#ANCIENT…. this fic.. in my brain EVERYDAY FOR WEEKS

[keyslox]

art based off the fic to the grave (never made a sound) by @theancientcitylibrary d:D

text directly from the fic! credits to ancient!!

guess who finally finished d:j

[egcdeath]

ways to say i love you without saying “i love you”

pairing: steve rogers x reader

summary: you and steve explore love languages

word count: 5.1k

warnings: fluff, a little angst because of miscommunications, reader & steve being idiots, good intentions but terrible delivery, mentions of other characters

author’s note: this fic has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for so long. this fic is like, ancient. this fic was almost destroyed because it was briefly in the library of alexandria. when i reopened the document with this fic, there were mold spores growing on it. (p.s. steve’s love langauge is acts of service, and the reader’s is quality time)

you can find my masterlist and taglist here

Prologue

Steve was a multitasker. You knew this well. Perhaps too well.

That never seemed to bother you before, but if the man who was supposed to be taking a serene nature walk with you checked his goddamn flip phone one more time, you were completely sure that you’d lose it. 

You paused your story about your obnoxious coworkers for a moment, stopping in the middle of the gravelly trail you two were making your way down. 

“Steve, seriously, are you even listening?” you griped, ushering him towards the side of the pavement as a man on a bike flew by. 

He guffawed a bit at this, “of course I am. You just said something about…” he paused, and you gestured with your hands for him to continue. “Okay, sorry,” the blush on his face was becoming more and more apparent.

You involuntarily scoffed, rolling your eyes as you did so, “I’m glad to know that whatever you’re waiting for on there,” you gestured to his pocket, “is more important than spending quality time with your girlfriend, who, must I remind you, took time off to be here with you.”

“Nothing is more important to me than you, I’m just on call. I’m probably going to get called to go on a mission any moment now.”

“Steve!” you huffed, “you literally just got back, like, two hours ago. Can’t someone else go? Tony? Vision? Anyone?”

“I might’ve volunteered myself-“

“You’re unbelievable, Steve. Are you getting tired of me or something? You’ve been avoiding me like the plague ever since I moved in with you. If I upset you, or you’re gonna propose to me or something, can you just tell me?”

“I promise you it’s not personal at all,” he reached for your hand and gently held it. “Everything’s just been crazy. I mean, these Hydra bases have been popping up left and right. Just give me a little grace, okay? I don’t get upset with you when SHIELD starts making you work those ungodly hours.”

You opened your mouth to debate him, but surely enough, the canny and familiar ringtone of Steve’s work phone interrupted you before you could even begin. 

“Okay… Yeah. I’ll be there in thirty.”

You frowned at Steve as he spoke on the phone and shook your head disapprovingly, “unbelievable,” you muttered, storming in the direction of your home. 

——

Steve was no fool, he knew when he messed up, and he was more than willing to take responsibility for such. Now was one of those times. He knew that he should’ve been making more time for you. He was well aware that he shouldn’t have gotten defensive when you pointed this out. 

He just had no idea how to apologize.

You weren’t exactly making it easy for him either, taking much longer hours in an attempt to avoid him. While he could understand your frustrations, it became a little more difficult everyday for him to properly apologize to you in a way he felt was meaningful.

Eventually figuring to use your avoidance as a tool, Steve devised a plot to make an apology for you so considerate, so superb, that you could never be angry with him again. A plot that included a several course meal, all concocted by himself. 

He could imagine the look on your face as you came home from work, shocked, but the good kind of shock. Pleasantly surprised that your sweet boyfriend had put in such a huge amount of effort to say sorry. 

He couldn’t help but imagine the scenario: you would relax into your seat at the table after Steve pulled out the chair for you, hum in content as he poured your favorite wine. Moan happily at the taste of a homemade and rarely prepared salad dressing, before complimenting the melt-in-your-mouth entree he had spent an unknown amount of time laboring over. Finally, you’d gush over the dessert that Steve hadn’t had the chance to cook in years, tell him that he worked far too hard putting everything together, especially for a little argument. Steve would scoff, tell you you’re being too kind, and you would pull him in for a red wine and dark chocolate flavored kiss. 

The thought of you, your genuine and warm smile after a long day at work, and an even longer week worth of unspoken tension between you both, was enough to keep Steve motivated through the hours he spent preparing your meal.

He greeted you at the door like an excited puppy as soon as he heard your keys jingle. Sure, work had kept you a bit longer than he’d expected, and your food was likely a little cool by now, but he was excited to make amends. 

However, you did not seem to share the same enthusiasm as Steve. 

“Welcome home, gorgeous. Come sit,” Steve nudged you into the dining area, and you sluggishly followed, exhausted from a tiring day of training new agents.

“What’s wrong?” he inquired, pulling out a chair that you didn’t even attempt to sit down on. 

“I had a really long day. I kinda just wanna get to bed,” you shrugged before rubbing your creased temple.

Steve internally cringed at the thought of all of his hard work going to waste. For some reason, he’d not envisioned this less pleasant outcome before. “Sweetheart,” he began in a nearly whiny tone, but you weren’t in much of a mood to be persuaded.

“I’m sorry. Weird things were happening at work that I don’t care to get into now, and honestly, I’m not even that hungry,” you reached out and gave Steve’s hand a little squeeze. “But it all looks and smells so good! I Promise I’ll warm some up tomorrow for lunch.”

“I-,” he paused, “please. Maybe you could just take a few bites of everything. It took me a really long time to get everything prepped and ready.”

You frowned at the plea, feeling a bit guilty but almost… satisfied at the same time. Steve struggled to make time for you because of his work, and now he was getting a little taste of his own medicine. 

“I really am sorry. But hey, now we’re even?” you offered with a playful wink, slipping away before you gave your partner a chance to respond. You truly didn’t have the energy for a four course meal that night, let alone another argument. 

——

Wanda was silent for a moment as she sipped from a mug of coffee, watching you with a suspiciously focused look on her face. 

“Wanda?” you prompted, seemingly snapping her out of whatever trance she had found herself in. 

“Oh my God, I know exactly what you guys need,” she just about blurted, reaching across the café table to grab your hand. 

“Were you reading my mind?”

Your friend didn’t respond, but the devious smirk on her face was enough of an answer. 

“What happened to telling me before reading me?”

“You just looked like there was a lot on your mind. And absolutely no way that you’d tell me,” she shrugged nonchalantly.

“Of course I was gonna tell you! Why else would I ask my friend in a cute relationship to meet me for coffee?”

“Because you like me?”

“No, never that. I just needed advice,” the two of you shared a laugh for a moment.

“Well don’t waste your breath. When Vis and I had a rough patch, we just had to learn each other’s love languages. You’d be surprised just how much that synthezoid values those acts of services.”

“And you?”

“I’m a words of affirmation girl myself,” she shrugged. “You should find out yours, and try to figure out Steve’s. I guarantee it’ll be helpful in the long run. I can send you guys a test, if you want?”

“Oh god no, please don’t tell him that I told you about us. Actually, I didn’t even tell you! You were digging around in my brain, and I don’t appreciate that. Just do me a favor, and don’t share this with anyone, okay?” You paused dramatically, then leaned in to speak to your friend in a whisper, “but send me that test when you get the chance.”

Gift Giving

“A little reality-warping birdie told me you’ve been having some relationship problems,” Tony said teasingly once Bruce left the conference room, leaving him and Steve alone. 

Steve paused for a moment, trying to decide whether he should lie or fess up to the allegation. “How did she know?” Steve finally responded, standing up and pushing the chair he was sitting on behind him. 

Tony shrugged dismissively, “I don’t ask these kinds of things. I just hear in passing that the geriatric is having a hard time and tune in.”

Steve shook his head slightly, rolling his eyes to mask his clear embarrassment. 

“Well, is it true?”

“We’ve just been having the occasional… rift. A little more than occasionally.”

Tony nodded, fake pondering the situation, “well, I always know what I do for Pep, at least after I tell her I’m getting rid of the suit. Go buy her something nice. Really nice, like jewelry, or a purse if she’s into that kind of thing. I would say a car, but I know that Social Security check isn’t getting you too far. You know what? Put it on the company card. My treat.”

