s ok. It’s ok to let go,” you say, gently, before cupping his face and fixing your gaze on his, “Let go, Eddie. Let go.”

He exhales, his eyes shutting. While you keep gentle hands on his face, he brings his forehead to yours.

“We’re gonna be ok,” you whisper, wishing that he would understand that moving on is the best thing for the two of you.

At that, he harshly parts himself from you. Hurt and rejection plastered all over his face while he averts his gaze from you.

“Eddie… I don’t know what else to say,” you heave a sigh.   

Before he gives you the comeback he’s about to give you, which you know it wasn’t gonna be a nice one, your phone rings. Nick Fury’s ringtone.

“Shit,” you curse, “I’m sorry, I need to pick that.” You rush and reach out for your phone on the center table, “Yes, Sir… of course… absolutely. I’ll gather my team and will be there in one hour, tops. Alright.”

“It’s work…” you tell Eddie, looking down as you turn off your phone.

“On a fucking Saturday night?” Eddie scoffs, not looking at you.

“Thor is on a solo mission and needs assistance from my team. Fury asked me to lead it. I…” You look at him, but he doesn’t look back at you, “I need to go change,” you say, defeated by his refusal to engage with you or with what you’ve been trying to tell him so far.

Once you come back from your bedroom in a hurry and ready to leave, Eddie is there in the living room, now sitting on the sofa.

“Are you sure?” He asks once you walked over the sofa and met his dull gaze.

“Yes.”

He nods slowly, biting his cheek.

“I’m gonna need to go now, Eddie,” you tentatively say. You step closer to him, but he turns his face to the other side and you take the hint. Stopping on your track.

“What of this place?” He gestures around.

You look around the place you two got together and as from that moment, you don’t see yourself in it anymore. Satisfied with your decision, you walk towards the key hook on the wall and he watches as you come closer to him again and take his hand from his lap, putting the keys in his palm.

“This place is not mine anymore,” you give him a tight smile.

You hold his hand a little longer while his gaze lingers at where you’re touching him.

“Goodbye, Eddie,” you say.

When he doesn’t give you an answer or even spares a look your way, you sigh, deeply. If that’s how he wants it to go, so be it. Letting go of his hand you walk to the door.

As soon as you step aside from your now former home, you realize you’re also walking towards a new phase of your life and you take in a big and refreshing breath before a loose smile forms in your lips. There’s only one thing in your mind, now. Or better, one person.

