#but truly i saw that and was filled with DREAD..... HIS REVIVAL WOULD JUST.... BE SO FUCKING BAD. IT WOULD BE SO BAD.

[dapper-comedy]

i will say tho i've become a little better. at accepting a favorite character's death. like once u let it settle, it's ok

[dadsbongos]

The Mighty Boys

Movie/Game/Show: My Hero Academia Dynamic: Inko Midoriya/Izuku Midoriya/Reader (All Platonic) Warnings: character death (not bnha spoilers), i tried a little experiment thing but ehhh who knows :) Summary: Sundays are for family. ~~~

Sunday mornings were times where the Midoriya children were awoken by streams of golden sunlight pouring in through thin curtains and splashing on their faces. Izuku would always arise first, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and padding across the hall to his older brother’s bed. He’d climb onto the bigger bed and lazily shake his brother until the boy couldn’t ignore Izuku anymore. (Y/n) would sit up and tease Izuku about his bedhead. Then, together, the two boys would dash into the hall and ignore the fact that all their noise would absolutely have woken their mother by now. Inko would lay awake, but remain still, with closed eyes to truly sell the appearance of being asleep as her sons crept into her room. They were both so loud as they jumped onto their mother’s bed. So loud, it would mysteriously “wake” the woman, who would wrap an arm around each of her boys and pull them into her sides in the bed. They would giggle and squirm in feeble attempts to get out of the bed before admitting defeat and being content to lay in their mother’s arms. Slowly, but surely, Izuku and (Y/n) would fall back asleep in their mother’s warm, loving arms.

Eventually, Sunday mornings would start with Inko knocking on her eldest son’s door and calling through for him to wake up and get ready for school with a small Izuku following closely after her. The three would sit at the table and eat breakfast together - careful to avoid the subject of Father, lest (Y/n) go on a tirade about how he should be home and not overseas - until Inko would stand and take their plates. She’d press a kiss to her eldest son’s forehead, hand him his bookbag, and send him off to school with a smile. Izuku would be waving and loudly calling out his own goodbyes to his big brother from the dining table.

As the boys grew and Izuku finally found himself in full swing of attending U.A, Sundays were spent with Inko and (Y/n) - mostly Inko - cleaning the house in anticipation of their weekly visit. Barely after nine in the morning, Izuku would stroll into the home and give and receive hugs of missed love. (Y/n) would tease the younger boy over their old hero name choices, namely the Sibling Duo Heroes: Mighty Boys, while welcoming him home. Inko and (Y/n) would talk about how much they missed Izuku. How proud they are of him. How much they loved him and loved rewatching his performance at the Sports Festival on the T.V. How much they can’t wait to see him crowned as number one hero.

Both boys would go on with their lives and careers but Sundays would always be spent at Mom’s house. At Inko’s dining table with stuffed bellies from her cooking and hearts warm with the fondness of returning home after a long week. Ears full of stories from the past week and bodies begging for rest in the comfort of their old rooms. But those days of the boys’ bedrooms have passed and now they serve as a guest and storage room. Those rooms are Inko’s, not Izuku’s and not (Y/n)’s - because they’ve grown too big to stay in their mother’s arms like they used to. The most they can have now is the nostalgia of stepping through the front door and getting the most loving hug of their lives each Sunday morning.

As time turned on and the years grew and Inko found herself with difficulty breathing and aching joints, Sundays were spent in the hospital. Izuku and (Y/n) sitting around a bed in a sterile, white-centric room with the occasional nurse passing in and out. Sometimes the boys had to be silent, truly silent, for Inko to sleep, actually sleep, peacefully. Sometimes the boys would fill the quiet with stories about their careers, about dates, about friends, about pets, about random dogs they saw in the park that they thought Mom would like. Sometimes the boys would cry, leaving the hospital at the very end of visiting hours with blotched faces and bloodshot, puffy eyes. Izuku would drive home to avoid civilians and journalists and paparazzi alike recognizing him as he broke down over the deterioration of his mother. (Y/n) would sit in his car outside the hospital and weep over his mother’s decaying health until he felt it was safe to drive without the fear of tears clouding his vision. Inko would lay in bed just as she had been when her boys walked in, and she’d stay and she’d wait. Wait until next Sunday when she’d be able to see her boys walk in smiling together again, and wait to watch them leave with tears budding in their eyes.

For a day. For a single Sunday, (Y/n) drove to his little brother’s house first thing in the morning and barely found the stability in his legs to crash into a hug with the man as he hiccuped out the words they’d both been dreading for months. Izuku would feel his chest cave and his heart wrinkle up and his spirit itself die inside of him. They’d cry together. They’d scream and they’d mourn and they’d call out to the universe that they hated it for taking Mom from them. Mom didn’t deserve it. Mom should’ve had so much more time. And Mom was an angel on Earth and the universe just tossed her out like an old doll and it would regret it. They’d sob until their throats hurt and their heads ached. The brothers barely found the energy to kick themselves to eat or drink for the rest of the day; too worried that they wouldn’t be able to keep anything down with how sick they felt on that Sunday.

For a long while, Sundays were awkward and short. Two boys sitting at their mother’s grave with no words of substance to exchange and no idea how to move on from this point. Inko would always guide them through the process of grief when a loved one died and now that the loved one was her, they had nobody to turn to. “I miss Mom,” Izuku would choke out, feeling like a little boy lost in a large store without Inko to hold his hand through the fear. (Y/n) would nod stiffly, swallowing down the lump in his throat and speak through quivering lips in order to be the strong big brother that he always promised to Inko he’d be, “Me too. I miss her, too.”

The world, against all their wishes, still spun - but Sundays stopped. (Y/n) couldn’t pull himself out of bed long enough to even get dressed let alone drive down to his brother’s house. Izuku was quick to throw himself into work as deeply as possible to just forget the nagging feeling of guilt in letting his older brother pull away. Both boys knew that Inko would be disappointed, but neither of the boys could manage the will listen to their mother when she wasn’t there to say anything. No more golden sunlight to wake them, no knocking at their bedroom doors, no nice homemade breakfasts - only the reminder that Mom was gone for good. Only the pain of knowing they would never get to hear her last words, only hoping she hadn’t asked, “Where are my boys?” as she slipped into eternal slumber.