Steve wanted to scoff, turn his nose up at the offer like it was a terrible idea, but it really wasn’t. Maybe a material surprise was the way to win you back. He made a soft ‘hmph,’ noise as he mulled it over. “That’s definitely not your worst idea. Thanks,” he gave his teammate a soft smile before collecting himself and heading out of the conference room. 

His first stop after work was some local jeweler. Steve threw on a (not very) inconspicuous outfit before entering the building, where he browsed for a good hour, searching for something that he believed you’d like. After looking at more jewelry than he had ever cared to see in his life, he decided on a necklace with a thin golden chain with a decent sized diamond hanging off of it. It was a little pricier, and you’d be able to tell— but he hoped it would help the gift mean more to you. 

——

When you arrived home late that night, Steve was sitting in the living room waiting for you. It was almost daunting, the sight of him sitting alone on the couch mostly in the dark, only the television illuminating his face. He kind of reminded you of a parent waiting to confront their child who just snuck out, or a concerned friend seconds away from staging an intervention with you. 

Walking past the room, you peeked your head through the doorway, and observed the flat, small box in front of him on the coffee table. 

“Hey, Sweetheart,” he greeted, standing up so he could greet you with a hug and grabbing the little box as he did so.

“Is everything okay?” you probed, speaking into Steve’s shoulder.

“Of course. I just wanted you to know how much I love you, and that I’m sorry for not having as much time for you as I should,” he pulled away before holding the box out for you. 

You hesitantly took the box and opened it, letting out a gasp when you viewed the delicate looking gold necklace. 

You were having mixed emotions, because it was clearly beautiful and you were grateful to the gesture. But you knew that this must’ve been expensive, and that it was so unlike Steve to have done something like this. Your frugal, Great Depression era guy wasn’t exactly the most material. 

“I love it,” you gushed, admiring the jewelry. 

“Can I put it on you?” Steve asked, and received a nod in return.

Steve set the box down on the table and lifted up the necklace, bringing it up to your neck and focusing on clasping it in the back.

“Babe, how much was this?” you blurted, not even being able to filter the words before they left your mouth. 

“Hmm? That doesn’t matter,” he dismissed, then stepped away from you to admire your clavicle. 

“It just feels weird letting you spend so much on me.”

“It’s a gift, though. You’re not supposed to think about those things,” he hummed, pressing a chaste peck to your nose. 

“Steve, I got you a Nespresso for Christmas and you wouldn’t stop complaining about how expensive it was. I love it, I really do. It’s beautiful and I’ll always think of you when I wear it. I just think that maybe we should have the same standards for each other,” you stood up from your seat and sidestepped him. “I need a shower.”

Steve watched you walk off, letting your words simmer in his thoughts.

That was the last time he would take relationship advice from Tony. 

Words of Affirmation

This conclusion probably shouldn’t have taken you this long, but you were almost completely sure that this would be the love language to win Steve back over. You felt bad for some of the occurrences between the two of you lately, with sour exchanges and sweet moments that turned bitter on a whim.

In all honesty, you were concerned that Steve doubted your love for him. And if his love language really was words of affirmation, this would certainly convince him otherwise. 

You sat at your desk the night before Steve departed for a two-week mission, trying to write a nice message for him. You tapped your pen on the stock paper in deep thought as you tried to figure out the best thing to say. 

I’m sorry for arguing so much with you lately. You and everything that you do mean the world to me, even when you get on my nerves. I love you more than anything and that will never change. 

The words looked cramped and unkempt on the little note. Your handwriting got messier as you went. You groaned at it, crumpled the paper, and tossed it in your trash bin. Time to start over again.

I’m sorry for arguing with you. I love you a lot. Can you stop picking up your phone when we’re spending time together?

You groaned at the passive aggressive tone of your message. That certainly wasn’t going to get you anywhere. Straight to the bin it goes.

I love you so much so don’t die on your mission or I’ll be pretty upset. Be safe out there xx.

The tone was even more off now. You needed to think of something that would really make Steve remember you while he was gone. For a second, you considered snapping a nude with a polaroid and attaching it to the letter.

I’m sorry that things have been so bad nasty for us lately. I promise that I love you, despite our ups and downs. Nothing will ever change that. I’ll miss you more than you know while you’re gone. Make sure you call me every day, my love. 

A little cheesy, but you signed off with your name regardless, and contentedly looked at your work. The spacing looked correct, the tone wasn’t harsh, and you knew for a fact that Steve would appreciate it.

You stayed up a little later than normal, waiting for Steve to get home and change out of his ‘work clothes’ so that you could slip the note into his utility belt. 

You folded the note to a small little square and set it beside an granola bar in a pocket you’d assumed he frequently used. Content with your work, you laid back in bed until your partner slipped in bed beside you, and sleepily cuddled into you until you were both unconscious. 

—

Around two weeks had passed since Steve had seen you last, and he had decided to stop by the office and finish up paperwork before coming to see you. It had been radio silence on his end, despite the note in his clothing that clearly requested daily contact. Part of you wondered if Steve had seen it at all.

Steve had just finished signing the documents when he finally noticed it, reaching into a sparsely used part of his belt to have a quick snack. His hand landed on a folded piece of paper, and he cringed as he unfolded it, the letter becoming clearer and clearer as he did so. He wondered just how long the message had been waiting for him. 

He read your sweet words with a frown on his face, the guilt from not opening it sooner overriding the sweet feelings that he would otherwise have. He grabbed his phone and considered texting you, but abandoned that thought altogether. 

“FRIDAY, any idea where Y/N is right now?”

“I was told not to share any information about Ms. L/N, Captain Rogers.”

“Whose orders?” Steve pressed.

“Hers,” the bot quipped back. 

Steve groaned aloud. He was really in for it tonight.

Physical Touch

“Have you tried touching her more?” Thor casually queried. The water that Steve had just consumed nearly flew out of his nose, and his cheeks reddened instantly. 

“Pardon?” he asked, looking away from his friend instantly. 

“I understand that you and Y/N have been having troubles lately. Perhaps she does not feel held by you. Maybe she wants you to show her off in public, to hold her hand, hug her,” he suggested. 

Could Steve even be blamed for going there? He was having a chat with a god of fertility. Who wouldn’t think the same? 

“Stark’s gala tonight. Show the world that she’s yours, and I guarantee that she’ll love every moment of it.”

——

You were confused. Really confused.

The night began with some simple touches, hand holding as you entered the building, a casual arm around your waist as you chatted with donors and politicians you hadn’t seen in months, a playful match of footsie under the table while waiting for food. But it came to a head when Steve had decided to rest his hand on your ass and grope you in the midst of a conversation.

Now, in any other situation, you would welcome this affection. But both you and Steve had never been a fan of PDA, and this was a bit too far. 

As subtle as you could manage, you pushed his hand away, offering him a sour look as you did so. 

“Excuse us,” you told some rich old man in an artificially sweet tone before ushering Steve off to his office for a bit more privacy.

“What was that about?” you questioned, sitting down in the padded chair behind Steve’s desk, and running your fingers over your necklace in a bit of a nervous tick. 

“What do you mean?” he retorted, standing across from you at the desk and setting his hands on top of the clear table.

“Why were you groping me in front of people? That’s really... unlike you. And it made me uncomfortable.”

Steve frowned genuinely, looking down at the table in embarrassment. “I’m really sorry. For making you uncomfortable. It sounds ridiculous but I was just trying something new.”

“Apology accepted, but are you sure? You weren’t like, jealous of those guys or something? You know you’re the only hundred year old I have eyes for,” you set your hands atop of his and squeezed.

Steve chuckled at this, the flush of his cheeks only highlighted more by the laughter, “it’s just that, uh, Thor told me I should try showing you off more. Or something like that.”

“So you groped me in front of our guests? That’s silly. And a little unprofessional,” you glanced over at the cork board on his desk sitting next to his desktop, and amongst the neatly arranged scratched out to-do lists and random reminders, you couldn’t help but notice the creased paper of the note you’d left for his mission. Your chest warmed when your eyes fell upon it. 

“When did you find this thing?” you asked, pointing to the note. 