Bucky.  

~~~

[angelanimedesaray]

Breathe

AN:  I was contemplating on some future multi-chapter fic things and when I realized I couldn’t put this into any of them with my current plans, I ran over here to write this little drabble because I NEED TO WRITE IT!!!

Also, I know this was OH SO LONG AGO COMPARED TO OTHER THINGS, but I was thinking about it because I just watched my favorite reactor (A Goodwin TV) react to Midnight Sun and it’s on my mind, as well as the reason above. (Imma just name drop him real quick cause his AOT and ATLA reactions are GOLD)  Okay, name drop over, back to the drabble/One Shot

FINALLY:  If I’m being honest, I kinda imagine Vampire!Reader from Wings in the Dark doing this, but still, don’t take that as canon, cemented fact here, it’s just READER in this piece...but in my mind that’s kinda what I was thinking, heh

Characters:  Levi, Reader, Erwin (Post-Mortem, Mentioned)

Pairing:  Levi x Reader

Warnings:  ANGST, Post Canon-Character Death, Grief, Loss, Brief Non-descript Nudity, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count--Idk, I wrote this in Tumblr and was too lazy to check in google docs or something just take the drabble from my mind at 1:30 a.m.

*Reader’s POV*

Ever since Levi made the choice, there was a solid wall between the two of you, unseen to the human eye, but felt by both of you as it seemed to tower far beyond the abused walls of Wall Maria that you were surrounded by.  It wasn’t out of any animosity towards you--by now you knew him well enough to know he wasn’t angry at you or anything like that.  Far from it, actually.

But there were still things to do.  Injured to look after--what remained of the Scouts to be injured, anyway--and a sweep of the town to make sure there weren’t any more surprises lurking that might wipe out the very, very few who remained.  For a brief moment, you’d considered following him on that sweep of the area before deciding against it.  You weren’t out of the woods yet, there were still things to do, and you weren’t going to distract him.

Even when Levi and Hange went to put Erwin’s body to rest, you didn’t follow, both of them already making it clear that it wouldn’t be rushed out of respect, but it was not going to be a long affair, either.  The necessities, maybe a more personal touch here and there, and then back to work.

And he might want that time alone, as well.

When Levi came back, you got to your feet, expecting to pull him aside and at least talk to him, but he kept walking, stepping around you and heading straight for Armin and the others to have the much needed talk with them.

You silenced any kind of comment or concerned look that tried to rise to the surface at that.  And you held your tongue as the five of you walked through the broken streets of Shiganshina to finally see what this great sacrifice bought, or rather revealed.  The trip back was silent, everyone either busy with recoveries or with heads swimming with the reveal of humanity beyond the walls, bent on the destruction of everyone within the walls.  But even with thoughts as monuments as that, you were painfully aware that nothing had been said between Levi and yourself still, that Levi was quiet as ever--no, quieter--and that there was a sense of something brewing in the air around you.  You didn’t see any cracks in the façade, but when Wall Rose appeared, and the sea of smiling celebratory faces below, and then around, the blur of the world around you all as you were swept away in a sea of people who wanted to know what happened, what this meant, all these responsibilities suddenly falling on new people, reports needing to be made, debriefings, no rest for the wicked...

Even you couldn’t breathe with the sheer size of it all.  It was insurmountable, a weight that was pressing down with no escape, and that was just what you felt.  You didn’t have the weight that was on Levi’s shoulders, the knowledge and choices and responsibilities still oh so damn fresh with no time to process.  So much to process.  It still hadn’t quite clicked that the 10 people who came back to Wall Rose were the only ones who were going to be coming back.

Somehow, at some point, you and Levi found yourselves walking through familiar halls, past doors that suddenly found themselves without use, the halls empty of any activity or signs of life--at least the ones you were walking.  There was life, elsewhere, but not in this particular wing, not at the moment.  It was just you, Levi, and the bloody silence, the wall that Levi had shored up and somehow managed to keep up without any visible cracks.

Visible.

But that pressure in the air was mounting as he opened the door to your shared quarters, no creak on the door, just the softest whoosh of air as he stepped through, hands undoing the cloak from around his shoulders in the first two steps into the room, the gear being unlocked from the straps by the forth step you saw wobble--

The gear and cloak clattered onto the couch in a temporary position before Levi could finish taking off his gear, and you hardly had time to shut the door behind you before that wall shattered to dust without any warning, the moment it was just you and him and the silence with no chance of anyone disturbing you, as soon as you were hidden from the world.

It clicked, and it all came crashing down, all at once.

The distance evaporated the moment Levi’s knees hit the stone floor, a hitched breath cutting through the air as you hurried to his side, not even bothering to take off your own gear or cloak as all your focus centered on the stalwart man crumbling so visibly in front of you.

His hands were curled into fists against the cold floor, knuckles white and teeth grit as he tried in vain to hold the floodgates closed just a few moments longer, enough to at least get out of his gear and get it properly put away, for a more appropriate time and place than immediately on the floor of the office/sitting room portion of your modest shared quarters.  But all the emotion he’d been bottling and trying to subdue until a more appropriate time could not be held back any longer.  The moment the weight of it all hit him with nothing left to distract him was the moment he couldn’t hold it back any longer.  Silent tears were carving a path across a face that had only gotten a few splashes of water to clean up hours ago.  All the resistance and struggle he could still muster wasn’t enough to stop the sudden onslaught of damned up emotions hitting him at once.

As his shoulders shook and he started to turn his face away, still making an attempt to hold it back a bit longer, your arm slipped across his back, the other carefully touching his shoulder to turn him to face you.  He didn’t have it in him to resist, he was too busy trying to contain himself to divert any energy into resisting your quickly offered embrace even if he wanted to.  So, he turned into you, your hand coming up to gently thread through his hair and cradle his head into you as you maneuvered you both so you were facing one another.  Your other arm was moving gently along his back in soft rubs not necessarily to soothe so much as to help him relax enough to let it out in a way that didn’t seem so physically painful.  Right now the hitched breaths sounded sharp and sudden, the kind that made a persons chest physically ache, his muscles tensed so tightly you were worried bones would snap and sinew would tear.

You didn’t know what to say--what kind of words could possibly be of solace to him at a time like this, the weight of all that death and sacrifice and his monumental choice on the roofs of Shiganshina that had cost him someone more than a dear friend--cost him Erwin--causing him this physical pain.

One thing at a time.  He needed to let it out, not bottle it up.  He needed to release some of this grief, and he needed to not hurt himself even accidentally in the process.

“Just breathe, Levi...just try to breathe...” you murmured to him, trying to make your back rubs make a smooth, soothing pattern that mimicked a breath in and out to get him to slow down and breathe around the tears and the jagged breaths.

You continued your mantra of telling him to breathe as he struggled to follow your suggestion, breathing sporadic and tears dampening your uniform as you held him securely against you, fingers threading gently through hair that had turned greasy with the dirt and sweat.

He was going to want a bath right after this.  But first, he needed this emotional release.  That was the most important thing, even he seemed to realize that.

His fists raised from the cold floor to instead tighten into the fabric of your uniform, clinging to you in a death grip instead of digging into the palms of his hands.  He was still shaking, and his breathing still sounded painful at times, but it was slowing down as he tried to match his breaths to the pattern of your soothing back rubs, trying to slow it down and take deeper breaths.  You simply told him to breathe and rocked slightly in place, chin moving to rest against the top of his head.

You weren’t trying to make the pain go away--you knew you didn’t have that power.  But you were going to offer him what help and comfort you could.

As Levi’s breathing slowed down to something a bit more manageable, you pulled away just enough to look at his face, hands shifting from his back and hair to gently cusp the sides of his face in your hands, thumbs wiping at the tears that had stained his cheeks and your clothes.  He wasn’t looking you in the eyes, still, considering how rarely he let himself be this vulnerable, even around you.  But this was a special exception, an anomaly none of you could have predicted, and you were making more than just simple, small exceptions.

His eyes were bloodshot from the harsh crying, and he looked utterly exhausted, like if you told him to go to sleep right now he actually would, without issue, but definitely with nightmares.

You were both in for some harsh and brutal nightmares going forward.

But again, that was not your focus right now.

Your thumbs gently wiped at the tears that were now trying to hide in the already-made rivers on his face, your touch kind and tender, your eyes full of sorrow of your own--you’d known so many of those that had died, as well.  And you knew that Erwin had been special to Levi in a way you didn’t fully understand.  It wasn’t the same thing you and Levi had, but it was still deep and strong in its own way, and it had just been cut out of him the first time while he was helpless to do anything about it, and the second time with his reluctant consent.

It took a few moments, but he finally looked at you, briefly, which was all you needed--that quick dart of his eyes towards yours, and the fact your gaze was locked on his eyes was enough to trap his gaze to yours long enough to say what you needed to.

“He was ready to go, Levi.”

Almost imperceptibly, Levi’s eyes widened at the fact that was the first thing you were going to say to him, out of everything (besides the brief coaching to calm him down.  The first face to face, conversational thing, first real sentence).

You didn’t know what to say about the grief of so many people dead just so he could get one shot at the Beast Titan, which he then ultimately failed because of a split second of hesitation.  You didn’t know what to say about being the one to make the decision to make that suicide charge, sending all those people to their deaths willingly.  But there was one single thread you felt like you could actually say something about, something that might help ease his burden even the slightest bit.  The pain and loss would still be there, but his load would be just a bit lighter...hopefully.

One grief and--you hated to say it, but--failure, that burned to the forefront of your mind as the greatest personal pains he had to be feeling right now.

Erwin.

You would focus on that.  With Erwin, you had some kind of comfort to give, as strange as it may seem.  But Levi could not take the full brunt of Erwin’s death, not as harshly as he was.  Yes, he’d made the decision, both times, but again...

“He was ready to go,” you said in a carefully tender voice, your thumbs gently tracing along the smooth edges of his cheeks and cheekbones, holding Levi’s gaze and making sure your words were sinking in.  “We both saw it.  You know he was.  You gave him...arguably what he wanted the most.  He was ready to go.”

Levi seemed to remember to breathe again, leaning his head forward into your chest once more--voluntarily, this time--and simply seeking your quiet embrace.  You didn’t make any more comments, simply holding him on your gathered position on the floor, staring off at nothing in particular as you slowly rubbed his back, murmuring little reminders to breathe whenever his breath would start to hitch again.

When your legs started to ache from the kneeling position you’d taken to pull his collapsed form into your arms, Levi pulled away, not even pausing to wipe at any tears or say anything or even look at you.  He simply got to his feet and started undoing the straps that made up the full body harness of the ODM gear, adding them to the pile and starting to strip off his filthy uniform as well.  You clambered to your feet with a bit of effort, pain shooting up your legs and making you pause to wait out the pins and needles sensation burning through your legs from holding that position for so long.

“I’m going to clean up,” Levi said bluntly, his voice still gruff, gravely from the harsh cry he’d just had as he finished stripping of his dirty clothes and started to head for the bedroom door so he could reach the washroom.

“And then get some sleep?” you suggested, turning to face him with a worried look.  Levi simply grunted in response, hand on the bedroom doorframe as you threw out one last thing before the moment slipped away entirely.

“For what it’s worth...” you said quickly, slowing down for the important part.  “I agree with your decision.”

Levi paused, held his position, and then said in a soft voice, “You’d be the first.”

“That’s not true.  Mikasa and Eren--” you started to argue, but Levi simply turned and gave you a look that silenced your argument immediately.

They didn’t count.  They’d been guaranteed to want Armin over Erwin because of their personal ties.  Everyone else, however...you’d both heard it, even from Armin’s own lips in a way.  Everyone else thought it should have been Erwin.  Everyone.  They had expected it to be, as well.

You squared your shoulders slightly, stubbornly standing your ground on the matter.

“I stand by your decision, Levi.”

Levi studied you for a long moment, fingers that had tightened to a white knuckle grip on the wood relaxing again as he gave a slight nod.

“...so do I.���

You felt a bit of relief seep through you to hear him say that to you and mean it, nodding as you started to take off your uniform as well.  “I’ll be in there in a moment.

Levi hummed in acknowledgement and disappeared into the other room after that, leaving you to get undressed and tidy up the bear to be properly taken care of later when you were both in a better shape to do just that.  Tip-toeing into the washroom, you could see Levi had already washed up and was simply soaking for a few moments, eyes closed and head leaning back slightly, one of his legs bending so his knee peaked out of the water as you approached.

He cracked an eye open once you got fairly close, sitting up and adjusting in the water for you to slide inside and join him, wrapping his arms around you in a firm hug and gently nuzzling against your neck, giving your jaw a soft kiss before he started helping you clean up, his movements gentle and slow, usually followed by a chaste, thoughtful kiss against your skin as the two of you washed you of all the dust, dirt, grime, and blood from the devastating mission.  Once you were clean, you shifted in Levi’s embrace, curling into his chest as his arms linked around you again, holding you tightly to him and burying his face in your hair, breathing you in deeply and simply...holding you.  Just holding you in silence, both of your minds heavy with the weight of far too many things, but finding a moment of solace in the unspoken fact that by some miracle you’d both made it out alive and were here to comfort each other in the aftermath, to help each other slow down and simple...breathe again.  Even if it was just for a moment before the world continued forward in it’s harsh series of events.  Even if it was just to hold each other until the water got cold and you had to migrate to the bed for sleep that would undoubtedly include nightmares of the very thing you each needed comfort for.

It was still a much needed moment where you simply clung to one another as that reminder to take a moment to breathe again.

Everything Tags:  @antisteller

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn @humanitys-hottestsoldier @whalerus @sunny-flo @thirstyforsometea @hauntedhousecat @peaches-and-clouds @queenofcurse @wubbawubwub04 @lollobos @pasteldays @itsmeaudrieee @macaronnv @tokyo-banana @apuci-kis-szornye @morgana-olson​ @yellowminb​ @ashikothedog​ 

[sapphire11]

Hola! Hope you had a good vacay!! 💕

I am really interested/excited about your break up fic from TKs point of view!! But since you already did that one how about: Prompt Request: 3x04 recovery fic with 126 if you haven’t already, please and thank you!!🙃

Hola!! Thank you! My vacation was so refreshing and wonderful!!

So, I have officially decided to roll the 3x04 recovery fic into my break-up fic because I was planning on writing all the way through the recovery anyways. It might end up being a separate piece in the series or something, but it will roll right along with it. For that reason, because I write most of my fics chronologically (and the recovery piece is very bare bones) I have to hope that you will accept this snippet from the TK POV break-up portion of the fic instead (You motivated me to actually write it tonight, hurray!!)

The next day

TK wakes up with a start from the light doze that he had slipped into sometime around four in the morning. His muscles ache from the pinched position of falling asleep curled up in the corner of the couch, and he groans as he attempts to stretch through standing. His head aches from the lack of sleep and the fits of random emotional crying he did last night that he will deny to anyone who dares ask. Unfortunately he knows Mateo won’t be keeping this situation a secret, but TK hopes that he’ll just assume he and Carlos had a fight, so that TK can stave off any real questions for a bit longer. 

I mean honestly that’s the truth right. They just had a fight. Except this fight ended with TK storming off and he’s honestly not sure if he has any real intention of going back. All through the night he vacillated between sheer embarrassment that Carlos had to get the loan all on his own and rage that Carlos would make such a large decision without even considering how TK might feel about it. 

It’s just the kind of power move that TK has always dreaded happening; but somehow known was coming. It’s just the kind of situation that puts them on opposite ends of an unbalanced scale that’s just waiting to tip and bring TK crashing down into a place he knows he won’t escape from. Instead he made the only other choice available and he removed himself from the equation. He balanced the scale by taking himself off of it. Only he’s left feeling a little bit like he’s been flung into a state of uncertainty that he’s not sure what to do with. 

The only thing he is sure of right now is that he needs to go to work. He needs to not give in to any of the urges that crawl under his skin. He cannot sink back into the place he was almost two years ago. Carlos doesn’t deserve that; he doesn’t deserve the guilt that TK knows he would feel if TK fell back into that place. For Carlos, and maybe eventually for himself, TK vows not to let it get that far. That thought and the persistent itch of wanting to make his feelings disappear have him picking up his phone and dialing his long disused therapist’s office number. The receptionist picks up on the second ring. Her cheerful voice grates against the emotional edges TK is feeling right now, but he is able to stay on the phone long enough to schedule an emergency session with his therapist for the next day. His day off.

As TK showers and gets dressed for work he tries not to think about the fight the night before. He tries not to block from his mind the vivid color picture of Carlos’ devastated face when TK expressed his disbelief at Carlos’ decision to buy the loft without him. Because that’s how it felt to TK, that he was left without. Despite Carlos’ excitement to tell TK that his name was also on the deed, all TK could see was the life of being the one holding everything back. The one needed to be carried along. The one causing problems for every piece of happiness Carlos deserved. 

TK recognizes now in the light of day that he was mostly hurt and embarrassed by the situation, but he knows last night he allowed his anger to fuel his reaction. Anger drove him to say words that he’s not really sure he meant, but that were easier than those that would have been closer to the truth. The guilt of his anger and the embarrassment at his failure climb into his heart and settle.

Just as TK is checking that he has his keys, wallet, and phone; his phone still sitting in the palm of his hand vibrates. TK jumps as the sensation and his heart, already racing, picks up to an unimaginable pace at the name and picture that flashes across the screen. 

There is a whisper from the depths of his brain that tells him to answer the call. The whisper reminds him that Carlos will listen if he just talks and explains. The whisper is the part of TK that he knows he’s been growing, but it’s still just a whisper, easily overpowered by the negative self-worth he has battled the majority of his life. Soon the shouting voice in his head that Carlos deserves better become louder than the whisper. TK tries to push that voice away, tries to hear the truth hiding underneath, but the screaming gets louder, until finally the ringing stops. 

It takes TK a full minute to realize that it’s not the ringing of his thoughts that has stopped, but the ringing of his phone. The missed call notification taunts him as TK waits for the voicemail to pop up. It never does. 

Instead TK shoves the now silent phone deep into his pocket as he begs the screaming in his mind to also quiet down. He needs to work. He needs to focus. He needs not to think. 

Thinking will only get him in trouble. 

[kairos-polaris]

A schism of magic

Chapte 1

Marinette finds a golden watch. Opening it changed a lot in her life.

***

She remembers being eight and looking at the Untempered Schism. She was prepared to see everything but not magic and gods the size of her hand. The image left a lingering need to run in her bones but she was very good at resisting the urge.

***

Marinette was tired. Exhausted. Worn out. Bone-tired.

Why? Well, studying, working on commissions, and saving Paris from Hawkmoth at the same time wasn't easy. Her schedule was packed so tightly, she hadn't slept more than four hours for almost three months.

Maybe, I should close commissions. This will give me more free time. I can also work more on finding Hawkmoth. And focus on my education,' Marinette thought. She looked around her room. Everything was calm. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Kwamis were similar to kids in one aspect: if they're quiet, they're making a mess somewhere. Marinette sighed and rubbed her forehead. She really was too tired to clean up anything.