Then, though still early in his life, Izuku had a son. A giggly, smiley, happy little bundle of sunshine of a boy. And Sundays were revived. (Y/n) would visit every week to see his new nephew and see that his little brother was handling well. (Y/n) would babysit when his brother was busy with work. (Y/n) was an uncle now, and it revived the part of him that wished to take care of someone the way his mom did for him and Izuku. To show someone an unconditional love and a place to call home. He knew it was Izuku’s son and not his, but being Uncle (Y/n) was good enough for him while the baby would grin up at his slowly rebuilding heart.

Sundays continued passing and although neither of the boys had their mother's arms to lay their heads in, they still had each other to lean upon. They had taken on the spirit and the kindness of Inko and churned it into a love they could show the newest Midoriya. Give the newest Midoriya a soft place to rest as he grew with the praise and attention and love that Inko had once given Izuku and (Y/n). The care Inko had given to her little heroes; the sibling duo was passed onto that boy, Midoriya, Inejiro.

[imnotrevealingmyname]

When A God Gets Lost

Chapter 1

Summary: There are bad ways to travel; then, there are terrible ways to travel. Teleporting to another dimension through the Æther is the latter, apparently. But as the old Bengali adage goes, even tigers will eat grass when they're starving.

Maybe a Midgardian from a different dimension isn't such a bad travel companion after all.

Author's note: This is my submission for the @allaboardthereadingrailroad 's Marvel Diversity Challenge. The OFC is an Indian- a Bengali, more specifically.

Tags: @what-just-happened-bro @is-it-madness @myraiswack @green-valkyrie @teenagereadersciencenerd @ohdearhiddles @whatafuckingdumbass @poetic-fiasco @mrs-wolfhard @your-favourite-skittles @lehuka123 @kellatron55 @shiningloki @latent-thoughts @outlawangel2020 @loki-yoursaviourishere

Warnings: Gore, mild violence, mentions of death.

Loki had known this would come to pass. He had known what he had signed up for, when he'd agreed to accompany Thor to Svartalfheim.

He'd even welcomed his own death.

At the time, the sweet prospect of release had seemed to be a gift from Valhalla.

So he hadn't tried to stop it from happening.

Except, he had.

Blood dripping from his mouth, Loki struggled to let go of strings of seiðr desperately anchoring him to his body.

Dust settled on his mottled blue skin. His ears were ringing, and blacks spots seemed to have been tattooed into his retinas.

If not for the pain, Loki would've laughed at the irony of the situation. Once again, despite all his orchestrations, he was a helpless spectator, strung tight while instincts battled brain.

White hot pain seared his entire body, radiating from the wound to his extremities, as he fought to make the tendrils of seiðr retreat. Unfortunately, it was tied to his genes, bound intricately to the essence of his consciousness. It kept him from slipping into the much anticipated slumber, tightening its hold exponentially.

Numbly, Loki thought of all the times he had heard people talk about life flashing before one's eyes before the final rest settled in.

Loki saw nothing, however. The only thing that passed before his eyes was the dreaded vision of violet sparks of seiðr curling around his own, slowly drawing his life force from him.

The salt of his tears mixed with the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. This helplessness was something he had vowed to never fall into, ever again. But here he lay, defeated yet victorious, in a veritable stream of his own blood, fighting the very instincts that had brought him thus far in life.

Odin, Frigga, Thor… Asgard. They had all taken everything from him, everything he had ever treasured. Self worth, family, his very identity…

Loki had hoped that he could find it in death. Who he really was.

But no, he had been stripped of that luxury, too. Not once, not twice… several times. Twice at his behest, and several times at another's, humiliated and agonized.

Maybe I should stop fighting.

But that wasn't who he was. Loki may not have known who he truly was, but he knew what he wasn't. He had never been one to stop fighting.

But what am I fighting for? Will this right my transgressions? Their transgressions?

Maybe sometimes… to stop fighting was to land the ultimate blow.

Gasping for breath, pain ripping his innards to shreds, he looked down at his midriff. There it was; his seiðr. The only measure of identity he had left. It was flowing from his fingers, from his mouth, weaving between his wounds, holding him together in every sense.

Loki's head fell back as he gave in to it, letting his instincts take over.

He didn't know how much effect his seiðr would have, but seeing as he couldn't do anything about it, apparently…

Unfortunately, he had underestimated the power of his own magicks. Seiðr, in every form, was sentient in its own right. Unbeknownst to Loki, continuous exposure to two infinity stones had affected his own magic in several subtle ways. Seiðr learns from itself and grows- he had learnt this even before he knew how to speak complete sentences.

Never had he thought that magic of such cosmic levels could mingle with his own.

Until he saw a few straggling fragments of the Æther hovering around his limp form.

In its urgency to revive him, his seiðr had drawn the Æther to itself, having turned into something resembling a magnet for cosmic powers.

To his horror, the bloodred fragments of the Æther clustered around him, forming a small tornado of dust and seiðr, swooping in to throw an eerie light over him.

The light only grew in intensity. The pain was lessening- his body was almost completely numb now. Wind howled in his ears, and flashes of green and red blinded him.

Satisfied with its work, his seiðr rose to greet the Æther.

Loki had been completely pinned to the ground. He struggled to look down, and saw that the wound had healed almost all the way through- enough to let him survive.

Immediately, he tried to draw back the seiðr. Enough damage had been done, he didn't need any more adventures.

The seiðr had other ideas, apparently.

Green and red danced together, shimmering and singing a shrill, haunting tune that rattled Loki to the core, producing a stab of pain in his gut.

Oh. His seiðr could only do so much. The spear that had impaled him must've been poisoned…

Which meant that his control over his seiðr was limited, and it knew it.

And thus, it was trying to regain strength by sapping it off the one of the most dangerous entities in all of the Realms.

Unlike normal seiðr, the Æther- as well as the other Infinity Stones- needn't be bound to an individual. They had their own separate existence.

Loki didn't even want to know what might happen if it bound itself to him.

Unfortunately, the velocity of the mingling magicks was growing, forming a pitch black void above him.

Fuck.

A sound of surprise and shock was the last thing that left his mouth before he was sucked into the vortex.

A deep rumble ran through the entirety of Svartalfheim when the dust settled- almost as though the Realm heaved a sigh of relief.

----

Aakshya's head hurt. Half an hour on the Arambagh local train with two three year olds bawling their lungs out less than two metres away could do that to anyone.

The last few days weighed down on her. It was all so surreal. Her last living relative- the last one she had been on good terms with, anyway- was gone.

Aakshya sighed softly, adjusting her glasses as her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away. It wasn't surprising, not really. Her great aunt had been quite aged, but losing her was still a blow she wasn't quite prepared to deal with.

