#tw: MCD

[glazelilyy]

before the roar of thunder

pairings (separately!) - diluc ragnvindr, kaeya alberich, childe/tartaglia, xiao x gender neutral reader (no pronouns used!)

word count - 4597

genre - angst, hurt/comfort

format - drabbles

warnings - blood/injury/wound mentions, cataclysmic destruction, violence, crying, kissing, character deaths with no graphic description (but not for the paired character or reader EXCEPT in childe's)

summary - a storm approaches but just before it does, you share a tender moment with your beloved for the last time

a/n - i have been mia for a while :') but this idea just kinda hit me out of nowhere so i decided to write about it :P i don't know if this writing will live up to expectations or any of my work from the past because i haven't written in a while but i'm trying to enjoy writing just because i like it rather than to live up to an expectation, so i'm gonna try and do my best :) i hope you enjoy this piece and thank you all so much for your patience and love these past few months i could not be more grateful that i am being interacted with and sent such wonderful messages <3 (also fun fact i listened to multiple vbs songs while writing most of this which just doesn't fit in with anything happening in these drabbles and majority of the time i had akito rapping in my ear while writing about death LMAO)

diluc loved.

he loved his city, born from the death of corruption and nurtured by the souls and free spirits of her people. he loved the crisp breeze that swept by falcon coast and cradled its peak in a bough of brevity where his worries would fly away and cast themselves up into the sky to become stars. he loved the shade from beneath the towering tree at windrise where memories of summers and picnics and childhood mischief came alight with a single glance towards her wavering leaves. he loved the cool touch of a crystalfly's perch upon his gloved finger.

he loved his companions; silently from afar he'd send well wishes in quiet messages meant only for their hands to caress or ears to indulge. he loved lisa; lazy as she might appear not once had she ever let him down. he loved jean: hardworking, disciplined, strong, courageous, but for every pedestal she was placed on was she ever more human—flesh and blood with a heart that pounded for others and never herself. he loved kaeya—his beloved little brother who always preferred the cool shade of his shadow and shielded his back from the many blades that sought his head.

he loved you. you who brought light with gentle hands and placed it within his heart. you who illuminated the dark, winding pathway of justice he thought he'd walk alone forever. you who showed him trust, who knew how he liked his tea (sweet, for a man who was even sweeter). you, who braided cecilias into his hair and peppered kisses across his ruddy cheeks and doused him in all the sugary sweetness that love could ever provide.

diluc loved, and loved, and loved, tremendously.

and he still loved, even as mondstat burned in a storm of fire.

he still loved, even as he stood over lisa and jean whose eyes had lost their brilliance and sparkle of life.

he still loved, even as he wept for his little brother who had feared death and spent his remaining strength gripping onto the tassels of his jacket and begged for him to stay; to reassure him in his last moments.

he stayed, despite the agony that coursed through his body and the never-ending sorrow that scorched his heart when kaeya stilled.

he still loved, even as he gripped your hand with tenacity laced in his veins.

soot and ash coated both of your bodies and faces as you stood at the gates of mondstat and watched the world before you crumble beneath your feet.

diluc felt his heart bob up and down in the narrow passageway of his throat.

he was always too late.

too late for his city. too late for his friends. for his brother.

the love in his heart was never enough. he was never enough. and now everything was gone. burning.

never before had he despised looking at his vision so much.

"they'll be back," you whispered hoarsely, and diluc turned to look at you, "the abyss order."

your hand seemed to squeeze his with every ounce of strength you had left, eyes wide and trembling with the flickering flames of destruction reflected in the glassy haze of your irises. the fresh tear tracks on your face twisted his heart into a knot.

"i know," he replied, never once casting his gaze away from you, "i'm still alive, after all."

diluc would not tell you that he could smell the unmistakable stench of abyssal magic from over the horizon. he couldn't. you'd seen horror after horror and now was not the time to tell you that more bloodshed approached. the abyssal army approached slowly and steadily, and soon they would be here to have his head on a stick. there was no running, there was no use escaping the inevitable.