Marinette sighed again and got up. Apparently, being awake for 64 hours straight wasn't good for her health because Marinette felt her head spin and everything went dark for a moment. "I need to take a nap," she muttered to herself while swaying softly. "Maybe consuming so much caffeine isn't good for me".

Finding kwamis turned out to be relatively easy. They were all sitting on her bed, next to a golden fob watch with engraved circular designs. It was a beautiful watch, Marinette had to admit.

"Where did you find it? I don't remember having anything similar," Marinette frowned. "Did you steal it?"

Judging by kwamis' guilty looks they did steal it. The next questions were how, when, why, and from whom? Marinette sighed inwardly. It wasn't going to be easy.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Marinette asked after several minutes of silence. Wayzz flew forward as the most responsible one.

"We wanted to explore a little bit," they've started, "and we accidentally flew into your parents room. Immediately after I realized where we were I made them leave. But in my hurry I didn't notice that Fluff did not go with us. And I think Fluff can tell more now."

The kwami of evolution had the decency to look guilty under Wayzz's glare. Fluff flew closer to her, trying to appear innocent. "I'm not sorry, Guardian. I had to do this for the stability of timelines. You will understand it later. This watch contains your consciousness. It is you, Guardian."

"What do you mean, Fluff?" she asked, a small frown forming between her eyebrows. "How can a fob watch be me?"

"You're a Time Lady. This watch is a part of the mechanism called the Chameleon Arc. From what I know your people use it as a perfect disguise. Chameleon Arc changes your biology and creates false memories. You have to open it," Fluff didn't wait for her answer and just dropped it on her knees.

Fluff's words seemed to be too unlikely to be true. Why would she want to change her species or create false memories? Why didn't Tikki say anything if it were true?

"Are you trying to pull a prank on me, Fluff?" she asked tiredly. She wasn't in the mood for games.

"Just open it, Guardian. I used the Burrow to make sure this is the right time. It's very important for you to open this watch."

It didn't seem real. More like from a tv show with aliens. But she was the Guardian of multiple gods. She knew that aliens existed (hard not to, considering how everybody talks about Superman, Martian Manhunter, Green Lanterns and others). So there was a chance that Fluff was telling the truth. The only way to find out was to open the watch. If she wasn't a Time Lord, nothing would change. And if she was … well, they would deal with it later.

A small click of the opened clasp and a bright golden light blinded her. Several seconds later the room was filled with her pained screams. And then she blacked out.

Tikki wasn't panicking. She wasn't! Nothing Plagg says can be trusted. So don't believe him when he says that Tikki was flying around her Chosen and babbling 100 words per minute.

But what if Marinette didn't wake up? What if she forgot about Tikki and the time they've spent together? What if she didn't want to see them anymore?

"Urgh, it shouldn't have hurt so much. I shouldn't have blacked out," Marinette's voice interrupted Tikki's inner monologue. Kwami immediately flew to her face to assure herself that Marinette was alright.

"How are you feeling? What has gone wrong?" Tikki asked worriedly while flying around Marinette's head.

"I'm okay, Tikki. I just didn't expect it to hurt so much. I didn't completely believe this watch could do anything to me." She breathed out to regulate her heartbeats. "I'm just happy… my parents aren't home. I don't know how to explain this to them."

Fluff flew closer and nuzzled into her cheek. "I'm sorry, Guardian. I didn't think something like that would happen," Fluff said, their eyes shining with regret. "What is your name, Guardian?"

"My name is Morana," she answered slowly, her head still pounding from the pain. Using her full name felt somewhat wrong. Her entire family was dead. Her home planet was most likely destroyed in the War, because the Universe was standing and Rassilon wasn't the type to change plans.

"Why did you use this thing in the first place? Was it because of the Time War?" Fluff asked before every kwami flew to them in an attempt to close their mouths.

Morana stayed silent. She trusted kwamii, she even loved them. But the Time War changed her so much that she couldn't recognise herself. Seeing death every day and being aware that your people sacrificed civilisations to win just one battle wasn't easy for her. And she didn't want to relieve everything she had seen or done.

Kwamis seemed to understand this, giving her time to collect her thoughts. She opened her mouth to start talking, but… she couldn't say anything. Every word felt too weak to describe why she had used the Chameleon Arc and what had led to this.

"It's not so easy," she started again. "I.. A lot of things featured in my decision to use it. I wasn't technically running away from the war. I was ordered to leave. You can call me a backup plan. But I was attacked while leaving. My Time Capsule is still young so she was heavily injured. And because of it I was injured, too.

Then I finally was in this Universe. Heavily bleeding, I decided that regeneration was my best choice. Something went wrong, again, and I looked like a six years old. Using the Chameleon Arc was part of Lord Rassilon's plan so that's what I did."

Kwamis stayed silent. It was clear that Morana didn't want to talk about it and they would respect her wishes. Some wounds should be left alone so they heal properly.

"You should go to sleep. You were running on sheer spite, and becoming a Time Lady again was hard for your body," Wayzz said. He was always the most responsible and caring kwami. Morana smiled at him and silently went to her bed. She had a lot of work cut out for her. She could only hope she wouldn't wake up from a nightmare.

***

Waking up a Time Lord again felt strange. Utterly strange. It must be because she had used the Chameleon Arc immediately after regeneration. Not everything was set and she should have waited a little bit. Well, what's done is done. She couldn't change anything.

What she could do was moan to kwamis about aches in seemingly all her body parts. Her head felt close to exploding from all the pressure. She could feel neurons snapping into place. It would go much easier if she were on Gallifrey. Or at least in the Zero Room. Regenerating anywhere else was awfully painful.

Due to her newly discovered heightened hearing she heard Sabine's steps. The woman most likely wanted to wake up Marinette so she wouldn't be late for school. Morana didn't want to move, less go to a public place before she could actually control her body.

"Marinette, you are going to be late if you don't get up right now," Sabine said from somewhere in the room. Morana was too overwhelmed with the amount of new smells that came with Sabine.

"I'm sorry, Maman. I have a really bad headache. Everything hurts," she said, desperately trying to tall like Marinette would. Her usual speech patterns were too proper for a teenager. However, it was a problem for later. At the very moment Mora just wanted her head to stop pounding. A very tiny part of her wanted that pain to last, this way she would not have to be confronted with silence. No telepathic specie deserved to be completely alone in their heads.

"Do you need something, sweetie?" the woman was clearly concerned, more than her actual mother ever was. Morana felt a small pang in her chest, but brushed it off immediately as an aftereffect of regeneration going wrong. "I'm going to be in the bakery, just call me when you need anything, okay?"

Kwamis flew out immediately after Sabine had left. They looked very concerned for her health, and it warmed her heart a lot. Time Lords were too proper to care for anyone other than themselves. Morana sighed inwardly, because doing so outwardly would be too painful. She was so used to resenting her own people that she forgot that they are dead. Properly dead. No crossing time streams would let her see even her most annoying cousins. And it pained her more than she wanted to admit.

"Can we help somehow, Master?" Wayzz asked softly, adjusting his voise tone so it wouldn't hurt her head. Marinette appreciated the effort. She really did. She did not appreciate being called Master.

"Plese, never call me Master, Wayzz," she said weakly. "I know a Time Lord who call himself that. He's one of the biggest annoyances Gallifrey had ever known. He had also destroyed my lab once so I don't like being reminded of him," she explained, seeing kwamis' wondering gazes. She didn't mention that reminder of the home she had lost hurt her a lot, but judging by Tikki's and Wayzz's reactions, they understood her without any words needed

"What can we do to help you, Morana? You never answered," Tikki said, carefully gouging her reaction. Morana sighed, outwardly this time. She hoped they moved on from the subject.

"Nothing, unless you can get me Gallifrey," she let out a bitter laugh. "Or my Time Capsule. Even just being there would help me greatly. But, alas, I don't know where she is. I can't move to get there anyway."

"I can try to search for it, Guardian," Barkk offered. Morana stayed silent for a moment. It would seem like a great idea if she didn't know that her Time Capsule couldn't be detected if she herself didn't approve. And Morana couldn't possibly do it from her bedroom in Paris. That's what she explained to the dog kwami. It, apparently, insulted the god a lot, because they started loudly explaining how nothing could hinder their search and that they were the best in it before remembering about Morana's headache. It seemed to shut them up pretty fast, but Morana just appreciated the silence.

"Let's tall about this later, when my brain won't try to explode and my body will be more used to… a lot of things, actually," she offered, because she really didn't want to argue with anyone. Especially with kwamis. "I'm going to sleep. Hope it will help me."

***

Sleep didn't help. Painkillers didn't help. Which was obvious, because human medicine could never help a Time Lord. Especially after regeneration.

But Marinette did feel better. Tea, apparently, helped, because after only one cup her head stopped hurting so much and she could do anything without being overwhelmed. Marinette appreciated it, but was too baffled by the realisation. She even regretted that they never had it on Gallifrey. It would help a lot of Time Lords. Especially during the Time War, because everyone was burning through their regeneration like… like Doctor!

"What are we going to do now?" she asked kwamis. Morana knew they considered her too weak to do anything and it irritated her a lot. Time Lords were a superior species, regeneration was their strength, not a weakness.

"You have to understand one thing, Guardian," Wayzz started, always the peacemaker. "We don't think you are weak or anything like that. But I personally believe that you need more rest. And you won't get it while fixing your Time Capsule. It would take a lot of time and effort to get her into proper shape, considering that you had to regenerate from all the damage," Wayzz explained slowly, like one would to a child.

Morana knew his words had logic. If she saw her Time Capsule, she wouldn't rest until everything was fixed. And it would cause major problems in the long run for her health. It could even force her to regenerate and she wasn't keen on changing her bodies like gloves. She still hated it.

"Okay, we will wait," she said after a long moment of silence and kwamis started cheering immediately. "For now we have to think how I am supposed to act." She was met with bland and confused looks. "My speech patterns, my behaviour and even the way I hold myself is drastically different from Marinette. Some things have stayed, like my intellect, curiosity and need to learn more, but a lot of Marinette was influenced by growing up as a human. I was raised completely differently."

"I can take you wherever you want, Guardian," Kaalki courteously offered. "You can change their memories a little bit, take some money and leave. I believe that you know how to hack computers."

Kaalki's offer made a lot of sense and in any other situation Morana would agree immediately. But it wasn't any other situation. "I can't leave because of Hawkmoth," she said quietly.

Mora was also ashamed of the fact that she still hadn't caught the man. It was embarrassing for a Time Lady of her status. At least she had another reason to not leave immediately to find her Time Capsule. She would be too tempted to leave and never return. Time Lords aren't meant to meddle with humans and history in general. "But the Doctor did so," a traitorous voice, the most rebellious part of her, whispered. You envy his freedom but yet you are unable to let go of Time Lords's ideals. You have to choose one day.". And that was a conversation for another day.

The next hour was spent discussing Marinette's behaviour and how Morana could start slowly changing, so her classmates (she had graduated from the Academy years ago and she still had to go to a human school and she hated that) wouldn't notice. It wouldn't be very hard, considering they could only see Lila and her pretty tales.

There was also an issue of Marinette's crush on one Adrien Agreste. It was borderline creepy and hurt Marinette's mental health. Thank Rassilon, her Time Lord consciousness was woken up just in time. In the back of her mind Morana could feel possible outcomes of the situation with Adrien and Lila and she liked none of them

Lila and her lies were another reason for Morana to burn bright red from shame. Marinette losing her composure and completely not being to defend herself was unbecoming for a Time Lady. Her parents and Academy teachers had taught her better than that.

That liar was a completely different issue. On one hand, she would keep attention diverted from Morana. On the other, she wasn't sure the liar wouldn't try to discredit her even further. Morana preferred staying hidden rather than attracting unnecessary attention. And the repeat of her infamous expulsion would do exactly that.

There was also a matter of pride. Her Time Lord part was enraged that a human girl thought herself better than her. Morana wanted to destroy the liar, make her reap what she had sowed. But deep down she knew that destroying a minor would not help her feel better.

"I want to deal with Lila without exposing her myself," she said out loud. Voicing out her thoughts sometimes helped. "I have to make someone else do it, but who?"

"You can subtly help your classmates find the truth," Tikki offered. "You are more eloquent and confident than Marinette. You wouldn't lose your head if someone started doubting you."

"It would work if I didn't change so much. I don't want to attract attention but talking to them will make them notice me. No, it won't work," Marinette shook her head. She stayed silent before a small spark ignited in her eyes. "I can make teachers expose her! I will get rid of Bustier and Damocles. This way not only will the Lila situation be resolved, but it will prevent something similar happening in the future!"

"That's an amazing idea!" Tikki exclaimed. "How do you want to do this?" But Marinette was already deep in work, cursing human technology every now and then.

Not even two hours later Morana got up with a triumphant grin. "We have to wait and see the results for ourselves now," she said.

"What did you do, Guardian?" Wayzz asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Wait and see! It will be much more interesting!" Morana didn't wait to see kwamis's reaction and just bolted out of her room. Buying computer parts was high in her priority because there was no way she would ever work with human technology without adjusting it to her needs. She also wanted to change her bedroom. Pink was a lovely colour but a completely pink bedroom was too much for Morana.

***

Morana skipped two more school days, because of fatigue and random headaches. Every time she shut her eyes from pain she was reminded of Gallifrey and Zero Room. It wouldn't hurt so much if she were there.

On the third day Morana decided it was time to go and assess the situation. She also needed proof of Bustier's unprofessionalism and her enabling bullies. She also wanted to know if anyone saw through Lila's lies. It was highly unlikely but a Time Lady could hope.

Dressing up was a major problem. Morana and Marinette had as different tastes in clothes as it could be. One preferred soft lines and pastel colours, another favoured strict forms and traditional colours. Marinette's style was too casual for Morana, who was used to stuff robes and gigantic headpieces.

"I guess I have to work with what I have for now, and then buy more when I can," Morana thought.

"You look very different from Marinette, Mora," Tikki said after Morana finished getting dressed. "But it suits you. I bet you are used to completely different clothes."

Morana decided to change Marinette's style a little bit, forgoing pigtails and usual clothes. Instead, she chose a white shirt and dress pants. She put her hair up in a bun. It was just the perfect combination of casual and formal. Morana would still do anything to wear robes from Gallifreywhich she didn't even have because her home planet was destroyed.

"I am ready. Who is going to go to school with me today?" It was a tradition at that point for Marinette to take kwamis with her to school and Morana didn't want to change it. It was decided that Trixx and Wayzz would come with her.

Morana already felt a growing headache. Unfortunately, it wasn't because of her less than stellar regeneration, but knowing what kinds of troubles Trixx could trick Wayzz and Tikki into. Hopefully Tikki would reign them in.

"Do you think Chat Noir will be suspicious when he sees me?" she asked, causing Tikki to nervously gulp. Kwami of creation wasn't a good liar. Just like Marinette.

"No! You were always very serious and strict as Marinette! I am sure he wouldn't notice the difference!" Tikki ranted, nervousness obvious in her small movements. Did she get that from Marinette too?

Morana sighed and smiled as softly as she could. "I wasn't sure that Chat was in my class but your poor lying skills just admitted it," Tikki just looked away, embarrassment and shame of exposing Chat's identity were noticeable in her eyes. Morana bit her lip, contemplating whether she should stay silent or cheer up kwami. She didn't think long. "Hey, it's okay, Tikki. It's not your fault that I know that Adrien is Chat. Human and Time Lord brains work differently, so I could imagine how Chat's face looked without the mask. I'm sure magic would help protect his identity if you always knew that I'm a Time Lady."

Tikki wasn't convinced, guilt still lingering in her little body. The previous guardian being so against Ladybug and Chat Noir knowing each other's identity has influenced kwami more than Morana thought previously. Tikki more than Plagg, obviously. "The previous guardian was a coward and not the smartest man," Morana stopped, trying to pick words that wouldn't offend the old man too much. "We don't know what would happen if Ladybug or Chat Noir were akumatized. Knowing who the other is would help us a lot. We could work together as civilians."

"Yes, you are right, Morana," Tikki said, stifling a sob. She nuzzled into Morana's cheek with a content sigh. They stood like that for several long moments. Luckily, there was still time as Morana had got up earlier to not be late.

"We have to go now, Tikki. We don't want to be late." It pained her to refuse Tikki so obviously needed comfort. But Morana couldn't allow herself to be late. Unless

"You know what? We can stay for a little bit longer. I planned everything so I would be the first in the class. We have full ten minutes for ourselves," she said with more confidence than she felt. Changing plans to make someone feel better wasn't something Time Lords would respect. But Tikki was important for her and Morana would be damned if she left her dear friend sad and hurt.

Tikki squealed happily before taking Morana's finger and leading her to the chaise. Over the course of the next several minutes every kwami flew to her. Morana thanked them mentally as being with her friends made Tikki feel much better.

Morana was ashamed to admit that she, a Time Lady with very precise time senses, had lost track of time. Instead of ten minutes they've spent almost twenty cuddling and listening to everyone's stories. And because of her tardiness she was running late. But what was unusual for Morana was normal for Marinette.

"Well, at least nobody will be surprised. Everyone expects Marinette to be late. Never expected that being late will have good sides," she thought while running to school. Fortunately, the building wasn't too far from the bakery and her physique allowed her to run faster and longer.

Morana stopped running just mere meters before her class' doors. She had two choices: enter like a mess aka Marinette's usual way, or go in calmly and confidently. She would attract less attention if she chose the second option, but it can possibly attract more attention later. But it would work if she ran away immediately after dismantling Lila's empire. Yes, that was her best choice.

Morana took a deep breath and entered her class. Everything was just the way she had expected: everyone sitting around Lila and listening to her tales, Alix and Kim were arguing about something. What she hadn't expected were Rose and Juleka. They were sitting away from everyone else, talking in hushed voices. They were also looking at Lila and her court every few seconds, which was even more suspicious. Morana sighed, knowing that she hadn't predicted everything. Again. Great.

***

Everything was too calm. Lila continued entertaining class with her stories but never mentioned anyone famous. Juleka and Rose spent the whole day whispering about something, but they were talking too soft for Morana to hear anything. And, in the name of Rassilon, did that frustrate her

Judging by Bustier's calm demeanor, Morana's plan hasn't reached her yet. The same must have been true for Damocles, because the man was acting as usual. He was also too much of an awful actor to pretend everything is fine enough to fool Morana. No, she just had to be more patient. She had more than enough time for that.

The day turned out to be utterly boring considering Lila didn't try to start a drama, or force Adrien sit with her. Juleka and Rose weren't confronted despite acting suspicious the whole time. Nobody approached "Marinette". The worst part was trying to pretend that she didn't know everything better than teachers. Her eyes twitched every time Mendeleev said something proved wrong years ago. "Patience, humans still have to disprove that and you know it. You can't compare the Academy with even the best human university. Even ones in the 51st century weren't as good,". Being the smartest person in the whole school wasn't easy, as you can see.

"Marinette, we wanted to talk to you," Rose said timidly, Juleka holding her hand. Well, apparently she had been wrong about nobody approaching her. "Can we talk in private, please? I… We have something to tell you. It's very important."

Morana contemplated refusing them. They had believed Lila but something she really wanted why they had been acting so suspiciously the whole day.

"Yes, I don't mind," she said cautiously and immediately saw tension leave Rose's body. It was so easy to read her. "We can go to the bakery. I promise that my parents won't intrude."