At least here, she could mourn in peace.

The Chandur forest had always been her happy place. After very long weeks at work, she had a habit of spending the weekend in a small resort here, sometimes. It was just quiet enough to help her recuperate.

The resort was still half an hour away. She decided to take her time today.

The sky was darkening, and she could see the moon through the spaces between the canopies of the trees.

The moon seemed larger today. Or maybe that was just the tears in her eyes.

She sped up a little, a prickly feeling spreading over her nape.

Were the trees rustling a bit more than usual? No, that must've been the wind… right?

Aakshya stopped dead in her tracks, clutching her bag tightly.

To her right, someone stumbled in the dark, groaning deeply and uttering a string of incoherent words in a language she couldn't recognize.

Maybe it was just the owner of the resort... Though why would she be here? Wouldn't she be at the resort itself?

"Sukanya Di, tumi?"she called out timidly. "Tumi ekhane ki korcho?" Is that you, Sukanya? What are you doing here?

She whipped around, frightened.

The sight that greeted her eyes was unnerving.

A blue-skinned, armour-clad man, covered in blood, was half sprawled on the ground, chest heaving as he struggled to rise.

The weirdest thing was that he was surrounded by red and green light that seemed to be trying to enter his body.

Aakshya stumbled backwards- but then she yelped when the man's hand shot forward and grabbed her upper arm, preventing her from fleeing.

"What is this place?"he rasped, using her as support to pull himself up to full height. Aakshya's eyes widened- he was over a foot taller than her, and he seemed to have been impaled clean through his chest.

Judging from the blood, the wound was fresh; but it was already closing in front of her eyes.

What in the world-

"I asked you something, mortal,"he snapped, shaking her a little. It affected his balance, apparently, because he swayed dangerously, catching himself by steadying himself against a nearby tree.

"Are you- is this some kind of a prank?"she squeaked, trying to pry his fingers off of her.

The man growled, and then coughed up a little more blood. "Answer the bloody question, girl."

"Earth, we're on Earth,"Aakshya managed, now fighting to get out of his hold. "Unhand me, you-"

If the fact that a man who had been impaled quite recently was stronger than her was a matter of concern, it didn't strike her then, as she attempted to scratch and bite him. The man merely grunted in annoyance, retaliating by giving her another shake.

"You're lying,"he snarled. "This cannot be Midgard."

"I don't know what's going on, but-"

"Unless… no…" He seemed to be speaking to himself now, though his scarlet eyes were on her.

It was completely dark now, and Aakshya was in the hold of some creep in a forest.

Well, I'm fucked.

----

Loki couldn't believe how bad his luck was. His chest stung with every laboured breath, and the Æther was still swirling around him, and now he had been transported to a different dimension.

He could feel it.

Which meant…

There were two of him in this dimension alone.

Oh, fuck.

Meanwhile, the girl was still trying to free herself from his grasp.

Loki gave her a crooked grin. "Looks like you're stuck with me now."

She gave him a look of outrage. "No, I-"

"What's your name?"

She seemed to quell under his gaze. "Aakshya."

"Pretty name. I'm Loki, God of Mischief and Father of Magick."

Aakshya scowled, trying to hit him. "Look, if this is some weird cosplay thing, I'm really not in the mood-"

Loki sighed, using the dredges of his seiðr to still her. "Girl, I've been impaled with a poison tipped spear and thrown into a different dimension, so I'm not in the mood for your tantrums."

Her eyes bulged with rage and she tried in vain to bite him.

"How about you and I go on a nice little walk, hmm? I can sense your loneliness and heartache, girl. I am very perceptive,"Loki said with a small smirk. "I can help you, if you help me. What say you?"

"I say you're a dangerous, senile man who's a bit too obsessed with mythology,"Aakshya spat, struggling to move.

Loki laughed softly. "Oh, but a little danger never hurt."

[dindjarinbae]

It’s all for You (Ben Solo x Reader)

request from @belovedadam :  hello there, can I request a ben x reader when he comes back from exogol looking for her?? cause it’s always and will always be her??? thank you

listen, this was one of my favorite little things to write, i adore writing ben. he’s just... perfection. anyways, thank you lots for this request, soft lil things like this melt my heart. 

also, requests are literally (until further notice) eternally open. send me anything... i will write whatever your heart desires.

TW: none, it’s just literally softness with a touch of angst

WC: 1923

There were nights that the universe seemed so empty.

Though, this wasn’t true, you couldn’t help but feel this way, and you couldn’t help but feel so abandoned, night after endless night. And tonight was no exception. You couldn’t close your eyes without seeing him, without seeing Ben, without replaying the last time you saw him in your head. The last memory you had of Ben was his disheveled face and messy hair standing in front of you while you begged him not to go, begged him to not give himself to the darkness. But, to your dismay, he didn’t give into you as he so often did.

The two of you grew up together, his parents were practically your own, and yours were practically his as well. It was no surprise when the two of you fell in love. And it really was a love to end all loves. There were times the two of you would do nothing but talk, or run through forests, dance together, and when he began Jedi training with his uncle, you were always sneaking around behind his back just to spend time together. For years, you had loved him, and for you, it was always Ben. Every little thing came back to Ben Solo.

But it seemed as if he wasn’t yours to keep.

The day he left, the day that haunted your nightmares, was the day your Ben died, and the only thing left was Kylo Ren.

You were not born with the force, and time had proven that you weren’t force sensitive many times, so there was no way for you to reach out to him, to try and pull him back to the light. You never saw him after he left, and you didn’t really want more material for your brain to weave its’ nightmares, so you kept it that way. Leia knew this, and thankfully, she accommodated it to the best of her abilities as you traveled around with her and the nomadic rebels.You were hardly on a ship and more times than not you were left on whatever planet a base could be settled upon, far from the action.

Like tonight.

Tonight was worse than the others, because it wasn’t just the pain of losing the love of your life keeping you awake tonight; it was the fact that nearly all the rebels were on the most climatic mission of their fight to destroy the first order, and Leia laid comatose, your only parent figure left, was barely clinging to life.

It was dark, and the stars above you seemed sparse and few, and you felt nothing but cold dread in the pit of your stomach, because you knew full well that everyone on those ships might never come back. You stayed still, sitting on a rock, keeping your eyes on the sky for a sign, for a ship, for some indication that someone would return. If no one else, you prayed despeately, that at least Poe (the bain of your existence) would come back. You were too consumed with your thoughts to hear the footsteps approaching you, and you jumped upon hearing your name.