"diluc..." you turned to him, doll-like and devoid of life with a tremble of sorrow buried in the abyss in your expression, "what do we do?" you whispered to him, as if he contained secrets of the universe that should only be shared between the two of you.

wordlessly, he pulled you close and rubbed a soothing hand in gentle strokes up and down your back. his embrace guarded you from the inevitable end that slowly crouched closer, rising with newborn sun. gloved, soot-covered hands slid up to your cheeks to thumb away at the tears that collected near your eyes.

diluc's heart wrenched in his throat uncomfortably, knowing well and good that this may be the last tender moment he'll ever share with you.

to that end, he found himself asking, "would you care for a dance?"

the question came out broken and hoarse, just barely under a whisper and lost was the man who once held a burning flame of retribution and tenacious blaze of justice in his eyes. you peered into a pool of tired red, glossed over with a misty haze of sorrow.

wordlessly, you allowed him to guide your hands and let him set the tempo as you moved carefully to avoid the debris scattered at your feet.

you'd always joke that he was much like a prince when he danced; so elegant and refined with the composure of royalty itself, he spun and dipped you much like a silk ribbon weaving through the air.

this time, however, diluc held you close and swayed to an invisible song. no elegant movements or dips from your prince. now, he was but a man clinging to the last remnants of life in his soul; the only thing tethering him to this world.

your hearts wildly pounded against each other's chests, horribly out of sync yet still so tremendously close that you'd fuse together if you could.

as the sun rose and illuminated his once beloved city, home to the people he loved, diluc leaned in and captured your lips one last time in a kiss that touched your soul and wrapped your heart in a blazing warmth of flame.

his hand wrapped so tightly around your waist and held itself firm at the back of your head, desperate to drink every last drop of your love and desperate to not let your eyes open and see that the abyssal army had breached what was left of mondstat's defenses.

diluc loved, and loved, and he loved you more than life itself. but in the end his love was never enough.

(continued utc!)

once, at the tender age of five or six, kaeya alberich witnessed death for the first time.

he'd grown fond of the butterflies that fluttered near the crystal clear lake behind dawn winery. their vibrant colors were foreign and new and his childhood intrigue urged him to watch with glowing eyes at each flap of its multicolored wings.

it was on one of these days where he found himself in the presence of the gleaming scythe of death itself when a colossal frog leapt from the waters and captured a butterfly within its maw.

he'd never felt such fear, and he convinced himself he'd never feel that fear again.

he now realized he was wrong.

he felt it again when diluc screamed, a horrifying sound, for his fallen father and kaeya did not know how to handle the immensive wave of relief that flooded over him. he felt it when a fiery blade swung itself down against his eye and believed his punishment was nigh. he felt it now, as mondstat burned to the ground and the corpses of citizens, knights, and abyssal monsters alike littered the once love-filled, lively streets.

death had always followed him closely like a friend—like a lover, he corrected himself. its arms wrapped around his body and cooed sweet nothings to him. death trotted after him wherever he went.

perhaps he should've gave into its embrace. maybe if he had, death wouldn't have found a lover in his home and snuffed the life and vivacity out of every mondstatian and every building within the city's walls. death would not have sunk its claws into jean, who took the abyssal army's leader with her when she pounded at the gates of celestia. or lisa and albedo, who fought at the western front for days on end only to succumb to the overwhelming onslaught of enemies with not enough manpower. what a shame, kaeya thought; he was rather looking forward to his daily midnight tea session with lisa and bothering albedo during his experiments. in some other universe, he is there and he is happy.

he loathed to think of it, but death had latched its talons into the flesh of little klee. a child was no exception to this hoard of monsters, but was the monster not truly him for failing them all? he wondered as he held her cold body close and wept.

death had always followed him but kaeya came to the conclusion that he was the one who truly wielded death. where he went, bodies dropped and lives fell into ruin. his prime example: his brother, who now lay at his feet with a sword through his back. a sword through his back, he seethed, because his attackers were so cowardly that they knew this uncrowned king would not go down so easy. it filled kaeya with an ugly rage that blotted out the tears in his eye. his shirt remained caked in diluc's blood from when the man brought him into a hug as he dangled at death's edge and whispered apology after apology into his ear.