Juleka and Rose started nodding frantically, obviously not wanting her to change her mind. It was proving to be very interesting.

Fortunately, the walk to the bakery was short because Rose looked like she would blow up from the need to spill all the information.

Morana led them to her room, stopping briefly to greet her parents. They were so busy they didn't even notice her. Hm, not surprising.

"Well, what did you want to tell me?" she asked when they were finally sitting in her room. Rose bit her lip and started fidgeting with her fingers. She looked at Juleka with a silent plea to start talking.

"We know that Lila is a liar," Juleka said so softly Morana wouldn't hear if not for her enhanced hearing. "Rose mentioned her while talking with Prince Ali and he explained that he had never met anyone named "Lila Rossi" or that his charity work is directed to children, not pollution. He also mentioned that Lila could be sued for using his family name in her own gain.

Rose then immediately ran to our class and told everyone just that. But that liar somehow managed to save herself by saying that she had mistaken Prince Ali for her another celebrity friend. Rose then got so angry she told everyone about a possible lawsuit and that shut up Lie-la pretty quickly. After that she stopped mentioning celebrities and started focusing on herself."

That explained everyone's behaviour pretty nicely. And she didn't even have to think for herself, everything was given on a silver plate. Just use the information however you want to.

"I am so sorry, Marinette! Forgive me for not believing you!" Rose exclaimed, tears welling up in her eyes. Morana hugged her, pressing Rose's face into her chest, allowing her to cry and let out all of her emotions. She could be colder than ice sometimes, but she would never let a child cry. Especially one her human self considered a friend.

"It's okay, it's okay. I forgive you," she whispered into Rose's head, while drawing soothing circles on her back. "You know the truth and that's all I wanted."

That wasn't a lie per se but not completely a truth. Marinette only wanted her friends to believe her over Lila, but Morana wanted them all to pay for their foolishness. Fortunately, her maturity and those parts of her that still were Marinette won out and it was pretty easy to forgive Juleka and Rose.

"You are so nice, Marinette! I don't deserve your kindness!" Rose sobbed into her shoulder. "I was worried when you didn't come to school and wanted to visit you but Lila said that you wouldn't want to see me. And I listened to her! And I left you! Instead of me begging your forgiveness you are comforting me! I'm so so so sorry!"

Morana knew that Rose was a soft and nice person. She even expected her to be the first who apologized to her. She did not expect her to be so upset about it. She took a deep breath and took Rose's face in her hands. Tears were running down her red cheeks and she let out an ugly sob with every breath.

"It really is okay, Rose. I understand you and why you wouldn't believe me. I have not the best track record when it concerns Adrien," she said with a self-ironic smile, hoping it would make her feel better. And Rose did have a small smile. "I actually am happy that you have found the truth by yourself and went immediately to tell everyone. It shows how much you care about them."

"But… but you did the same!" Rose protested. "You knew that she was a liar and immediately decided to tell everyone! You knew how harmful her false promises were and acted to protect everyone! But they just thought you were jealous and it's so unfair!"

Morana smiled softly and wiped away remnants of Rose's tears. "You were very brave, Rose. You had seen them not believing me and still acted to protect them. Some part of you knew they wouldn't believe but you trusted them enough to ignore that voice. It's not your fault Lila knows how to change your words to fit her narrative."

"I'm also very sorry, Marinette. Luka likes you and I doubt he would if you actually stole necklaces and pushed people down the stairs," Juleka chuckled before realisation dawned on her. It looked like a lightbulb in her head was turned on. "If you actually pushed Lila down the stairs, she would be seriously injured. And she would require medical attention anyway."

Juleka continued listing Lila's most obvious lies but Morana didn't listen. She just grinned. Apparently, some of her classmates did have more than one brain cell. And it was the most fascinating thing seeing one of them use it properly. Was it why the Doctor spent so much time with humans? Was it the reason he took them to see the Universe? To see them grow and change? To make them see the world in a different light? If so, then Morana could finally understand why the Doctor had so many human companions. Maybe, after getting her Time Capsule back she would invite someone to go with her. It would be fun.

"... Marinette? Marinette? Are you listening?" Juleka's worried voice drew her out of her thoughts.

"I'm sorry. Could you repeat the last bit again?" she asked, trying to look as sheepish as possible. Juleka and Rose exchanged a look that could be translated to "Marinette being Marinette and getting lost in thoughts as usual". Morana tried her hardest to not be offended, considering they weren't wrong but she did huff causing both girls to start laughing. At least Rose wasn't crying anymore.

"I asked what we could do to expose Lila. We could ask Jagged Stone to come. Or Clara. Or call Prince Ali," Juleka said after she stopped laughing.

"I don't think it's a good idea," she started. "Media would twist everything to fit their narrative. Why would a famous rockstar or a pop singer or an actual prince come to disprove lies of a teenager? A lot of people lie about knowing celebrities but nobody pays attention to them. Media would ask "what's so special about that girl?" and I'm sure Lila would use it to her own benefit," she said with a small sigh. They were Marinette's thoughts, her trying to not call Jagged to solve the Lila problem.

"You are right," Juleka said after thinking for a minute. "But how do we expose her?"

"It's simple. We won't," Morana simply stated. Juleka and Rose shared a confused look before looking at her expecting an explanation. "New teachers will. I want Damocles and Bustier fired. I believe new teachers won't be so lenient in their responsibilities and would look into Lila's medical history. They would also contact Lila's mother every time skips school or doesn't hand in her assignments."

"That's smart," Juleka admitted. She then frowned. "We are putting a lot of faith on those possible new teachers. How can we know they won't be the same as Damocles and Bustier?"

Morana slowly blinked. She hadn't considered that before. Now, she had no choice but to ensure new teachers would be chosen correctly. More work for her. Great

"Don't worry about it. It will be my problem anyway," she said with a small shrug. The girls didn't look convinced but they didn't argue further and Morana appreciated it. They didn't stay longer, there was homework and band practice for them so they couldn't lose more time. Another thing Morana appreciated because she wasn't sure how to make them leave. She needed some time alone. There was a lot of planning to do.

[unmaskedagain]

Sorry, it’s reserved

  Honestly neither Marinette nor Chloe had been surprised when Bustier caved to Alya’s insistent requests that the two girls not be allowed to go on the class trip to New York City. Lila had been subtly hinting about how much friendly better thing would be if they weren’t there.

           Mostly because just two weeks ago, Marinette had presented her class trip idea presentation; complete with a potential itinerary, pictures of the grand hotel could stay at, the fantastic tours they could go on, and exciting places they could eat. The class had been suitable wow’d.

           What was surprising was when, after Bustier announced in front of the class that Marinette and Chloe couldn’t go to New York much to the smug faces of the students, Adrien said, “Cool. Then I’ll skip the class trip too.” He then turned to his two best friends. “What do you two want to do instead?” Adrien was sick and tired of the other students in the class. He had been trying to get them to believe Lila was a liar for months but no one, not even Nino, would listen to him.

           Instead, they turned on the two most awesome girls in the class. Well, Adrien wasn’t going to deal with it anymore.

           The look of horror on Lila’s face was priceless. However, there was no backtracking now. The dream of a romantic trip to New York, walking hand in hand with Adrien, burst into flames and was now nothing more than ashes.

“Yeah, I won’t go either,” Nathaniel stated. “Doesn’t seem fair. Marinette worked really hard on the idea for the trip.” He never bought Lila’s crap, and he never understood how anyone else did.

           Marinette smirked, “I’m up for whatever.” She shrugged. “I’m actually looking forward to now having to organize the trip. Or fundraise for it. And to think I was going to start working this weekend.” The bluenette made sure to look directly at Bustier and Alya, her ex-friend when she said this. “Its only October but believe me, you’ll want to start making reservations fast. Nothing was done but the presentation; which you can have by the way. And just a reminder, a lot of places do require a down payment. Also, don’t forget approval from the school board.”

“Which takes like three months btw,” Chloe said with a vicious smile on her face. She was the last class president. She knew exactly how hard getting a fabulous trip approved of was. “Paperwork has to be filled out in triplicates and if you mess up on even one form, they’ll make you fill out the entire thing again.” She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text. “I just let Daddy know that he won’t have to make his annual donation this year for the trip. If you don’t want us there you obviously don’t need it. And to think, he usually funds thirty percent of it. But I’m sure you already knew that.”

           By the looks on the other students’ faces, it was clear that they didn’t know that. However, pride wouldn’t let them back down. Besides, Alya thought, they had the moral high ground. Who wanted to hang with bullies anyway?

           To the other students’ credit, they did manage to raise enough money for the trip to New York. Granted, it wasn’t nearly as much as they usually did. Alya, the new class president, also forgot to make most of the reservations until the last minute, and it was hard to find a fancy hotel willing to accommodate an entire class of rowdy teenagers at the last minute. So they would stay at a Holiday Inn just outside of New York City. The glasses-wearing girl wished Lila had been so busy with her charity work so she would’ve had time to help and maybe they could’ve gotten a much better trip.

           By the end, the class trip the class would be getting wasn’t nearly as were or amazing as the one Marinette had presented at the beginning of the year. However, most were just happy to be going to New York.

           Lila shot four exiled students a victorious look as she bragged about all the things and people she’d get to see in New York. She had spent months trying to get Adrien to agree to go on the trip but he wouldn’t budge.

She sighed dramatically, “I love New York. The only bad part are the superheroes. Last time I was there Robin and Speedy practically got into a fistfight over who’d take me on a date. I hate getting in the way of friendships.”  Marinette snorted. “We leave for New York in three weeks. What will you three be doing then?”

“Waiting for a house to fall on you,” Marinette said easily.

           Adrien chuckled, “We leave for L.A in two days.”

           That got the classes’ attention.

“Sorry, What?” Alya asked; suddenly getting a bad feeling in her stomach.

           Chloe leaned back in her seat, “L.A. It was my idea. We decided since we couldn’t go on your trip we’d go on our own. Let's see… our first stop in L.A, we’ll be there for about a week; we’ll tour some movie studios, go on set for the Star Trek movie that filming. Attending the movie premiere of the newest Marvel movie. Then leave for Indio; it's not that far from L.A, I think. But who cares. We have to be at Coachella, even if only for two days. Then we go to Metropolis. And I can’t remember… Marinette what did you plan for us to do? It was her idea to go there.” She told the class who had looks of sheer dismay on their faces that got worse and worse as the four described the trip.

           Marinette smiled, “Tour of LexCorp, a tour of Daily Planet, reservations for the grand opening of Gordon Ramsey’s new restaurant, we got backstage passes for a 5 seconds of Summer concert-” She was cut off

“Why couldn’t we go see Selena Gomez again?” Adrien frowned.

           Marinette rolled her eyes, “Because you couldn’t beat Chloe in an arm-wrestling contest.”

“She is freakishly strong,” Adrien protested. “And she plays mind games!”

           Chloe blew a raspberry at the other blond.

“We’ll be in Metropolis for about a week,” Marinette continued, as her two friends bickered and Adrien declared he would have his vengeance. “Then Adrien got to pick where we next.”

“Disney World!” The blond shouted. It was his biggest childhood dream and it was becoming a reality. “We’re going to Florida to Disney World, and then Universal Studios; where we’ll get to see the Magical World of Harry Potter.”

“Geek!” Chloe sniped.

“Slytherin!” Adrien hissed back at her.

“And proud,” Chloe crossed her arms. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Hufflepuff?” She said the Hogwarts’ house like it was a dirty word. “Most notable thing a Hufflepuff ever did was die. And then somehow ended up in Twilight.”

           Adrien stood up angrily, “You take that back!”

“Make me!”

           Adrien looked at Nathaniel, “Ravenclaw, do something!” Their two houses went together like PB&J.

           Nathaniel put down his pencil, “No.” And went back to writing. “Make the Gryffindor do it!” He motioned to Marinette.

           Marinette just looked up at the ceiling, praying to gods’ for patience.

           Adrien, she was suddenly reminded, was loyal enough to help hide a body.

           Nathaniel was smart enough to have already come up with an alibi.

           Chloe as conning enough to ensure they got away it, after goading Marinette into doing it in the first place.

           Marinette would eventually snap and kill Lila. She would need them. “We’ll be in Florida for about four days; enough to see both amusement parks. Then all four of us agreed to go to New York next. First, stop Gotham; we’ll be touring Wayne Industries and attending one of the Wayne family annual galas.”

“Then we go directly to New York City,” Chloe said examining her nails. “Mama arranged us a tour of Vogue and Mode. We’ll be going to a few of the runways for Fashion Week. Adrien’s father arranged for us to go see Hamilton on Broadway.”

           It had taken a lot of time, effort, threats of going to the police, press, and CPS regarding child labor laws broken concerning Adrien to get Gabriel Agreste to agree to let his son go on the trip (as well as allow him to actually have a childhood). But there had been several conditions; mostly to do with security and proper supervision; which all the parents had, though not to Gabriel’s extremeness.

           Still, the four kids agreed to the terms.

“We’re going to a baseball game!” Adrien added excitedly. “A real one. I’m going to eat a hot dog the size of my arm. And cotton candy the size of my head.”

           Marinette nodded slowly, already picturing herself patting Adrien’s back as he whined about as stomach ache from eating too much.

           Chloe frown, picturing the same. She had lost a pair of Jimmy Choos after one disastrous trip to the carnival that involved way too much greasy food and rollercoaster with two loops. She shook the nightmarish memory away, “Thanks to Marinette, we’ll be touring the Stark Industries and the Avengers tower. All the hotels we’ll be staying at are 5 stars. Also, we’re going to three, three Michelin star restaurants. I can imagine what would’ve happened if she had made the reservations late. We might have ended up in some god awful Inn.”

“Come to think of it,” Marinette paused thoughtfully, “We should get to New York about the same time you do. What are your plans? No! Don’t tell me. I’m sure they’re amazing and I don’t want to be jealous. I mean you kicked us off the trip so you had to have something out of this world lined up.”

           Alya’s mouth was dry. She tried to come up with something to say; something to brag about but she knew that come September she’d have to pony up the pics. Because Pics or it didn’t happen. Chloe was active on social media; she’d be updating on a daily basis and scooping out her competition. She’d know instantly if they were lying and they’d never live it down.

           Lila fought the urge to throw the biggest tantrum of her life. At the beginning of the year, after Marinette’s trip presentation, she thought getting the bluenette and Blondie off the trip was the perfect plan; even when Adrien said he wouldn’t go. However, it was soon clear that Alya and the other students were in way over their hands. The dream trip that Marinette had spun them would be realized as only a dream as it was clear they wouldn’t manage it without Marinette’s organizational skills and Chloe’s funding.

           The trip they got was the standard tourist one. A look around the city, the statue of liberty, Time Square, and a museum or two. Honestly, Lila took better trips with her grandmother.

           Maybe there was still a way to save things…

“You know,” Lila smiled sweetly. “Since we’re all going to be in New York anyway, we should do everything together-“

“Can’t,” Marinette stated firmly. “Reservations are reservations for a reason. Tickets were bought. You know how it is.”

           Bustier frowned. This had ended the way she thought it would. When Alya and the other students beseeched her to disallow Marinette and Chloe from the school trip, she thought it was for the best. Chloe had always had a hostile attitude that Marinette seemed to have developed as well. It left the rest of the class with negative energy that wasn’t helpful for nurturing their growth.

           However, she couldn’t have predicted just how badly things would go. Alya had come crying to her several times about having to fill out and re-fill out multiple forms for the school board. She seemed to get something wrong every time.

           The children could barely raise enough money for the trip. And it wasn’t nearly as wonderful as the one Marinette had come up with at the beginning of the year. Still, they were going to New York which was what counted. Most classes wouldn’t even have gotten that far, She thought smugly. It would be a good trip. (Caline had dreamed about accidentally running into Steve Rogers or Thor and being swept off her feet. And she thought that dream wouldn’t even be possible if she was too busy trying to reign in her to most troublesome students which were one of her reason her telling the two they couldn’t go.) However, even that trip paled in comparison to the one the bluenette had planned for her and her two friends. 5-star hotels, trips to galas, fashion week, going to the Avengers Towers, possibly meeting Captain America, Thor, and the rest! It all sounded too good to be true.

“There must be something you can do,” Bustier said. “It would be nice if all my students were together.”

           The other students looked at the tour with hope clear in their eyes.

           Adrien, Marinette, and Chloe just looked at the teacher like she was dumb. Each fought the urge to remind the teacher that she was just fine with the three not going less than ten minutes ago.

           Adrien rolled his eyes, “There isn’t. Everything was bought and paid for. They are only expecting four kids which is why we get to go to so many places. Turns out, not many hotels and restaurants want to deal with a bunch of teens at the last minute.”

Marinette nodded, “Besides you wouldn’t want us crashing your trip anyway. We’d hate to get in the way. We know you guys wanted a drama-free trip.” She through the term back in their faces. “But I wouldn’t mind meeting up one day. You guys are doing time square right. Let us know when and we’ll see if we can do it the same day.”

“If we can fit in our schedules,” Chloe snapped. “It's pretty packed.”

“Not as packed as theirs, I’m sure,” Marinette smiled kindly, though inside she was doing a victory dance worthy of a champion. “I can’t wait to see the pictures.”

           The four left that Friday. By Sunday, the social medias were filled with dozens of pictures of beautiful hotel rooms. The next three weeks were the worst in the class’s entire lives. The other students in the class tried their best not to look but it was hard. Particularly when the picture of Marinette, Adrien, and Chloe on the red carpet started to make waves. Pictures of the four meeting various celebrities like Lex Luther and Chris Pine, superheroes like Superman and Batman, of them at Disney World and Coachella had left more than a bit of envy in their hearts.

           Their own trip had started out terribly. Alya hadn’t book enough rooms so they had to triple bunk, with some people having to sleep on a cot. And it turned out that the only tours she had secured was to Elis Island and the New York Art Museum; nothing nearly as exciting as they hoped. So they had been mostly left on their own for sight-seeing.

           Still, it wasn’t a terrible trip. They ate great good and saw the normal New York tourist attractions.

           However, when the time came for them to go to Time Square and meet up with Adrien, Alya, Chloe, and Marinette, Bustier was ready to pull her hair out.

           Bustier never had trouble on any of the previous trips, as they were always organized to the minute, but this one had so much free time the kids didn’t know what to do with themselves which resulted in chaos. And being threatened with being kicked out of the hotel. She didn’t understand what was different. The students were usually so well behaved.

           Sure on previous trips, there had been two more chaperones but Bustier always thought they were unnecessary. Her students were the best and most well behaved in school for the most part. She was positive that they only needed their teacher to watch out for them.

           She was wrong.

           And Bustier was very surprised to see Mendeleiev there with her four wayward students, looking very much like the Cat that got the Canary.

“Demetria,” Bustier greeted politely. “What are you doing here?”

           Mendeleev didn’t bother to hide her smirk. “I was invited as a chaperone. It just me and Gorilla. Between the two of us we keep the delinquents in check,” She said Delinquents at the four who playfully hissed at her. Each of the four wore a black shirt with a different Hogwarts house on it.“Best decision I ever made. I was reluctant at first as it’s not school-related and I wouldn’t be paid for it. But Agreste and Bourgeois are paying me nine times my usual amount an hour to watch the kids like a hawk. Luckily their goods kids. What about you? How is your class trip going?”