“y/n.”

You turned around quickly to see a communication technician behind you, and you felt instantly guilty for not remembering his name, “Yeah?” you asked and raised your eyebrow, trying to still your shaking hands.

“We’ve just gotten word that it’s over. The war, I mean. y/n, we’ve won,” he breathed, and his wide smile and joyfully tear-stained cheeks were visible under the few stars, “They’ll be here by morning.”

You slowly rose from the rock and looked at him carefully before daring to ask the questions that came forth into your mind, “The General? How is she?” you asked.

His smile was the first thing to fall, followed by a few more tears, “General Organa might just be our greatest loss. I’m sorry, y/n.” he whispered and grabbed your arm gently, “Come back to the command center with me and I can fill you in.”

The walk back to the base was silent, and you felt numb. You truly had lost everything: Ben, your parents, Han, Leia, even a handful of childhood friends, and you regretted your selfish need to stay away from the fight, to stay away from Kylo. A chilly breeze rustled your hair and by the time you got to the communication center, you realized your teeth were chattering together. Inside, the handful of people there bustled around busily and barked out orders to one another.

It wasn’t until the boy spoke your name again that you remembered the nature of your visit, “I mean, we took extremely heavy losses,” he said and pointed to a holopad with names and numbers of ships and their drivers that did not survive, “But we can’t know the full extent of them until they come back. Would you like to stay here until morning?” he asked.

You shook your head and turned on your heel, leaving the small bunker. Once you were outside, you could see dawn’s faintest light. Nothing was right about this, and it truly began to sink in that Leia was gone. Panic and sadness seemed to replace the blood in your veins as coldness spread through your body and your breaths quickened. You couldn’t think of anything at the moment except for getting as far away from that base as possible.

So you ran.

You ran through trees and through fields until the sun was nearly completely risen, before you fell to your knees. A wailing sound filled your ears and it wasn’t until you were sucking in air that you realized that the sound came from your own mouth. Tears fell steadily down your face and you wanted to chastise yourself for being grateful for winning a war, but you couldn’t help but stay in the dirt, sobbing, begging for some kind of absolution to come and save you from the selfishness that was creating your sadness.

You walked on your knees towards a tree and you leaned your back against it, sobs still shaking your body. The golden sunlight that filled the spaces between the trees and their leaves seemed like it was taunting you with its’ mirthful glow, beaming down on you almost like a reminder that everyone was probably celebrating gratefully, and you were sitting alone in your self-pity. The tears in your eyes blurred the world around you, making everything shift and liquefy, but one thing was clear in your vision, and that was the misshapen form of someone in black moving towards you. You gasped and quickly wiped the tears away from your eyes with your dirt-speckled hands, leaving small smears across your cheeks.

At first, nothing about the man registered in your mind as he stood on the threshold of the cluster of trees you were sat in. But as your eyes made their way up his legs which were clad in ripped pants and his shirt which was torn, your face drained of all color.

With a black eye forming, cuts littering his pale face, and his lip split, hair matted to his forehead, stood Kylo Ren. He took a step forward and you scrambled back, falling onto your hands so you wouldn’t fall on your back, “Don’t- don’t take a step closer to me,” you commanded, but your voice was hardly one with authority or strength in it as you struggled to keep in another sob.

He did not heed your request, and moved forward weakly, silently... timidly. You froze as he sunk down to his knees in front of you and you watched his bottom lip quiver before it mouthed your name.

“y/n.” he said after mouthing your name, “It’s me. It’s Ben.”

You shook your head and closed your eyes, “No. That’s impossible. Ben is gone. Kylo Ren killed him,” you stated and shook your head, half expecting to open your eyes and see that he was never really there. But, when you opened them again, there he was still, kneeling in front of you, a bleeding, wounded mess. You re-positioned yourself on the ground and knelt with him, your eyes searching his battered face.

He lifted a shaking hand and wrapped his long fingers around your small wrist. Every bit of common sense told you to yank your hand away, but you didn’t. You couldn’t. He pulled your wrist up and laid your palm flat against his heartbeat, “y/n, there wasn’t a single day I didn’t think of you,” he whispered and you felt the fast paced vibrations against his chest of his heart through your palm. His hand was warm against your wrist and you sniffled, meeting his eyes, “I wanted the darkness so badly, I wanted all of the most forbidden powers the force could offer me, yet every single time I was ready to completely turn myself over, something pulled me back. I never knew what held me back,” he breathed and you listened in shock.

You stared into his eyes, trying to find that malicious gleam he had when he left years ago, but all you saw was the sincerity that only Ben’s eyes could hold within them, “I thought it was my mother, maybe even Rey.” he continued, and you flinched at her name, remembering the one meeting between you two, the bitterness in your chest, and the sour taste in your mouth as she boasted about being the one thing that could turn Kylo into Ben once more.

“But as I tried to save her, revive her on Exegol... I couldn’t. And then i realized,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, “It was never Rey, never my mother, my father... anyone. But, do you know who it always was?” he asked and reached up with his free hand to wipe the tears away from your cheeks with his thumb. Your silence seemed to bring tears to his eyes and he never took his gaze off of you once, “It was you, y/n. You were always my light. And I’ll never forgive myself for not seeing it earlier, for not staying for you, for not being better... for you.”

Moments passed, and the two of you said nothing until one word passed your lips in his direction.

"Ben?”

He nodded and was quick to move his arms around your waist, pulling you securely against his chest, and you were just as quick to wrap your arms around him in return, “I’m here. It’s me. I’ll never leave your side again,” he promised and pulled back to look down at your tear stained face. His eyes fell upon your lips and he ducked his head down with a slight wince to press his lips fully against yours. You could taste the drying blood from his cut and the salt from the tears rolling down both of your cheeks, you could practically smell the darkness and the death on his skin, but there was no doubt that this was Ben in your arms, your Ben.

The story of how he got so beaten up and bloody could wait, the story of how the resistance won the war could wait.

For you, it was always Ben. Every little thing came back to Ben Solo.

As the sun grew higher in the sky above them, casting shadows across his skin, it seemed he was finally yours to keep.

And in that moment, in his arms, the universe seemed a little less empty.

[rainbowbutterfrosting]

Chapter 14 - History

This is chapter 14 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @dramaticsnakes​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Tubbo (briefly)

Word count: 2,842

Cw: discussions of death, tension between characters, (verbal) fight

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

Wilbur opened the book carefully, almost afraid the knowledge would vanish right in his hands if he didn’t. It felt weightless as he walked to the table, sitting in the same chair he sat in during the interview. The first page was blank, but after turning to the next page, he saw a table of contents. He mostly skimmed it, the idea of reading being much more exciting than the process itself.