always caught between the worlds of the blessed and the sinned, kaeya believed that he had grown quick enough to outmaneuver fate itself. but death remained steadfast and tenacious.

death was his lover and he was doomed to dance an everlasting tango so long as he lived. if not for him, the imposter in an aviary full of beautiful, golden-winged seabirds, perhaps the abyssal army would have left mondstat alone. jean would be here, ready to give him an earful for getting carried away with all the scars littering his body. albedo would chide him as he dressed his wounds while klee went on about another dodoco story while her little legs swung back and forth in the air. lisa would hand him a cup of tea and enjoy his company in silence. diluc...oh diluc, all the things he wished to tell his brother.

the only problem in his death theory was you.

you were still here.

you held him close as he wept for his beloved friends, for the little girl who always called him big brother, and for his beloved most treasured big brother whose fiery hair blazed no more.

how were you still here? was death not his lover? did he not bring death and sorrow wherever he went?

but if anything you were life. in your hands he renewed himself again, much like a butterfly unfurling its wings after cocooning for so long. warm smiles and fluttering kisses always greeted him after a long day's work. even now, as you wept beside him for your fallen friends, you remained his last thread of life keeping him tethered to this world.

"everyone's dead." you whispered from the crook of his neck as you both sat on the dust covered ground where the statue of barbatos once stood, mighty and proud.

"i'm sorry." he pleaded in return.

you shot your head up, bewildered and...offended.

"it's not- it's not your fault!"

kaeya laughed dryly, "oh, darling, you know it is."

death was his lover and he was succumbing to it. death was his lover and he drank in each of its poisonous kisses and sneaky touches.

you wasted no time in bringing him close, effectively delaying off death for a while longer. "it. is. not. your. fault."

"they'd be elsewhere if not for me-"

"mondstat would have fallen a lot quicker without you, kaeya," you interrupted, "you are no harbinger or vessel of death. you protected this city and its people with your life."

how did you always know what to say? perhaps you were an archon—that would be funny, wouldn't it? a sinner and an archon in love. kaeya wanted to laugh at the thought of it but all that left his lips was a broken whine that slid into a muffled sob. you were there to catch him as he fell into the overwhelming onslaught of sorrow that flickered around him much like the distant flames of burning houses and crinkle of crackling wood and stone.

"it should have been me." he croaked.

you shook your head and swept away the locks that clung to his sweaty forehead. "if it were ever you, i would go as well."

his heart ached in the cavity of his chest, eager to run away from this all. but he lay tired in your arms as you peppered kisses to his skin. even as you sunk to the ground on your side and gathered him in your arms, all he felt was the overwhelming tide wash over him.

death was not his lover, you were. and you were life. he loved living with you and with his beloved friends and comrades.

he lay beside you and kissed every inch of your face, covering you in his love. he cared not for the distant roar of abyssal mages and monsters anymore, not when he held life itself within his arms. life who kissed him back with just as much love and sweet tenderness that set his heart alight.

on this day, two butterflies sat perched on a perfect calla lily, waiting for the inevitable end of a frog's maw; their hearts and souls forever intertwined.

childe can't remember many of his dreams, but there is one he's clung onto for years.

he is in a soft bank of snow, surrounded by his darling siblings and cherished parents. his father does not look at him as if he's seen a beast dredged up from the darkest of nightmares. the world around him is pure and crafted of childhood dreams: there is no evil and there is no heart ache.

you are there and you are smiling at him, waiting for him with open arms.

this has remained but a mere dream of his for a reason.

in reality, there was only the cold, concrete ground of the fatui jail cell and dry, underground air that left him suffocating. slivers of eerie, ghostly blue light trickled in from the false candles that lined the underground jail. the rust-caked iron bars bathed reluctantly in the ghastly glow.

his eyes flickered up to the ceiling, hoping to make out shapes or cracks within the foundation. just give me some hope, archons if you're listening—please! but the gods stayed silent and the ceiling remained unchanged.

