#tw: MCD

[sorinethemastermind]

Whumpuary 2025 | Prompt: Impaled | TW: MCD & Blood

 Claudia jerked her head to the side just in time, the blade just grazing her cheek, leaving a small slash of red across her otherwise grey skin, scarred with deep violet. She spun away, a counter already on her lips.

 “Umbra dolor!” violet particles gathered at her fingertips to form the blade, seemingly appearing out of thin air. But Soren’s sword knocked it from her hand almost immediately, sending it clattering across the ground before it disappeared in a burst of purple light.

 “Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone!” she hissed, turning on her brother. He was panting, tunic singed from her last attack. But his grip on the blade was unwavering, his stance firm.

 “You’re my sister,” he said, twirling the sword in his hand. “You’re my responsibility.”

 “So you’re going to, what?” she asked, taking a moment to catch her breath. “Kill me? You know you wouldn’t.”

 It was more a plea than anything else.

 “You’re not-” he swung the blade in a high arc down towards her and she leapt out of the way, rolling before launching herself back on her feet “-leaving me much of a choice!”

 “You always have a choice!” she shouted, raising her hands into a casting position as she spun to face him again. She stopped, eyes going wide as she found the blade held level with her chest.

 Soren stared at her, eyes cold. Slowly they softened, but the blade didn’t waver. “Yeah. You do.”

 She met his gaze, and for a moment, thought he might have looked at her like he used to. Then it hardened again, and her eyes narrowed. 

 “You never left me any,” she stepped forward, letting the tip of the sword press against her chest. She felt it tear the fabric of her shirt, a small bit of red seeping to the surface. “So go ahead. Make it for me.”

 “Clauds, I-” 

 Her eyes stung at the old nickname, something tugging in her chest, but she pushed it down, “Make it.” 

 The blade wavered, and she smiled. “See? I knew you were too weak.”

 Soren’s eyes narrowed, “Stop this.”

 “Stop what? I’ve already stopped.”

 “Stop trying to- to do whatever it is you’re doing! To bring him back!”

 “Aaravos will return with or without my help,” Claudia said. “Your time’s almost up. Killing me won’t change that.”

 “But it will make it harder for him to win,” Soren said, grip on the sword tightening. 

 “Maybe,” she admitted. “But you’ll still lose. Because you’re always going to lose, Soren. You’re not willing to do what has to be done.”

 “You’re wrong.”

 “What? Is the power of love going to save the day again?” she mocked.

 “I will do whatever needs to be done," his voice dropped to a whisper. "However dangerous, however vile."

 Her eyes widened with understanding as the blade sank into her chest. Claudia gasped, looking down as the red seeped through her tunic, spreading in a great patch across her front.

"It's my blood as much as yours," he said, hands shaking slightly as they went to withdraw the blade. She grabbed it, metal digging into her palms, and channeled the pain into her casting.

 “𝕰𝖌𝖓𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝕷𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖋!”

 She let out a hiss at the sudden surge of heat, the blood on the blade evaporating. Soren’s eyes widened.

 The blast was so loud as to be barely audible, leaving Claudia’s ears ringing as she lay on her back, sprawling across the rocky ground. She rolled over onto her side, gasping at the pain in her abdomen. The blade had gone deep. Blinking spots from her vision, she glanced about for Soren, finding him crumpled against the far wall.

 There was a tug in her chest, the sight of him horrifying despite the blade he’d driven into her chest. She took a wavering breath, tasting copper. She had, what, a few minutes at best? Seconds? Her vision swam.

 Still, she used what strength remained in her arms to drag herself towards him. 

 “Soren?” he didn’t stir, and she called out again, voice weak and losing strength with every second. “Soren!”

 His eyes fluttered open and she let out a sob of relief, blood speckling her lips. She reached for him, but her arms gave out and she flopped forward onto the cold stone. Her eyes drifted shut, opening again as something jostled her. 

 “Clauds?” his voice rasped from beside her. He clasped one of her outstretched hands in his. “I’m here.”

 She took a shaky breath, body going numb except for the burning in her chest. “I’m sorry,” she managed.

 “It’s okay,” she heard him take a wheezing breath that became a cough. “Me too.”

 She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, “I forgive you.”

 “I… forgave you… a long time ago,” Soren managed as Claudia’s eyes closed once again. He squeezed her hand. “Clauds?”

 “Hm?” his voice came to her as though from far away, through deep water.

 “On the mountain… you asked if I was going to go through with it… kill you… my sister. I said I didn’t know. I know, now,” Soren coughed again, “I wasn’t gonna do it.”

 She raised her head marginally to stare up at him. He was bleeding, she couldn’t tell from where. But it was a lot of blood. Probably too much.

 “What… change?” she choked out.

 He stared down at her, taking a shaky breath, “You. Me. Us.”

 She clutched his hand tighter as the darkness seeped in, “Don’t go.”

 “I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

 She sighed, letting her eyes fall shut again, “Thank you.”

 “I’ll see you there, too.”

[avonne-writes]

Would you feel inspired to write something for #38 Multiverse? I imagine them falling in love with each other in every universe 🥹💓

Thank you so much for the prompt, lovelies ❤️ This is exactly why I have "In Every Universe" on my blog!

I'm so sorry but this got very angsty... This is a multiverse of two new and wildly different AUs. Tell me if it’s too much and I should delete it. I uploaded it to AO3.