“Local opinions on L’Manberg’s end” caught his eye. He flipped to page 138 and read the beginning. It stated the interview each person was given, explaining how everyone received the same questions on (mostly) the same day. Some bits seemed scattered, as if they were just quick notes jotted down, and the writing wasn’t consistent. It was possible Tubbo had gotten some help writing it all down. Wilbur also remembered how some books had apparently been destroyed, so this likely wasn’t an entirely finished product.

They started chronologically of when they were taken, most of the people at the beginning saying that they weren’t affiliated with L’Manberg, but still felt the despair of those who were. A few questioned his motives along with how long it was planned out. 

Wilbur easily skipped over those, the boringness of them making him yawn. A small smirk came across his face when he saw Dream’s name. He read the statement supplied, “I’m not gonna lie or fluff it up, Wilbur was an idiot. He didn’t know how to run a nation at all, but he was so hungry for power that he assumed he could. I would say it’s sad that Wilbur blew it up, but good riddance to that cry for attention.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. No wonder he declared independence against him. He truly didn’t understand the restrictions the world put on him. It really wouldn’t have been difficult for Dream to let them be their own nation, but instead, he had to childishly declare war. Though regardless of the past, Wilbur didn’t hold many hard feelings against the man. Not after what Dream had done for him. He read the next statement. A small look of disgust came across his face when he saw it was Eret.

“I know my history with L’Manberg, but I still wish it didn’t come to this fate. Wilbur was a good person. Perhaps he slipped off the deep-end near the end there, but he held kindness close to his chest. I know I… betrayed them, but I shouldn’t have. If I could go back and change it I would.” A small supplement at the end added that the confession was taken the day of L’Manberg’s explosion.

Wilbur looked at the words for longer than he should’ve blinking at them as if they’d been a trick of the light. A good person? They might have interacted so long ago, but he hoped they would at least remember the bare minimum of who he was. A good person, perhaps once, or at the very least an attempt at one. Though Eret’s words were far too hesitant and sympathetic, and Wilbur couldn’t quite get himself to grasp them. He remembered seeing regret in Eret’s eyes, that Wilbur quickly shoved away. He remembered the hope he once had for when Tommy started pursuing other things. Hope that Eret could act as a vice-president in his place. Or even before that happened, they could be a treasurer or anything that would have helped them in the wars. Perhaps they could have even helped in the elections, using his charm and charisma to ‘woo’ the neutral voters. But in the end, Eret had found a better deal, and throughout the 13 and a half years, Wilbur had found it increasingly difficult to blame her for that.

He let his eyes drift across the page, skipping a few nobodies that just happened to be nearby, before reading Tommy’s. A small note was made to the side saying it was taken three days after the explosion. “I can’t fucking believe him. We fought together for- for- I don’t know how long! But he... we had L’Manberg again and he- he’s gone. I wish I felt bad that he’s dead and shit but it was his decision for all of that to happen. Not a single person pushing him towards that. The war- our lives aren’t even over yet, but he had to leave us already.”

Wilbur shut his eyes for a moment, before rereading it once more. The words and their meanings didn’t change. Wilbur had wanted strong words like it, because words of enemies didn’t sting, and Wilbur had effectively made Tommy his enemy. Though he wasn’t certain if these counted as strong words. In fact, he wasn’t entirely certain what he’d expected them to say. If he’d expected Tommy to say anything at all. Tommy hadn’t followed along with Wilbur, despite Wilbur once feeling that he was doing exactly what they needed to do. And it was fine, really. Wilbur had left his impact, and while the action now felt distant to him, Tommy did not need to feel bad for his death. Wilbur didn’t know exactly why he’d returned, but a warm welcome wasn’t to be expected. While Tommy’s words were strange and familiar, talking of Wilbur as if he was a person who left, who died to be mourned, rather than an event, a choice, and a legacy, they were to be expected of the child. Wilbur pursed his lips, fiddling with the corner of the page in his hand. He lingered on Tommy’s section for longer than he should’ve. He didn’t know if seconds or minutes passed but he heard Tubbo’s voice from nearby, “You good?” 

He turned towards Tubbo, slipping on a grin, “Yeah, yeah, it’s all pretty interesting stuff.”

Tubbo hesitantly smiled in return, “Cool, I’ll just be down here if you need anything.” He did finger guns towards the direction of the stairs and awkwardly walked back down them.

Although Wilbur’s mind was blurred, a small part of him was able to focus on Tubbo’s feelings about L’Manberg. He flipped through the pages, names filled his eyes, but none of them were what he was looking for. He frowned and double-checked, but the same results still occurred. He flipped to the last page of the section, figuring that Tubbo must’ve been at the end, if not the beginning. Instead, he found a small portion that read, “Any statements not present are from the people present only after L’Manberg’s original explosion weren’t available.”

Wilbur knew Tubbo was present during the wars, so it didn’t make sense why he pretended like he wasn’t. Especially because the statement implied he only joined after L’Manberg was over and dealt with. Did Tubbo rewrite history so he wasn’t a part of it? That didn’t seem likely to him, but the lack of Tubbo’s opinion on the paper spoke louder than his thoughts. 

He told himself to shrug it off as Ghostbur’s quiet voice popped into his mind, “Hey, Wilbur, can we talk about something?” 

Wilbur looked around, trying to ensure Tubbo couldn’t hear him. He mumbled, “Later.”

Ghostbur took in a deep breath, “That’s okay. Just- make sure that I don’t forget to ask about it.” 

Wilbur absentmindedly nodded as he flipped to one of the earlier pages. His eyes didn’t focus on the paper, but rather on what he wanted to know. He decided his father’s opinion would be the best choice. He flipped the page once again and spotted Phil’s name near the middle of the text. “It’s been a lot to handle. I wasn’t a part of L’Manberg, but- Wilbur being gone. It means more to me than L’Manberg did to him.” 

It was short and sweet in the way Wilbur expected. It washed out most of Tommy’s statement as he flipped around in search of Niki’s. He briefly thought about Ranboo’s opinion, but the book already told him it wouldn’t be there. Even then, the centrist would have probably made something up that would apply to any event. 