           Bustier forced herself to smile, and not bite out angrily that it was driving her insane. The kids were driving her completely up the wall. And Caline was more than a little aware of how amazing her four students trip was and to think Mendeleiev had gotten to do it all with them made her blood boil and her eyes practically turn green with jealousy. “Extremely well. We are having… the time of our lives.”

“I’m sure,” Mendeleiev said. She and the rest of the teachers had never been happy with how Bustier ran her class. Or just how much she and Damocles got away with. However, it didn’t matter. Come September, things would change. Damocles had already gotten fired for taking bribes, breaking procedure, and being a complete idiot.

           Bustier, while technically, hadn’t done anything wrong would still have to listen to the school board tell her everything that was wrong with her class. And there was a lot.

“Have you gone to the Avengers tower yet?” Bustier asked, not subtly at all. She still hoped that if there was time she and her class could tag along.

“We have,” Mendeleiev told her, bursting the bubble of hope that had sprung in Caline. “It was quite wonderful. I had a wonderful debate with Doctor Banner; it turns out he’s read several of my papers and me, his. While the kids are at the baseball game tomorrow, the two of us will be having a lunch date and going over our scientific hypothesis tomorrow.”

“Get it, Ms. Mendeleiev,” Chloe laughed.

           Mendeleiev shot her a stern look but her mouth twitched as she fought a smile.

“Perhaps my class could go with?”

“Sorry, we have a reserved seats.”

Envy flared in Caline Bustier more than ever before in her entire life. If they had been still in Paris, Hawkmoth would’ve had a field day. “Oh but what about watching the kids. Won’t they need you? What would their parents say about this?” A vicious smirk appeared on Bustier’s face. She always thought Mendeleiev needed to be knocked down a peg or two.

Mendeleiev didn’t bat an eye, “Already covered. Already cleared with their parents. After all who’s going to say no to Captain America and Iron Man babysitting their kids. Steve hadn’t been to a game a while and he really wanted to take his son Peter and the rest of Tony’s interns. The kids should have a blast.”

Adrien shot a bright smile at his bodyguard, “Natasha is going too! I still don’t understand how you two know each other.”

Gorilla’s face burned a red color but he remained silent. He wore the bright yellow and black Hufflepuff scarf Adrien had begged him to wear as a show of support, particularly when Mendeleiev revealed herself to be a Ravenclaw (So did Bruce Banner). Captain America and the Winter Soldier high-fived Marinette over being Gryffindors. And Pepper Potts, Iron Man, and the Black Widow introduced themselves as Slytherin alumni.

Where was the Hufflepuff love?

Adrien had looked at Hawkeye with hope but Clint had shrugged and said, “Gryffindor.”

The blond boy huffed and pouted (the pout was how he got Gorilla to wear the scarf). He bet Thor was a Hufflepuff.

           The rest of Bustier’s class still steer clear away from the four; out of pride and envy. Lila had attempted to go near Adrien but was stopped by Alya who didn’t want to risk her bestie getting bullied by the meanest girls in school.

           Alya had decided after seeing the pictures of the four with Superman, The Avengers, Batman, and THE LOIS LANE that life just wasn’t fair. If it was Marinette and Chloe (Maybe even Nathaniel) would be stuck in Paris, crying their eyes out over not being allowed on the trip. It was what they deserved for being such bullies.

           The preplanned tour of Times Square, which was mostly just the kids walking around and awing at the pretty lights. It was actually a bit boring, once the excitement wore off. They found themselves on the highest building there, looking over New York City in its entirety, along with a bunch of other tourists.

           Suddenly all the electronic billboards and every ounce of electricity turned off. Crowds up people looked around confused.

           The giant monitors blurred and a face appeared, “Greetings citizens of New York, I. AM. THE. Electrocutioner!” Lights were centered on the highest building there, and it was clear the villain stood on top of the building. The building of Bustier’s class was on.

           One thought echoed in the minds of each Parisian citizen, “Fuck.”

           Before any of the Paris heroes’ could figure out if they should act or not, another team of heroes arrived.

           The evil-doer had with him a dozen or so henchmen, each more menacing the last.

           The sight of Kid Flash zooming up the side of the building was incredible. Seeing Young Justice kick butt left Marinette a little breathless.

Was this what it was like, she wondered, seeing Ladybug fight.

           When some of the henchmen were ordered to take hostages; Marinette, Chloe, Nathaniel, Adrien, Gorilla, and Mendeleiev fighting back much to the shock of Bustier and her class. Chloe rolled her eyes as she, and the other three pulled out miniature pens from their pockets; did they really not know how often New York is attacked by Super Villians. Seriously.

           With a click of the button, the pen turns into a long whip. Chloe refused to be taken without a fight. Her and Marinette, who now wielded a fighting staff, nodded at each other. The blonde snorted when she looked at Adrien, “A shield, really?”

“I don’t want to hurt people too much,” Adrien defended.

“This is why you’re a Hufflepuff.”

           Nathaniel spun his trident around. It worked like a Taser and could shock people. Luckily only the villain had electricity powers.

Marinette didn’t know how it happened but suddenly she was fighting back to back with Robin.

“Nice moves,” Robin said after Marinette knocked out a henchman with a high kick. He knocked out a henchman with his staff.

“Not too bad yourself.”

           Nathaniel nearly had a heart attack when Aqualad jumped in to help him protect several tourists. When biggest henchmen came rushing at him, the redhead fired up his trident and within seconds the underling was down for the count.

           Kaldur paused, “…Can I borrow that?”

           Chloe used the whip with ease and grace. She has been practicing with it ever since she saw Shadow Hunters for the first time. Isabelle Lightwood was an icon.

The blonde didn’t know how it happened. But one minute she was fighting off two lame minions then she saw an Arrow guy fighting and then falling off the roof, and the next thing she knows she’s jumping after him. Then they both were dangling off the roof with only Chloe’s whip for support.

“You call this a rescue?” Arrow guy snorted.

“You call yourself a hero?” Chloe snapped.

“Meow!”

           Chloe didn’t see how he did it but one moment she was hanging there; the next Arrow guy was swinging her up back onto the roof.

           He smirked at her, “You’re a pretty one.”

           She waved him off, “Oh go save someone!”

           When Superboy crashed down next to him after taking a brutal hit, Adrien gripped his shield and stood in front of him. Adrien was able to block most of the attempts of the underlings to reach the boy of steel. But it wasn’t long until they had them surrounded. Just when Adrien thought he was a goner, red lasers blasted the henchman back.

           Superboy stood up, “Thanks for the assist.” He smiled at the blond boy. “Nice shield.”

           Gorilla and Mendeleiev handled their own really well. After seeing Gorilla fight, Adrien started to have some serious suspicions about just how his bodyguard knew the Black Widow.

           When the fight was over, and the villains detained, the small group stood with the rest of the civilians until the all-clear was given.

The Bustier and her class stared in awe as the members of Young Justice walked over to the six with large smiles. The heroes didn’t even spare the class a glance. Not even when Alya pushed Lila to the front but Robin and Arsenal never even noticed her.

Dick Grayson, Robin, smiled at the pretty bluenette with bluest eyes he’d ever seen and did his best to ignore Batman in his ear about bringing in the Heroes Ladybug, Chat Noir, Queen Bee, and Bright Roar in to Watch Tower stat. He knew all about Ladybug and, thanks to Batman, knew her civilian identity. But to see her in person was a whole different experience.

No, there was a time and place for everything. And right now the time was to flirt with the Gorgeous Superhero who a skintight red suit.

“You’re amazing,” He told her honestly. “What are you doing for the rest of my life?”

“I swear to god if you propose!” Batman hissed in his ear.

           Marinette blushed a bright red.

           Kaldur handed the trident back to Nathaniel, “This is an amazing weapon. You use it well.” He told the redhead. This must be the new Hero Bright Roar “I wish for one just like it.”

           Nathaniel flushed but handed the weapon back to Kaldur, “Keep it. I’m not that good with it.”

           Kaldur smiled, “Then perhaps you will let me teach you one day. One on one sessions.”

“Really Kaldur,” Aquaman chastised. “This is a mission, not a dating show.”

           Aqualad ignored him.

           Superboy nodded at Adrien, “You’re good,” he told the smaller blond boy. Though from the reports he read about Chat Noir, he was only a year younger than him. “Cool shirt by the way. It's nice to meet a fellow Hufflepuff.” He said and then suddenly his arms were full of a blond boy thanking him for existing.

“Breathe,” Superman chuckled in his ear. “Just breathe, Connor.”

“For such good finders, we’re so hard to find,” Adrien said. “I could kiss you!”

           Superboy turned the brightest shade of red anyone had ever seen.

           Arsenal eyed the hot blond girl, “At least you know how to stay out of the way.”

           Chloe glared at him, “Next time, I’ll just let you die.”

“Then who be the man of your dreams.”

“Freddie Kruger would probably take his job back,” Chloe said with a hand on her hip. “Though his face isn’t as terrifying as yours.”

“That girl will eat you alive,” Oliver warned in his ear.

“So you admit you dream about me,” Roy stepped forward.

           Chloe huffed, “Get real!”

“Hey,” Alya called. “Robin, Speedy, don’t you want to say hi to Lila Rossi.” She motioned to the Italian girl who had gone pale.

“It’s Arsenal now,” Roy corrected.

           Dick nodded, “And who’s Lila?”

           Marinette smiled, “Oh I’d totally marry you now!”

           Robin grinned and raised his arms in victory.

           Batman cursed in his ear.

            Robin, Arsenal, Aqualad, and Superboy kept their attention on the on the four. No matter how much their superhero mentors protested. No matter how much Bustier’s tried to intervene.

              No, their attentions’ were reserved

[awyeahitssam]

“He can’t have come back in time,” Harry said. “There’s no way you would stop trying to kill me, no way for us to end up raising a kid together. No way you would ever miss me.”

In retrospect, fighting the Dark Lord in the Time Chamber had been a poor idea.

Their spells clashed in the middle. Sparks flew every which way, and then the room was cast into gold by priori incantatem.

Like the last time it had happened, Harry's hand had seized around his wand—he met red eyes through the blast—Voldemort's mouth was curled in a snarl—Harry's scar burned—they ended the connection in time, Voldemort’s wand snapping left as Harry’s followed to the right. 

A clock splintered and shattered under the residual energy. There was a sudden loud sound, like they were rushing through a wind tunnel, and then, between them on the floor, where the clock had shattered, appeared a young boy.

He wobbled on his legs for a moment before falling with an ‘oof’ of surprise. His eyes found Voldemort immediately and widened. He held out his arms to the Dark Lord and whined out, “Papa.”

Voldemort stayed frozen in place, red eyes wide.

Harry lowered his wand immediately, taking stock of the situation as quickly as he could. Voldemort’s eyes flickered to him, catching the movement. His expression had quickly reverted to neutral, but Harry could feel a blend of suspicion and surprise that mirrored his own. Voldemort seemed as at a loss as Harry was—didn’t seem to know the child who reached out and called him ‘papa.’

Voldemort wouldn’t hurt the boy, would he? Harry swallowed around the thought. He’d been perfectly willing to kill Harry when he was even younger.

Harry took a step forward.

“Cease,” the Dark Lord warned, voice high and cold as ever. “This ploy is sickening.” 

Ploy? Voldemort thought this was a trap of Harry’s—or, more likely, Dumbledore’s—devising? It was a child—and from his sheer discomfort, from his confusion, Harry knew that this was not a trap on Voldemort’s part. Although the man had lured him to the Department of Mysteries with false visions—if he could control the connection… 

“Up,” the little boy insisted, waving his arms a bit. “Up, papa!” 

Something in Harry ached. The young boy’s confusion and frustration at Voldemort ignoring his request to be held was obvious. Red eyes were narrowed, the mind behind them surely spinning as Harry’s did. Wasn’t Voldemort meant to be brilliant? He had probably already calculated and discarded dozens of scenarios—in the meanwhile, the boy was beginning to sniffle in a way that promised tears. 

“I have nothing to do with this,” Harry insisted, tone carefully even. He didn’t want to distress the child by fighting with his—perceived, because surely not—father in front of him. “We are making a mess in a room full of time turners. Maybe—” 

Maybe what? They had somehow pulled a boy from the future with their carelessness? A future where the Dark Lord had a wife, had a son? The back of his head was a mess of curls as dark as Tom Riddle’s hair had once been, but Harry could make out little else.

As if sensing his thoughts, (or far more likely, having heard Harry’s voice and realized there was somebody else in the room all along,) the boy turned. He was fair skinned with baby fat clinging to his face and a shirt that said “Slythergriff!” in enchanted text that shifted between green and gold. There was no mistaking his eyes, however. They were what caught him out. The same eyes Harry saw every day in the mirror. His mother’s eyes. 

They lit up on his in joy, a blinding grin spreading across the child's face. “Daddy!” 

He ran forward and threw himself into Harry’s arms, obviously no longer content to wait on Voldemort. Harry bent down automatically, catching the boy and lifting. He was perhaps fifteen kilograms, heavy enough that Harry’s arms strained a bit. 

“Papa said you're still gone,” the child blabbered excitedly, squirming until he was comfortable. He leaned back to meet Harry’s eyes, and would’ve fallen if not for Harry’s hand moving to his back to steady him, the other braced under his butt. “For ‘nother two days!”

“Did he?” Harry asked, feeling rather faint. “I—got back early.”

Harry saw Voldemort move out of the corner of his eyes and immediately tensed. His wand shot from the floor to his hand. Voldemort sneered at him, and Harry noticed that his yew wand had vanished from sight. 

“Where were you a moment ago, child?” the Dark Lord demanded. The boy looked back at him, his upset at Voldemort’s harsh manner of speaking obvious.

“Papa mad,” he whispered to Harry. “I was bad?”

Harry’s face twisted. ‘What did I do wrong?’ he had wondered at the same age, staring up at his Aunt and Uncle. ‘Why are they mad? Why do they hate me?’

Whatever the situation, he never wanted to hear this boy sound so desolate ever again. 

“No, darling, you weren’t bad.” The child relaxed instantly at Harry’s reassurance. His trust was obvious and heart-wrenching. “Your—papa is just confused. Can you remember where you were?”

“Yes,” he said, turning to face Voldemort more fully even as he snuggled back into Harry’s hold with a little sigh of happiness. “I was with Nipsy in kitchen. Being good, papa, promise.”

“I’m sure you were,” Harry soothed, before Voldemort could somehow make the situation worse. Red eyes were watching him closely, but Voldemort felt more intrigued than like he was about to rip Harry apart. “I feel like I’ve been gone for ages, little one. Can you remind me how old you are?” 

The boy beamed, not seeming upset in the least with his question. He held up his fingers quickly, the answer clearly practiced. “Four, daddy!”

Harry couldn’t help but smile back. “Very good,” he praised on automatic. “And what’s your full name again?” 

He giggled. “Daddy didn’t forget my name,” he said certainly. 

“Once learned, I could never forget it.” Harry said carefully. “Tell me anyway?” 

The boy huffed, “Practice meeting people ‘gain? ‘s boring.”

“People that meet you need to know your name,” Voldemort intoned, tone far less sharp than it had been.

“People always know, though. I don’t ever getta use what you teached me.”

“Taught you,” Harry corrected, as Voldemort took a deep breath. Harry’s scar was prickling, but there was no reprimand in Voldemort's voice when he replied, “There is never harm in practice.”

Looking a bit disheartened, the boy huffed, “‘Kay. I’m Micah Silas Gaunt Potter. Papa’s dictator—sorry, a dictator—and daddy’s dip… dipmad? Daddy makes the world better. And if ya take me ‘way, daddy can find us real quick and then you’d go ‘way forever.”

That sounded. Vaguely ominous. And odd, considering Harry had been labeled ‘daddy’. 

“What’s—that last part?”

Micah pouted. “I dunno, can’t ’member the word. It’s why you go ’way, so it’s dumb job.”

Harry hummed, brushing through the messy curls gently. “If I didn’t have to, I’m sure I would never leave you. But I’m more interested in my making people ‘go away forever’.”

“Oh. Papa said warn ev’rybody that you’d be really mad if they took me ‘gain. Cause when the mean woman stoled me, you made her go ‘way forever.”

Voldemort swept closer. Harry’s hand flexed around his wand. “And how did he do that, Micah?”

“You were there, papa, Daddy made green light for her ex-cution, ‘member?”

“Of course,” Voldemort said, eyes sticking on Harry. 

Micah craned his head to look at him. “Aren’t you gonna hug papa? He missed you lots too!”

Something in Harry twisted in revulsion at the idea of touching Voldemort, of hugging him, the man who had killed his family. “I… already gave him his hug, darling.”

“Oh.” Micah started wriggling. Harry helped him turn back around until he was clinging around his neck like a koala, careful to keep a hold on his wand. The boy settled with a yawn. “Missed you,” he muttered into Harry's neck, curling into him. “Papa’s bad at stories.”

If it was meant to be a whisper, it wasn’t a very good one. 

“I missed you too, darling,” Harry said, and then cast a silent sleeping spell. Something in him ached. He wanted this. Wanted family. He always had. He wasn’t even sixteen and yet he couldn’t wait—but he’d never have this. Especially not with Voldemort, who had taken his first family away. 

Harry's grip tightened protectively. He felt like he might cry. He took a deep breath and met red eyes. 

“Hurt him and I will break the prophecy,” Harry warned. 

“And why would you do that?”

Harry looked at the dark head of hair tucked under his chin. Why? “He has my mother's eyes.”

[queen-haq]

Fic: A Woman Reborn (Part 19)

Pairing: Billy Russo X Reader (from A Woman Scorned)

Rating: R / 18+ only

A/N: This is a sequel to A Woman Scorned and takes place a few years after the events of AWS.

MasterList (includes links to AWS and previous chapters here)

Summary: You and Billy are happily married when tragedy strikes, jeopardizing your relationship and everything you two have built together. Can the two of you find your way back to each other or is the special bond you once shared broken forever?

You kissed him, madly, passionately, dazed and spellbound. Billy’s mouth -  oh, his mouth - it was a divine thing, designed to drive you crazy and out of your mind. He worshipped you with his lips, his tongue, praying at your alter. His hands tugged at your hair while you undid his jacket, desire building in your core and throughout your blood, making it impossible for you to think, to breathe.

“Billy…” you groaned, frustrated, trying to unbutton his jacket but having a hard time doing it. He cupped your face, his dark eyes bright, lit up with such emotion that it made your heart flip-flop repeatedly in your chest. It was pounding so hard you wondered if it would explode. Your hands trailed up to caress the base of his neck, peppering his skin with staccato kisses.

You whimpered when his lips placed an achingly-sweet kiss on your temple, on your left eyelid, then right, following the trail down the length of your nose. You opened your eyes, met his piercing gaze that melted the last shred of resolve left in you.

“You touch me like this and you wonder why I can’t give you up,” he whispered in awe, reverence laced in his voice.

You sucked on his bottom lip, tugging at it.

“You see me. The real me. You always have.”

You nodded your head, acknowledging his words. You knew the horror Billy was capable of, the things he did to get ahead and you loved him for it. You understood his drive to make something of himself and his need to destroy anyone who got in the way of his ambitions. Because you were exactly like him.

Breaths shallow, every nerve in your body heightened with anticipation, you slid off his jacket. He didn’t move, watching you hungrily, a man possessed. Your hands paused when you saw his white shirt stained with blood. Roger’s blood. You met his gaze, spotting the all-consuming need in the molten depth of his eyes. “If he’s not dead, he’ll run to the cops.”

“What if he does? Would you miss me? Or would you be fucking ecstatic that I’m gone?”

You stared up at him intently. “You know the answer to that, Billy.”

“I don’t.”

He swallowed audibly, eyes shimmering with vulnerability yet also anger. Conflicting emotions, he was the epitome of that. The man who loved you beyond your wildest dreams was also the same one who ripped you to shreds and cast you aside.

“Maybe before, when we were married, yeah, I fucking convinced myself you loved me. Almost as much as I loved you.”

Sadness weighed heavily in his voice, making your insides hurt so much you couldn’t bear to look at him. You lowered your gaze; instantly he grasped your chin and lifted it, forcing you to stare into his soul.

“But now?” He shook his head. “I have no fucking idea.”

Every inch of you ached to tell him you loved him, you always would, but the fear flooding over you stopped you from confessing. Somehow you managed to get through the trauma of abusive parents and build a life for yourself, then through some sheer stroke of luck you even fell in love. Billy crashed through all your walls and defenses and ingrained himself into your heart and soul, and in your enraptured state the last thing you thought about was self-preservation. You left yourself open, completely raw and vulnerable, so when the worst happened and he hurt you – you crumbled completely. It wasn’t just your heart that broke, you did too.

And you were still broken, fractured in your soul. There was nothing left in you to give.

“We need to destroy these clothes,” you said. “Take them off. I’ll put them in the wash and then get rid of them.”

He smirked, the smile a mixture of mirth and sadness. “Want me to strip for you, sweetheart?”

“Stop fucking around!” you snapped. “Roger could be with the cops right now. We don’t have time to lose.” Determined you started to unbutton his shirt and threw the fabric aside before proceeding to unzip his trousers. As you freed him from his clothing one by one, you tried your best to stay detached and not get sidetracked by your husband’s beautiful body. You turned away from him and gathered all the pieces together. “Go take a shower.” You didn’t wait for a response, instead heading to the washing machine located off your bathroom. You were starting the machine when you felt him press up against you from behind.