his vision and delusion had been stripped, weapons all but ripped from his hands. there was no hope left. childe let his gaze wander to you.

you lay in the cell across, face down, unconscious after taking the butt of a fatui gun to the nape. how cruel—to involve the lover of a scorned harbinger. for the god of love the tsaritsa was awfully sadistic. no matter how much he struggled and screamed that you should not bear the burden of his crimes it did nothing but urge the fatui to get their hands on you even more urgently.

childe wishes that he had accepted reality—wishes that he had never tried to desert from the fatui. steal away under the cover of night with you in hooded cloaks and cross the snezhnayan border for a life free of misery and a life where it'd be you and him together.

as much as the fatui have given him power, you have given him strength and courage and hope and love. there was no place for childe among the fatui, not when he wanted his place to be by your side. to feel your love each and every day and wake up to your smile.

you stirred from your cell, snapping childe from his thoughts. his hands snatched themselves at the bars, eyes blown wide and searching for signs that you were okay.

"hmmn...childe? where...where are we?"

his heart ached tremendously and beat against the skin of his throat.

"jail." he whispered.

"what?! but...but we were just about to cross the border when-"

"when we were caught by pulcinella's men," childe finished, "and brought here. i've been charged with desertion and my punishment is at sunrise."

childe hated seeing you feel anything but happiness—anything but love and the sunshine of emotions that you deserved to experience. he failed you when tears gathered in your eyes.

"but the punishment for desertion..."

childe smiled with eyes that swam in a sea of sorrow, "execution." he finished.

you lifted yourself up onto your forearms and dragged your semi-awake body to the edge of the jail cell. between each cell lay a narrow path, where you desperately reached your hand out to the other side. the tears that had gathered in your eyes streaked their way down in hazes across your cheeks as you suppressed your sobs and whines. your fingers shook with everything within you as you stretched and reached out to him, this beautiful, golden man whose wings would be clipped at sunrise.

childe scrambled to shove his hand past the bars and reach your hand. he only managed to grab onto the tips of your fingers but it was enough for him. you were in his grasp, it was enough for him.

he was thankful his family would not have to bear the brunt of his desertion, he should really thank mister zhongli for sneaking them out of the country into liyue. he regrets not having you go along with his family, but you insisted on going with him. it's his fault you were in jail.

reality was far too cruel.

"you'll escape, right? you've always got a plan." you pleaded between heaving breaths.

childe weakly laughed from an ugly, hopeless place.

he wished to make all your dreams come true, protect all your wishes and hold your smiles and laughter close like a warm trinket tied around his neck. anything but this ceaseless crying and sorrow that he felt slither from your heart through your arm and into your connected hands.

"come now, no tears, sunshine. you know i'll be okay, i'll figure something out." childe cooed, though he knew better. oh, lord, these lies would swallow him whole, but it is fated.

"do you promise?" you whispered brokenly.

his heart screamed at him not to do it, conscience pounding at the doors of self control in his mind. but childe was a protector of dreams and happiness.

a lean, scar riddled pinky looped in your own, holding tight to the invisible promise that linked the two of you. "i'll keep it all my life."

"if you break it i'll throw you on the ice myself."

the warbled smile on your face was enough. your watery eyes and tender touch gave him light that was not reminiscent of death like the flickering blue candles that lined the jail.

"of course. i'll owe you a duel as well. do you think you'll best me this time?"

you scoffed and tugged on his fingers, "of course i will, so you have to stay alive for me to beat you."

"well, i can't ignore orders from the top now can i?" he joked and reveled in the muted laugh that bubbled past your lips.

even in the bleakest of moments you gave him hope, like a light shining in a sea of never ending darkness.