Niki’s opinion didn’t focus much on Wilbur, but it was still good nonetheless. “I used to care about L’Manberg a lot. I built the original flag and I felt… I felt so close to everyone there. Even when Schlatt came into power. L’Manberg was all I really had to go to, even if it was technically Manberg at the time. Yet, I feel in a way, like time split us apart. Not Wilbur though. I wished he was still here.”

Wilbur smiled softly. He missed her quite a lot, especially during limbo. He would close his eyes, and pretend he was baking with her again. Nothing in particular either, just tossing flour on each other and bumping shoulders occasionally. There was enough room in the kitchen to avoid the latter, but it brought a closeness to the both of them that Wilbur didn’t know how to describe. Of course, that was during the desperate years. The ones where the concrete of the platform seemed to burn his feet, as he let vulnerability slip in, right before he let it grow into something else.

He searched his mind, thinking of who he met after his revival, and his breath hitched at the thought of Fundy. He sat for a moment, contemplating if he should even do it. He flipped the page carefully, skimming for the name of his son.

He found it quicker than he would have liked to. A dread filling his chest that he forcefully pushed away. He read the segment Fundy spoke about. Reading it over and over again, none of it sticking in his head. Disbelief and confusion hit him like a truck. The only words his son spoke about it were, “I feel ashamed to even call him my father.” 

Wilbur closed the book. The cover seemed to burn him as he did so. He let it sit on the table, his hands resting on his legs. He robotically stood up, his movements feeling stiff and unnatural. He laid a hand on the book that rested so peacefully. He begrudgingly picked it up, the book somehow feeling much heavier than last time. He slowly shuffled towards the bookshelf, putting it back where he thought it was, not paying much mind if it was in the right place or not.

“Wilbur,” Ghostbur said, his voice sounding a bit apprehensive.

“Yes, what is it?” Wilbur asked, a little sharper than he perhaps intended. 

“Wil, why did you lie?” the words came out, with a certain sadness, yet they seemed almost practiced. They were quick, yet each syllable was dripping with concern or perhaps spite, if Wilbur didn’t know any better.

“Lie about what?” Wilbur asked, huffing.

“Tubbo…” he took a deep breath, “Tubbo asked you if there were any side-effects, and you didn’t mention me. You said I wasn’t there. But I am! I know I am, because we’re talking. So why didn’t you say that?”

Wilbur breathed in sharply, like a hiss. “It’s nothing.” he said, “I wasn’t planning lie much after the revival, but what would you want me to say?”

“That I’m here!”

“I can’t just say that!” Wilbur said, trying to keep his voice down, “They can’t know you’re here, because it’ll make it harder for us to find a way to get you out.”

“They can help! Tubbo would want to help.” Ghostbur said, certainly.

“Tubbo isn’t going to believe me, Ghostbur. It’s going to concern him, and we don’t want Tubbo to be sad, do we?” The last words came out a bit more naturally than what Wilbur had wanted them to.

It did seem to make Ghostbur go quiet, for just a few moments. When Wilbur almost thought Ghostbur had nothing more to say, he spoke, “No no no, you don’t understand!” He said, “Sometimes, sadness can be okay, I think. Lying isn’t good at all. It leads to bad things.” The last sentence, held more melancholy than the rest.

Wilbur wanted to laugh. “It’s not that simple.” he said, “Lying is an excellent tool. Sometimes, you need it to survive, Ghostbur. And right now we do.”

“How do you know that?” Ghostbur asked, beginning to sound slightly panicked, “They told me it wouldn’t be bad, but then they lied, and it was! It was bad.”

Wilbur shook his head confusedly, “Who are you talking about?”

A bit of shock came from Ghostbur’s following gasp. “I… I don’t know.” he said, and the confusion told Wilbur it was the truth, “I’m not sure I…” he was breathing a little faster, “I can’t find the memories, but lying is bad Wilbur! It’s not going to lead to anything good, I can feel it.”

“Lying can give you an advantage, and we want to get you out quickly.” Wilbur said. He felt as if the world was momentarily catching fire around him. “It’s just a white lie, Ghostbur. Just to keep everything on track. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

“I… I’m sorry, but I just don’t think this is a good idea! We should tell Tubbo. We can trust him, I know it!”

“Who are you to say who I can fucking trust?” Wilbur said, a little louder, “This is none of your business! This is my life, even if you insist on invading it!” 

As the words hung sharply in the air, the silence that followed became blindingly obvious. 

Wilbur could hear his own slow breathing, filling the empty room. “Fuck… Oh fuck, I didn’t mean to say that.”

There was no response.

“Ghostbur, I...” he breathed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to say that.”

The silence from the ghost stabbed him in the chest. “Ghostbur, it was just a bit of a slip-up. Y’know like when you get tongue-tied?” Wilbur tried to pull off a playful tone, but the concern behind it was prevalent. Wilbur sighed. It wasn’t one out of aggression, but rather a disappointment in himself. 

He walked away from the bookshelf and towards the stairs, seeing Tubbo harvesting some melons from his farm. He forgot that the boy was even there, his thoughts consuming everything around him. He faintly smiled as he walked to the lower level of the bunker. He didn’t bother ruining the peace and simply mentioned, “I put the book back.”

Tubbo looked down at Wilbur. “Oh! Alright. Are you heading out?”

“I suppose I am,” Wilbur said, a bit quietly, almost hoping that Tubbo’s voice would bring some response from the ghost. 

“Where are you going?” Tubbo asked.

At the words, Wilbur realized he didn’t have a good answer to that. His head was a mess, and it felt emptier than usual. He tried to open any gate in his mind at all, to find a rhyme or reason to his actions and his desires. For some reason, the one purpose he’d assigned to himself, seemed further off than before. It was silly and frivolous of him to bother being affected in such a way. If there was one thing he’d learned as a commander, it was that the war would rage on, whether you felt like it or not. A break, and a moment of silence, was rarely a particularly good sign. Sometimes you needed it to make plans however, and if he couldn’t even do something as simple as that, how could he consider himself powerful anymore? Knowledge. He needed knowledge, and he’d just left all the books behind after looking at one. He breathed in. “I’ll figure it out.”

“You’re welcome to head to the mansion.” Tubbo said with a shrug, “Ranboo and I are sleeping over again tonight, so if you need a place to stay, you’re welcome there.”

Wilbur froze, and weighed the suggestion in his mind. He heard a faint and familiar breath from Ghostbur that calmed his heart for a moment. “Sure.” he said, a little too quickly, “That sounds fine.” He accompanied it with a smile, to try to make the exchange seem natural. 