“You don’t even look at me now.”

His lips were right next to your right ear, blowing warm air on your skin that made your body shudder with need. His one arm snaked around your waist while the other was draped along your chest, pulling you close to him. He may have been naked but you weren’t, yet the dress felt like nothing, as if the two of you were touching skin to skin, scorching you with his heat.

“Before, your eyes would always be on me. It didn’t matter what we were doing. I’d look up and you’d be fucking staring at me, watching me. Like you couldn’t get enough of me.”

You closed your eyes, swaying towards him even as you fought mentally against it. Billy was right. Throughout the course of your relationship you were obsessed with studying him, because just being around him made you feel alive and filled you with excitement.

“There were so many times I’d wake up in the morning and there you were, beside me, smiling at me.”

“You make me sound like a creep,” you grumbled.

He chuckled softly, nipping at your earlobe. His tongue probed the sensitive skin just below and you gripped the edges of the washer to stop your knees from giving way. “I was a creep too,” he continued, his husky voice arousing you as much as his growing erection against your ass. “I could never stop touching you.”

You were caught up in a whirlwind of desire while his fingers slowly caressed your right nipple. Friction from his fingers against the satin fabric of the dress added a layer of stimulation that made your body sing and you reached back to grip the back of his head, your other hand fisting his hair.

“Nothing felt right if I couldn’t touch you.”

Just as much as you needed him in your sight, he needed you physically close. You remembered him coming home after a long day of work and just sinking into you, or even when he’d be tinkering around things at home and his hand would often reach out to caress you or he’d drop a kiss on your temple. You often squealed when he’d be wet and sweaty after a work-out and would wrap his arms around you in a tight hug but deep down you didn’t mind. You never did. You loved the obsessive part of him.

“If I couldn’t smell you...”

His words pulled you out of your reverie.

“And it’s a hundred times worse now.”

Your heart lurched, anguish sweeping over you.

“I wake up every morning, expecting to see you next to me but you’re not there.”

His words may have been enveloped in sorrow but his hands were navigating an entirely different path, gliding up your thigh thanks to the slit in your dress, stroking up your skin until he snuck past the lace fabric of your panties and found your cunt. You tried to focus on his words, but what he was doing to your body was making it impossible – and you suspected Billy was doing it purposely.

“I’m a fucking mess without you.”

He slipped his finger inside you, probing and teasing you, slipping in another finger, thrusting in a rhythm that was driving you wild.

“Take off the dress.”

Your eyes flew open. “Billy-”

“Please.”

There was urgency in his voice, there was also desperation. You knew he could easily rip it off of you within seconds but he wanted you to do it. As much as you wanted to protest, you couldn’t, not when he was simultaneously fucking you with his fingers and messing with your head. You could feel his erection against your ass, and you wanted so badly to feel him inside you again.

Suddenly he removed his fingers, yanking you out of the haze of pleasure you were in.

Your knees almost buckled while you turned around but he held you firmly, encircling your waist.

“Why’d you stop?” you demanded.

“Because I want to fuck my wife.” The predatory glint in them made the deep pools of his eyes appear completely black, like he was a fucking demon demanding a sacrifice. “Not just with my fingers.” His slick fingers, inside you mere moments ago, brushed against your lip, sliding inside your mouth so you could taste yourself. The hunger in his eyes grew as you sucked the digits, taunting him. “And I want to see her naked.”

You blinked, digesting his words. He wanted you exposed completely, be vulnerable with him – the same man who destroyed your confidence.

You pulled his hand away from your mouth. “You should go take a shower. In case there are any remnants of Roger left on you.” Your eyes lingered down his body, noting his toned physique and the ridges of his abs. You always appreciated that he was more lean than bulky, physically fit but not roided up. And then there was his cock. Long, beautiful cock that stood erect, that brought you so much pleasure, the only man you ever enjoyed sucking off.

“You want my cock, sugar? You want me inside you?”

His words played havoc with your sanity, with your heart. Your breathing grew shallow, your body pulsing.

“All you gotta do is take off your clothes.”

He smiled, a languid, charming, manipulative smile designed to weaken your resolve, and – fuck it – it was working. You wanted him, you wanted him so bad, desire for him strong enough to drown out your insecurities. It was pathetic, you were dickmatized by him, you needed to stop – yet when his hand clasped yours and he led you backwards to the bathroom, you followed.

You swallowed an audible breath, hands trembling when he stopped in front of the tub.

Your eyes scanned over the wounds on his face, wanting to kiss every inch of them.

He brushed his fingers through your hair, tugging on the strands affectionately. “Love this haircut.”

“Really?” you prodded, surprised. “I thought you liked my hair long.”

“You could wear it shaved and I’d still love it.” He nudged your chin up, eyes gleaming over your features. “Anything that shows me more of this face.”

“This was my ‘fuck you’ haircut.”

He quirked his eyebrow. “It worked. I’m ready to be fucked.”

Laughter escaped you, and he replied with a beaming smile, nuzzling your nose with his. The easy intimacy between you two, so reminiscent of your marriage and before everything went to hell, made your heart ache. You didn’t want to pull away from him, not right now. “Why aren’t you more worried about Roger? You usually don’t leave loose ends.”

“Who gives a fuck?”

“You should! This isn’t like you. You’re not an idiot.” Panic unfurled in your belly. “If he talks-”

“He’s not gonna say anything. He has no idea who attacked him.” Billy pulled you into his arms and maneuvered you around so that you were both facing the mirror. Eyes glued to your reflection, he smiled. “But I’m happy you still care.”

A part of you yearned to tell him you loved him, you always would, but you didn’t.

“Take the dress off for me, sweetheart. I’m beggin’ here.”

Gazes locked with his, you took a deep breath. Slowly you started to undo the zipper on the side, feeling nervous, even more nervous than the very first time you had sex with Billy. And you’d been a fucking mess then. His ravenous eyes roved over your body in the mirror as the dress dropped to your feet, leaving you clad in your strapless corset bra and underwear.

Slick, snarky, always in control Billy was gone; in his place was a man looking at you like you were the most amazing thing he ever saw. And it was the wonderous expression on his face that gave you the burst of confidence you hadn’t felt in a long time. You turned, facing him. “Want me to take everything off?”

His voice was a raspy growl. “Yeah.”

“Then beg me.”

His left eyebrow shot up, but he didn’t respond.

“Or were they just words, Billy?” You taunted. “Were you bullshitting me?”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach when he gave you an incorrigible, lopsided smile, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He got down on one knee, then the next, and his fingers interlocked with yours. With his head reaching your breasts midway, he settled his face in your cleavage and inhaled you in. Often you’d wake up halfway through the night to find his head snuggled there, his favourite sleeping spot, and you’d brush your fingers through his hair affectionately, amazed at how much happiness your boobs seemed to bring him.

You watched as he placed a tender kiss on both of your breasts before raising his head to meet your gaze. Your heart melted, taking in the puppy dog expression on his face.

“Please, babe, let me see your body.” An angelic smile curved his lips, he was obviously enjoying this. “I’m dying here, might even be hauled in by the cops at any second. You wouldn’t deny a dying man his last wish, would you? Not when he’s begging you…”

“Maybe I will,” you retorted. “Maybe I’m a cruel bitch who enjoys watching you suffer.”

Your words were meant to be facetious but his smile tensed, regret looming over his features. “If I could go back and change everything, I would. I wish I never hurt you. I know you don’t believe me, you don’t trust me – but I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for everything I did.”

Gaze fixed on Billy, you undid the hooks of your corset and threw it aside. His eyes, always so ominously dark, seemed to light up with a spark, hope blossoming in them that swiftly turned to a wild storm as you pulled down your underwear. Grasping his shoulder, you stepped out of your clothes and kicked them aside.

Naked and exposed, you stood in front of him.

And that’s all it took to completely unravel him.

It was dizzying how quickly he pulled you into his arms and lifted you up, carrying you inside the bathtub.

The two of you were completely lost, clawing at each other, as if every second the two of you weren’t touching was time wasted. Your mouths devoured one another, tongues and teeth clashing, his hands on your breasts, yours on his ass, groping and leaving marks so there was permanence to this moment. Forever entwined.

Water drizzled over your heated skin, a respite from the insanity that swirled around you. Even though you two had sex earlier, this was different, not driven by jealousy or anger but something more real and sacred. Love. And for the first time in years, the two of you were not in sync with other. You were both in a rush to experience everything in each other as quickly as possible, as if afraid this moment would end at any moment. While he wanted to kiss and taste every inch of you, you wanted to do the same and feel his cock in your mouth.

Despite the push and pull and the urgency to consume each other, you two finally managed to connect and be on the same wavelength.

With his chest pressed against your back and you trapped against the wall, he fucked you from behind.

In bed your wet bodies tangled together and you straddled atop, you rode him hard.

He went down on you, you did the same.

You loved having sex with Billy. You loved it, loved him, and the intense bond you two shared, but more than that it was the aftermath you craved. That feeling of intimacy as the two of you laid in bed, feeling happy and fulfilled and in a complete state of euphoria. Like you were right now.

Your bodies were sticky and glistening with sweat, the only sounds in the room being your labored breaths when he reached for your hand. Fingers threaded together, he brought your joined hands to rest over his heart.

For a long time the two of you didn’t speak, worried that the wrong word would utterly shatter the peace between you two.

But then his stomach growled, breaking the silence, and you started laughing and he did the same. The awkwardness instantly dissipated.  

It took a few seconds for you to finally catch your breath. “Hungry?” you teased, turning to him.

“Starving.”

Pulling your hand away, you started to get up. “I think I have some Chinese in the fridge-”

“No.” He pushed you down, sliding his body partially atop so you were nestled underneath him. Balancing his weight on his elbow, he cupped your face with the other hand. “You’re not going anywhere, babe. You’re staying here with me.”

You closed your eyes, breathing him in.

For the first time in a long while, you felt at home.

[unecoccinellenoire]

Hi! I don’t know if you’re still doing the prompts but could I suggest maybe an au of Freaky Friday where maybe it was Nathalie and Gabriel that swapped please?

Nathalie and Gabriel?

Now that would be a mess. But maybe actually one I can work with so let have a speedrun of that scenario 

Gabriel stared up at his own face, “Why would it be an akuma?”

“I don’t know,” Nathalie hissed back at him, and from the disgruntlement that passed over her face when she spoke she was as thrown at how weird she sounded as him as he was, “but there aren’t exactly many other sources of random magical powers in Paris are there?”

“There’s Ladybug.”

“This doesn't fit in with any of the Miraculous we know about.”

“Well it wasn't an akuma.”

“What was it then?”

“Us!” Duusu trilled suddenly appearing from wherever the Kwami had been.

“Duusu,” Nooroo whimpered from behind his head, and really what was it about Nathalie’s hair that made it a magnet for Kwami’s.

Though his irritation gave way to anger as he realised, “wait, was this you?”

Then a knock at the door froze all of them, “Father? Um, I haven't seen Nathalie this morning so I'm just going to go to school.”

He opened his mouth to talk but Nathalie spoke first calling out to the door, “She's not feeling well. She’ll email you your schedule later.”

……......

“An act of selfless love?” Nathalie said, “Alright. I can work with that, Duusu spread my feathers.”

He couldn’t help but be distracted by the sight of himself blue and pink-eyed, and reached out to his face as if to check it was real. He wasn't sure the hair was a fantastic look but at least, “I'm thankful I'm not in your dress. I don’t think I’d pull it off.”

Nathalie flushed, and looked down, “I hadn’t even really thought. We’ll have to thank Duusu I guess.”

“I think you contributed,” he ran his eye over the tailcoat and slim trousers, “I can see Mayura in it. And your elegance.”

“My,” she blinked, “Thank you sir.”

“So what's your plan then?”

“The same as it's always been.”

“We can't make waste the Wish on fixing this,” and if they were using their original plan then as distracting as the image of Emilie and Nathalie together was, he could hardly just explain to his wife than he and his assistant had switched bodies and expect her to be ok with that, “we need it for Emilie.”

“I know,” Nathalie said, “which is why we get Ladybug and Chat Noir’s Miraculous, and then I make the wish to sacrifice myself for Emilie. That should work shouldn’t it? I know it wouldn’t be completely selfless but,”

“What?” The room felt suffocating and hot, and he thought he might faint and he hoped this wasn’t what Nathalie felt like all the time because of damage from the Peacock Miraculous. “That’s, how, what about that wouldn’t be selfless.”

“I wouldn’t be in pain.” Nathalie said, and didn’t seem to realise how her words felt like stab wounds, “and you’d be the one dealing with all the mess afterward; explaining my death, explaining it all to Emilie, explaining it all to Adrien. And I’d know you were happy and I wouldn’t have to,” she stopped herself, “it doesn’t matter. I think it would still work.”

“We’re not doing that. I’m not killing you because our blasted Kwamis have betrayed us.”

“We are forcing them to work against their natures.”

“You really think Duusu has a problem with what we’re doing?” He should have seen Nooroo’s treachery coming but Duusu’s did surprise him.

“No,” she exhaled, “I don’t think that’s where Duusu’s actions are coming from. Duusu has a,” she bit her lip in thought, “different way of looking at the world. I wouldn’t advise asking for my kwami’s reasons. But it doesn’t matter. This doesn’t change anything.”

She looked as if what she meant was obvious when it very much was not. “It does. This was never the plan.”

“I thought you were willing to do anything for her?”

“Not that.” He pressed his fingers to his temples, “Nathalie if I was willing to throw your life away I’d have commanded you to wear that Miraculous from day one. I have never wanted to hurt you, and I can’t lose you too, you’re the only thing that gets me through each day.”

“You wouldn’t be losing me too, you’d have her back.”

“It’s too heavy a price,” Nathalie was, she was his friend and his certainty and he didn’t know how he could look himself in the mirror, could look Emilie in the eyes, if he killed her, “We not doing that.”

“It wouldn’t work anyway,” Nooroo said, “it has to be the elder of you that performs the selfless act of love.”

He’d never seen what horror looked like on his own face, and even blue it was his own face, until that moment.

…......

“I’ve got it,” Gabriel reached forward and pulled the Miraculous off her, “You’re never using this again.”

He waited for this nightmare to be over, but apart from her transformation falling from him-as-Mayura to him-as-himself nothing happened.

It should have worked. He’d put Nathalie ahead of his goals. Ahead of Emilie. Shouldn’t that have solved the whole thing?

“You’re said that before sir,” Nathalie said.

If he wasn’t in her body, and overly aware of how he could damage it, then he’d have punched a wall. Stupid past him screwing it up for all of them. And he’d always known letting Nathalie use that Miraculous was a mistake.

……….

“We’re probably going to have to get dressed at some point,” Nathalie said, looking as if she’d stepped in something distasteful, “you’ve a zoom meeting later. I guess it’s lucky we were swapped with each other, so we can keep the business going.”

Lucky was not what Gabriel would call the situation at all especially when, “I can’t just undress you.”

She was his assistant. It was wrong for him to know what she looked like under her clothes in any more exactness than her measurements. And the longer he was in her body the harder it was going to be not to ever look.

His body must have blushed more today than it ever had before, as Nathalie said, “Maybe just. Don’t shower today.”

“I wasn’t going to,” otherwise he’d actually be touching her and that was wrong wrong wrong, “I will try and respect your privacy Nathalie.”

“I know you would,” she said looking at him with a trust he wasn’t sure he’d earnt, “you dress models all the time, this isn’t any different. OK, I admit I’m not model but I trust you to be professional about this.”

“You’re pretty enough to model,”

She blinked, “I don’t think I can agree but thank you. And, I’ll do my best to give you your privacy too.”

“I never expected otherwise,” Nathalie was always professional, “I know I can trust you.”

“Thank you sir,” she said before a look of sheer horror crossed her face, “oh god, I’m going to have to go to the loo as you.”

He felt a funny warmth in his stomach. “We’ll have to fix this quickly then.”

“Yes,” said Nathalie but she didn’t look any more convinced than before.

………

“I’ve another idea,” he said, and reached up to cup his own face, and tried to ignore how disconcerting the whole situation was he pressed his lips to hers or his depending on how one considered it.

Nathalie pulled away immediately, stumbling a few steps back, “What on earth was that?”

From the look of her she seemed to think he had some weird obsession with himself so he rushed to clarify. “I thought, you know, it worked for the heroes before to break the effects of akumas?”

“Sir,” she was speaking to him very slowly like he was a child, and it sounded more condescending in his own voice, “You’re not in love with me. So that wouldn’t work.”

Her dismissal of him yet again annoyed him. He was going to fix this. And he was going to get Nathalie’s respect back.

…………

“I’m going to Adrien’s fencing match,” Nathalie announced.

“What? Why?”

“I promised him I would. It’s in the schedule.”

“For Nathalie.”

“I cleared yours too sir. You can come with us if you want.”

“I need to work out how to solve this not waste time placating Adrien. You go if you want.”

“I will.”

As he watched Adrien’s joyful smile on seeing what he thought was his father he realised uncomfortably that Adrien hadn’t smiled like that at him in he didn’t know how long.

Perhaps he could spare Adrien some more time.

……….

“I’ve come to a decision,” Gabriel announced.

“Yes?” Nathalie asked with a raised eyebrow, “Have you found a way to fix this sir?”

“What? No. I’m going to invent a better bra. I never realised it but there’s so many issues with current designs, the straps keep falling down, and the underwire is uncomfortable and,”

“Have you somehow got it on wrong? It’s never bothered me.”

“How would I have got it on wrong? I’m not stupid.” Although admittedly Nathalie probably adjusted herself more than Gabriel felt comfortable doing with his assistant’s body.

Nathalie frowned, and he almost mirrored her, he hadn’t realised he always looked this severe. “Maybe you just have a lower discomfort threshold than me sir.”

“That does seem to be the case yes,” because he’s struggling to get through the door past the aches and exhaustion that Nathalie has apparently been lying about not feeling.

…………

“I just don’t know what we’re going to do Nathalie,” he said as he relaxed back against her after she caught him after another coughing fit. He’d always felt utterly insufficient for what he could do for her afterwards and no seeing it he felt almost more so.

“We’ll fix this somehow sir,” she said, “I’m sorry it was me. I know if it had been Adrien or someone else you cared for this would have been much easier.”

He turned around, “What are you talking about? I can’t see how that would be easier at all.”

Because there was an obvious thing he could do to fix this at least and he couldn’t think what would be obvious in Adrien’s case.

Not that he could do the obvious thing so knowing it didn’t really help but….

…………..

Because he can’t pretend the toll this is taking on her isn’t obvious now. Not when he’s the one feeling it.

And the thing is. It’s not all the Peacock Miraculous either. If either of them could break this spell then Nathalie would have already done it a hundred times over.

She’s ready to lay down her life for him. She’s already risked her health and her freedom. This isn’t her job.

This is him being unfair.

And he’s never cared much for fairness. After all. Life isn’t. But it feels different with Nathalie. It rankles. He doesn’t want to be the one hurting her.

……………

“Are you going to send out an akuma sir?” Nathalie asked.

He shook his head, “Not like this.”

……………

He reached out to Emilie’s coffin and tried to ignore how much higher it was.

“I’m sorry Em,” he said, “I think I might be a very selfish man. Can you forgive me?”

Are you alive?

Is this a betrayal?

Or is it just recognising reality?

…………

“Adrien,” he said and his son looks up with worry for whatever Nathalie’s going to say he’s forgotten but there’s affection too, and there’s nothing he can say actually. Not as Nathalie. Not when he knows the opinions on the matter he’s wrongly allowed his son to have. “Don’t worry.”

Though if he does this then it’s not so wrongly.

………..

He still doesn’t like Adrien’s friends but as Nathalie he sees them more often and as he sees how his son changes as he sees how he becomes more like Emilie at her very best he has to revaluate some of the choices they’re made, and whether they’ve been stifling certain talents of Adrien’s.

………..

Nathalie didn’t say anything when he sees him transformed, but her eyes say it all.

“I thought it was quite striking,” he said of the Butterfly wing dress, wrapped around her body he was wearing.

“No,” she said, “it is sir, I’m just not sure it looks very suitable for fighting.”