“I meant to say something, but when I found it, FRIDAY said you didn’t want to talk to me. SO I was going to bring it up when I got home, but you were still working. After that, I kinda… you know-”

“Forgot?” you finished with a hearty laugh, “It’s fine. You’re such a dork. C’mere so I can get my own groping in,” you chided, grinning to yourself when Steve wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace. 

Acts of Service

Steve was quietly folding your laundry in your bedroom when it finally occurred to you, but when it did, it hit like a ton of bricks.

Steve’s love language was acts of service!

Things suddenly began to make sense to you, the way that he initially attempted to apologize by spending hours cooking one meal, how he consistently worked to make your life as comfortable as possible, and his great insistence to do house chores, despite you being more than capable.

Steve set down a stack of folded sweatshirts by your calf, snapping you away from your brief retrospective daze. If that really was the case, and Steve’s love language truly was acts of kindness, you had to come up with some sort of plan to communicate to him just how much you cared about him in a way that he really appreciated.

Luckily for you, you were a quick thinker. Before you even knew it, a week filled with random acts of kindness before he was off on yet another mission was quickly hatched.

——

You were up at the ass-crack of dawn. Really. Steve liked to get up earlier than the sun in order to run, or train, or whatever the hell it was that superheroes did. You were seriously regretting your decision to wake up around the same time as him in order to do some favors for him in the morning. 

By the time Steve was back from his run, his favorite coffee was brewed and cooling, and you were in the laundry room at the dryer, preparing to give Steve a warm towel after his shower.

Despite the three mugs of coffee you’d just downed, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep your eyes open. It didn’t help that your eyelids felt like they weighed fifty pounds each, and the warmth of the dryer next to you was providing you with just enough comfort to drift off.

And drift you did. In fact, half an hour later, you’d missed the frantic calling out for you from your boyfriend as he searched for you around the apartment. 

You finally awoke when he shook your shoulders, his amused voice bringing you back to consciousness. 

“What’s going on here?” Steve grinned, pushing some hair out of your face. 

“Mmm,” you began, “Iwantedtogetawarmtowel,” you slurred sleepily and incoherently.

“Even with super hearing I couldn’t decipher that. Let’s get you a mattress, okay?” Steve hoisted you up like you were nothing, and carried your half asleep body all the way up to your bedroom. 

The next thing you knew, you were buried under your favorite comforter and propped against a mountain of feathery pillows. A gentle forehead kiss and an incomprehensible sentence about calling off of work for you later, you were back in a deep sleep. 

So much for warm towels.

—

You were going to do better this time. That’s what you told yourself as you strolled through the grocery store, the same store that you hadn’t shopped in since moving in with Steve, as he preferred to do the shopping himself.

Equipped with a short paper list and sheer determination to make the trip as short and accurate as possible, you gathered all of the groceries that you believed were necessary— just enough to restock the fridge, and fill some gaps left in the cupboard. 

Your time at the store was indeed brief, as you found yourself in the checkout lane after just twenty minutes (you definitely weren’t going to brag about that to Steve later. Definitely not), and back home with just enough time to unload the groceries, and further prep yourself to go to work. 

You’d honestly forgotten about your trip to the store by the time that you arrived home, up until you found your boyfriend arm deep in your pantry, hellbent on finding… something.

“Can I help you?” you poked with a laugh, coming up beside Steve and peeking over his shoulder.

“I’m just… Did you happen to grab any protein bars while you were at the store?” he asked, pausing his search to look back at you.

“I don’t think so. Why? It’s not like you need any more protein,” you teased, squeezing a bicep to demonstrate your words.

“They’re pretty convenient when I’m out in the field. Don’t worry about it, though. I’ll just swing by the store and grab some before my mission tomorrow. Actually, I should probably go now. Y’know, before I forget,” Steve was already grabbing his car keys from the counter by the time his sentence was finished, leaving you to fight off your disappointment at your minor grocery store failure.

You looked at what you now knew was an insufficiently filled pantry and pinched the bridge of your nose. You had seriously underestimated the ins and outs of shopping for a super soldier. 

Well, third time’s the charm?

—

After this week, you would never complain about waking up early again. You were now up at an absolutely ungodly hour, scrambling eggs, flipping pancakes, and spreading jam on toast for a sleeping, unsuspecting Steve.

You placed the plate on a sturdy wooden tray, poured orange juice and an extra glass of water, and set a nicely folded napkin, along with utensils, next to the items.

You hoped that the scent of bacon wafting up to your bedroom would eventually pull him out of his slumber, and seeing how bacon was the only thing left to finish cooking, you took a little break. 

A round of Candy Crush turned into two, then three, and goddamnit, why can’t you beat this fourth level! You got so wrapped up in your mobile game that you didn’t even notice when the scent from your kitchen became slightly rancid, and when you rushed over to the oven to check on your now extremely burnt bacon, the smoke detector wailed.

You grabbed a kitchen towel and waved your arms like a madwoman near the smoke detector, the shrieking eventually stopping, but not before Steve was halfway down the stairs.

“Y/N, where are you? Is everything okay?” he nearly shouted, racing down the stairs and barreling through the smoky kitchen to find you. When he reached you, he wrapped his arms around your waist and began to pull you out of the kitchen. 

“Steve, relax. Everything is okay. Except those pieces of bacon,” you rubbed your now sweaty palms on your pajama pants before breaking away from him to crack open the kitchen window. 

“Christ, what happened? And why are you up so early?”

“I was trying to make you breakfast in bed,” you admitted, rather embarrassed by the dramatic scene you’d accidentally created. “Sorry,” you muttered.

Steve wrapped his arms around you once more, this time in a reassuring bear hug that left your cheeks pressed to his chest. “Don’t be. I really appreciate this, and everything else you’ve done this week. It’s the thought that counts, right?”

“I guess,” you mumbled into his shirt. 

“Besides, everything else looks delicious. And you tried your best for me while trying something new. I think that’s really sweet of you.”

“Really?” you pried, looking up at him.

“Really,” Steve confirmed.

“Well, I think it would be really sweet of you if you went back to bed and got all cozy so I can take care of you.”

Steve chuckled softly, pressed a little kiss to your nose, then nodded, “yes ma’am.”

Quality Time

Steve had been in a bubbly mood since getting back from his mission, and for no particular reason. It wasn’t like you weren’t happy that your partner was happy, but feeling like you were out of the loop was slightly concerning.

Before you could let your thoughts run too wild, you decided to pop the question during one of your evening walks. 

“Okay Steve, what is going on with you?” you asked, veering to the side of the trail when a biker rode past you. 

“Nothing big. Nothing too important. I’m just out of service for the next three months,” Steve said casually, playing it cool. 

“What?!” you paused, your brows raising and eyes widening in surprise as you searched his face for sincerity. “You’re serious?”

“Serious as a heart attack.”

“Steve!” you gasped happily, nearly roaring out his name in excitement. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I was going to tell you before wining and dining you, but you beat me to it. So…?”

“…So I’m happy to have you back. I may need you to negotiate some time away from work for me in the next few months, then. I don’t wanna miss this preview of stay-at-home-dad-Steve.”

“Hey, don’t push it.”

“Oh, I’m planning on pushing it.” 

Epilogue

The sun was beating down on you, but the soothing breeze that flowed past your checked blanket every so often provided a pleasant antidote to the summer heat.

You’d truly picked the best day for a picnic.

Despite spending a good amount of time with your partner, the last month and a half had truly felt like a whirlwind. You casually started looking for a forever home, found yourselves making plans for an early retirement, and you had a new, sneaking suspicion that a proposal was on the horizon.

In the midst of it all, Steve had suggested that the two of you take a midday tryst at your local park and throw yourselves a little picnic. Of course you obliged, because when your greek god of a boyfriend suggests going on a spur of the moment date, you agree.

You now watched the nearly cloudless sky with pure, unadulterated feelings of content and joy while Steve set a slice of cheese on a cracker, leaning over your body to feed you. As you opened your mouth, Steve paused abruptly at the soft vibration coming from his pocket. 

Steve resumed as if nothing had changed, popping the cracker into your open mouth and letting his phone continue to ring.

“Don’t you wanna get that?” you questioned.