Tubbo’s expression indicated it hadn’t worked entirely, but the frown quickly turned into a similar smile. “Sweet! I’ll be going there soon enough, but you can go ahead if you want.” Just before Wilbur had the chance, Tubbo looked as if he remembered something. “Oh, also! Try not to tell anyone about this place. It’s a secret to most people.”

Wilbur nodded, unsure why Tubbo would’ve told him about it, if it was such a secret. “Can I come back here?” 

Tubbo took a moment to respond. “Make sure I’m with you.” he said, “We have some structural problems, so I don’t want anyone to be here without me being aware of it.”

The words reached Wilbur strangely. He swallowed something in his throat and nodded nonetheless. Then, without further response, he wandered outside, into a much more apparent form of silence.

Tubbo nodded and looked slightly dismayed at Wilbur’s sudden exit, “Alright, seeya later.”

Wilbur took long strides away from the bunker, hoping it would help collect his thoughts for Ghostbur. His footsteps echoed through the halls, making him miss the sound of Ghostbur’s voice. He walked towards the entrance of Pogtopia, quickly exiting. The change of scene didn’t help him think. If anything, it only increased his worries about the ghost as his mind ran.

[my-fanfic-library]

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [18]

Masterlist

A/N: I just wanted to say thank you to everyone giving the series so much love and support, I genuinely cannot express how grateful I am for it all. I also just wanted to say a special thank you to @newheart97 for helping me with the plot line ❤️❤️❤️

Oh also Claes’ smile is killing me UWU

~^*^~

Standing in a dimly lit passageway, you turned on your feet to look behind you. Torches flickered at either ends and the fire danced, seemingly pointing you in the direction that you needed to go. Beginning to walk, the echo of your shoes filled the confined space and your hands grazed the cobble walls either side of you. It was cold and you swore you could hear footsteps behind you.

Where were you?

Following the flames, you navigated through the winding halls until you came to an opening in the bricks and a large set of double doors faced you. They stretched up and seemed to be shut tight. That didn’t stop you from nearing them and grasping the round metal handle. It was cool to the touch. You pushed first and then pulled. The wood gave way and the door opened. A low light flooded over you and you looked ahead to find yourself at the top of a sweeping staircase. Slowly, you moved through the door and began to descend the steps. A large and beautiful chandelier hung in the centre of the ceiling, and it seemed that the stairs were circling around it. You continued to look forward, noticing a lowering in the ceiling over a long table and at the back, a fireplace. Sitting in the chair at the farthest end of the table, facing the fire, was... well, somebody.

When you reached the bottom of the steps, you stopped moving. The entire place seemed to be lit by fire and built by stone. It was odd.

How had you gotten here?

There was a noise as the person rose from the chair and it soon became apparent who it was. Dressed in clothes that screamed a much older period, a beautiful glass filled with deep crimson in his fingers, Dracula turned to look at you.

“Come,” he beckoned you over.

As if you had no control over your body, you began to walk forwards again. Your eyes were trained on him.

“Where am I?” You asked softly as you neared him.

“Where do you think?”

When you were close enough, your hand slipped into his and he pulled you close. He pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek and looked down at you.

“If I knew that I wouldn’t have asked.” You rolled your eyes. Dracula chuckled.

“My sweetness, look around you. Surely, you must recognise it from somewhere.” He promoted your eyes to look around once more. You scanned the room. You definitely hadn’t been here. But had you heard of it?

As you turned your head to look at Dracula, a man was sitting where Dracula just had been. It was for a split second but you saw him so clearly. A bald head with the blue trees just below the skin that were filling with vampiric venom. His eyes were sunken in, fingernails gone and deep, blood-filled welts in their places. In his hand, a pen and below his face which was twisted in pain, three written letters. Blood oozed form his mouth and dripped on to the parchment. You screamed which morphed into a gag.

Jonathan Harker.

It clicked as the account you had once read with Zoe came into your head. Three letters, just like the ones under his head, sent to his fiancée so that she wouldn’t worry. The baby that had been given to one of his brides - the heroic man had tried to call the vampire out on it. This grand place belonged to the Count.

“Drac... how did I get to Transylvania...?” You inquired warily.

“I would like to think that you are able to recall a conversation that we once had, about the friend of yours?”

“Jack...?” You narrowed your eyes in confusion as you stepped backwards away from the vampire.

“Exactly. Do you remember it?”

“You... you told me that you’d continue to keep in contact if I... kept myself to myself...”

Dread filled your gut. Dracula took a sip from his glass and began staring you down.

“Well done,” he whispered, “except, you didn’t keep your end of the deal, did you?”

“I... I thought you were dead!” Your voice trembled. Dracula placed the glass down on the table and you stared at it in horror, “is that mine..?” The blood.

Using his hand, Dracula directed your gaze back to him.

“I warned you, [First],” he mumbled, nearing his face to yours. His lips hovered on the corner of yours, mostly on your cheek, but a little overlapping your own, “I told you. You pushed me to this.”

He flipped you up and your back smashed into the back of the table, winding you. You gasped for air, but had almost no time to recollect yourself as Dracula now hovered above you. His knee was pushed between your legs, his hands pinned your arms above your head. Your chest painfully rose and fell. You were looking up at him in terror. He lowered himself, planting a kiss on the curve of your jawline just below your ear.

“You’re going to kill me.” You whispered.

“No, sweetheart, I’m going to make you wish that you had never crossed me.”

~^*^~

Eyes snapping open, you looked around the room. Dusk had now fallen and Dracula had left. Your bedroom door was now open and there was a glass of water and the medicine Jack had promised sitting on your bedside table. You could hear the TV downstairs.

For just a second, you thought you saw a figure standing in your doorway and you gasped. It was gone.

A throbbing became apparent in your neck and there was a gentle dribble. The way that it tickled your skin annoyed you immediately and your hand flew up to collect whatever was seeping down. When you looked at your fingers, a chocked gasp left your lips. Red.

You pulled yourself up, rushing into the bathroom and locking the door. Your eyes immediately went to the mirror. A mouth shaped gash was quickly scarring over, a little blood trickling down your neck, towards your collarbone. Fuck. He’d bitten you while you slept. You had read accounts of being taken somewhere with him while he drank blood. He’d chosen to take you to Transylvania. But why there?

Fumbling in your pockets, you pulled out your phone and clicked on his speed dial. When he answered, before he could speak, you spoke.

“Meet me at the top of the path down the cliff in five fucking minutes.” You growled.