“It’s not.” He agreed, but I’m not planning to fight. Give me your Miraculous Nathalie. I’m going to akumatise myself again.”

“With both of them?”

“No,” he laughed, “but I’ll want it after and I don’t want to fight you.”

“Sir,” Nathalie asked, “What are you doing?”

“Trust me.”

And she does.

………..

He felt it the moment the spell breaks. True his akumatised form is androgynous compared to his transformation under the Butterfly Miraculous’ powers but he’d known it has changed nonetheless.

And then Ladybug purified his akuma and he could see it has.

“M.Agreste?” Ladybug asked, “How did you get Hawk Moth and Mayura’s Miraculous?”

“I don’t know,” he said giving thanks for the effects of his akumas, “I don’t remember anything.”

Chat Noir was looking at him oddly, “did you fight Hawk Moth?”

“I think,” he said deciding he could afford this much to avoid the embarrassment of apparently losing to himself, “this was what Hawk Moth wanted me to do.”

……….

Nathalie greeted him at the door, “Are you alright?”

“Never better.” He confirmed.

She pulled him in shutting the door behind him, “You gave up.”

“I did.”

“It fixed us.”

“It did.”

“Then,” she still looked shell-shocked, “that means, you gave up for me?”

“It wasn’t entirely selfless,” he said, “I’m rather glad it worked despite that but Nooroo thought it would. But, I’m not sure I’m ready to confront what all of that means. Not while Emilie’s still,”

“I’ll be here when you are,” she said with a grounding clasp of her hand around his arm.

[sanders-sides-fic]

We all pretend (to be the heroes on the good side)

So… This got real angsty real quick. I didn't intend for it to be that bad. But it went there… So… Yeah.

This is the prompt I was using

Trigger warnings: vaguely implied coma, vaguely implied character death, implied fall, abandonment, ability to move inanimate objects like they're alive

Virgil Sanders.

Most people didn't know that name. Some did, but not nearly as many as knew him. Weird, wasn't it? To be known, without your name being uttered. Maybe that was still part of his history.

He hadn't started out on this side of the fight. A few years ago he'd been feared beyond compare. "Nightmare", that's what they used to call him. Back when he'd been pushed into that role without a visible way out. He didn't have a choice back then, or, at least that's what he used to think.

Then, one night shit got down. He destroyed every connection he'd had, severed every bridge, left everything behind. "Nightmare" became "Anxiety" at that time. A villain-turned-vigilante, who didn't use his powers to terrorise his opponent's minds until they were unable to fight, but answered to the terror people around him felt instead.

Back then he'd started to work with some of his former enemies. They took him in well, everything considered. And he couldn't deny that they helped him a lot. He would sometimes join hands with "the brain", and occasionally even with his reluctant friend and Virgil's former nemesis "the prince".

There were a lot heroes with a "the" in their names, surprisingly.

Now, he couldn't tell anymore when it had happened. But at some time he found himself influenced by their heroic antics, and he took on the name of "storm cloud". His hero name. He teamed up with the brain in his mandatory probation, the so-called introduction phase before his official debut with title of hero. Sadly the name a common friend had offered for their team had been rejected by the hero in question. "Mind storm" would have been awesome, though, right?

And then things started to become brighter in his little world. Hell, his entire career was nothing more than a redemption arch.

That's why he was often times called "the light of hope" by the people. Light of hope, my ass! They were just relieved to see not every villain was beyond help. That was the only reason they liked him, if you'd asked him. Publicity.

That was what he kept thinking about in that moment, when he found himself facing off with his current nemesis. The golden snake was… an old acquaintance. A villain that'd only become a villain because of him. Or, because he wasn't a villain anymore. A villain that Virgil secretly couldn't bring himself to hate because of that, even after everything that had transpired between the two of them.

What even was this, really? A fight between a hero and a villain? If so, who was who? Virgil couldn't tell anymore. He didn't know who he was anymore. It was so… What was the word?

Ack! No time to think of it. He jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding the snake's poisonous fang. Ja- the villain had become quite good at this by now. Virgil was really driven to the edge of the building. Luckily there were no more civilians around, but he could still see reporters, some persistent fans, and police officers taking away the snake's underlings out of the corner of his eyes.

The wind blew strong this night.

A bolt of purple lightning shot towards Jan- the villain. It was stoped by the snake of pure gold he controlled so delicately without ever reaching him. Of course. What had Virgil expected? This villain was outstanding. Like he'd always had been.

Virgil tried again, the lightning coming from his finger tips getting harder to control by the second. Too many people, too much fear in the air, too little time to concentrate. And the villain knew this. Virgil could see his smirk underneath the shadow of his hat.

"Just give up, dark and stormy night! You can't hang on for much longer."

Virgil gritted his teeth and fired another bold of lightning. "And let you escape when we got this far? Big chance." Though he did want to do that, if he was being honest.

A laugh so hauntingly familiar and yet a far cry from what he used to know resounded through the tense air. "Suit yourself, then!" Another snake, another step back, pushing the golden puppet away from him with his lightning, parry, attack, cutting off the escape route, damn it all and…

And there was no more building under his feet. His hand somehow managed to grip the edge of the building, fortunately. He would decidedly not look down. And if the people around him would kindly stop sending their fear about him falling towards him, that'd be great, thanks!

He could see the golden snake stepping forward leisurely. "Told you so, dearest." With a smirk the snake retreated.

Well, from the sounds of it, Ro would arrive any moment now. He could hear him in the distance. So he only needed to hand on. Just a bit more. Even though his breath was heavy, and his muscles ached, and there was so much fear it felt like his powers were going to explode, and he was tired, and…

At that moment Virgil realised for the first time how tired he actually was. And he started to wonder what would happen if he would let go of the edge. Five fingers desperately hanging on. Now four. For how much longer? How long until Ro arrived? How much longer did he have to hang on?

What would happen?

Well, he would probably die. Splash, unsightly and painful. Sure. But, aside from that? Who would care? Who would actually care about it? Ro, who only accepted him after fighting so much to prove he was even a bit trustworthy? Lo, who had taken him in because he wanted to prove the point of villains deserving a second chance?

Would there be an official memorial? Like with other heroes? Or would there be merely a single line in the newspaper, like with the villains? Maybe there'd be a few lights on the edge of the street in his colour, like some did for vigilantes they especially adored.

But that would also be the end of so much bad stuff, right? No more pressure, no more screams in his head, no more false smiles, no more… No more tiredness accumulating in his bones.

Was that what would happen?

"No!"

The sudden desperate cry from the villain's mouth startled him out of his thoughts. And, oh… Oh, fuck. Oh, shit! Oh, in that moment of sudden stupidity he'd actually let go, without even fully noticing, hadn't he?

And again, the voice he'd always be able to recognise, no matter where he would hear it: "No! Don't you dare die! Not here, not like this, not now."

It was too late, though. And had Ro arrived yet? He could still see the shocked fans, the officers, the people up there. Frozen. They didn't move as he fell down to his inevitable death. But the villain? He did, he leapt towards the edge, as though he was still within reach.

And Virgil, no, Storm Cloud couldn't help but let out a startled laugh at the irony of it all. How ironic it was, he thought just before his vision went dark, that the only hand reaching out to him, the hero, the so called "light of hope"… the only hand reaching out to him now was that of his nemesis.

Maybe not hating the villain wasn't that stupid of a secret, after all.

❦

"Oh? So how do your powers work, then?" Janus looked up at him through his thick eyelashes, a content smirk on his face as Virgil played with his hair.

"I can hear their fears. They scream in my head, and I can feel their anxiety on my skin." Virgil thought about how to best describe it, fingers changing directions to trial the snake tattoo Janus had on his left cheekbone. "It's like static in the air. And I can either wait until it explodes, or I can let it free. That's what those lightnings are, just… The tension from the air gathered into sheer fear. If I condense it enough, it makes them pass out from fear."

Janus sighed, mismatched eyes closed. "Mine's so stupid in comparison. So I can control metal that looks like animals, wow. It's useless, really. Like, what am I? A fucking jewellery box? Stupid!"

Virgil couldn't help but laugh at that. "Yeah, yeah. But it's fine, isn't it? Since I was able to capture you that way. If you hadn't become my hostage, you wouldn't be with me right now."

"Like me!" The two of them startled, looking at the man hanging upside down from the ceiling. "Though I suppose I'm less hostage and more freeloader…"

"You both are technically freeloaders," Virgil corrected with a smirk "and I didn't kidnap you. You followed me and begged me to take you in because your brother's my enemy. What was it again that you said?"

"I'm leverage so you don't kill him! So I am a hostage. A willing one, though. And it's not bad, you don't torture me or anything. You're surprisingly gentle for a villain…"

"Yeah, well, I… It just happened. If I had had the choice, I…"

Janus sat up suddenly, a serious look on his dolled-up face. "But it did happen. And that's good, because there's no way either of us" he pointed between Remus and himself "will be on any other side anymore. It's too late for us, and we like it here. And you do too, right?"

Virgil looked at the eyes of the man he loved, the man who he pretended not to know had bought a diamond ring just a few days ago. And he couldn't answer. So he just sighed and kissed his forehead instead.

"If you ever change sides" Janus muttered as he snuggled back against Virgil "I'll come and terrorise the entire world to get you back. I'm no hero, but I'm on the right side." Virgil didn't see it, but he knew Janus' face got considerably darker during that last sentence. "So I'd sacrifice the world for you."

There was a beat of silence.

"I'll never forgive you if you leave."

And Virgil didn't plan on leaving. Really, he didn't. But the next night… It just happened. Like when he became a villain. A week later, when he finally managed to get back to their layer, everything was empty. But on top of the bar there was an empty bottle of wine and a black velvet box.

Virgil leaned back, sighing. He looked back up, tears in his eyes. He was too late, huh?

"I guess you saved me, Jan," he muttered to no one in particular "since this is a nightmare. Or maybe it's hell. Who knows." He chuckled, tears still streaming down his face. "I hope I wake up soon."

He sighed, sinking to the floor, trapped in the most painful memory he had. "But then again, maybe that's what I deserve for always letting go at the worst times…"

The scene started to replay again.

Taglist: @gattonero17 @alias290

[mearcatsreturns]

15 for Abby/Luka

For reasons ;)

Under a cut because it's long.

July 2003

To: Luka Kovac <“croatdoctor65@aol.com”>

From: Abby Lockhart <“nursefirecracker@yahoo.com”>

Subject: I’m drowning and praying ghosts are real

Dear Luka,

Something about knowing that I’ll never talk to you again is just unbearable. I’ll never laugh at your malapropisms, look into your beautiful eyes, feel your strong hands holding mine, or make love to you again. There won’t be any more jokes about jam and cheese on toast, or you teasing me for my weak but constant supply of coffee. I’ll never hear your amazing, deranged laughter after you prank someone again. No more of your hugs—which are somehow the best hugs in the world. Because you’re gone.

It’s been three days since we got the call telling us you died thousands of miles from home, whether that’s here in Chicago or in Croatia. I didn’t know your dad’s name, Luka. We needed to call him, and I didn’t know. How did I not know? And now I can’t. I mean, L’Alliance told us his name, but the fact that I’ll never learn pieces of your history, of the wonderful man you are, FROM you...how am I supposed to go on and live my life?

For years, I’ve thought medicine was my great thwarted love. I’ve wanted to be a doctor for so long, and I thought I was bitter about having to let go of that dream. Now I wonder. I let obstacles get in the way of pursuing medicine, and it’s made me...well, it’s part of why I was so unhappy. But that makes me think about how I also let obstacles get in the way of us. I was happy with you, you know, until I let fear and my mother and Carter get in the way. God, I wish I could do that over again. We could have had everything, and if I hadn’t gotten in my own way, I’d be happy. I think maybe I could have made you happy, too.

It’s funny. I knew things with Carter weren’t working, and he implied you were part of it. I said it wasn’t, but then five minutes later, I found out you were—are—dead. And I realized you were the reason, or one of the big ones. As soon as Chuny told me, I knew I loved you and had loved you for years. Yeah. Great timing, isn’t it? I keep thinking that maybe I could have kept you from going if I had known or if I had told you. I didn’t want you to go when I thought you were my very attractive friend and ex that I still was fond of. Knowing that I love you—how do I move past that? Knowing that I lost you, first to my stupidity and then to death?

I just...I miss you, and I don’t when I’ll stop, or how to. Susan caught me crying on my last shift, and I didn’t even know what to say. I feel like I’ve been crying or standing still, brittle and stuck in time, since I heard the news. I can’t, Luka. I know I have to keep on moving, and I thought maybe writing you would help. I know you’ll never see this, never have a chance to respond. But the idea that some fragments of your soul linger and can maybe sense...I don’t know. That I’m writing? What I’m feeling? Jesus, this is crazy.

All my love,

Abby

Abby angrily swipes the tears from her eyes. God, what’s the point of writing this? He’ll never see hsi email or her again. Just...without Luka, how can the world be anything but grim and sad and pointless?

She laughs mirthlessly. Maybe it doesn’t matter. No, she knows it doesn’t. Because Abby knows the futility of it, aches with the meaninglessness, she presses send without another thought.

&&&

Three days after that, a miracle occurs. Luka, the Lazarus of this new millennium, comes back from the dead. He’s never been dead, and maybe, Abby thinks, there’s a God above after all. So many people wish for this exact boon, and she—they, the world—gets it. Some higher power believes this planet is a better place with Luka Kovac in it, and Abby is ecstatic.

Until she remembers the email and that they can’t be unsent.

It’s fine. She’ll be fine. Luka is coming back, apparently with a French nurse. Maybe he’ll just delete it without reading it. Maybe it didn’t go through—how does email work for the dead, and how quickly is all that processed?

Abby shakes her head. It doesn’t matter; Luka is alive and returning to them. She can handle a little awkwardness in the face of the sheer joy of knowing the world is a brighter, kinder place. He’s coming back, and that’s what’s important.

&&&

August 2003

It takes Luka almost a week after returning to Chicago to convince Kerry and the other staff to let him go back to his apartment. Even so, they only agree when Gillian assures them she’ll see to his every need.

Abby winces when she hears that, and it makes something flutter in Luka’s chest. Which probably isn’t good for his malaria, but the hope...that is.

It’s another two days of lying in bed before he has the energy to ask Gillian to bring him his laptop. At this point, it’s been months since he’s checked his email, and Luka grimaces at the undoubtedly horrible state of his inbox. He briefly considers never checking again and just getting a new one, but he knows his father struggled to add him to his contacts once already. To expect it of him again would be absurd.

With a sigh, Luka opens his email. It’s just as bad as he feared. He snorts at the myriad messages about Viagra, Nigerian princes, and Russian brides, deleting them without thought. He saves a couple from his dad. He slowly whittles down his inbox, but he freezes when he gets to one email in particular, sent about a month ago.

It’s from Abby, during the time everyone thought he was dead.

Luka considers calling and asking her if someone hacked her email or is sending spam from her account, but the subject line...it looks real. And Abby’s been odd around him lately, seeming both deliriously happy to see him and awkwardly nervous.

His heart pounds, and he clicks to open it. If this is a spammer, they’re probably about to get whatever they want.

&&&

Abby pours herself another coffee, internally swearing as she prepares for the last two hours of her shift. Deciding to go back to school is great; having to coordinate all the details is less thrilling and leaves her tired and cranky.

Frank ducks his head into the lounge, beady eyes narrowing on her. “Hey, Abby. The Croat is on the phone for you. Line 2. Try to get back out there as fast as you can, Weaver’s yelling at the med students about IVs.”

“Okay, Frank,” Abby says, though she flushes and her palms start to sweat. It’s fine. She can always hide the panic and butterflies in her stomach with sarcasm. It has yet to fail her.

Frank gives her one last suspicious look, then nods and heads back to Admit.

Abby takes a deep breath, then picks up the phone. “Hey, Luka?”

“It’s me. Glad I could reach you. How are you?” He sounds...ugh. So good. And eager and happy, and her heart could leap right out of her chest.

“Doing all right. I just have a couple hours left on this shift, and it hasn’t been too awful today. Only one MVA. How about you? You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Recovering. Listen, did you want to come over for dinner?”

“Please tell me you’re not trying to cook.”

“What? I’m a good cook, even if you don’t appreciate wonderful, traditional Croatian dishes,” he says with a chuckle.

“Luka, you just got out of the hospital five days ago. You still need to be resting.”

“Abby, don’t worry so much. I was just kidding. I have some sandwiches from Manny’s, and Anna sent me home with lots of matzo ball soup too.”

Abby bites her lip. Of course she wants to go. But the prospect of spending the evening with Gillian cooing over Luka, knowing that she shares a bed with him, is decidedly less appealing. And there’s the email she sent, which Luka hasn’t acknowledged. He might well have deleted it, or he’s giving her a gracious out.

Her conscience twinges as soon as she thinks about bailing, though. Didn’t she promise herself she wouldn’t take life for granted anymore? She’ll go back to med school, she’ll have dinner with Luka when he asks.

“Abby?”

She starts, realizing she needs to respond. “Yeah, sorry. Yeah, I can do that. I can be there an hour after my shift, if that’s okay.”

“Sounds great. Looking forward to seeing you.”

“Me too.” He has no idea how much, even if she wishes she knew for sure that he’d deleted the email.

&&&

Abby rings Luka’s doorbell three and a half hours later. She’d meant to come straight from work, but after a patient vomited on her, she decided to head home, shower, and splurge on a taxi to Luka’s. The poor man is recovering from being deathly ill and doesn’t need County’s fumes making things worse.

There’s the sound of the deadbolt sliding, and Luka answers the door, grinning happily at her. “Good, you made it! Come on in!”

“I did. Sorry it took me longer than expected.” Abby steps into his apartment, looking around. It’s been such a long time since she’s been here, and she notes the subtle changes in the art and decor.

“No worries. I know how it goes.” He places a hand at the small of her back, guiding her inside.

Abby stiffens for a second at how his touch burns even through the layers of her shirt and light jacket, but she relaxes, enjoying the feel while she waits for Gillian to appear and end the fleeting joy.

Luka is unfazed. “Now, of course we can just eat the sandwiches, but if you want to heat up the matzo ball soup, you can. Since you don’t want me standing,” he says with a wink.

Abby smiles back, shaking her head. “Oh, I see how it is. Make the woman who worked all day do more household work when she gets ho—wait, where’s Gillian? Isn’t she supposed to be taking care of you?”

“She’s not here,” he says simply.

Going to the fridge and taking out the containers of soup, Abby places them in the microwave. Is Gillian out for the evening, or is she gone gone? “Shouldn’t you be with her? Or her here with you, whatever.”

Luka is quiet for a long minute, and Abby wonders if he intends to answer. Finally, he breaks the silence. “I asked her to leave.”

Abby’s pulse speeds up. “What? Why?”

Luka takes a deep breath, clearly ready to respond, and—

The microwave dings, and they both jump. Exchanging a sheepish look, they laugh.

“Look, let’s get some food, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Abby dishes up their soup and sandwiches, preparing trays so they can sit on the couch. Luka turns on the television, and Abby’s heart rate comes back under control. They sit together in companionable silence while they eat and watch Thom and Jai and the rest of the Fab 5 whip some hapless lawyer’s life into order. When they finish their meal, Abby cleans up, taking the trays back to the kitchen.

She heads back to the couch at the opposite end from Luka, not daring to get closer when she really has no idea what’s going on.

Luka clears his throat and mutes the TV. “So, yeah. I asked Gillian to leave.”

“Oh. So, um, did you break up?”

“She was never my girlfriend, really. She has a boyfriend back in Montreal, they just…” Luka shrugs and runs a hand through his hair.

Abby is more lost than ever. “Ah.”

Taking a deep breath, Luka continues, finally looking over at her. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful she helped me get here and took care of me, but we were never serious.”

Something starts to tug at Abby’s heart, squeezing and twisting and kicking to get free. Is it...hope? “Well, I’m glad she got you here safe, but you should have someone staying with you while you recover, Luka. Malaria is dangerous.”

He gives her a look. “I know how dangerous malaria is. I’m getting better. And besides, it wouldn’t have been fair for me to ask her to stay when things are over because I’m in love with someone else.”

Her heart leaps into her throat. “Someone else?” she squeaks.