“It can wait,” Steve stated nonchalantly, slipping his phone out of his pocket and pressing decline with absolutely no hesitation before tossing the device to the edge of your blanket.

You didn’t realize how long you’d been waiting to hear those three words.

-------

a/n: this could’ve been solved in like 20 minutes by sitting down and taking a love language quiz together

[i-love-you-all]

Whumptober Day 1: A Little Out of the Ordinary

If you weren’t w me last year, this is my first story for Whumptober 2022! Everyday I’ll be positing a short fanfic relating to the prompts of this event. Most stories will stay as they are, but I’ll also be posting them on AO3 as well, and some of the days that I like might get turned into longer fics (like Memory Lost and Found). Please keep in mind that any potential triggers/warnings will be found right before the story or in the tags!

This is a Viper/Omen story pre VP era when they were both just brilliant scientists.

~2k words Viper/Omen, medical experimentation

There was a silence in the room. Then, a single hand raised up.

Sabine had a million nightmares before today, and this was just one more. When they were dismissed from the meeting, she rushed to Fredrick’s side as they walked down the hall to have a chance to talk to him before the team would rush him at his lab. This would be her one time to talk to him before he had to do whatever it was that this project was attempting. She still didn’t quite understand what they were asking for. Volunteers for what? Radianite as far as they knew it was a trace substance with the potential for high volumes of energy. She heard snippets from Fred that they may have traced its existence on ancient pieces of human history, even if it went undiscovered until just recently. But what was this about integration into the human genome?

“You can’t be serious,” she whispered when she finally got a hold of him by his sleeve and dragged him into her lab. No one had even entered the same room as this substance without all the protective gear they could feasibly put on one person. When the effects were this unknown, Fred just signed up for a death wish.

But this was Fred. He was kind, intelligent, and sometimes too charismatic for his own good. So, of course, he didn’t see the issue.

“Why can’t I be? I’ve worked with this stuff longer than anyone else. I know the most about it. No one else is better trained on radianite than I am.”

She shook her head. “And what if something goes wrong? This is dangerous, you could get hurt, you could—”

“Then it’s good that I have the best doctor looking after me, yes?” He brushed some of her bangs to the side so he could stroke her cheek. “And she just happens to be so stunning and takes my breath away, and—”

“Fred, if I really took your breath away, you wouldn’t be saying all these useless things.”

He laughed despite Sabine’s frown.

“Sabine, I understand the dosages and the risks. I know what we expect to happen, and I know what the margins are. I believe in the project. Will you believe in me?”

There was that charisma that she both loved and hated. It was what drew her to him in the first place. The brilliant scientist trying to tempt the equally brilliant doctor with sweet words was not a trope she was expecting, but it was what she eventually fell for. She looked up at him and his puppy dog eyes and sighed. He held her hands in his and leaned in to press his lips to her cheek.

“Darling, what’s the worst that can happen? I end up in a hospital bed? Having you as my personal nurse for a few weeks? I’ll do my best to be careful. I just need your support.”

Sabine really had no choice but to sigh and nod her head.

“Ok. You can go do this. Just promise me – promise me, that you’ll be safe. You’ll make it out alive.”

“Of course. I know I have to live. As long as I do that, you can fix anything else.”

They shared one last kiss, then he snuck out the back to regroup with the new team on the project.

What’s the worst that can happen? A lot of things. Fred didn’t go back home with her, and even as she tried to sleep on her side of the bed, just in case he came home late, the image of the empty side of her bed prevented her eyes from closing. What was he doing right now? Did they already start the trials? Who authorized something like this? Were they maybe just doing more complicated calculations that he would review with her tomorrow to give her brain something to look through? No, that last one was wishful thinking. Sabine curled up a little tighter around her bedsheets and, eventually, a restless sleep came over her. She was relieved to wake up.

She used to dismiss superstitions. They were often associated with wild theories or personal beliefs, nothing that she had any use for. But today, the very air around his lab was hazy. It was all in her head. She kept repeating that to herself, even if she didn’t believe it. The steps up to his lab felt arduous and she almost turned around a few times. Fred was… Ok. He looked tired, but when she walked through the door, he smiled wide and held his arms out for a hug. Sabine made sure to lock the door before she walked in. His hold around her was comforting as she sat on his lap.

“Long night?”

His voice was muffled from how his head was buried in the crook of her neck. “Not a single minute of sleep.”

She let her fingers run through his soft, fluffy hair. “Should I get you coffee?”

“If you have time this morning.”

She herself had hundreds of tasks to get through today. However, one look at him and she decided she could add one more.

“I’ll be right back.”

The fact that he was up all the time was just the beginning. Even when they went to bed together, she could feel him shifting around all night. During the day, it was like a shadow clung onto him. His smiles were smaller, his words a little quieter. He was still himself, just muted. And she hated it. She watched the man she loved change from the person she recognized, to some ghost that did all the things she remembered Fred doing, but with none of the gusto of a man who loved his life. But she wasn’t about to tell him otherwise because Fred would let her know when he’s had enough of this project. So, until he said so, she kept quiet.

One night, as he crawled into bed with him, he wrapped himself around her, tighter than he ever had before.

“Everything ok?” She managed to whisper.

“I can start to feel the side effects.” The whisper was strained, almost like it was said through gritted teeth. “It’s starting to hurt. Like it’s pulling me apart.”

“Do… Do you think you should request to stop?”

“No, no... I’m so close to the end, Sabine.” He was speaking through his teeth, afraid of what horrible sound of pain would escape his lips if he relaxed even a little. “Just a little longer, I promise. Then everything will slowly go back to normal.”

It’s funny how things slowly get back to normal but quickly fall apart.

It happened when she was pouring over the latest medical papers in her lab. A new experimental super antibiotic with promise going through mouse trials. Genetic modification that augmented DNA in primate trials. A new effect observed in workers at Radianite factories. That one caught her eye. An observational study that concluded that there was a higher percentage of mania amongst workers at a Radianite factory than the general population. They felt like they were being ripped apart, despite no physiological abnormalities. These people spent years working at the factory before the symptoms began. Fred went from normal to the exact same symptoms listed here in two weeks. The consequences of such a drastic change did not settle easily in her mind.

Just as she reached for her phone, the lights flickered and went out. As she turned on the flashlight she saw shadows, not of her desk or herself, but long, claw-like shadows that dispersed to reveal a face. A face she hoped to be a stranger. And yet in that look, she saw love.

It was just moments later when she burst through the double doors into the Radianite lab in a panic. Her hair was a mess, and she was out of breath, doubled over trying to recompose herself.

There were a dozen guards in there, all with their guns raised at something in the middle. She had to blink her eyes hard because her eyes couldn’t see clearly in the dim thrumming of the emergency lights. They made it hard to make out the shape of whatever was just standing at the end of all those guns. A living shadow she eventually figured out. It looked like a man, but there was no visible shape. Formless, but just for a moment because she saw it form one. It looked around at everyone and seemed to try and copy them. That was when they noticed her as well.

“Doctor, you shouldn’t be here.” It was the captain of the guard here. They talked on occasion. He liked to listen to her explain the newest medical news and she liked an audience. It helped her straighten out her thoughts. Fred was jealous on occasion, and he always made sure to dote on her with what little time he had to make up for it, even if he knew that she would have eyes for no one else. He didn’t like the fact that he wasn’t there enough, despite all the pressures of their jobs.

He cleared a patch for her, but she could only stand there and stare at the one in the middle. The more she looked, the worse she felt. Because where was Fred in all of this? Even amongst all the scientists she passed, there was no lovely face lighting up as she passed. There were no golden-brown eyes that reminded her of afternoon sunlight dappled across his face. And she was smart enough to deduce her worst fear.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

She heard the crackling words from a speaker somewhere above her. Grief, horror, whatever it was welling up in her unleashed itself in an inhuman sound screaming a single name. Fred.

“What did you do to him?” Her voice was quiet, a contrast to the inhuman noise she had just made. No one had seen Dr. Callas like this before. But no one, not even the captain moved close to her again. Her words dripped with too much venom. Her green eyes darted around, looking for someone to blame, someone to accuse. It burned at any who dared look at her directly.