"you'll always have me, no matter where i am. i promise you i won't let them hurt you." he whispered, and unlike that last promise, he meant it.

you held his hand until the guards came and even as you screamed and pleaded and cried with all your heart for him to stay, there was some morbid part of childe that was glad he got to hold your hand for the last time. he called out his declarations of love one last time as he fought against the grip of the guards and shoved his hands through your jailcell bars to cup to face and swipe away your tears. agony coursed through his veins as the guards ripped him from your grip and your fingers slipped through his hands like the sands of an hourglass. the last picture of your face would be one of horror and tear-stricken as the guards dragged him off. he whispered your name and as it rolled off his tongue it left in its wake a taste of sunshine and mirth.

i love you, more than anything in this world. more than power and glory and all the temptations of this world. you are my dream.

as he kneeled before the tsaritsa in handcuffs and chains nailed to the floor with her hand raised to deal the strike of death upon him, he smiled once more at the dream he cherished.

he is safe, and warm, and everyone he loves knows no sorrow.

though he promised to protect that dream, he knows his tongue will freeze over so that he may never spew lies again.

for as long as he's lived, xiao has prepared himself extensively for only a single thing: his death.

it wasn't a matter of sorting out the wares and material items he didn't own—such things weren't of importance to an adeptus like himself. rather, it was the acceptance of death itself. he was no stranger to this cloaked figure of fear that knocked on its hosts doors or barged in uninvited. blood covered his hands, dripped down the slope of his jaw and pooled at his feet. death invaded every crevice of his life much like a persistent parasite that sought to drive him to the brink of madness and back again. but it was familiar and offered a morbid sense of comfort.

as far as he could ever consider, xiao had waited for death for as long as he'd known the stars to dot the sky.

those same stars flickered down back at him, almost pitifully, as the ground shook with tremors that made the grass come alive and dance a morbid waltz of terror. crimson smoke painted the sky and blotted out the overhead glow of the stars. screams cried out in the distance and clashed with the sounds of blades and battle cries and war horns to produce a macabre melody that twisted a knot in his stomach.

fading bodies of monsters lay at his feet, numbers in the dozens. his breath caught in his throat, desperate to retreat yet needing to escape. he clenched his blood-bathed spear, fingers curling taut around the metal to cling to the last shred of hope he could muster.

his eyes flickered up to you, who mimicked his breathless, tired disposition as a mitachurl fell at your feet. your weapon clattered to the ground, your knees following shortly after.

xiao raced to your side in a blip, quick to grip your forearms before you could hit the ground. his polearm laid abandoned where he once stood, now its final resting place. his arms were now full of you and eyes clouded in worry. exhaustion crept its way onto your face and it was then he knew: hope was all lost.

the abyssal armies and undead, ancient gods raged onwards in the distance, they harrowing sounds a mere whisper in comparison to the loud thundering beat of your heart against his body.

reluctant as he was to touch you for fear of his karmic debt, xiao found himself hesitant to let go. for you to slip through his fingers and the fear of never allowing his fingers to trace the slopes and edges of your face invaded him like an intruder. your arms reciprocated and slid around his shoulders as a silent plea. this madness would never end, let's stop. you seemed to cry out.

perhaps this was the very moment he'd been preparing what felt like eons for. death crept its way around the corner, leaving war and destruction in its wake and its march to sink its fangs into both him and you was inevitable.

his knees buckled as you both sank to the grassy bed, bodies and limbs entangled and intertwined in a connection that seemed impossible to sever. as much as his conscience begged him to move and enact his long written duty, his body cried out a different tune, his heart a different dance altogether.

you shifted his body and laid his head on your lap, bracing yourself on a palm as your other hand worked to move the sticky strands of lush, forest-green locks from his sweat-covered forehead.

"rest, you've done well." you murmured with a gentleness in your eyes that made his stomach swim up to his throat and choked him ever so sweetly.

had he done enough? war raged on, lives devoured by the endless deluge of monsters and evil beings that sought death. his most reliable companion, death, would soon march up to his door and barge in with a demand for his head.

all the while, xiao believed that he was ready to embrace death. he pictured it perfectly: he'd meet his end in the midst of battle and his death would contribute towards a greater good. some would garner a chance to escape while the monsters gorged themselves on his death and feasted on his powers.

now, however, an unsettling sense of dread settled in his chest. the world around him burned and crashed and yet you remained intact, gently stroking his hair and humming a sweet song that you'd often coo to the birds on the railings of wangshu inn (and he loathed to look west and see the silhouette of a once towering, proud inn now toppled to the ground).