Warning for angst, MCD and suicide.

~~~

It's no harder to die in sunshine than in rain. It’s a fat fucking lie that tragedy avoids the light. In fact, in John's experience, heat and blue skies bring more pain striking at unsuspecting hearts than a storm or nighttime. This is why today is so fucking perfect - not a cloud in sight above the wide plains of the desert. The wind whips past his ears as he pushes his chopper to speed on towards the valley as fast as it can go.

The road is straight and empty. A path devoid of life.

Nothing makes John feel more alive than staring that gaping nothingness in the face and accelerating. The sun tilts towards the earth with sharp, cheerful rays the colour of the marigolds in the front yard of John's Ma. The marigolds he trampled to death when Gale told him he was going to 'Nam, the marigolds that grow in the park where his love rests now. It's the same hazy, warm sunset that shone when Gale’s Huey was shot down.

A light John will never forget. Fire under blue skies, his own bird straining to stay up high. The same heat that rose from the pyre of Gale's helicopter wreck that day will see John off on this last flight. His bike's engine roars like a cry of rage, and he laughs even as the tears spill out his eyes.

"That’s what you get for being sentimental." Gale's deep drawl says in his mind. Then a kiss, the last one, pressed hastily to his lips behind a jeep in the deep, silent night, his gift for remembering a simple date in the calendar. Not much.

If he had known, he would have given his own life instead, but he couldn’t, so here he is now, rectifying that mistake even if it doesn't bring Gale back. Down to the exact date. Still sentimental to the bone. He promised Gale they would ride these roads together one day - it feels right to end it here.

John lets his focus slip as his bike flies towards the end of the road, the wind in his curls, sunshine warming his side, and Gale’s voice riding with him, "still with me?" His dog tags feel heavy on their chain. He blinks, and his sight blurs. Reds and blues and marigolds rust together into one glistening swirl of colour. Light shatters in his eyes, and the blood in his ears deafens him to the screech of his skidding bike, do you hear me? John John -

"Bucky!" Gale's voice rings loud and clear through the sudden silence that snaps into clarity around John. He closes his eyes for a moment to fight down a wave of nausea, then sits up with a groan.

Around him, all he sees is a sleek, dim cabin with dark furniture and an oval window like a ship's, only larger. Outside, the night sky. A strip of teal light lines the feather-soft bed he’s sitting on, and ink black clothes as soft as silk rustle as he bends his arms. Somewhere off to the side, he hears the sound of a shower running.

Is this the afterlife?

"Gale?" He calls out tentatively, his heart stumbling painfully over every breath, scared to believe but helpless to hope.

"Finally." Gale mutters.

John's lips twitch into a smile. This isn’t the heaven he imagined but nothing matters, as long as they're together wherever they are. He’s sorry it took him so long to make it here. He’s sorry Gale had to wait two whole years for him to follow.

"I know that you're sorry, but come over here already, will ya?" Gale says impatiently.

"I'm coming!" John jumps up, then promptly falls back on the bed when something yanks him down. Something flexible around his neck with a transparent mask dangling from it, connected to the headrest behind him. He’s curious, but there’s no time. He needs to get to Gale, he waited long enough. He needs to hurry.

"Damn right, hurry up." Gale says, then part of the seamless black wall hisses open to reveal a doorway with rounded corners. Warm air and steam rushes out, and a golden glow radiates from the space inside.

John extricates himself from the strange tubing and pads towards the light on bare feet. Perhaps, the space he’s in is Purgatory, and he’s headed to Heaven now. He just needs to follow the voice of his love. His heart swells with joy as he steps inside.

Behind the curtain of steam, Gale laughs that stifled chuckle of his that John has always loved ever since they met at the country fair three years before they went to war. It's him. John's best friend, his love, his man - everything. John rushes towards him but he stops dead in his tracks when the air suddenly clears at the press of a button and Gale turns to face him head on.

He looks older than John has ever known him, closer to thirty than the twenty-one of his death. There’s light stubble on his jaw and twin scars on his cheeks. Silky-smooth, sleeveless blue pajamas cover a frame a touch too thin but familiar. His hair is long enough that he could pass for a hippie, well over the regulation cut he said he would grow out again once their tour was over. But he never got to do that, not John's Gale, so he doesn’t understand -

"Whoa!" John exclaims.

A pair of hand-sized... things flare out behind Gale's ears. They look like iridescent palm leaves. They twitch, ripple, then fold away as Gale winces and turns to the mirror on the wall.

"That bad, huh?" He says. Then, whispered in John's ears, disappointed. His lips don’t move, but John hears him as clearly as if they were standing inches away.

John's heartbeat speeds up. When one of the appendages on Gale’s head flares out again, John jumps.

Irritated, Gale's voice says without uttering a word.

"It’s just a goddamn haircut, not the end of the galaxy. No need to panic." Gale says, holding a device up to his hair. Blond locks fall to the shiny grey floor with a swish. "I thought you'd like it."

Insecure. Sad. The whispers echo in John's ears. When Gale shakes himself and gives him a faint smile from the corner of his eyes, the murmuring changes to hopeful. "Come here and tell me how much I should cut."

John takes a step closer, then another, until he’s close enough to touch. His trembling hand finds Gale's shoulder. When it connects with solid, warm muscle and the jut of an unbroken bone, skin healthy and not burnt, John's breath hitches around a suppressed sob. His eyes water again.

"Buck." His voice cracks. He raises his fingertips to Gale's cheek. Saltwater runs down his own. "Is it really you? Are we in heaven?"

This time when the flaps flare around Gale's head, he expects it and only jumps a little before he leans in for a kiss, long and desperate because he spent two years wishing he held Gale longer the night before his death. He never wants to let go of him again. It barely even registers in his brain that Gale keeps whispering feelings close to his skin even though his lips are pressed to John's.

Confused, confused, happy, affectionate -

John figures it's something about this place that lets him hear Gale's thoughts. They're one in God - must be, if their souls are tangled like this. A shared heaven. Peace. The pain of John's grief is nothing compared to the slowly spreading happiness he feels.

"How about this?" Gale mumbles, pulling John's hands to his hair. It’s longer in the back and shorter on the top, an unusual style but John likes it, but he doesn’t know why Gale is so preoccupied with his hair. Don’t they have more important matters to discuss?

"Gale." John says quietly, running his thumbs over Gale’s cheek scars. He wonders how they got there. He didn’t think they’d still have marks like that after they die. "Do you remember Vietnam?"

Gale draws his eyebrows into a severe frown. Irritated, John hears him again. "Don’t tell me you named that mutt and smuggled him aboard."

"What?" John replies. His pulse starts racing with his confusion again. "Aboard?"

The appendages behind Gale's ears flutter wildly as Gale stares at him with those bright blue eyes of his. His expression is one of surprise and bafflement before a look of realization passes through him.

Alarmed, exasperated, John hears in his ears, then, calm. Pitying.

Gale's voice, when he speaks again, is patient and reassuring. "Is that where you come from? Viett-namm?"

He takes John's hands and pulls him gently towards the bedroom, too gently not to be suspicious. John's scared now. He doesn’t know what's going on or what he did wrong. Perhaps he only hit his head and didn’t die like he wanted, and these are the last fever dreams of his mind. Or, what if he didn’t say the right thing and he’s expelled from heaven?

"What are we doing?" He asks, chest rising and falling rapidly from the fear he tries and fails to control.

"We're just going to lie down, and you'll put your mask on." Gale says. "Calm down. Tell me about Viett-namm."

"I don't want to." John swallows, sitting on the mattress when Gale pushes him down. "You died." He grabs Gale's hand again. "Figured I'd follow you."

The anguish washing over John doesn’t feel like his own, but Gale’s face is kind and unreadable as he keeps pressing on John's shoulders until he lies down.

"Tuck these in." Gale says, sitting by John's hip and touching something around John's head.

"Ah!" John yelps when he feels a part of him flutter. He has those feeler things too, he realizes, gobsmacked. He reaches up to touch them, and they flare out against his pillow again.

Fond, heartbroken, he hears before Gale reaches up and tucks the things away again. When John tries to raise his hands to them once more, he pushes them away. They keep swatting at each other until Gale cracks a smile.

"Stop playing with you antennae."

"Yes, sir." John grins, but Gale just gives him a confused look as if he doesn’t understand.

He pulls the tubes around John's head again, then tries to put the mask on him, but John resists. "Wait, wait a second. What the hell is going on?" John tugs at the device. "What’s this? Where are we, Buck?"

Gale gives him a sad look and strokes John's face. "I'm not your Gale."

When John gapes at him, he slides the mask over John's face. He presses a button, and a sweet smell fills John's nose. Like a meadow. His limbs grow heavy, and he tries to protest and fight this strange, alien Gale off, but his strength drains from his limbs, and all that's left to him is to blink at Gale through drooping eyelids. His fingers flop on Gale’s thigh.

"My Bucky likes to use this device to see things happening to him in other times and other places. But this thing -" Here, Gale’s jaw clenches. "- is so goddamn old that sometimes it fails to wake him up properly. So you need to go back to sleep." He leans over John and strokes his head.

When John's antennae flare open again, he gives John a fond, amused smile. "In every universe, huh?"

The world starts darkening around the edges. Shadows cling to John's vision, narrowing it down to Gale's face, then only his eyes. A drop of wetness trickles down John's cheek.

"Gale..." is all he manages to say.

"He's waiting for you in your world." Gale says quietly. "Just go to sleep."

He's dead, John wants to say, but the words don’t make it to his lips. His eyes close, and he can’t open them again.

The soft touch of a kiss brushes his forehead. I love you, Gale’s voice whispers, but John isn’t sure if he really hears it.

Darkness descends, and he leaves.

[watchyourbuck]

𖤓 Tease Tidbit Tuesday 𖤓

tagged by @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @theotherbuckley @jesuisici33 @hippolotamus @exhuastedpigeon @wildlife4life @malewifediaz & @jeeyuns thank you!! I’ll read your works tonight💗

here’s more of the fic now called Dear Maddie. I’m sorry it’s so sad lmao, but it’s gonna get worse SHDJD

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Dear Maddie (...),

He made me feel new. He made me feel seen. Do you think Buck held the promise ring and briefly thought of me before the building collapsed? Chris said that the other day.

Anyway, after we became friends, my days were never whole again if I didn't get to spend time with him. Sometimes it was at work, sometimes over here. I genuinely believe Buck became a dad before he became my love. Maybe that’s one of the reasons he became my love. I could’ve never been with someone who didn’t love my kid as much as I love him. Sometimes I think Buck loved him in times where I didn't know how, since I could barely love myself.

He held me through the pain.

It's selfish and ridiculous to pin it on him, but he said he’d never become my pain. And now he has. I wish I wasn’t mad at him. I wish I could rationalize it and simply move on, or deal with grief the way every other human does, but how could I? He promised me forever. I promised him forever."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

tagging in return @lover-of-mine @bucksbirthmark @eddiebabygirldiaz @honestlydarkprincess @your-catfish-friend @buckleyobsessed @smilingbuckley @steadfastsaturnsrings @honestlyeddie @evanbegins @puppyboybuckley @thewolvesof1998 @fionaswhvre & @cal-daisies-and-briars (let me know if you wish to be removed from this AU’s snippets!)✨

[lennjamin-o7]

Space au (mcd)

Techno and Tommy are in an escape pod waiting for rescue.

Unfortunately, they’re running out of oxygen.

Techno’s species doesn’t need oxygen, but they still do need some.

Tommy is human, he won’t last as long as Techno.

As oxygen runs out, Tommy becomes hypoxic.

Techno tries his best to comfort Tommy as Tommy becomes confused and eventually loses consciousness.

Techno’s heart is breaking the whole time, he puts on a brave face for Tommy, though.

Techno holds unconscious Tommy in his arms.

Techno can’t find a pulse. (Either Tommy is dead or Techno is also starting to experience the confusion stage of hypoxia)

Eventually, Techno also looses consciousness, still holding Tommy in his arms.

(Maybe they both died, maybe they were found and now there’s a recovery arc because hypoxia is no joke)

I guess I can let this ask out of the inbox. Its been suffocating in here for like 6 months so I SUPPOSE I can free it.

This is fun. I never play much with lack of oxygen in fic but it is SUCH a good trope. I especially love how this has that helplessness. Nothing to do but watch. And it is SOOO fun with Bedrock Bros. Suffer bois!!!!!

I am so sorry I have kept this hostage so long. Just had to chew on it omnomnomnim. Tasty Alien Au, friend.

[laughroditee]

Survivor's Prayer

Characters: Simon “Ghost” Riley Summary: Simon during The Cliff Scene™. CW: canonical major character death, implied/referenced major character death, grief Word Count: 100 The prompt for this 100-word drabble challenge (organized by @farahfriday) is excerpted from "Summer Song," a poem by George Barker: "Great summer sun, great summer sun, Turn back to the never-never Cloud-cuckoo, happy, far-off land Where all the love is true love, and True love goes on for ever."

The orange sun blazed in the sky, painting the world with fiery hues as it sank below the sea, extinguished. 

Simon’s grip on the urn was tight, but it felt like he wasn't holding anything at all.

Not even a heartbeat.

He longed to feel the heat of the Sun on his face, to bask in his warmth, like in those days of neverending summer.

But he couldn't. The Sun set, and his world grew dark.

He gripped the urn again, the grave chill making him shiver.

Shine your light on me again, bright Sun, and burn me to ash.

[tirsynni]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Piers Nivans Characters: Piers Nivans, Leon S. Kennedy, Claire Redfield Additional Tags: Post-Resident Evil 6, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together For @fonulyn. Happy holidays! Summary:

Before everything went to hell, Chris Redfield told Piers that life was short and they only had one life to live. Now that everything is said and done, Piers is finally going to take his advice.

[withacapitalp]

What Happens Next?

Link to ao3 I'm....sorry (canon compliant!!)

“What do you think happens when we die?” Eddie asked. 

Steve furrowed his brow, keeping his eyes shut. He and Eddie were just sitting in the backyard enjoying a rare afternoon alone when the question floated through the air; it was tiny, but heavy, like a stone falling in a pond, ruining the serenity of the surface. 

“What do you mean?” Steve replied, a strange uneasy feeling beginning to creep up his spine, taking the soft summer moment and slowly poisoning it with fear, “Like do I think some big guy in robes with a white beard is waiting to bring me to heaven?

“Just in general,” Eddie shot back from somewhere above, that strange detached tone still marring his normally bright and emotionally charged voice. 

Steve wanted to open his eyes, wanted to gauge the look on his love’s face before he answered, but he found that he simply couldn’t no matter how hard he tried. It was like they were welded shut, some outside force keeping him blind to what was happening around him. 

“Steve,” Eddie pressed when Steve had finally taken just a shade too long mulling it all over. 

“Geez, Eds, I don’t know!” Steve snapped, trying to lift his arms to rub at his eyes, but finding that the same unknown force was holding his entire body stiff and rigid. It even felt like his jaw was stuck still, but he knew he could hear himself speaking, so that couldn’t be right, “Maybe it is some guy in robes with a beard, maybe it’s a lake of fire with a devil and pitchforks, fuck maybe it just nothing. Nothing at all. Would you please just drop this?!” 

He was trying to come across as bitchy, make Eddie tease him about acting like an ass over a dumb question so they could both just move past the weird and deeply unsettling conversation. 

Instead, it felt like the entire world shifted on its axis. Instead of sitting up with his back against a tree, Steve was lying flat in a sea of black, knowing that Eddie was close, but also knowing that he was as far as far could be. 

“Nothing, huh?” Eddie’s voice whispered from directly above Steve’s head. He didn’t just sound detached anymore. No, it was something worse than that, something Steve couldn’t put a word to, even though he instinctively knew it was sitting at the tip of his tongue.

He didn’t want to hear anymore. He wanted to be able to move. He wanted to be able to see Eddie, and to know he was okay, and to know he was alive-

Oh. 

Steve knew now what he actually wanted. 

He wanted to wake up. 

And as he opened his eyes, tears already marking the pillow under his head, it was like that detached (dead) voice was still whispering right in his ear. 

“You’re absolutely right,” 

[serickswrites]

It's Over

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

This has been requested by @celestialsoyeon

Warnings: captivity, torture, blood, knife, stabbing, med whump, restraints, mcd, bleeding out, rescue, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hospital

Sweat poured of Seokmin's face as Jisoo loomed over him. "This certainly is fun," Jisoo said as he waved a scalpel in Seokmin's face. "Isn't it?"

"Pl-Please," Seokmin begged. He knew that Jisoo had been carving into him for the better part of an hour. He knew that his blood pooled on the floor beneath the operating table he was strapped to.

"I always wanted to be a doctor," Jisoo said with a wicked grin, "guess this is the closest I'll get." He raised the scalpel once more. "I think I'm going to cut out your heart last. So that leaves me with some choices to take now."

Seokmin's heart froze. He couldn't endure having an organ cut out. As far as he was aware, Jisoo had just been cutting and stitching him back up. If he took an organ...Seokmin wasn't sure he would survive. Clearly Wonwoo wasn't getting here to save him any time soon.

Jisoo unbuckled one of the wrist straps. "I just need to adjust--"

But Seokmin seized his chance. He snatched the scalpel from Jisoo's hand and blindly swiped at Jisoo, hoping to at least get Jisoo to back up enough that he could free his other wrist and run. He had overestimated just how close Jisoo was to him. As the scalpel sliced through the delicate flesh of Jisoo's neck, parting the skin like water, blood poured from Jisoo's neck.

Jisoo's eyes were wide and wild as his hands went to try and stem the flow of blood from his throat. He stumbled, only managing to make choking sounds as he lunged for Seokmin. But Seokmin didn't stop. He slid off the table, sliding in both his and Jisoo's blood. This was his chance. "It's over," he exhaled as he slipped once more. Darkness edged his vision. "It's over," he repeated.

Seokmin was suddenly on the floor, uncertain of how he got there. He blinked. He didn't remember the darkness over taking him. As he looked around, he saw Jisoo also lying on the floor. However, Jisoo was dead, his eyes empty and blank as he stared at Seokmin.

Seokmin tried to rise, but his shaking arms couldn't support him. He had no strength. He looked down the length of his body, his mouth going dry. Jisoo had cut him more times than he could count. And he was covered in blood. Suddenly he knew why he was on the floor.

As his vision swam in and out of focus, Seokmin lay back. He could only hope that Wonwoo would find him soon. And get him help.

***

Wonwoo feared he was too late. There was so much blood. Jisoo was already clearly dead, the gaping wound in his throat was like a second smile. But Seokmin? He feared for the worst as he dropped to his knees next to Seokmin. "Please don't be dead. Please don't be dead," he murmured as he stared down into his friend's face. Seokmin's features were lax and peaceful, his skin ghostly. Wonwoo tried not to think about the cuts that covered Seokmin's body as he pressed two fingers to Seokmin's pulse. "Please," he begged.

Slowly, painfully slow, Wonwoo felt the faint beats that let him know that Seokmin was still alive. For now.

"Let's get you out of here!" Wonwoo lifted Seokmin carefully into his arms and began to run. He had to get Seokmin to help and fast. He wasn't sure how much longer his friend could last.

"Stay with me. Just stay with me. It's not over yet."

***

Seokmin was amazed when he opened his eyes once more. He truly believed when the darkness consumed him, that would be it. That Jisoo had succeeded in killing him. And so to wake in a hospital bed was truly a miracle.

"There you are," Wonwoo's deep voice came from his right side. "I was beginning to wonder how much longer you would make me wait."

"S'rry," Seokmin rasped. His throat was impossibly dry. "How?"

"Drink this," Wonwoo gently held a straw to Seokmin's lips. "You were out for three days. And with Jisoo for another two days before that."

Five days. Five days of his life had been stolen. But as he stared up into his friend's face, Seokmin realized that he would get those five days back. Get them back and more. Because he lived. Jisoo didn't. His pain, his torture, it was finally over.

Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as his heart swelled with emotion. "Th-Thank you," he whispered.

Wonwoo gripped Seokmin's fingers tightly. "Thank you for staying with me. I was...I was worried I was too late."

Seokmin smiled. "I'm glad you weren't."

Wonwoo returned his smile. "Me, too."

[songsformonkeys]

Saying I love you with a letter (Ezra x reader)

Month: May

Word count: ~900

Warnings: ANGST, mcd

Notes: You receive a letter from Ezra.

I don't know exactly what happened here. I was in the grumpiest of moods and needed to write something before the end of June. And I did...technically. Oh well... everyone needs something to be the laziest and worst thing they've written. This is probably mine.

The rest of the Year of Creation stories

@yearofcreation2023