There was no answer. And she knew that when this was all… cleaned up, this would be written off as an unforeseen consequence. An accident. An adverse effect. She saw it in the medical reports of other experiments. It would be the same here. A single tear rolled down her cheek. The guards around her backed off. Was the one tear that powerful? Did it properly convey her despair? Then she looked up and saw what other people were backing up from.

The creature – no… this was Fred. He walked up to her, and she reached up for him. He flinched at first, then let her fingers pass through him. There was nothing to hold, nothing to squeeze. No way to make him understand how much she needed him now. In turn, as she watched her fingers pass through his biceps, his chest, he tried to hold her cheek and use his thumb to wipe the tear away. She could feel the slightest stirring of the air against her face. If she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to imagine the man, not the shadow, she could almost smell his cologne.

“Who are you?”

Her eyes flew open again. Her hand reached for his and once again passed straight though. But she had no answer. Still, he waited.

“Fred. Is that my name?”

She was frozen, just staring into the wisps of blue fire. Where did his eyes go? His smile? That charisma?

The silence was getting heavier.

Eventually, she gave a shaky laugh. “No… Fred was someone else. I don’t know you.”

[anakinspraisekink]

rules: tag a few people you want to know better; make a new post, don’t reblog!

thank you for tagging me @binaryeclipse !! 💖

currently reading: book five of The Wheel of Time, I have a long way to go lolll, but I think the last time I did one of these I was on the second, so! Progress!

last song: Surface Pressure from Encanto, all day everyday baby

last movie: it's been a few weeks actually, but uhh maybe it was The Gladiator?? I had just gone to a Pompeii exhibit so the ancient Rome vibes

last series: currently watching Moon Knight!! I was an ancient Egypt kid and also I love Oscar Isaac <3

sweet, spicy, or savory: I have a sweet tooth all the way and a horrible spice tolerance

coffee or tea: hypothetically tea because I like the idea of drinking it and I sure buy a lot of boxes because they look so cute and intriguing at the store but I just....don't like drinking things lol

three ships: here are three I've currently been liking and have been reading fics for! 1) Kallus and Zeb from Rebels because I just finished the show for the first time a few weeks ago and this was a pairing that totally surprised me but in a very good way. 2) Batman and Catwoman!! My bisexual dream, especially 2022 version 😌 3) BLACKBEARD AND STEDE BONNET, they have completely enraptured me and my heart hurts just thinking about them

first ever ship: oh MAN idk, maybe hinny?? Or dramione haha, but the first fic I wrote was for ships in the 5sos fandom 😳 (I believe I was a muke and cashton gal?? But I can't quite remember now)

currently working on: I just finished the newest chapter of A Touch of One-shots!!

favorite piece of clothing: I got this 70s inspired dress from Hottopic that was from the Solo line when the movie came out, and it's just so cute and comfy and still really flattering, while giving off a star wars feel in a subtle way. But more realistically, my grogu pj pants. And also this long pink tulle skirt I found at the thrift store that a literal princess would wear.

comfort food: 10000% mac and cheese, except gluten and dairy free because I can't eat much of that anymore rip (but it's still good!!)

favorite time of year: early fall and late spring ✨

fav fanfiction: okay I have so so so many favorites and a ton that have been embedded into my brain over the years, but the one that comes to mind is one called Text Talk, which is a wolfstar texting au, but something about it just is really special to me?? When I first read it I was Going Through Stuff, and it honestly really made me actually happy when nothing else did, so it means a lot <3

no pressure tagging: no idea who's been already tagged, but! @maragny @tomicaleto @maeve-on-mustafar @lorireadsstuff @lowkeyanakin @stanakin96 @nixie-deangel

[onelastbreath-writes]

I’ll Meet You There (Part 3)

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/ Wife!Reader (AFAB, no y/n) 

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Talks about loss of spouse, loss of child, medical conditions/inaccuracies, grief/mourning, manipulation/brainwashing (subtext/implied, but we’ll get into it later *winkwink*)

Tags: Hurt/No comfort (for now), ANGST, eventual happy ending, one really sad man for whom I just keep making things worse, #sorrynotsorry, and now I’m just making stuff up as I go along

Summary(lite): You are Marcus’s wife, and you’re definitely not dead. No one is having a great time right now, but like hell if there's a force on this earth that’ll keep you apart forever. This is not a goodbye, its just a see you later. And the interim is going to be everyone else’s problem, you’ll make sure of it.

A/N: Hello dears, welcome back to my twisted mind story,,, guess who showed up like 2 weeks late with a smoothie! So things about this new chapter: I am a criminal with italics and someone needs to stop me, hello switching scenes and perspectives because I just want to fast forward to the good stuff but y’all don’t live in my head and don’t know all the stuff that happens to get us there so here we are taking the slow lane, and I keep brainstorming new and horrible things for my characters because I am A Lot, All The Time, and will not be stopped. Also hey, Marcus the Simp is here for you, so much. I hope this is acceptable to be a reader fic still, because I am giving you some serious personality traits... ehh, it is what it is. Tell me if you spot any of my various references, there’s a lot of ‘em. Thanks to everyone who has liked/reblogged/commented, y’all are gorgeous and I’m so grateful for the love <3 Drop me a message/ask if you want a secret about one of the characters (specify which one), I need an outlet for my endless b.t.s. plotting >;) Please enjoy p3!

AO3|Masterlist

[Previous Part]

---

There were more casseroles in his fridge that Marcus knew what to do with, and more sympathy and “thinking of you” cards stacked in piles around the house than he could count. He appreciated everyone’s gestures, but he could recognize the difference between people who were kind in the interest of helping others, and those who were kind only to help themselves. It was quite obvious which type were flooding his mailbox.

Hell, most of the people sending him cards, his fans, didn’t even know his wife, never spoke to her, didn’t feel the empty Her-shaped-space in their very souls. They just wanted the clout, the prestige, of being ‘involved’ and sympathetic to a grieving superhero. It was exhausting, but no one seemed to empathize with him on that.

The Heroics upper management, and the director specifically after his press conference and the publicity the attack had brought the organization, had insisted on Marcus taking an undetermined amount of leave from the team so he could “process and mourn his loss in the comfort of his own home.” Like he didn’t look around and see every piece of himself and his wife over the years; the Home they built for their family, filled with all the hopes and dreams of two starry eyed lovers ready to take on the world together. Like her absence wasn’t slowly killing him. 

And it wasn’t like she was gone gone.  

Dead.  

She wasn’t dead.

No way in Hell.  

Whether it was because she worked with superpowered people, her experience as a medical professional, or if she was just more paranoid than most, his wife was a planner, and she was prepared for this. “In the event of my death...," like she just knew it would be necessary.

Truthfully, she had schemes and contingencies and all manner of reactionary plans prepared for if (and when) the worst happened; terrified to be blindsided or caught unaware, unable to help those she would have been able to, if only if she had the time to think. Unpreparedness costs lives in both of their careers, and she refused to leave anything up to chance if possible. And so, she’d plan, and he’d listen.  

All throughout their relationship, from before they’d even gotten serious enough to discuss marriage, to when they heard their unborn child’s heartbeat for the first time, and just on random weekday afternoons when they would take Missy for walks around the neighbourhood to show her the beauty in their lives, his wife would paint her theories and ideas like artwork. She’d tell him a story, full of action and mystery, humour and theatrics, tragic romance and harrowing adventure; she could spin a tale like she had a silver tongue, but she never lost herself in her own narratives. In the end, they were messages, lessons, for him to remember when everything was going wrong.    

“It’s all about momentum, babe. Bleeding off energy and taking a bad hit instead of a fatal hit. You can’t just full stop; you’d absorb all the kinetic energy, and the resulting trauma will turn all your squishy internals into, like, body soup, which is just super unpleasant. And of course, head is always number one priority. Bracing for impact works better at giving you fewer serious injuries, especially for your neck and head. Muscles should absorb as much of the energy as possible, instead of letting it fall to your ligaments, discs, and nerves to take the force. So, tense up and roll in the case of a low air evacuation.”

Low air evac... she was concerned he was going to have to jump from an aircraft without a parachute at some point in his life. Which was probably accurate he’d admit, but still, he wasn’t hoping to actually need that plan.