had he not readied himself for the one, singular thing that has been constant in his life? had he not witnessed enough to resolve the conflict that was life or death?

as he listened to the melody that fell from your lips with the world around him blotted out to nothing but you and him, he realized a truly frightening thing: he was not ready yet. death could not guarantee that you would be there to sit silently beside him on cool, summer nights and fold butterflies out of leaves or go crystalfly watching in the early mornings of spring. death would not ensure that he felt an uncomfortable yet welcoming warmth in his stomach when your eyes met his and a smile bloomed on your face (and though he'd never know how he should respond, you always seemed to somehow know how he felt).

he was not ready to be without you. a dreadful realization. he had failed at preparing himself for the one thing he knew was inevitable. but in this moment, as the world caved in and crumbled around you, he felt peace. his worn body lay tired and supplicant in your arms. once a weapon, now he found himself rusted and worn beyond repair left with only this beautiful longing in his heart to be filled with all of you. his eyes fluttered up to your visage and behind your kind eyes and warbling smile, the stars glimmered back down at him.

in these final moments, xiao wished to be nowhere else. with a heart so full of love, its wings unfurling and stretching high towards the sky where it'd soar on forever in an unmarked destination.

date published: january 30th, 2023

[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!)✨

[tenderleavesbob]

This is connected to this specific fanfiction featuring angsty UniWars. I'm unsure if there will be any others to this. Please enjoy!

The mailman dropped off the letter in a rush. He said the gates would close permanently soon and he needed to finish up to return home. He bolted away before Zelda could ask him any questions.

If the portals were closing, that meant the heroes' quest was completed. Zelda looked at the envelope in her hands with Queen Zelda written in an unfamiliar hand. The court had grown quiet. General Impa stepped closer.

Lana had arrived that morning with a strained smile and a pathetic excuse. Zelda now regretted not pushing for answers. She had just been happy to see Lana again.

Her hands were steady but her heart trembled in her breast as she opened the letter. Zelda already knew what the letter was going to say, but each word still cut through her.

Link wasn't going to come home.

The enemy was defeated. The timeline was safe again.

Link was never coming home.

"My queen," Impa whispered.

Zelda stared at the words as they danced on the page. At the bottom of the page, Mask had written his name without any flourish. An apology and a good-bye.

Link was gone.

She heard Impa bark orders to clear the room. Zelda heard quiet footsteps and then there was only Impa, Lana, and herself in the room. Zelda crumpled the letter with its damning words in her hand.

"Did you know?" she asked quietly, looking at Lana. Lana flinched and hunched on herself.

"Yes," Lana said.

"And you did nothing to stop it?" Zelda didn't cry. She wasn't sure if she could. "Despite your supposed love for him?"

Lana shrank backward. Impa tensed but didn't say anything. Everyone knew of Cia's obsession for Link, but few commented on how Lana had been a part of her. Lana's feelings remained unspoken, but Zelda never forgot and she knew that certain others didn't, either.

"The timeline had been splintered." Lana's voice shook. Zelda didn't care. It felt like she was holding a handful of blades instead of paper. "Cia's war united the multiple timelines. If I did anything to save Link, the timeline would have broken again."

Zelda stared at her. Her eyes felt painfully dry. "And there was no way to save him? All of your power, and you couldn't even try?"

Her tongue felt like another blade in her mouth. It had been years since Zelda had fought on the battlefield instead of in the court, but she still regularly practiced with her sword. She would be more than happy to practice her skills on Lana now.

Lana licked her lips. She looked at Impa, as if for support, but whatever she saw made her flinch again. "His fate was determined long ago," Lana managed. "But --"

"But?" Zelda's voice was cold. She felt cold.

She was never going to see Link again. The last time she had seen him, he had been so happy to reunite with Mask and Tune. He had been laughing. It was rare to see him laugh like that.

"I can take you to see him now."