~~~~~~

My dearest,

It's been a month since we parted ways. And I ache with every inch and second of that distance, lover.

I dreamt of you last night and I woke up this morning to the phantom sensation of your arm around my waist. I reached for your hand but ended up grasping at nothing but air. I begged for sleep to take me right back to dreamland, but she is a cruel bed companion, I'm afraid, and once I found myself awake, it was impossible to go back.

I'd like to think it was the real you. In the dream, I mean. That you dreamt of me too last night and that somehow that was enough for us to find each other. Is that foolish of me? Distance makes the heart grow fond, and drives the brain a little crazy, I think.

The moon we're at is beautiful like you wouldn't believe, sweetheart. They call her The Green Moon. A very apt name. She looked like an emerald in the void when our ship approached. She's hiding the largest treasure of Aurelac in the system, and guarding it with a deadly fierceness.

There's this... dust of sorts, some kind of spores, I believe. It's everywhere. Captain showed us pictures on the way over of different gruesome ways it can mess up the human body. I'll spare you the details. But don't you worry, lover, I'm careful, and this trusty suit ain't giving up on me anytime soon.

There are ten of us here, practically living in each other's pockets. And let me tell you that after a long day of harvesting, I'd just about be willing to trade one of my limbs for a reprieve from the unpleasantly potent smell of myself and my crewmates.

The crew is about as interesting as a crew of money-hungry desperate bastards can get. Not sure I trust any of them further than I can throw them. Except for maybe the one that doesn't speak. I dropped my rationed bits bar on the floor the other day, and couldn't eat it out of fear of dust contamination. Now, I was prepared to accept my fate and I even laughed along with the others at my misfortune. This guy, however, he doesn't laugh – not sure he even can – just breaks his own bar in two and hands me half. Says a lot about a man's character, that. Still don't know his name.

The work itself is not so bad. By no means the hardest I've labored. Harvesting Aurelac requires more finesse than brute force, which is a nice change of pace.

Some of the others are unhappy with the cut we're getting of the profits. Mostly the new recruits. I think the pay is decent enough, compared to what gigs such as these usually pay. Or perhaps me and the others who've been around know there's little to gain from complaining. Voice your displeasure enough and you'll soon find yourself overlooked when the next job rolls around. No one claims it's fair but them's the rules, and no one's ever heard of anybody getting rich off of prospecting.

How are things back home? I'm itching to hear some gossip about the new neighbors. Did you end up taking them up on their offer to help with the roof? I do feel bad for leaving you to deal with it all on your own. But you know I couldn't turn this job down. Not with all things considered.

I promise I'll make it up to you a thousand times over as soon as I am back! Not too long now, and I'm counting down the days.

I love you, sweetheart. More than words could possibly convey. Can't wait to be back in your arms again.