Thankfully, it wasn’t always fire and brimstone with her, and she had many strange and terrible schemes to keep the common, everyday superhero family on their toes. Always carry at least two lip balms... never tell someone you don’t have plans for the evening... don’t smile in your mugshot... no clowns. Ever.

She was so weird, a total nerd, and so completely the girl of his dreams.  

He loved teasing her about her unending train of thought, the brain that never sleeps, how she’d go on tangents while on tangents but always circle back around; even nicknamed her (quite cheekily, and because it made them both laugh) Doctor Batman, which was usually saved for when she was being particularly dramatic and gloomy. Turn the supercomputer off for a second, Bats, come see what Missy’s doing!  

He was her anchor, always ready to pull her back to earth when she started drifting off too far from them, but he never asked and never wanted her to change. He adored her, silly or serious, or when she woke him up in the middle of the night to make him promise that he’d never get their kid(s) a pet owl (because they’re “scary”, and “our kids would be too powerful, Marcus. Promise me!”), or that in the event of them inviting a third to their bed, it would “absolutely never, ever, ever be Miracle. No way!”  

He thought it was quite entertaining most of the time, listening to her plan for zombies and old gods and what to do if everyone just started hating cheese one day, but if it was all so important to her: having him remember this or agree to that, he’d accede to her requests in a heartbeat. Most of it was cute, harmless stuff he didn’t think would even happen, but sometimes she would hit him with serious stuff. Entirely out of left field, she’d go for his heart, and ask him for things that would hurt him, destroy him inside, if he ever had to follow through with it.

“Marcus, if it’s a choice between my safety- my life, and Missy’s? I’m always going to choose her. Kids come first, okay?”  

She wasn’t superpowered, didn’t have a shred of anything other than pure, normal human in her, but she was easily the strongest person he knew. Fearless and brave, kinder than this world deserved, she’d do anything for the people she cared about. And she’d promised him, maybe as a way to repay him for all the things he’d agreed to over the years, that she’d move heavens and the earth to return to their family. That nothing in this world, or beyond, could keep her away. “Eventually,” she’d stared into his eyes, glossy with tears from how forcefully she believed, “I will find my way back to you. I swear it, so keep a weather eye on the horizon.” See? A whole-ass nerd, and he couldn’t have loved her more.

So, she wasn’t dead. Pure and simple. She was somewhere, somehow, and he was going to find her again.  

---

“Marcus, the grieving process is different for everyone, but it is always unpredictable and painful. You will have days where you will feel like you haven’t made any progress, or even lost the progress you’ve previously made, but please know that this is natural; it's something everyone experiences, and that it doesn’t mean you’ve failed in your objective. Healing takes time, and a major part of recovery is learning to forgive yourself when you slip up. No one expects you to be back to normal tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Healing from grief is not a race, so we will go at your own pace, and we will work together to accomplish your recovery goals. You aren’t alone in this journey, and you don’t need to handle everything by yourself.”

The grief specialist he was seeing was someone he would describe as an “old soul”. She exuded the patience and peace of someone who had watched empires rise and fall, seen the turning of the wheel of time and drifted along with the current. Her voice was deep, rich in emotion and empathy for those who needed guidance, calming and intriguing with a soft lilt on her vowels. Timeless and ancient all in one, and even if he wasn’t actually mourning the death of his wife, he did find himself deeply grieving being without her. They were two halves of a whole, and though his soul was at a loss without its partner here, he still had their greatest creation, their pride and joy, their baby girl to raise.  

He would do whatever he had to do to be the best parent he could for Missy. And so, if meeting with a physiatrist every week was something that would help, then he would be here, every week. He'd learn to live with his grief, his sadness and loneliness, with just the memory of his Everything, and he’d help their kid with all hers too.  

It’s what he promised to do, after all.

“If anything ever happens to me, you’ll just have to love her enough for the both of us.”  

---

There was nothing they could recover of the people closest to centre of the explosion. No remains, no blood, nothing. Like they hadn’t been there at all.  

Suspicious.

Upper Management had brought in a team of private investigators to handle the case, people who would keep the details quiet and the public appeased with what little information they’d choose to release.  

Marcus was a superhero, and sure, his job was to hit things until they weren’t a problem anymore, but he couldn’t understand why all the highly trained professionals didn’t question the sheer amount of evidence that just wasn’t adding up.  

He tried to bring up the inconsistencies once with the lead investigator, but they had just given the distraught, widowed husband, so lost in his own denial and grasping at straws, a sad smile and told him they would do everything they could to find the truth for him and the rest of the victims’ families.

Typical.

After being brushed off without a second thought, he decided to keep his ideas quiet, and since they’d proven their unwillingness to listen, he’d just have to solve the mass disappearance himself.  

“Have you ever thought about how to commit the perfect murder, mi amor? I have. First: If there’s no body, they can’t prove the person is dead. No evidence of death? No murder. Simple. But of course, completely vanishing a full human would be a challenge. Short of having the superpowers necessary to, like, erase someone from reality in their entirety, there would be a lot of chances to leave evidence. Ordering suspicious chemicals leaves a trail, driving out to a pig farm in the middle of the night is shady as hell and all neighbors are professional narcs, and fires? Hah! Do you have any idea how hot the fire needs to be to cremate human remains, and how long they would need to grill for? Huh, maybe the perfect murder isn’t a murder at all...  

Hey babe...  

Always doubt a body, but always doubt no body, more.”

---

You tended to lose time when there was no one else in your room. It was hard to tell when your eyes were open because you started dreaming about the only things you could see since you first woke up: drop-ceiling tiles, white walls, and pale blue curtain dividers. And it was easier that way, in the end. Your heart didn’t hurt when you only dreamt of the room. You couldn’t mourn the things and people only your soul could remember if you thought of the room. Drifting in and out of consciousness was how you were coping.  

---

You had been here, left in this room alone, for ages. You had agreed to help the man who had saved you from the explosion that killed your family, but apparently you couldn’t help him until you had recovered enough. You’d read your charts, grilled your nurses and doctors more and more the longer you were kept here. What were they all waiting for? There was nothing wrong with you except the mild post traumatic amnesia, and the whole not-remembering-much-(or anything, really)-about-your-personal-life-and-family-of-the-recent-few-years thing you had going on. It was nothing compared to when you first awoke and could remember nothing. It killed you to be without the memories of your husband and child, to know only of them instead of actually knowing them, but there was nothing you or the doctors here could do. The brain was a tricky thing, and you had to accept that your memory loss might be permanent.  

That just meant that you had to put all that you could remember to good use. You could help people here, and work towards getting justice for your family. Years and years of school, practical experience and training, you had gained it all back; re-read textbooks and studies, wrote papers on your re-emerging knowledge and jogged your memory about long nights and early mornings, surgeries and follow ups... it was all still in your head. It had returned to you easily, like diving into a cool pool on a hot summer day. It was like coming home and taking off your shoes; it felt good, freeing, as-it-should-be.  

But still they weren’t letting you leave. So: what were they waiting for?  

“Ah, Doctor, it’s lovely to see you, as always. How are we feeling today?” Okay, so the guy who “saved” you (read: paid the people who actually saved your life)  gave you the heebie-jeebies. He looked like a classic pompous asshole bigwig, like, oil tycoon or something. And he definitely had some sort of thing for you. Gross.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected, trapped in a room with nothing to do, you know, brain rotting, et cetera. Thanks for asking.” The sass was a choice, probably not a great choice, but your choice none-the-less. You really hadn’t had many opportunities to choose anything for yourself in a while.  

Well...

You were bored, and that was going to be everyone else’s problem.  

“Ah, well, good news then! You have been cleared from observation and you’ll be able to be discharged soon. Isn’t that just delightful!” Mister Craig (“Please, just Greg is fine”), was some sort of horrible group hallucination, you were convinced. No one was that cheery, that animated, unless they were on something, or you were on something. “I’ll have someone bring you your personal effects shortly, and then I can show you to your new apartment. The complex isn’t in the best neighbourhood unfortunately, but it's got some real charm, very vintage! You’ll love it!”