Luka nods, swallowing. “Yeah. And I have a reason to think she might be in love with me too.” He slides over to her side of the couch, reaching for her hand.

Abby meets his eyes—those beautiful green eyes that are the best color in the world—and squeezes his hand, incapable of words. Does he mean…?

With his other hand, Luka reaches up and cups her cheek, running his thumb along the subtle arch of her cheekbone. “Abby, if you’ve changed your mind since you sent that email, please tell me to shut up.”

That stupid, ridiculous email might be the best thing she’s ever done in her life. She leans into his hand, licking her lips as she shakes her head slightly. “I haven’t changed my mind. I didn’t mean for you to see it and hoped I could learn how to hack computers and delete it but—”

Luka cuts her off. “I would never forgive you if you managed to delete it. You wouldn’t believe how much faster I healed after that.”

Abby leans forward, sliding into Luka’s waiting arms. “Then maybe I’ll write you some more emails.”

“Emails aren’t what I want right now,” Luka says.

Funny, Abby doesn’t either. Then his lips brush hers, and all her worries and fears fade away. She knows she has to tell him about med school and he needs to finish recuperating, but when Luka deepens their kiss and pulls her closer, Abby ceases to think at all.

She has Luka back, and now they have each other again.

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 46

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You try to find your way back.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Angst, anxiety, mild body horror

AO3

You woke up coughing and gagging, pulling your jacket out from under your head to wrap it around your face. For there to be so much dust in the air, another dust storm must have kicked up outside.

Just as predicted, when you looked out one of the air holes of the cave system, you saw the wall of dust that cut off all sight after a few feet.

You sighed and sat back in the deepest part of the cave, making sure to keep the jacket wrapped around your head. It was much different being here as a physical entity instead of just living in someone’s head. You knew which one you preferred.

Still coughing frequently, you picked up a stone tool, no bigger than a piece of chalk, and added another tick to the rows of marks Bucky had started. Tenth day in the demon realm, with no sign of rescue.

It had been sheer luck that you’d woken up in a place with landmarks you actually recognized. You weren’t far from Bucky’s old territory, and after hours of walking barefoot through the sand, socks stuffed into your pockets, you made it to the cave system he’d used as a home base.

Seeing the same walls, the edible fungus, the dried “bamboo” strips as bedding, even the old journal Bucky had left behind, it had been the most relieving and the most painful thing you’d felt in a while. That was saying a lot, considering you’d been murdered just a few hours prior.

Your shelter and source of food and water secured, you’d done nothing but decompress, going over everything that had happened.

Bucky falling into Zemo’s trap. Forced to be a weapon once more and ordered to kill Rogers. He probably would have if you hadn’t managed to pull on the thin thread that had remained of your bond.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. The bond you’d both wanted to get rid of had been the thing to save Bucky’s life. The cursed book had been right; the only thing that could break your bond was Bucky’s death… or yours. It hadn’t said the death would result in you being banished to the demon realm, but it wasn’t like the damn book had been trying to be helpful to begin with.

No, if anything, the ancient sorcerer whose words it had quoted had been more insightful. Especially the part where he’d witnessed a human slave die in his master’s place, and his body had burned to ashes.

Is that what had happened to you? Had Bucky been forced to watch as you’d crumpled to dust in his hands? God, you hoped not.

At least it explained how you ended up here and that corpse you’d seen through Bucky’s eyes. A human with a demon sigil, it could only mean one thing. This was where all human slaves ended up, eventually.

You just hoped you wouldn’t meet the same fate.

Thoughts turned back to Bucky as they usually were, you couldn’t begin to imagine how Bucky was dealing with your death. All you could hope was that he realized it hadn’t been permanent, and that he would find a way to the demon realm without dying himself. Knowing him, Bucky would take that route if he had to.

But here it was, day ten, and you were beginning to have doubts. You knew time flowed differently here and you would have to be patient, but it was impossibly difficult. You just prayed you wouldn’t have to wait another fifty years. Unlike Bucky, you doubted you would remain ageless in this place.

Day ten became day eleven. And then twelve. And then you’d been in the demon realm for two weeks with no sign of Bucky or the wizards.

At day fifteen, you decided it was time to stop waiting, and time to start being proactive. If your rescuers couldn’t come to you, perhaps you could bring yourselves to them. You’d glimpsed the truth in Bucky’s memories after him coming through the portal. Your younger self had practically bragged about opening a portal, and you’d been ten years old.

Surely you could still do it, even if you didn’t remember how… and even though you’d never shown a spark of magic while training under Wong.

But what else was there to do? It wasn’t as if there was anyone else around to embarrass yourself in front of.

Only… that turned out not to be the case.

You had managed to create a spark in the air. It was orange and sputtered after a few seconds, but it was the most you’d ever accomplished before. After a few more hours, you got a glowing circle the size of a hula-hoop.

But it was the wrong color, orange and not blue, and the image you could see through it was just more red sand. You didn’t need to travel across the planet; you needed to get away from it.

Frustrated, you weren’t as aware of your surroundings as you should have been, and that was when the demon attacked. Drooling and growling, it charged at you from over the sands and chased you into the cave system. You recognized it from before; a large beast that looked like it was part-bear, part-bull, and it was pissed.

Terrified and without thought, you made a jerky circular motion just as the demon launched itself at you.

The portal fizzled to life and vanished just as quickly, and the bottom half of a demon body landed on top of you. It was still smoking from where the portal had sliced through it like a hot blade.

It was the first and last time you tried to make a portal.

The days continued to crawl by until a month had passed, or at least, the best you could guess as days and months when the sunlight never changed or faded.

Until it finally did. And that’s when things truly started to take a turn for the worst.

You’d managed to keep your spirits up by reading the journal Bucky had left behind, reliving the time you’d spent together in a weird, symbiotic partnership, but when the rare night came and shrouded everything in cold darkness, you didn’t even have Bucky’s words to comfort you. The jacket was no longer a breathing mask and went back on your shoulders, barely keeping the chill at bay.

Through the dim starlight that came through the overhead holes in the ceiling, you could see your breath fogging up before you. You huddled into a tighter ball, tried to keep your emotions in check, and eventually gave up. You turned your head and sobbed quietly into your arms, letting the despair and fear pour out of you like a flooded dam.

And still it grew colder. You couldn’t remember Bucky being this cold, but then again, he wasn’t fully human. Plus, even though you’d been an observer in his head, you’d been able to raise his body temperature and keep him warm.

Now, all you could do was shiver and stay huddled against the wall that still retained heat from the day. You didn’t want to think about what you’d do when it faded.

Somehow in the night, you’d managed to fall asleep, or maybe fall unconscious. When you stirred, something was… wrong. You shifted your arms and legs and your skin tingled oddly, goosebumps breaking out along your flesh as the sensations felt off, both muffled and heightened at the same time.

You opened your eyes and wished you hadn’t. Instead of the bare skin of your arms… they were covered with grey-blue fur. Smooth, short, and thick, like a cat’s.

The panicked sound you made wasn’t human, and that just made the panic worse. You scrambled across the cave floor and ran to the nearby underground stream. There would be enough light now that the sun had risen for you to see…

Horns.

The face staring back at you was barely your own. Thin fur covered your face entirely, your pupils were no longer round but narrowed into slits, and the horns. They curved from either side of your forehead, several inches in length and grey, like ashy bone.

That wasn’t the only oddity. You turned your head and gasped at the long, pointed ears sticking out from under your hair.

You looked like a strange mixture of part-human, part-demon, part-cat.

This can’t be real. I’m hallucinating. Exposed to the cold, this is just the effect of a dying mind.

Expect, it didn’t go away. Your shock continued to mount as you took stock of the rest of yourself. The same blue-grey fur covered every inch of you. When you flexed your fingers, sharp nails slide outward from the nailbed, strange but natural at the same time.

You weren’t completely cat-like. There were the horns, of course, but when you stretched and felt along the back of your neck, scaly ridges continued all the way down your spine to your—

You jumped when something moved inside your pant leg, and you earned yourself a flare of pain when you slapped it to discover it was a long, puffed up, furry tail.

You startled giggling. The giggling devolved into hysterical laughter, and when that faded, it turned into breathless crying.

Now you knew why you hadn’t frozen to death in the night.

Your curiosity as to what you had become waned along with the days. The anxiety and fear was gone too. Something important had slipped your mind, like a half-forgotten dream, but there was nothing to remember. You had your cave system, your food source, and your territory to defend. There was nothing else you could possibly want.

Even the scorching sunlight no longer bothered you and instead filled you with strength. Your fur protected you from the worse of the sandy wind, and a third eyelid, transparent and able to cover your eye, allowed you to see even in the worst of dust storms. And there was a power that seemed to sustain you, an energy from this place that kept you strong and brimming with a power you didn’t quite understand.

Your body was perfectly suited for this world, and after a while, you couldn’t remember a time when it’d been any different.

Sometimes, you had dreams. Confusing ones, because they were of both a man and a demon. You always woke from these with your chest aching and your vision blurred, but you blinked the moisture away and soon, those were also forgotten.

Most demons knew better than to encroach on your territory, and in turn, you left them to theirs. Any demons foolish enough to ignore your boundaries were easily chased away with your outstretched talons and ripping claws. Once, when a demon that stood twice your size and had the head of a skeletal horse (how did you know that word?) tried to push you out, you conjured a rope of fiery orange. Striking at the beast, you’d left a burn across its back, and it hadn’t returned since.

You were comfortable in your solitude. Barring the strange dreams and the moments when you would wake up, confused into believing something was missing, you were content.

Until the day when a new, strange demon encroached on your territory. Worse than that, he’d wandered into your cave system. You were grooming yourself, tongue licking across the fur on your forearm, when you heard the telltale sounds of feet moving against the stone floor.

You hid in the shadows, eyes narrowed into slits as you waited. It didn’t take long for the intruder to walk directly into your cave, and you were taken aback at its appearance.

It—no, he, the demon was definitely masculine, with broad shoulders and prominent facial features. He seemed human, but the rest of him was not, with a demonic arm, wings, horns, and a tail.

He raised his head and flared his nostrils, testing the air at the same moment you caught a whiff of his scent. It was almost overpowering, heady and male, and your fur puffed up in response. This demon would try to take your home from you, and you wouldn’t allow it. You’d defeated bigger threats than him.

When he turned toward your makeshift nest and bent down to open the journal you no longer took interest in, you crept from your hidden nook. The demon was still crouched, his tail lying flat against the ground, but the tip flicked back and forth.

You drew closer, closer still, completely silent and pointed teeth bared. Bunching your muscles into a tight coil you leapt, claws outstretched.

The demon turned just before you landed.

He grabbed you around the throat, spun in one fluid motion, and slammed you against the cave wall.

You released a yowl and dug your claws into him, but they merely skidded off the shifting plates of his arm, leaving him unmarked.

Pinned with your back to the wall, you were trapped with his claws around your neck. The demon bared his teeth in his own impressive growl, inches from your face. His eyes were a cold sort of fury that made you doubt your chances of survival.

“Where is she!”

He spoke a language you somehow understood. The words had meaning, but you didn’t know what they were, so you remained silent.

When you didn’t answer he leaned forward, fangs sharp and ready to tear open your throat.

“You reek of her, and these are her clothes. Did you—did you kill her?”

You gave him nothing but a growl in your throat. When he squeezed tighter around your neck, you bared your teeth and snarled in hatred.

Just as quickly as it had arrived, his deadly glare vanished. He blinked rapidly, brows furrowed as if trying to put together a puzzle. And then his grip relaxed as something very different crossed over his face.

“No…”

He was distracted, his mind clearly elsewhere, and you wiggled out of his grip and tried to dart past him. The demon immediately seized you from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around you so you couldn’t escape.

You screamed and fought, your feet shoving against the ground for purchase, but with your arms pinned to your sides you couldn’t even conjure the fiery rope to defend yourself.

“Stop, stop, it’s me!” he cried. “It’s Bucky!”

His words were simply noise, and you swiveled your head to bite into his shoulder, this time making sure it was the fleshy one. But he still wouldn’t release you, even as the coppery taste of blood touched your tongue.

He gripped you tighter, and you let go of his shoulder and continued to struggle. He was much larger and stronger than you, and he didn’t move an inch. Instead, something soft touched your hair, and you realized it was one of his hands.

Gathering your strength for one last attempt, you twisted violently in his arms, pulled back your lips and sank your teeth into the junction between neck and shoulder, biting down. You were about to take out a chunk of his flesh when the concentrated aroma of his scent slammed into you.

You released him, licking the blood off your lips, and carefully sniffed higher up his neck. Something pulled at you, something familiar but lost, and you gave a curious lick just below his jawline.

Pine trees, earth, warm stone. He smelled like…

He smelled like…

Home.

You pulled back, staring in horror as blood continued to trickle down his neck.

You knew him. You knew him, how could you forget him, how could you forget—

You tried to say his name, but no words came out. You couldn’t speak. When had you lost the ability to talk?

When had you forgotten Bucky?

“Sweetheart?”

You whimpered at the cautious hope in his voice, at the pet name, at him being here.

Bucky wrapped his arms tighter around you, and you began to lick at the wound you’d caused, an apology and a way to prove he was real and you weren’t imagining this. To force yourself to remember everything you’d almost lost, even as the pain and grief grew worse every second.

Bucky had finally found you.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he apologized, voice choked with tears. “I came as soon as I could… I thought I was too late.”

But he was too late, wasn’t he?

You stopped mid-lick. Your tongue had done a decent job of cleaning his wound, because it wasn’t a human tongue anymore. It was dry and barbed, like a cat’s.

You buried your face into his shoulder, giving another miserable noise. How could you go back home now? You were a monster. A thing made of the demon realm. How could Bucky stand to even look at you, let alone touch you?

When you tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let you. Even his tail was stubbornly wound around your leg now.

“We’re going home,” he said, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. You tried to jerk away, not wanting him to look at you, but he didn’t let you budge an inch. “We are going home.”

His image blurred as your eyes stung. How could he say that when you were… when you…

“It’s okay,” he said when the tears slipped down your furred cheeks. He brushed them away and pressed his lips against your forehead. You sighed and closed your eyes. “You’re okay. I’m not leaving you. This time, for good.”

You wanted to believe him, but how could you when you had the face of the very thing he hated about himself?

As if knowing your thoughts and afraid you would bolt, Bucky kept one arm firmly around your waist. He turned you toward the cave exit that would lead into the tunnels, but you resisted, pointing down to the nest when he looked at you.

Seeing what you were pointing at, a brief flash of fondness and pain crossed his face. He picked up the book, Bucky’s old journal that had documented his days and adventures with the “mysterious voice,” and you grabbed it and held it to your chest. You’d forgotten before, but now you remembered how this book had been your lifeline, and you couldn’t bear to leave it behind.

“Ready?” he asked, voice soft, eyes even softer.

You nodded, leaning into him when he tucked you against his side. Now that you remembered who he was, the thought of not touching him for even a second was unthinkable.

Bucky led you outside, and you spared a single glance backwards at the series of mounds, hills, and boulders that signified there was an underground cave system. It had saved your life, and before that, Bucky’s. It had been your temporary shelter, but it wasn’t where you belonged.

Spreading his wings, Bucky lifted you easily into his arms and leapt into the air. You curled protectively around the journal, but you felt safer now than you had since being captured by Zemo. As the hot, dry air ruffled your hair and fur, a deep rumbling came from inside your chest. It took you a moment to realize you were purring. Indicating he could hear it too, Bucky kissed the top of your head, making your purring even louder.

You kept your eyes closed and pressed to Bucky’s tactical vest until he said, “There it is.”

You turned to look, eyes widening at the sight of a shimmering blue portal near the ground. It looked tiny from this distance, and your stomach churned with nerves.

“Hold on!”

Taking Bucky’s advice, you gripped onto him tightly as he dived. Just before he went through, you shut your eyes tight.

The difference between the demon realm and Earth was a lot more extreme than you remembered filtered through Bucky’s memories. You immediately started shivering, buffeted by the cold air, taking shallow breaths because each one felt like you were breathing ice water.

The colors assaulted your vision—bluebluegreenblue—leaving you whimpering into Bucky’s shoulder, painful after you’d seen nothing but red for so long.

And the smells. No longer diluted with dry air constantly in motion, the salty and perfumed scent of multiple humans, of mildew and stone and ozone that made the tip of your tongue tingle—

It was too much. As soon as Bucky slightly relaxed his hold, you dropped the journal and scrambled behind him, hiding between his wings as you buried your face in the back of his neck.

It was toomuchtoomuchtoomuch—

“Sergeant Barnes, is that… who I think it is?”

The smooth, commanding voice was familiar, but you couldn’t place it. Unlike your recognition of Bucky, everything else was a struggle to recall. You didn’t even know where you were, the domed room unfamiliar and intimidating.

“Yes,” Bucky responded in a low tone.

“Ah, well, that is… unfortunate.” The man who had originally spoken cleared his throat. “We will need to do a thorough examination—“

You had peeked over Bucky’s shoulder to get a better look at the others in the room—they were wizards, weren’t they?—but as soon as one of them drew forward, you gave a spitting snarl.

“Or not,” the man said, raising his hands. He had a goatee and a ridiculous red cape. Your ruffled fur went flat against your skin. Was that… Strange? And next to him, concerned but not without pity, your mentor, Wong.

How could you have forgotten so much? How long had you been gone?

You hid behind Bucky’s shoulder blades, misery forcing your ears to fold back and curl your tail between your legs.

“I’m taking her home,” Bucky said quietly.

“But—“

“No,” he said, more firmly this time. “I’ve been where she is and I know what she needs. She needs to feel safe, somewhere quiet and familiar.”

He waited a beat.

“Are you going to stop me?”

“No.” Strange’s tone was weary but surprisingly relenting. “I’m not. Just make sure you take your next doses with you.”

“I know,” Bucky muttered and then bent down to pick up the journal you’d dropped.

He did it slowly and carefully so as not to dislodge you, because you still half-clung to his back like a lost duckling. It would have been funny if you weren’t already knee-deep in the urge to bolt. Your fur was puffed again, as far as it would go, heart hammering in your chest, and all of your senses were in overdrive as you struggled and failed to adjust to your new environment.

When Bucky straightened up again, you retreated into the sanctum of his folded wings and refused to let go. You couldn’t bear to look around, not when you could sense the wizard’s peering at you, at the freakish thing you’d become. Just the thought of it provoked a whine from your throat.

“One of you mind making a portal?” Bucky said dryly. “The sun’s still up and we’re obviously not taking a cab.”

You heard footsteps shuffling against the stones, and you clung tighter to Bucky. He reached back and put a hand on your leg, reassuring you he wasn’t leaving. Your trembling subsided slightly, but every muscle of your body was still taut enough to snap.

When he stepped forward, you went with him, keeping your eyes shut until you felt the familiar but unsettling shift of space as you stepped through a portal. Only when it fizzled out behind you and you caught the comforting scent of Bucky’s penthouse did you open your eyes.

You thought by “home” he would take you back to your room at the Sanctum. Instead, you were standing in the middle of Bucky’s loft.

Before Bucky could say or do anything, you buried your face in his jacket and released everything you’d kept buried, your soft keening echoing inside the old clock tower.

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