Yours forever,

Ezra

~~~~~~

You smooth your fingers lovingly over the familiar handwriting and only just resist the urge to bring the letter up to your face. It wouldn't smell like him anyway. Written a month after he left. Exactly one month after he left. You knew because you too had been counting the days, starting from the morning when he hugged and kissed you goodbye at the hangar.

You smooth your fingers over the paper. It's worn like it's been folded and unfolded countless times along the same creases.

One month after he left.

Three weeks before he was supposed to come back.

Your hands begin to tremble.

The young girl across from you at the table speaks up, voice a bit guarded like she's expecting you to lash out at her. Like perhaps that had been the default reaction of someone before you.

”I found this among his stuff... after...” she tells you. ”He never got a chance to send it, but I found it and I thought you deserved to have it.”

And with that, the last glimmer of hope flickers and dies in your heart, replaced in an instant by the cold hard truth.

Ezra isn't coming home.

[guraiuna]

Broken

Warning: MCD, blood

Things were not supposed to go like this. She expected any other outcome, any other ending. She was prepared for them too; both body and soul, after all the pep-talks she gave herself throughout this journey.

After all the scolding she did to herself.

Her resolve was strong; she was ready to face any outcome. Anything...

... Anything but not... this.

But when she woke up from the blast, it was too late.

She opened her eyes and the first thing she noticed was that the red, dusty light above made her dizzy.

Lumine winced. Her eyes hurt, her head hurt. Her entire body hurt, she later realised when she tried to move her arm and it felt like a thousand needled pierced her skin and muscles.

She groaned as she tried to clench her fist. She was hurt and covered in blood...

No... everything smelt like blood.

Her clothes.

The ground below.

The man laying next to her that she caught a glimpse of through her periferic vision–

Her eyes widened and she snapped her head in that direction.

And her heart churned at the sight in front of her. Another pain added to the hurt she was enduring, but this rendered her unable to breathe.

Laying next to her was Tartaglia–

... Or what was left of Tartaglia, as Lumine would then notice, golden eyes riddled with horror.

She ran her gaze over him.

There were holes in his clothes. There were holes in him.

His abdomen, his legs.

His chest.

Gaping wounds gushing blood out. Old blood turned dark as it pooled beneath him. And there was so much, it made her sick to her stomach.

And Lumine wasn't one to get sick from seeing blood– she knew that...

She knew that and yet her stomach was flipping over in itself as she took in her enemy's wounded figure.

The corners of her eyes stinging her so badly, she almost couldn't keep them open...

In the end she gave in to the urge and squeezed her eyes shut, her entire face hot from all the emotions and feelings overwhelming her.

She gritted her teeth and urged herself to get up.

She had to get up–

Get up and call out to him–

Her eyes started to sting again.

Get up and–

A strained cough yanked her out of her thoughts.

With her heart in her throat, Lumine's head snapped in that direction. Golden eyes wide as she watched the Eleventh Harbinger cough up some more blood next to her.

His face covered in deep-red blood.

His eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"Oh– H-hey there, comrade..." Was the first thing he said when he opened his eyes and they met her wide, horrified ones.

Another cough overtook him and Lumine's arm twitched, instinctively reaching for him. Until the pain seared through her and cut her movements short.

He took a deep breath after it was over and turned towards her, fresh blood trickling down the sides of his chin. Each drop cutting through what was left of her hope that he would make it out alive.

"What's with that face, comrade...?" Tartaglia asked with a small voice.

Almost a whisper.

Then he chuckled, the sound coming out as if it was cutting through his heavily maimed body.

Lumine's first instinct was to tell him to not force himself. But her voice wouldn't come out...

He gave her a weak smile– a ghost compared to the usual warm, lively ones she received from him in the past. When there was still color in his cheeks...

"Come on..." He mumbled, blue lips stained with dark blood.

There was acceptance in those dull blue eyes she grew to cherish despite knowing she shouldn't.

And all Lumine wanted was to slap it out of his eyes.

For she couldn't accept it–

And she didn't want him to accept it, either.

Accept it and give up on his–

"Don't look at me like that, Lumine..." Her heart skipped a painful beat. She almost didn't hear his weak whisper.

"You knew this will happen eventually..." He added, heavy eyelids closing down on his eyes.

And something inside Lumine broke. Something buried in the depths of her being. Something hidden. Something she guarded throughout the entirety of her journey–

And it broke for eternity.

[mundrakan]

Prompt: Widow(er)

@wolfstarmicrofic - 357 words

TW: MCD, heartbreak

The silence in the room is overwhelming, and it shrinks Harry's focus down to one point: the bobbing Adam's apple of his godfather. When Sirius finally speaks, it's like a slap, more so from the tone of the voice. It's so empty, so bare and hurt. “I never thought, I would be the one left behind. I... led a dangerous life, never shied away from anything.”

“You are not alone, you know? We are with you. All of us. Even Snape made me bring condolences.”

Though tears flood Sirius' eyes, so that he can likely barely see, he grabs the glass in front of him and flings it against the wall with such vicious strength, Harry flinches. “I don't deserve that. It's my fault.”

“It was the moon... his heart gave out.”

“It was the change. I wasn't fast enough to bring him to the doctors.” By now Sirius' face is streaked with tear-tracks. “I was too slow.” His whole body vibrates, the sobs trying to break free, trying to overwhelm the restraint he only gained in his late years. “I...”

As he sucks in a single tear stuck to his upper lip, Harry finally understands. Anger is easier than grief, and self-loathing came easiest of all to Sirius anyway. But it's not what he needs. Carefully Harry fetches his shoulder and then pulls him closer, mirroring what Sirius once gave to him, safety, belonging, an embrace to contain all the misery. “There was nothing you could do. But there is something I can do.”

“What's that?”

“Take care of you, like he would have wanted me to, and that includes stopping you from hurting yourself.”

“All I want to do is lie down and wait for my poor soul to join him...” It's a weeping, pathetic little wail, and it cuts deep.

“You will. When your time comes. But we still need you. Teddy, the kids... I...”

Sirius nods without conviction. He cannot see it right now. But he will. In time he will. It is a grief to heavy to carry alone. But alone he is no longer.

[hyperfocusthusly]

Crashing down

Read on A03 here

Crowley woke up late, from the moment his eyes opened the day felt wrong. He groans and reburies himself in the duvet. Eventually he emerges in the late afternoon, the sense of wrongness persists squirming under his skin and making him irritable. Aziraphale notices, of course, Crowley notes him peering around bookshop shelves, fiddling with his rings and offering tea slightly more often than necessary while Crowley engages in his usual, and favourite, activity of scaring away would be customers with a little more venom than normal.

“Are you alright dear?” Aziraphale appears somewhere behind his left shoulder, a gentle press on his lower back soothes the nagging feeling pulling at the back of his eyes. He raises a hand and rubs his temple.

“Just feel a bit off angel, nothing to worry yourself with”

“Maybe a walk would do you some good, bit of fresh air?”

He suspected it wouldn’t, but anything to abate the radiating worry from behind him.

The walk, as it happened, took him as far as Nina’s coffee shop. In the years since he and Aziraphale finally were able to settle in the bookshop they had developed some kind of ‘mutually grumpy half of the pairing’ friendship. He pushes open the door to find an enormous mug waiting for him, she had seen him coming and automatically prepared his usual. He miracled out far too much for a single coffee and passed it to her. The dull pain behind his eyes had sharpened in the street, but eased a little in the relative gloom of the coffee shop in the late afternoon haze. He took his normal seat in the back corner sipping his coffee and willing himself to calm down.

“Are you alright?”

Nina. She looked concerned.

“You’re just looking a little pinched, more than normal, I mean”

A small hum is all he manages, the feeling is intensifying the coffee shop suddenly feeling small and repressive, the air thick and sticky in his throat. He stands, abruptly, the chair skittering away behind him.

“Something bad…” he murmurs,

“I need some air”

Nina watches him leave, slightly unsteadily, and wonders if she should call Aziraphale, what do demons consider a bad thing anyway?

The air outside is cooler, the autumn evening revealing the best of itself in a crisp breeze. He sighs. The feeling is still there, clawing at the back of his throat, demanding to be felt. He glances up and down the street, nothing. No angel hoard, no lurking demons, nothing out of place.

The chime of the record shop bell catches his attention as Maggie comes out of her shop. She waves to him as she sets out to cross the road, on her way to walk Nina home, as always. Nina clinks the lock on the door to the coffee shop and steps out beside him, ready for the evening ritual.

The unease sharpens, pulls at his senses.

Moments pass, tiny, inconsequential, flickering past until he sees it, suddenly, horribly and with perfect clarity.

The car skids around the corner, careening wildly, directly towards Maggie.

And before he can raise his hand, it hits her. She disappears under it and the world stops. Crowley has seen a lot of things on his time on earth, death and destruction wreak havoc here constantly, but not here, not now, not in this corner of the world they had carved out for themselves. Not to his friends.

Nina’s screams pulls him back and he’s raising his hands before the first step is complete. He reaches out for the tenterhooks of time and grips them, feeling the power screech along the nerves of his corporation, wrapping around his wrists like burning white ropes.

He pulls, time screams at him it’s done, it’s done.

He pulls harder.

“No,” grits his teeth, refusing to back down, “you will obey me.” It begins to relent, winding back, slowly, too slowly for the affect its having on him. As the car runs back he feels something in his head pop, his corporation is shaking under the pressure of the metaphysical form pressing through. Nearly, nearly there. The car is pulled back, Maggie is upright. His body is screaming, but she is safe.

With one last push, he sends the car screeching up the road and lets go, the ropes slip away, searing away the skin in their path.

The world returns briefly, a fades away just as fast. He feels suddenly heavy, exhaustion pours over him as the damage to his corporation makes itself known. He’s loosely aware that he’s falling, legs unable to hold themselves up any longer.

He’s also aware that he’s caught, a gentle heat against the cold crawling over him. He’s going to discorporate he thought, he wonders how he’ll explain this one to Hell, how long it will take to get a new corporation, to get back home, he hears the scrape of metal across asphalt, the cold rush of death breezing closer.

Everything is fading, it’s happening, sounds blurring together until something rings through with crystal clarity.

“You will not be needed here today”

He recognises the voice, of course he does, the only constant of 6,000 years on earth, how could he not.

The numbing cold is replaced gently by warmth, things begin to knit themselves back together and he suddenly feels calm.

Aziraphale is here, and he is safe.

—————————————————-

Aziraphale feels time stop outside the bookshop, he drops the books he’s holding and rushes towards the door, trying to keep the icy fear from over taking him. The door pushes open with some effort, time is holding out here, sticking to him and making movement difficult. He emerges on the street in time to see Crowley, face taut with effort, extend his arm and throw a car sideways. He reaches out his own arm and forces the air out of the tyres, grinding it to a halt.

He turns as the world zips back into life, released from the hold it had been trapped in, turns to see Crowley crumple to the floor, barely caught by Nina.

A cold sweeps down the street as a figure emerges from a side road. Black cloak sweeping, Scythe scraping your torturously across the asphalt.

No no

He’s running again, desperate to get to Crowley before the figure. He drops to the floor, into an atmosphere clouded by pain, distress emanating from crowleys alarmingly still form, theres blood running from his ears painting the skin of his unnaturally pale face, dark black bruises forming under his closed eyes. He reaches out again, feeling for the damage.

He spares a look upwards, meets the gaze of empty sockets and spits out “you will not be needed here today.”

He refocuses all of his energy on pulling back together the parts of the broken body in front of him. Breathing becomes steadier, a heart rate less erratic.

Somewhere around him he dully hears the squawking of crows, another gust of icy wind and then, finally, the warmth of the autumn sun.

Death was gone, Crowley was safe.

[buckyismybicycle]

I COULDN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT THISSS... It’s just so painful. And beautiful. Words just flew out of me.

Title: wake me up & i'll find you once more [AO3 Link] Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Rating: Mature Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death, Violence, Retired Life, Fluff and Heavy Angst Summary:  Retired centenarians enjoying their life of peace in the middle of nowhere. Until it's interrupted.

Steve’s already on his second cup of coffee when Bucky wakes. The footsteps inside the house are slow and unrushed, just the way they had been for the past few years. Just as they intended.

The cupboard door creaks a bit when it opens and closes, and Steve has a perfect memory of Bucky reaching for his favourite mug — some terribly cute Captain America mug that Steve’s tried to throw out half a dozen times.

He’s not sure if Bucky somehow manages to rescue it each time or if he just keeps a mass stock of them in the floorboards somewhere. Neither would surprise him, really.

The front door rattles as it closes when Bucky finally comes out to join him on their porch. Sure enough, Steve’s least favourite mug is in his hands.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs, still a little sleepy. His hair’s gotten longer, like it had been in Wakanda, and it’s currently mostly tangled, draped over his left shoulder.

“Good morning, love,” Steve responds, just like he does every morning. He sets his sketchbook to the side, entirely focused on Bucky making himself cozy in the cushions.