It took little time under Zelda's and Impa's sharp commands, but it felt like it took forever to saddle up and head toward the forest. It was growing late but Zelda pushed them forward. By the time they passed through the caves and made it to the forest's edge, the sun was long gone and the moon was high in the sky.

It was a full moon. During the war, Zelda had watched Link sit with Mask during many full moons. She never asked them what they had talked about. She wished she had thought to ask.

Lana stopped them at the forest's edge. Grief twisted her face and her mouth trembled like she was near tears. Zelda didn't care. Sitting tall on her horse, Zelda glared at her. "Where is he?"

"There," Lana said. She pointed toward the trees. Zelda scowled and followed her finger.

Even in the darkness of the night with the shadows of the forest, the unicorn seemed to glow as it stepped away from the trees. It didn't move far from the protection of the forest. It seemed to look in their direction, the moonlight reflecting on its horn and pale coat.

"No," Zelda whispered. She had seen that unicorn during the war. Only once but she couldn't mistake its marks. She remembered how devastated Link had been by the sight of the unicorn, but she could never get him to talk about it. She never saw it again, and it had been pushed to the back of her head. Now she could only remember certain statues in the temple and certain stories of previous heroes.

"All of the heroes had an alternate form," Lana confirmed, tears in her voice. "The heroes of Twilight and Time were wolves. Certain magics would bring out their form. In death, it would become their spirit form."

The unicorn snorted and tossed its mane. The moonlight bleached it but Zelda remembered how it had shone golden. Just like Link's.

"This was Link's," Lana finished.

Now at last Zelda began to shake. She slid off her horse and started walking toward the unicorn. She stopped when the unicorn huffed and took a step back toward the forest.

"Link," she called and extended her hand.

Zelda didn't know what she expected. For Link to run to her? For Link to transform and stand as himself before her? For all of this to just be a horrid dream?

She didn't expect the unicorn and whinny. Zelda didn't expect Link to turn away and run back into the shadows of the forest. She gasped. and jerked forward. "Link!"

Lana moved in front of her. Tears streamed down her face and she looked old for the first time. "He's been dead for centuries, Your Majesty," Lana said. "He's gone."

Zelda stared at the forest. It was like the unicorn had never been there in the first place. Her hand was still extended uselessly in the air.

All those years ago, during the war, it had been Link's spirit standing before them, haunting Link even as he lived. A symbol of his own death. Had Link ever known? Had he suspected?

Now Zelda broke. She buried her face in her hands. She heard Impa whispering to her but she didn't care.

Link was gone. He had been doomed all this time, and Zelda couldn't do a single thing about it.

Link was lost to her.

Zelda wept.

[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."

[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!

[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.

[a-little-unsteddie]

i’m just thinking things that hurt me so i’ma hurt you all with them to (/pos?) (lowkey 2nd pov?)

post-s4 au from Eddie’s pov, except something is off. you don’t notice it right away, watching as the party and eddie continue with their plans post-vecna, see him help the party defeat the son-of-a-bitch and steve yells ‘this is for eddie you asshole!’ while the others are also yelling similar things, ‘this is for chrissy!’, and ‘this is for barb!’, and ‘this is for billy!’ to name a few

so it’s weird, that as eddie is shouting ‘chrissy’, steve is shouting ‘eddie’ and the detail just sets you off, because eddie is right there, which you think is odd but eddie did lose a lot in the original battle, it took him a long time to heal fro- well no it didn’t? eddie has been right there all along with them? you go back and reread because surely eddie isn’t— eddie is even there for the saved-the-world party they had. but now you see eddie is just, observing. he’s not interacting, he’s not engaging anyone, just watching. and the world continues to move on.

they don’t acknowledge eddie, and so eddie decides to follow steve until the man says something because surely he would then, but no. all eddie comes to realize is that steve is also moving on, but still holding on so dearly to eddie. he gets a girlfriend, typical, then a boyfriend, intriguing, but all throughout steve still wakes some nights, throat raw from screaming for eddie. he sees some partners help steve, some ridicule him and leave. eddie sees steve still make routine check ups with everyone, eddie… eddie included, but steve only lingers on the line long enough to hear the munson trailer’s old voicemail, and then hang up.

by this point you know eddie is dead, and eddie knows he’s dead, and seeing a partner help steve through each and every time he has a nightmare is enough for eddie to break down because he wants that, he wants to be the person who comforts steve after a nightmare, which is painful because eddie knows he never could have that, and he also knows that he never even had the chance to have it because he died, he died, and he would never know what it was like to be truly loved by steve harrington but now he knows that if he had survived, lived, then he could have had this and he mourns for a relationship never had been, but could have been

eddie mourning a life never lived.