“I’ll look forward to seeing it then; sounds like it’ll be a real interesting place to stay. You can also explain what it is I’m going to be doing with your organization. Because you haven’t specified yet. And I expect a proper contract and wage agreement. Legally binding preferably, for your sake, of course, Mr. Craig.” Even if you weren’t the most physically intimidating person around, you knew how, and more so, when, to assert your dominance in a conversation. Especially with men like him. He was the type of guy who would pinch a nurse’s ass and then accuse them of not being able to take a joke.  

“You wound me, Doctor, I am a man of integrity! I promised you an opportunity to make a difference! To get justice for the loved ones so cruelly torn from you! You have nothing to worry about!”  

Sounds legit. Totally above board. Can’t wait.

---

Taglist (omg!! thanks love): @killtherandomness​

Drop me a line if you want to be added <3

[melodyoffiction-blog]

Fragment

I’m back...after a long while.

Was struggling with life and all but I’ve started briefly on a new fic on Hollow Knight. And what if a person of this world find themselves somehow within the world of the Hollow Knight?

Well that plot bunny just dashed off so I had to write something.

cross-posting to Archiveofourown!

Friday - 5th Jan.

Dear...well..diary I suppose?

It felt like I should start a new diary for the year even though it’s been 5 days in. Therapy seem to think it’s a good idea anyway. I’m suppose to write something even if it’s just a sentence long.

Such a chore.

Anyway!

I’ve just got a new game a couple months ago. Hollow Knight.

To be fair I’ve been playing it for a long time with many reruns! Gosh, the lore sometimes fucks with my brain. Like parts of it is missing or something?

Anyway! I’ve played so much that I’ve started dreaming of it! Isn’t that great?

Well...dreaming of some kind of Hollow Knight themed thing anyway. The bugs I’ve seen were huuuuuge. Clearly my imagination is much more creative then I am.

Saturday - 6th Jan.

I couldn’t get up from bed today. Played HK.

Sunday - 7th Jan.

I told Tony & co. I can’t make it to the party. I’m in bed. Sigh maybe I should try harder?

Monday - 8th Jan.

I finally managed to communicate with the bugs in my dream! They told me so many interesting things!

Like they could talk without their mouths moving! It’s like an X-men thing! Telepathy!

Apparently they’re all of the same species, or generally the same species? All the children are grub-like anyway.

I hope I dream of HK again!

Tuesday - 9th Jan.

Didn’t dream at all. Must be the new meds.

Wednesday - 17th Jan

I’m not sure if I was hallucinating but I’ve heard their voice when I’m awake. I mean it’s only a whisper and I couldn’t make out what they said but I swear I heard them! Maybe it’s a sign of schizophrenia or something. But I doubt so….

Saturday - 20th Jan

Everyday feels empty. I wake so tired nowadays...but at least I got to dream every night for the past week! I’ve learned so much about my imaginary world! There’s even different religions. I’ve seen some bugs experimenting with something that looks like soul and void and radiance! Maybe it’s my mind trying to fill the void of history. I mean the Pale King can’t actually be the one that gives intelligence to the bugs. There’s like huge statues of ancients and Quirrell ventured out of Hallownest with his mind intact!

Tuesday - 13th Feb

I’ve just flushed the sleeping drug that therapy gave. It’s not making life any easier to bare and I’d rather feel tired on waking than not dreaming at all…

Thursday - 15th Feb

Their voice is louder now. Still slightly above a whisper but now I could hear the words!

They’re begging for help. “Help….h---lp Us” or something like that.

What is going on?

Monday - 26th Feb

The dreams I had are surreal! I’m starting to doubt if it’s a dream at all! But it must be! I mean clearly it stems from all the time I’ve spent gaming…

Saturday - 17th Mar.

Lifeblood. Radiance. Void. Soul.

Arcane eggs are knowledge orbs. Uses soul to open.

Radiance - Moths (dreams, foreknowledge)

Void - Bettles (power, strength beyond all)

Lifeblood - ??? They look like..spiders? Six eyed insects…(healing, time halting)

Soul - unity of all 3, newest god, arcane powers.

I mean shit summary I know!

But they asked for my help, physically in a dream. They said I have time to choose as it’s a heavy choice. But to be fair, it’s not like there’s much for me in this world anyway…the only time I feel anything is within my dreams….that’s pitiful, huh.

A dark claw pats fondly on the slightly cracked mask of a small Vessel. Their voice croaks:

Over decades, different insect species evolved.

Moths started worshipped Radiance, in its glorious light and in prophetic dreams. She whispers to them, guiding them and giving them the power of foreknowledge,

Beetles worshipped the Void,

the dark and endless being,

he embraces them in life and soothes them in death.

He bestowed onto them the knowledge and strength of one who does not fear death,

for death is a way of unity with past ancestors.

Few follow the gentle sway and gleaming wings of Life.

She who breathes new life into all.

Though reclusive by nature,

they spend their lives guarding the condensed form of lifeblood.”

Looking down with all six eyes, at the small form with the cracked mask, they smiled gently as they load yet another harvest of lifeseeds into the small structure as they continued on their brief lecture of history to the silent, still form.

But a special few refuses to pick sides chose to be guardians of being. Guardians of the soul. For within every living being there is the soul in which arcane arts are made from. Where even the tiniest, youngest bug learns to use, to fuel their legs and jump higher than any should be able to.

Hahaha that was a fond memory of my youth. Got into such trouble too....ah...where was I...

Oh yes! Ahem.

Yet as it always is and will always be, not all experiments were for good causes and some got greedy for power. The boredom of this static life reflects in the boldness of their experiments. What was once created for the search of knowledge became creations of greed. For what is more important than the collection of more power. Slowly the bugs of power forget that their Gods were living, breathing beings too, although not ones encased within hard shells.

The dark being pinged the Vessel's mask as it continues pouring lifeseed after lifeseed, slowly submerging their form.

The moths claimed that the Pale King persuaded them to forget the Radiance, and that is what caused the start of the infection. The Pale King claimed that sacrifices are made for the greater good. For no cost is too much to sacrifice to stop the infection and he created thousands of vessels to contain it forever.

Yet not one bug remembers, remember the ancient beings that ripped the heart of Void into shreds.

Just to milk out one. last. drop. of power.

They took from the Radiance so much light,

that even the foreknowing ones are blinded.

It's voice shook with simmering anger.

We, the guardians of Lifeblood has seen this and fled, just barely, before the claws of the greedy, before they close around our God. And Soul, the youngest of the four gods, the strongest but also in some ways, the most fragile. Poor Soul was forgotten by the heretics.

As the essence of Radiance warped and no longer laid within our eggs, as void in his madness no longer embrace us. Soul weakens in every generation till now they lay dormant in all!

All due to the greed of ones who were trusted to guard their Gods. Fools all of them.

But now we, the true loyals, must run and hide.

The old, decrepit ancient being gave the small vessel a last stroke with their still shiny black claw as they encourage the living bark to grow over the now submerged Vessel.

Hide. All of us. But you dear one.

You will help Soul regain their foothold and bring the glory days back again.

...Well...one can only hope.

We’re lucky you landed without our reach. Our legs aren’t the best for climbing down this damned pit...and we're starved of company so we're sorry for the long rambling, young one.

They wobbled off, whistling a soft tune as the Lifeblood plant branches grew around them, concealing the newest secret they now hold within their branches.

[shsummertimefest-blog]

Enjoy, @binlar-lover!

I really hope you enjoy this fic, as this was my first soul mate AU to write! I may have taken liberties with the soulmate concept but if you have questions feel free to ask. I enjoy writing this and I hope you like it!

Clary knew she should probably just talk to him. Every day, she saw him walk into the studio, every day she watched as he admired the paintings on the walls, stopping to tilt his head every so often. Strands of blond hair would fall in his face, and Clary would find herself blushing at the thought of wanting to push them back, wanting to ruffle his hair and maybe explain the difference between Van Gogh and Picasso if he asked.

She knew he wouldn't ask, because she would never work up the courage to talk to him. The gallery was one of her favorite places to be, filled with her mom's work and some of Luke's attempts at pottery- multiple people had actually considered them to be "true art" (whatever that meant), but the pieces always stayed, an ugly mug next to a bright yellow canvas, a contrast of two working as one. Clary watched as the boy eyed one of the mugs curiously, tugging on the cuff of his sleeve as he bent down to get a better look.