It’s a beautiful day in Sedona, Arizona. Their swing faces the mountains and Steve’s been watching the light across them turn from dusky pinks to the warm oranges they are now. He drapes his arm over Bucky’s shoulders to pull him in, enjoying their usual morning snuggle.

It’s quiet here, despite the occasional sounds that float in from town in the warm air, muggy air. It’s peaceful.

It’s what they wanted.

 A peaceful life, away from the superhero spotlight, away from the busy rush of the city. No more schedules, no more deadlines and having their lives dictated by an agenda. They don’t even own a clock. They’ve both lost so much time, it didn’t seem to make sense having to look at it any more. Now they simply rise with the sun (or after, in Bucky’s case) and turn in with the sunset.

They traded in their cell phones for a landline.

“How’s your painting going?” Bucky asks, nuzzling into Steve’s jaw like a giant, sunbathing cat.

“A little distracted right now,” Steve replies with a smile, kissing the top of Bucky’s head. He runs his fingers through the knots in Bucky’s hair, and they don’t move from their positions until they’re all undone.

The sun is high above them by the time he’s finished.

“Lunch?”

Bucky nods, uncurling himself and stretching, soft pops and cracks following. “Let me get some of that fresh basil…”

They’re not young anymore, there’s no two ways about it. Even excluding the years they were frozen, excluding the years lost from Thanos, they were still old. They’d spent their earlier years saving the world. They spent the years following that trying to make sure it wouldn’t need saving again.

“... I must still have some of that garlic too, hmm…”

Now they both sport greys in their hair and patches of it in their beards. They’re starting to get crow’s feet when they laugh or smile (which is often) and their friends are even wrinklier.

Steve does crossword puzzles and Bucky has a garden now. Sometimes, Steve watches out the kitchen window, listening to Bucky mumbling to his plants. It’s exactly as they always envisioned their retirement to be like.

“... Could make pesto. Hey, you listenin’ to me, punk?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve replies, following suit. “Basil, garlic, pesto. Get inside, old man.”

Bucky snorts when he laughs, and tries to lock the screen door, trapping Steve outside, even if they both know that the serum still flows in them and Steve could yank the door open with ease.

Instead, he dangles Bucky’s mug in his fingers and threatens to drop it.

Bucky opens the door with a fake scowl.

The weather is always warm in Sedona. It’s one of the reasons they chose to come here — to shake off the frost from their pasts. Neither of them are particularly fond of the winters now. Even when the sky turns purple, the breeze is still warm.

They clean up the kitchen from their homemade meal.

Suddenly, their bubble, their slice of heaven, their perfectly calm routine, erupts.

They’d been winding down for bed, sharing kisses as soft as their touches. Steve will never know how he’d managed to get so lucky to be given this second (and third, and fourth) chance to spend his life with someone like this. Undying, unwavering lover that doesn’t seem to dim.

And that it’s Bucky.

“Love you,” Steve mumbles softly. Bucky’s close enough that Steve feels the smile against his lips.

“Love you, too.”

Bucky wakes first — Steve knows because he’d been whacked in the face with the blanket. It happens from time to time, two soldiers who have been in service too long and have seen too much; the nightmares are inevitable. They’re far and few between these days, but Steve still worries.

“Buck?”

“We’ve got company.”

Steve launches into action because he knows. It’s the way Bucky stands, tensed and sharp eyes focused somewhere beyond Steve, his training taking over naturally. It’s the way he’s already got a gun in hand, jaw working as he grinds his teeth.

“Let’s go tell ‘em to get off our lawn.”

Bucky digs in the back of their closet and tosses Steve his shield before he winks. “Captain.”

It’s always fucking Hydra.

It’s been years since they’ve encountered any traces of them, and they’d even thought it was too good to be true. They should’ve known those years of silence were just too lucky — that they would be quietly rebuilding for a big comeback.

“Steve,” Bucky says tersely, reloading his gun from their doorway. The agents hadn’t even reached the house before they were struck down and now their bodies currently littered their lawn. Bucky’s already gone through two clips and he doesn’t miss a shot even to this day. Steve’s not really sure how much ammo is even in the house, but Bucky’s tone suggests that it’s not a lot. Other than the shield, they don’t have a ton of weapons stocked away but Bucky turns around anyway.

He hears it too — the rumblings in the distance that are most certainly out of place and walks towards it. It vaguely reminds him of —

He blinks, trying to come back to the present. The field of ash and smoke turns back to their green lawn. Thanos and his army fade and he’s faced with the towering mountains once more.

Bucky re-emerges from their house to stand beside Steve, his own eyes seeming a million miles away. Steve knows Bucky sees Azzano because the rumbling, mechanic noise sounds like a war tank to him too.

They’re outnumbered and outgunned, and even if Bucky’s made a call while he was restocking, they’re too far away for anyone to get there in time. They both know what it means for them.

Steve straps the shield on tighter and Bucky’s arm whirs softly. They turn to look at each other — one last moment suspended in time to enjoy their peace and the life they built together. With a nod, they turn back to face the hoard of assailants coming their way.

They’ve done this plenty of times before — the war, the battle of Wakanda, the battle for Earth. They walk forward together.

They’ve lost a lot of ground. This is usually the part in a battle where someone says “fall back” except there isn’t anywhere to fall back to.

“Stevie?” Bucky calls out, not even the slightest bit out of breath as he steps over the bodies littering the ground at his feet.

Steve’s wary of Bucky’s grin that he can see even from a few feet away – it never bodes well when Bucky wears that expression. “Yeah?”

“Kept my promise,” Bucky answers, far too jovial for their situation. Steve’s stomach drops, too familiar with Bucky’s antics, particularly in the face of danger. “Always said it to ya, til the end of the line.”

“Don’t —”

Steve brings his shield up at the last second to deflect a round of shots. “Don’t give me that, Buck.”

“Shit…”

Steve turns to see what’s caught Bucky’s eyes and the sight chills him to the very bone. It crackles with energy, a bright blue that’s too reminiscent of the beam that disintegrate their men in the war, too reminiscent of Loki’s staff and the portals that brought aliens to invade their planet.

“What the hell is —”

Again he’s cut off, this time by Bucky seizing up beside him as a bright light shoots in their direction.

Steve’s arm is singed and he looks down in surprise to see a crack in his indestructible shield. Fear floods his veins and when he turns to Bucky, that fear turns into full-blown panic.

Bucky’s arm recalibrates, awkwardly and clunky in a way the vibranium never does, making Bucky drop his gun.

Bucky never drops his gun.

“N…”

“Buck?” Steve asks, instantly afraid. Bucky has nightmares, has flashbacks and episodes, but nothing that looks like this.

Bucky winces as he stumbles back, hand coming up to crackle his head, digging the heel of his palm into his eye.

“Bucky?!”

“Come, Soldat. It is time we make the world anew.”

The command echoes in the clear night sky, loud enough to reverberate down Steve’s spine.

They’ve found a way. The truth crashes into Steve like a freezing cold tsunami and he nearly stumbles himself.

“It’s — nnn…o. No. I can’t — Steve.” Bucky’s voice trembles as much as his hands do as he turns his wide, fearful eyes to Steve. “I kept my promise, now you gotta keep yours. Please, Steve.”

Steve’s stomach plummets. “You can’t mean —”

“Don’t let them take me,” Bucky pleads, breathing heavily as his eyes start going out of focus. “Plea….s… я… я готов… Steve.”

The desperation is unlike anything Steve’s heard. He’s heard Bucky whine his name before — when it’s too early and he wants to keep sleeping, when he’s trying to convince Steve to dance with him, when he’s demanding Steve’s attention, when they’re in bed —

Not like this. Not this broken, half-sob with tearful eyes.

“This isn’t the end of the line,” Steve says determinedly, despite the stuttering words. “I’ll always find you again.”

They don’t say “goodbye”, because it isn’t. They don’t say “I love you”, because it’s simply a truth they’ve always known and never doubted.

Steve turns away from the assailants coming for them and kisses Bucky with everything he has.

Bucky’s warmth, the scent of their soap on his skin, his lush lips that press into Steve’s — he memorizes it all, even though he knows he’ll follow right after.

He steps back and raises his damned shield against the love of his life.

The years they’ve spent together flash before him and he grits his teeth, praying for strength. To make it worse, Bucky only smiles at him — small and tearful – and nods, mouthing “it’s okay”.

He makes it swift, puts every ounce of his willpower behind it so Bucky doesn’t suffer and aims for the weakest part — the temple.

Crack.

It’s quick. Steve only keeps his eyes long enough to catch his beloved.

The world already starts to fade around him as he resolutely keeps them shut, lowering them to the ground. He doesn’t want to see the damage he’s done, the hole in Bucky’s skull, the blood that’s trickling down Steve’s hand before staining the ground he kneels on.

His arms stay tightly wrapped around the still-warm body as he mourns, silent tears falling to join the pooling blood.

There’s voices that seem angry, blending in with the sound of machinery. He couldn’t possibly care less about what they’re saying. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers into the hair that he’d so painstakingly combed through that morning, the hair that still smells faintly of green apples.

He registers a searing pain, though it’s dull compared to what he feels in his heart.

‘Til the end of the line.

The funeral is small and private, the way they would’ve wanted.

They’re buried just the way they are, arms wrapped around one another protectively. Lovingly.

There’s no coffins, because Bucky never wanted to be trapped again.

There’s no headstone, nothing to mark where their bodies might be buried, in hopes that they’ll get to return to that peace they found for themselves.

This is also for: 

@allcapsbingo​  O1: Waking Up Together @buckybarnesbingo​ O4: Gardening @badthingshappenbingo​ I4: Ambush

"Somewhere in a distant future, our story will be told for centuries, and will be continued again. "

If they died in the final battle of endgame and reincarnated as archaeologists. Although I'm late, it's for Easter! So let them reborn.

Actually this piece is also somewhat my answer to the ambiguity in "end of the line", which is not confined by time and death.

[lennjamin-o7]

Techno had been exploring a cave system with Phil when he felt it.

A rumbling vibration traveling through the rock too deep for humans and several types hybrids to sense.

It took Techno a moment to realize what it meant. And when he did…

“Move!” Techno roared. “Back to the surface! Now!”

Phil startled at the unexpected shout, but they’d known each other for too long to hesitate even if the danger was unknown.

Phil sprinted back the way they had come, Techno only a few paces behind him.

Phil held a torch aloft, and Techno a sword. Techno banished the sword to his inventory as he ran, but had no time to do the same for the pickaxe strapped to his belt.

As they ran, the rumbling increased in volume and intensity, there was no way anyone could miss it now.

How far was it to the exit? How deep had they been?

The cave had started to show deep slate, so perhaps sixty blocks below the surface.

That didn’t account for how far they’d travelled in any other direction, though.

They had entered the cave from a deep fissure in the earth, traveling into the cave network from there.

They were near halfway back when Techno heard the rock breaking above their heads. Diving forwards, Techno shoved Phil as far as he could.

A flash of pain in Techno’s abdomen as he hit the ground was quickly buried by the stone that slammed into his back, crushing force pinning him to the floor in a shower of dust and smaller rocks. The impact knocked the breath out of him and Techno wheezed, gasping at the stone dust filled air for breath.

The cave had collapsed, blocking off the direction the pair had just run from completely, catching Techno on the edge of the newly formed barrier.

“Techno?” Phil must have come to check on him while Techno was still regaining his breath. Phil had set his torch down near Techno as he checked his pulse.

“Mate, can you hear me?”

Techno’s response was a wheezing cough.

“Okay, okay, can’t talk?” Phil had grabbed the torch again, and lifted Techno’s chin, holding it close to one of Techno’s eyes, then the other before settling the torch aside.

Next Philza grabbed one of Techno’s hands.

“Can you squeeze my hand?”

Techno squeezed it.

“Squeeze once for yes, twice for no.”

Techno squeezed Phil’s hand again.

“Are you bleeding anywhere? Can you tell?”

Phil must not be able to see most of Techno what with him being covered in stone at the moment.

One squeeze. Yes.

The pickaxe attached to Techno’s belt felt like it had decided to introduce itself to his intestines, so he was most definitely bleeding from it.

“Alright don’t worry mate, we’ll get you out. If I move enough of this we should be able to get you walking.”

Two squeezes. No.

Philza frowned. “Why no? Wait, are your legs hurt?”

Techno- couldn’t actually feel his legs. Or his hips. And he really hoped that wasn’t a spine injury, but it probably was. He wasn’t sure how to tell Phil that, though, so-

Yes. One squeeze.

There was no way Phil would be able to get Techno out of here on his own. Cave-ins like this were dangerous enough on their own, but the first one had been caused by an earthquake, and there could still be aftershocks.

Here with Techno was just about the most dangerous place Phil could be right now. Techno had to convince him to leave.

He gathered his breath.

“Go.”

“What? Techno, no- I can’t leave you!”

Techno tried again.

“Go. H’lp.”

“Oh.” Phil said, looking to study the stone above Techno, “This is definitely a two person job, maybe three. I can ask Niki or Ranboo-“

A pause.

“Promise me you won’t leave me.”

Techno couldn’t suppress a snort of amusement.

Techno couldn’t go anywhere, he was trapped under a literal ton of stone.

But he knew what Phil meant.

“Pr’mse.” Techno managed to get out, knowing it was probably a lie as he said it.

But Techno needed Phil to leave, to be safe.

Techno gave Phil’s hand one last squeeze, and he hoped Phil knew what it meant.

For you, the world.

And then Phil was running towards the cave entrance on his way to get help.