[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.

[ex0rin]

Whumpcember 2022: Day 5

@whumpcember Day 5: "I hate you" winterbones adjacent - 400 Words Bucky Barnes, Brock Rumlow hurt no comfort, major character death, pet names (always), The Gun (briefly)

Bucky can feel the warmth of the blood pooling under his shaking fingers, his palm pressed down over the bullet wound to try and stop the bleeding - he knows it’s path, mentally mapped it out before even confronting his old handler to make sure it would carve through multiple organs and leave him bleeding out with no chance of surviving it somehow –

Again.

He’d watched him go down with the shot, Rumlow’s weapon not even pulled fully from its holster at his side, too comfortable to ever consider his soldier, his pet, his fucktoy a threat and maybe he'd still been a little right about that because Bucky hadn’t even needed to make the conscious decision to run over - catching him before he’d had time to hit the ground. 

“Really meant it this time, huh sweetheart,” Rumlow says, voice barely anything more than a whisper followed by a rough sounding cough from where Bucky’s got him held in his lap - something wet and gasping as more and more blood seeps from between Bucky’s knuckles with every word, “with my own gun and everything.” 

The left corner of Rumlow’s mouth is curved up into a small smile, despite the pain and the way he winces through his body seizing up and it’s been Bucky’s gun for so long now that he hadn’t realized what he’d used to have them both end up here.  

“I didn’t,” Bucky starts, ignoring the telltale noise of a sob in his throat and the feel of tears beading up along his eyelashes; he clenches his flesh hand over the wound to try and stop the pour of Rumlow’s blood and struggles through an inhale that tastes like copper and smoke - he wasn’t expecting this to hurt so much, “I hate you,” he tries and it feels like a lie. 

Rumlow lifts his hand, whole arm trembling and Bucky’s breath catches at the way the other man’s fingertips trace over his cheek as though Rumlow’s trying to tuck the long hair that Bucky no longer has behind his ear, “Do you baby?”

He clenches Rumlow’s body closer to him, curling around it when the gentle touch of Rumlow’s fingers fall away - he feels cold all over, shaking and swallowing around the sound of his own pathetic crying as the body in his lap goes still and quiet – 

This was supposed to free him –

But now he’s just even more alone.

[justsmilestuffhappens]

Hey.

I was wondering if you might know a fic that I am looking for.

It's starts with eddie and chris getting into a car accident. There are talks of glitter and a solar project being thrown around. Fast forward some and it is revealed that eddie is severely injured in a coma and chris is *TW* dead. When eddie wakes up he doesn't remember what happened or that chris even existed. He has brain problems. The fic is long and it is about eddie getting better with the help of buck and abuela. And of course the firefam. Towards the end eddie finds an old backpack and he remembers everything. He wanders off and meets up with an older homeless woman with many cats. Also buck and eddie do become buddie somewhat.

I have been looking for this for weeks!

Oh my God! No, I haven't. That sounds so sad, but the car accident part minus the death sounded like a few fics. I can ask around. But the fic might have been deleted or a part of an event where you post WIP, then erase them to let them go with the hope of trying to inspire the writers to finish the story, I think. I'll try looking around but can't promise you anything, Anon, and there's also the @buddiearchive , I think and other search tumblr's who might be better help with finding stuff and getting eyes on this

*update

@comfortbuddie thinks it might be this, if you want to take a look and reply back via anonymous messages if this fits or not, or if you want to come off anon

Here's the link to the author's entire series on that particular fic

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3210234

[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.

[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