His hair was in his face again as he worried his lower lip. He was only a few feet away, Clary figured, it should be easy to talk to him. Maybe tell him she liked the color of his sweater or that his shoe was untied. Clary stole a look at his feet- plain black sneakers, but no untied laces in sight. The boy moved around the podium, trying to get every angle of Luke's horrific mug in, as if he was trying to pan-sear it into his brain like a steak and vegetables in oil.

Gulping, Clary checked her watch. Five o' clock- the gallery would be closing. She'd have to go home.

Maybe she'd call Magnus and ask for advice. He always knew what to do when it came to crushes.

Her mother, Jocelyn, once explained soulmates to her, back when she was a little girl, still wanting to hear stories of whimsy and magic and all things unicorns. So Jocelyn would oblige, making sure to spin the most fantastical tale possible it would send Clary into fits of giggles and dreams full of dragons and rainbows and handsome princes.

"If you meet them multiple times, in the same place, then it's meant to be," Jocelyn said one night.

"But what if I don't feel it?" Clary asked, "Shouldn't I feel something?"

Jocelyn smiled, "The feeling is the best part."

At this, Clary would often tilt her head, frowning as her mother tucked her in, asking fervently, "But how will I know? Like you and Luke?"

"Trust me, darling," Jocelyn said every time, "You'll know."

Looking back on that conversation, Clary knew it probably wasn't the best explanation to give at the time. Jocelyn and Luke had just clicked, and it hadn't even occurred to Clary they were soulmates until they sat her down and explained it. The talk then was awkward, but Clary thought she now understood what her mother was trying to say. Sitting in Magnus's living room now drinking tea, he had the same message.

"When I met Alec," Magnus said, "It was like fireworks. You know the rush you get from being on a roller coaster?"

Clary grinned, "Yeah, I guess? I was never one for roller coasters." The mug was warm in her hands, steam wafting up to tickle her nose.

Magnus rolled his eyes, "You Frays were never roller coaster people, I know. But you know what I'm talking about? Meeting your soulmate is like that."

Clary set down her mug, ignoring Magnus's disdain at her not using a coaster. Really, it was his fault for having such an expensive glass coffee table; a table was used to have things on it, why would they need to protect it? They were sturdy things, and she expected every table to support her cups and plates fully. The tea swirled in her cup, the ceramic making a creak as she slid it against the glass.

"So does it feel like fireworks or a roller coaster?" Clary asked, "Because when I asked Alec he said it felt tripping over his own two feet along with wanting to puke as he fell down three flights of stairs."

Magnus scoffed, running a hand through his hair. It was a habit Clary had noticed, and whenever she third-wheeled their dates, Magnus liked to run his hands through Alec's hair too. He picked up his own mug, taking a loud sip, "Doesn't matter how it felt to me, biscuit. You'll know when the time comes."

Clary pursed her lips. She was starting to really not like that phrase. It meant waiting. And the longer she waited, the more time she had to think; the blond boy at the gallery could only occupy so much of her brain, but he really was gorgeous, with his high cheekbones and floppy hair and full lips. Was this what it was like to have a soulmate? Thinking about them nonstop? She asked Magnus, who grinned behind his mug. Her own tea was getting cold, steam no longer rising from it.

"You think you saw him?" Magnus asked.

"I think so?" Clary said, "I mean, I see him at the gallery a lot and he always looks at Luke's mugs-"

"Those should not even be considered mugs, more like ancient artifacts," Magnus muttered.

"-and I think he is my soulmate, you know?" Clary finished, "Like I feel kinda.... weird, if that's the right word? Like your roller coaster thing, y' know?"

Of course, Magnus did know. He went on to regale Clary with the story of how he met Alec, how he swept that tall black haired boy off his feet and how it felt like the fourth of July all over again.

Clary drank the rest of her tea, the mug now cool against her fingers. The bag inside was soggy.

The boy finally came up to her the next week.

Clary had been fidgeting with one of her mother's paintings, as the curator had hung it crooked in the frame. The sign said not to touch the artwork, but seeing as it was her mother's gallery, she couldn't help it, leaning over just enough to not touch the velvet ropes and being able to grip the corners with her fingers to tilt it just ever so slightly to the left.

"Do I need to call security for theft?"

Clary yelped, jumping back as a voice chuckled. Face burning, she whirled around, ready to snap at whoever it was that scared her-

Only to falter at the bright smile of the same blond boy she had seen at the gallery for the past month. He was wearing a black t-shirt, and Clary noticed ink sneaking out onto his arms. He ran a hand through his hair, his smile turning even brighter as Clary just stared, wide-eyed. She probably looked like a deer in the headlights, she stood there for so long.

"Are you okay?" the boy chuckled, "You almost took quite a nasty spill there."

Clary tugged at the ends of her hair, managing to squeak, "I-I just- it was my mother's painting and it w-was crooked-!"

He held a hand up in mock defense, "No worries, I won't report you to the authorities. I don't think they have the time to deal with red haired art thieves."

Clary grinned, her laugh sounding more like a bark- of course, she couldn't have one of those cutesy quiet laughs, no she had to sound like the horn of a freight car about to sneeze. Her face was probably as red as her hair, but here he was, right in front of her. Talking to her as if they were already acquaintances, as if they were the only people in the gallery.

(To be fair, Clary really was the only other person who came to the gallery very often.)

The boy broke through Clary's train of thought, "I've seen you around here, y' know."

Clary scoffed, "I mean, my mom owns the gallery. I'm always here."

The boy ducked his head, turning to Jocelyn's painting. The frame was now more crooked than before, the velvet rope lying on the floor from Clary's almost-fall.

"I like to think this one is about soulmates."

Clary blinked. "What?"

"The painting," the boy said, "the way the dark and light colors mix, despite the obvious clashes. It describes soulmates pretty well, wouldn't you say?"

Clary nodded, "I watched my mom paint this one. I didn't think it was much at first, and to be honest, I'm not a fan of the colors."

The boy didn't say anything, keeping his gaze thoughtfully on the piece. Stealing a glance, Clary had time to really look at him now; his cheekbones were sharp and angled, his lips a pretty pink. Streaks of brown peppered his blond hair and it took her a few seconds, but his eyes were two different colors- one blue, the other brown, with blue seeping in to meld at the pupil. She couldn't remember the term, but they were pretty.

"Like your eyes?" Clary suddenly blurted, clapping a hand over her mouth as he looked at her.

"My eyes?" he asked, "What about them?"

Crap. She was in deep shit now. Wracking her brain, Clary found herself stumbling over her words, "I-I mean, your one eye, it's blue and the other is a mix of blue and brown, and since you were talking about the painting reminding you of soulmates, and let's be real I've seen you in here everyday for the past month or so-"

Oh, Clary wished a god would smite her where she stood. Why was she still talking? She was going to embarrass herself, and he would think she was weird and creepy-

What if he already thought that?

Clary bit her lip, letting her rambling trail off. The look on the boy's face was one she couldn't decipher, although it was easy to pick confusion from the bunch.

"Despite the fact that what you just said is slightly weird," the boy chuckled, raisin an eyebrow, "What I'm about to say might be a bit weirder."

Clary tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "It can't be that bad. I just made myself look like a weird stalker like, twice now."

"What's your name?" he asked, "Just so I don't have to call you Weird Stalker Girl."

Clary giggled, "Clary Fray."

The boy grinned, "A pretty name for a pretty girl. Well, Clary, I'm Jace, and- I can't believe I'm saying this- I'm your soulmate."

Suddenly, Clary knew what Magnus was talking about. A deep feeling in her gut- almost like she was going to puke, but not really. It traveled up her body, and for a second, she thought she might actually be sick, but puke never came. She heard it. She heard what Magnus was talking about. Instead of a roller coaster, however, or fireworks popping in the night sky, she heard clear notes, cellos and violins and a piano all at once, all harmonious as the realization dawned on her.

Clary heard a symphony when she finally talked to her soulmate. And Jace gave her that symphony.