~~~

It was only a few minutes after Phil left that Techno felt the rumbling start again.

The aftershock caused a second collapse, sending rocks falling down on Techno’s shoulders, arms and head. At least one rock must have made its mark against his skull, because Techno’s awareness missed the rest of the rockfall.

When he came back to consciousness, it was with the weight of stone pushing in all around him, pressing him to the floor. It was oddly comfortable. Techno could still feel the pickaxe in his belly, shifting slightly every time he breathed, but now the feeling was only strange, not painful.

Part of him was aware that it probably wasn’t a good sign to be devoid of any pain, but he already knew how things would end when he sent Phil away, so really the lack of pain was a nice bonus.

The torch Phil had left with Techno must have gone out in the second collapse, because Techno couldn’t see anything.

There was nothing for Techno to do except think. Had Phil made it out? He should have had enough time if the rest of the tunnel was unobstructed, and he could probably fly out of the fissure that was the entrance.

Techno really hoped Phil made it out.

It felt like the debris on top of Techno was slowly increasing in weight, or maybe Techno’s strength was failing. Either way, it was getting harder and harder to draw a full breath.

Techno concentrated on that now, on getting from one shallow breath to the next. How much time had passed? He didn’t know. Everything seemed muddled and far away.

“Thank you.” A voice said, cutting through the nothingness that surrounded Techno and filling it. “You kept my husband safe.”

Techno had never heard the voice before, but he knew who it must belong to. Knew even in his soul as surely all things did. Kristin. And if she was here that meant-

Techno hadn’t noticed before, but he now realized that he wasn’t breathing, and he couldn’t feel his heartbeat inside his chest. He didn’t think he had a body anymore, but he could feel Kristin holding him.

“Do you want to watch over my husband with me?”

Techno did. Phil had no sense of self preservation and could use all the help he could get. And Techno had told Phil that he wouldn’t leave him just yet.

“Well then, let’s be off.”

You! How dare you break my heart! Fuck, ai'm crying! /pos

This has been sitting here a while. I'm sorry for that. But every time I reread it to make a more indepth response, I just ended up crying! How could you do this to me! You monster! /pos

Such a great idea holy crow! The slow crawling dread of knowing you are being crushed/stabbed/killed is just so intense. A great idea!

[andiinaraethtash]

Chapter 2

Notes:

Yeah, I'm aware I posted the first chapter and then abandoned it for like. three months. But in my defense, I have been really, incredibly busy and very burnt out, and not in a very star-wars-y mood. So yeah. Also, please say something nice if you comment, I've had a very stressful week as my apartment nearly burned down with my dogs inside, and my nerves have yet to settle. We're all fine, the apartment didn't catch on fire but others in my complex did lose their homes, and possibly their pets, so I'm really trying to keep it together right now because my gosh. Other people have it so bad rn.

Obi-Wan sighed as the group barreled back through the temple. Anakin glanced over his shoulder at him, concern echoing through their training bond, and Obi-Wan waved him off. There was nothing he could do to help. Usually Obi-Wan could hide it, but nothing could make forty-eight hours’ worth of exhaustion disappear, and while the adrenaline that had kicked in when Ahsoka had let out that awful scream had yet to fully wear off, he was acutely aware of the subtle ache in his muscles. Huffing, he readjusted his grip on his lightsaber and put on a bit more speed to catch up with Anakin. His former Padawan was supporting Ahsoka, who despite claiming to be fine was obviously still in pain and couldn't keep her feet under her.

The temple shook again as the Separatist fighters made another pass somewhere above them. Behind him, Obi-Wan could hear the clones tightening their grip on their weapons and Cody urging them on quietly.

Sunlight finally appeared in front of them, broken up by blue and red flashes of blaster fire, and the shadows of the starfighters zooming past above the planet's surface. Anakin staggered out, one arm around Ahsoka, the other holding his unlit ‘saber in front of him. He glanced back at Obi-Wan, giving him a once-over and apparently deciding he didn't like what he saw. 

“Here,” he said, passing Ahsoka over to Obi-Wan without any real warning. Obi-Wan took the young Togruta carefully, shooting Anakin a quick glare. Anakin turned back towards the encampment, where the gunships were still on the ground, making them an easy target. “I'm more rested, I can take point. Cody, you've got the rear. We need to get to base.” The 'more rested' part was almost definitely a lie, but Obi-Wan let it slide.

The clone troopers quickly followed his instructions. As they neared the camp, a LAATi that had started to lift off exploded, raining shrapnel. Screams rose as the main bulk of the ship crashed into the camp, which was already in chaos. Blaster fire and grenades were being thrown back and forth between the ever-shrinking circle of clones and the unstoppable waves of droids.

Igniting his lightsaber, Anakin leapt into battle, chopping the droids into pieces. Behind him, the squad they'd brought with them to the temple began laying down cover fire. Obi-Wan watched helplessly as the droids took notice and began to fire on the squad, and one of the troopers collapsed with a scream. 

Ahsoka winced, her distress shining through the Force. “Master, you have to help them. They're dying!”

Obi-Wan reluctantly tightened his grip on the Padawan. “Ahsoka, I can't leave you, you're injured. Besides,” his eyes tracked the only lightsaber in the field and he sighed in relief. “Anakin's got them covered.”

Even as he said it, Anakin jumped between the clones and the droids, whipping his ‘saber in every direction, deflecting the blaster bolts with a practiced ease. He glanced back and gave Obi-Wan a nod and a cocky grin. Obi-Wan returned the nod before forging ahead. 

The group almost got to the camp before it happened. A shuttle roared past them, towards the temple, and a slender figure leapt out, brandishing two red lightsabers as she landed.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan shouted, gesturing over his shoulder to the assassin barreling towards them. “Ventress is here!”

Decapitating four battle droids at once, Anakin whirled back towards the group. “I see her! Get Ahsoka to the ship, I'll hold her off!” He bounded over their heads with a single, Force-assisted leap before racing towards Ventress to cut her off.

Obi-Wan finally drew his lightsaber, batting away blaster bolts as he pressed the others on. Above them, two of the gunships finally got off the ground, quickly powering through the dogfight in the atmosphere to rejoin the fleet. Somewhere to his right, he saw Cody stop to assist a wounded clone, only for an explosion to throw them both off of their feet. Another pair of troopers broke off to assist them while others laid down cover fire. One of them slung Cody over his shoulder, but the other checked the downed clone's vitals, slumped slightly, and picked up his weapon to fire on the droids again.

Behind him, Obi-Wan could hear lightsabers clashing and had to resist the urge to look back at the duel between Ventress and Anakin. As he continued to deflect blaster fire, he managed to get the rest of his group safely to the evacuating camp. A medic- Scratch, Obi-Wan was pretty sure- saw them coming and waved the Jedi over even as he sprinted towards them.

“Let me take her, sir!” The medic- definitely Scratch- yelled as he took Ahsoka's weight from Obi-Wan. “The men need your help!”

Obi-Wan nodded, gave Ahsoka one last look, and raced towards one of the downed LAATis, where several troopers were pinned down. Leaping between them and the droids, he began expertly batting bolts back into the droids who'd fired them. Looking over his shoulder as his body moved on autopilot, he shouted for the men to move , to get to the transports. The Force screamed in warning and he whirled back around to reverse the path of a grenade that had been hurled at them. As the droids crumpled under the explosion and the blaster bolts, the troopers behind him finally got moving, shouting and supporting each other as they went.

Above them, Separatist fighters made another run, laying down lines of blaster fire that cut down droids and clones alike. One lucky pilot hit a fuel cell of a LAATi, and it exploded with enough force to shake the ground. Troopers flew through the air and hit the ground hard, several of them not getting back up. 

Obi-Wan cursed, racing over to the fallen soldiers and hoisting the first one he got to- the first living one, because most of the clones he passed weren't breathing--weren't moving, were no longer there, burning like stars in the Force-- over his shoulder. Around him, clones frantically ran to get their brothers, their vod’e, to the relative safety of the half dozen remaining LAATis. Obi-Wan hurriedly deposited his burden in the same transport as Ahsoka and was racing back towards the exploded ship when Cody, who was back on his feet if a little shaky, intercepted him.

“General, you need to get General Skywalker! Help him finish off the witch, then get him back here! We need to get out of here!” The Commander yelled, his helmet muffling his voice but not disguising his urgency.

Obi-Wan hesitated, glanced back toward the fiery remains of the gunship where clones were still pulling bodies- barely moving, barely breathing, barely living bodies- out of the wreckage, and squared his shoulders. Turning on his heel with an energy level he didn't quite feel, he raced through the battlefield towards the temple, where he could see Anakin's and Ventress’ lightsabers whirling as Ventress managed to drive Anakin back towards the temple.

The duel had obviously been going badly for Anakin. As Obi-Wan drew nearer, he could see how slow his former Padawan's blocks and dodges were. He was tiring too quickly, favoring his left leg, and Ventress could smell blood in the water. Obi-Wan was still almost a hundred yards out when it happened.

Ventress made a downwards swipe with both lightsabers, which Anakin deflected, leaving her open for just a moment to attack. Seeing this, Anakin made a characteristically aggressive swing at her head, but he was still too slow. Ventress blocked the strike with one lightsaber and the other-

The other she buried up to the hilt in Anakin's stomach.

Obi-Wan stumbled as the Force screamed, the shock of the blow echoing through the very fabric of the galaxy. Dimly, Obi-Wan was aware that he was up on his feet again, screaming in unison with the Force as he raced towards the two duelists, but all he could focus on was the feeling of his training bond, a bond the two Jedi had refused to cut even when Anakin's Padawan braid had been, snapping like a taut wire. The backlash nearly knocked him off of his feet again as Anakin- his Anakin, his Padawan, his friend, his brother- toppled face first into the sand at the base of the temple steps.

Ventress took one look at him, sheathed her lightsabers, and ran. Rage coursed through his veins, stronger than he'd felt since the Battle of Naboo, and he raced after her, his mind replaying that awful moment when Anakin's body jerked as the ‘saber slammed into his body. He tightened his grip on his lightsaber and threw himself into the air, his blade clashing violently with Ventress's as he landed practically on top of her. She hissed and tried to back away, fear obvious in her eyes and palpable in the Force, rotten and bittersweet. Obi-Wan didn't give her the chance to retreat. She'd lost any right to mercy or even a quick death when Anakin hit the ground. He rained furious blows against her shaking defense, half aware that someone was still screaming. 

Finally, Ventress's defense wore out and she stumbled, falling flat on her back as Obi-Wan continued to land blow after blow on her blades. Visibly panicking, she threw her hands up and Force-pushed him off of her. He landed in a tumble several yards away, springing upright with a glare that promised merciless death, but she couldn't see it. Her back was turned and she was leaping up one of the cliffs that surrounded the temple, only to leap onto a passing starfighter as Obi-Wan reached the bottom of the cliff.

Chest heaving, Obi-Wan deactivated his lightsaber and wiped the sweat from his brow. Of course she'd run. Of course she'd be a coward. His throat and heart were aching in unison, his throat from screaming (so that had been him making that inhuman noise) and his heart from a pain that wasn't physical. Wearily, he turned back towards the camp--no, towards the site of the duel--but he already knew what he'd find there. He'd known since he saw Anakin swing his lightsaber just a heartbeat too slow. 

That didn't prepare him for the sight of his best friend lying on his back in the sand, eyes gazing unseeingly at the sun. The hole in his abdomen was still smoking, and he was eerily still. 

That was wrong on so many levels. Anakin was never still. He was always moving, even in meditation. His hands were always tangled in some wiring, or trying to get his new lightsaber to work, or fiddling with his Padawan braid, when he'd had it. Seeing him like this, still, not moving, not even breathing, hit Obi-Wan in the chest like he was the one who'd been stabbed by a lightsaber.

Carefully, he knelt next to his friend- no, the body , he told himself, it's just another trooper who I have to get back to his aliit , because that was easier, because that didn't hurt and make him want to scream and destroy something and tear his aching heart out- and cautiously gathered him up in his arms, stopping briefly to close Ana- the body's- eyes and call the nearby lightsaber into his hand.

The walk back to the evacuating camp was excruciating. He knew he needed to hurry, needed to get to the transports before they left, but every step closer to the camp was a step closer to having to tell the others that he'd failed. To telling Ahsoka why the Force felt so very, very wrong- because she wouldn't recognize it. She wouldn't understand what that awful feeling in her gut was, why she felt like a part of her had been suddenly and ruthlessly cut away from her.

But he had to get Ana- the body - back. Because Cody had ordered him to. Because Rex was counting on him to bring his general home. Because Ahsoka needed to have a body, needed to have proof. Because Padme deserved to have something to bury. Too many widows didn't have that. And by the Force, she deserved that much.

No , his thoughts whispered, rebelling at the idea of just accepting that he was gone. She deserves more. They all do.

Finally the ground became covered in droid parts and the few fallen troopers that they hadn't been able to get onto the transports, only one of which was still on the ground. 

Cody was waiting for him. The moment he saw him coming, he hurried out into the mostly deserted battlefield, quickly reaching to take An- the body- from Obi-Wan, calling over his shoulder for a medic, but Obi-Wan shook his head.

“No,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. “I'll carry him.”

At the sound of his voice, Cody froze before quickly reaching for the pulse point on An- the body's - neck, slumping when he realized why Obi-Wan's eyes were so haunted.

“Come on, General. Let's get him on board; we're taking him home. He's safe now, we've got him.” 

Obi-Wan followed mutely, even as his mind screamed, no, no, he isn't.

Notes:

>:D

[stellewriites]

very much inspired by a post i’ll link at the bottom to avoid spoilers

i love putting john price in situations

simon had known price for over a decade, had served under him as his lieutenant for a good portion of it, so he was pretty confident in answering yes when asked if he thought he knew the captain well.

he could acknowledge he wasn’t as close as say laswell may have been, but he knew that price’s wife was not common knowledge around the base either.

he’d pieced it together over the years on missions; catching the odd comment shared over coms; the glint of a ring around his neck; the odd teased mention of her when they sat in the rec room after barely scraping through a tough spot, when price needed the company as well as the silence ghost offered before returning to the real world.

it was how simon knew the sergeants were staying when price let slip about her one day. because he doesn’t let anything slip, wouldn’t, especially about her.

“got anyone at home waiting for you, sir?” gaz asked as he sighed impatiently over the coms, hour three of silently waiting and watching had finally gotten to him.

“i do,” price said simply, not offering any further information. ghost could imagine the amusement tugging at his daft facial hair as price refused to continue without prompting and simon smiled under his mask when he heard johnny scoff next to him before chiming in.

“c’mon sir, give us a wee bit more’n that,” he weedled. “when’d ya meet? is she nice?”

john hummed, the sound low and crackly over the radio in their ears. “met when i moved.”

“oh, a real meet-cute type thing, eh?” gaz teased.

john ignored him. “wouldn’t say she’s nice, soap. she’s more than that. ‘nice’ is your aunt’s new wallpaper; you have permission to shoot me point blank if i start calling her nice.”

“what is she then?” ghost piped up. this was the chattiest john had ever been on the subject and he was going to take advantage.

john went silent for long enough that the three men thought that was it, the end to their sharing session and knowing more about their captain outside of work. simon chewed the inside of his cheek.

“she’s devoted,” john whispered finally before his voice firmed. “heads up, team, movement 2 o’clock. anyone got eyes on the target?”

—

it was months later when she was brought up again, the team thinking. nothing of it until price’s phone pinged in his pocket enough times to pique johnny’s interest as they prepped to leave.

“that the wife, sir?” he asked.

john huffed, didn’t bother checking his phone as he turned and shook his head. “she’s clingy, but she doesn’t bother me when i’m at work.”

“how’d you know?” gaz asked. “could be an emergency.”

“‘n’ how’d you get her to agree tae tha’?” soap followed up quickly, having had issues with his own flings petering out when he was distant and slow to reply.

“been with her long enough now it’s routine,” john said simply. he checked his weapons before heading for the exit. “helo in 5, be air ready.”

—

the mission had gone to shit, and they were stuck hidden in a building that looked like it was 10 seconds away from collapsing under a brisk wind when ghost finally felt his patience snap.

it was no one’s fault, but being stuck in another country with no back up and a target on their backs for an extra three weeks wasn’t ideal and johnny’s insistence on playing cards at every opportunity to keep his idle hands and mind busy combined with gaz’s tinny whistling had made for the perfect scenario to grate on simon’s patience quicker than anything else ever had.

“tell us about her. ya wife,” simon asked, his gaze slipping across to john, watching him pick at his nails. his cuticles were red and raw from four days of agitated fidgeting since they’d ran out of cigars and cigarettes. every so often simon caught him pat his empty pocket before he’d remember and huff heavily through his nose like a bull.

john closed his eyes at the mention of his wife and sighed. he started his description without protest or hesitance. “shes soft spoken. christ, you’d hardly know she was there half the time, she’s so quiet. but she’s firm. stands her ground no matter what,” he chuckled. “don’t think i’ve ever won an argument against her.”

kyle laughed and ghost closed his own eyes, trying to picture what he thought the captain’s wife might look like. pretty certainly, but was she tall, plump, did she have an endearing gap between her front teeth, did she keep her hair short or long?

“she’s a bit of a homebody,” john admitted bashfully, unaware of simon’s drifting thoughts. “but i can’t say i mind it.”

“not wanting to leave the bedroom much when yer back?” johnny joked, hissing when ghost punched his thigh.

john just smiled placidly, eyes still closed. his eyebrows pulled down as he gushed, “god she’s gorgeous in red. wears it every time i come home.”

“lucky bastard,” gaz huffed.

“yeah.” john nodded and finally opened his eyes. “yeah, lucky.”

“you’ll be back with her soon, cap,” gaz reassured him when he saw price swallow thickly.

“thanks, gaz. now who’s taking first watch tonight? soap?”

—

john was quiet on the plane ride home, not unusually so, but ghost noticed the difference all the same.

he was pensive perhaps, worried what his wife would say when he finally got home a month later than scheduled, uncontactable the entire time. ghost could understand to a certain degree that john would have more important things on his mind than what his three subordinates were going to do as soon as they stepped foot on home soil, so he didn’t push when john ignored the few threads of conversation thrown his way by their younger sergeants. instead he nodded when john said a quick goodbye as they all parted ways in the airport.

simon could only assume john was the same all the way home in the cab that dropped him outside of his little three bed house.

he didn’t see however how john hesitated at the door to his home that evening. how he gripped the front door keys tightly in his fist, shook as he stared down at his feet instead of letting his eyes drift and catch on the windows, and felt as though he could crack a tooth from how hard he was clenching his teeth.

he finally opened the door when he thought the neighbours might begin to get worried and stepped inside, flicking on the lights as he went.

it wasn’t until he got to the kitchen that he found her.

stood bare foot, silent, eyes wide and pleading, blood seeping - always seeping. would it ever stop? would the blood ever end? - through her white pyjama top, his top that she’d borrowed for the night, and trickling down her bare legs.

her mouth opened and she visibly struggled for breath, but no sound escaped even as her tongue wagged on the floor of her mouth, lapping at the backs of her teeth as all words escaped her.

he swallowed back bile.

“hello, sweetheart,” he choked out. “sorry i’m late.”

the blood pooled at her feet, the panties she wore were seeped a dark purple from the viscus liquid dying the dark blue material and the shirt stuck to her front. john had remembered loving seeing her like this in a morning, had always thought she looked best in as little clothing as possible.

“i know you hate it when work keeps me busy, but it was unexpected. we were caught—“ a high screech, not dissimilar to that of a whistle that only a dog could hear, pierced through his ears and cut his words short. he curled in and covered his ears, but he knew it would do no good, he should’ve known better than to talk about work around her.

not after what had happened last time he got back late after overtime.

tears prickle at his eyes and the sound abruptly stopped. he’d never questioned why it seemed to be only him that could hear her protests, why his neighbours never mentioned a shrill cry every so often from his home. he had always said she was made for him and that had apparently translated literally into the afterlife.

he looked up at her again - it was best not to ignore her he found. it only made her angry.

“it won’t happen again,” he promised wetly. “i did my best to get back as soon as i could, i promise, sweetheart—“ he choked on his words, biting back a sob. she watched unblinkingly, silent except for the wet squelch of her feet on the laminate.

they both knew he wasn’t apologising for being late this time. he got like this sometimes, when her agonised face and mangled body was too much to bear after a long mission and the guilt bore down like a physical presence.

he couldn’t help but think if he’d gotten home even just an hour earlier he might’ve been able to save her, to have kept her company instead of leaving her on the floor alone and cold, maybe he could have caught the bastards that had hurt her while he was still travelling back from deployment after agreeing to hang back and finish his paperwork there and then instead of emailing it across.

he reached a shaking hand forward and blew out a ragged breath when his hand met nothing but frigid air. but when he brought his hand up to his face he could smell the copper tang of his dead wife’s blood on his skin. the stench unwashable, cloying, but if he concentrated hard enough it ever so faintly smelt like the vanilla perfume she used to wear.

“was telling the lads about you, love,” he forced an empty chuckle as he walked around her to the kettle and went through their usual routine. “think they might’ve fallen a little in love, not that i could blame them.”

he ran a hand over his face and gave himself a moment to let the tears fall as his palm hid his eyes. her silence was the worst part of it all, but he could see the glaring red of her in his peripheral when he dropped his hand to the counter.

it wasn’t pretending his wife was still alive if she was right there at his shoulder, was it?

“looks like i’ll need to grab you some more pg tips, sweetheart,” he said and poured the boiling water into two cups, sparing a glance over his shoulder at his wife. “we’re almost out.”

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