You practically stormed down the stairs, ignoring Jack’s questioning looks as you flung open the front door and left. By the time you got to the cliffs, looking down over the sea Dracula was already there. Twilight’s glow made him look somewhat angelic but you were in a blind rage to take it in.

When he heard your footsteps, he turned and grinned at you.

“You absolute moron!” You shrieked, nearing him with some rage, “you absolute fucking spoon! How could you?!”

“Now, [First], calm down-“ he licked his lips and his eyes shifted to gain a slightly nervous tinge.

“You- you marked,” you pushed him backwards with all of your strength and he did actually stumble backwards a little. You had caught him off guard, “me! You drank my blood!”

“Yes, but only a little-“

“ONLY A LITTLE?!”

He couldn’t help but feel a little endeared at the display of rage. You’d lost all of your senses. Humans were funny little things. You knew that you could never overpower him, yet here you were overrun with such anger that you were being a little physical with him. He smirked just a little.

“You don’t think I’d actually drink enough to kill you, do you?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?! Am I-... am I going to become like you? Like Renfield?” Like Lucy? Like Jonny Harker? Am I going to die like Agatha?”

“[First]-“

“Am I?!”

“You think I’d turn the most precious and sweetest thing this pathetic world has ever been blessed with into a monster?!” He growled back at you and you took a step back in a momentary panic, “I would never hurt you, [First]! But you betrayed me! You broke your end of the deal! I warned you what would happen!”

“Betrayed you?! I thought you were dead! I moved on!”

Dracula, out of habit, took in a deep breath to calm himself. Neither of you would get anywhere by screaming at one another. Instead, he took a moment to drink in the sight of you. It really had been so long without you. The last specs of sunlight hit your skin, miraculously highlighting all of the high points of your face. The anger that had coloured your face red was still there and there was a smudge of dried blood on your neck. Your hair was slightly disheveled. God, how some other man hadn’t swept you up yet was a mystery.

“Why with him?” He asked softly, trying to finally get your conversation to a civil noise level.

“Because... he was the only person who knew how it felt... to lose someone who meant everything to you.”

It went quiet for a moment. The waves cut through the silence even from so far down away. Dracula took two steps towards you again and reached forwards to brush a lose strand of hair behind your ear. His other hand was lazily shoved into his pocket.

“I meant it.” He stated gently.

“Meant what?”

“The last thing I texted you.”

Oh.

Oh.

“But Agatha-“

“-was a close second.” He finished your sentence, “for a long time I truly believed she had revived my mundane emotions, however, the day at the Foundation when Dr. Van Helsing introduced me to the biggest and most obvious liar I’ve ever met in my 500 years,” he sucked in a shallow breath and dared himself to close a little more space between you, “that changed everything. She changed everything. She gave me the courage to die. But she was more important to me than finding the courage to conquer death. And now she’s here,” even less space, “looking at me like she’s going to kill me... and with my branding on her neck.”

You melted. The pure sincerity swimming in his orbs, the softest smile on his lips. His most gentle grip on your waist as he tugged you even closer than ever. Never in your life did you think you could stay angry at him. His free hand came up and his thumb trailed along his mark. It stung. You hissed and he hushed you by pressing a kiss to the same spot. A jolt of electricity, like nothing you had experienced before overcame you and a small moan ripped from your throat.

“What a sweet noise.” Dracula mused against your neck. The rumble of his voice carried into your chest, “come with me.” He suddenly spoke, pulling away to look you in the eye.

“What?” You whispered in soft confusion.

“Come back to London with me. Come and live with me instead. Make yourself mine.”

He said it in such a way that it felt like an order, but at the same time, it was an offer.

How could you leave Jack here? How could you give up the life you had worked so hard to build for yourself after everything? Would it be worth it? What would change now that Dracula could survive in the sunlight? How could you go with him after believing he’d never come back?

Turns out, pretty easily.

~^taglist^~

@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx @nifflersravenclaw @writteninthestars288 @labelladrama @frankcastlesgrunts @angelicdestieldemon @quakerlasss @aliisa-jones @wolverinexmenn @clairedragonessbaker @cryiner @mitsukatsu @piratewhore @your-pixels-are-showing @tardisnesss @ladydovahkiin180 @catwomom @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes @th3rah @viper-queen @mephdcosplay @greghouse7 @faeprinces @kokoro-no-yami @trishaferdream @therealmoni @crazytxgradstudent @sansthelonelypunster @crowley-needs-a-hug @girlonfireice @wasntpriscilla @ivanna6026 @greeniemoon @blueinkblot @tefymorgan @misfitgirlwrites @lokiphan @newheart97 @middlespellman @bratty-sweetheart @dipsylou @lilmou5ie @the-fangirl-life10 @enchantersnight @imthedoctorlove @haleyea @hoefordarkness @divinemoonsters @dragosdaughter

[bbooty-bucky]

I Lived.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader (platonic)

Summary: on one of the saddest days, you think back on all of the memories you built with one of your best friends.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: fluff, angst, endgame (is that a warning? i think it is.), reader is called bambi sometimes as a nickname?,

Note: Here is my first one-shot and I wrote it because Tony was my favorite character and I guess I had to say goodbye and I felt as if writing about him would help. I don’t know if this one-shot will be good or not, but I hope you enjoy!

“J.A.R.V.I.S.”

“Yes, miss L/N?”

“Where is Stark at?”

“In the lab, miss”

You signed softly, glancing at the digital clock on your nightstand before standing from your bed and exiting the room. Walking down the tower’s hallway at 3:00 in the morning was common for you recently. In a couple minutes, you ended up in front of the lab’s doors and walked in, smiling at the sound of AC/DC in the background while Tony worked on upgrading his new suit.

“Hey Stark,” you announced over the music, chuckling when you saw him tense slightly before looking over at you.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, bambi?”

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?”

“..No”

“Well, there’s your answer,” you replied walking over to the couch by his work station as Tony sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Then what do you need?”

You paused, sitting on the couch and playing with the sleeves of your shirt,”Just wanted someone to talk to,” you mumbled before looking up at the robotics scattered around the room.

If you were paying attention, you would have seen the corner of his mouth quirk up slightly,”so you came to the old man?”

You smiled softly before meeting his gaze,”no, I didn’t go to Steve. I came to talk to one of my best friends”

Tony finally stopped messing with his suit, turning around to face you fully and before you knew it, he was right by your side on the couch. “You now have my interest.”

You bit your lip before sighing,”I couldn’t sleep,” you began,”so I usually try to find someone to talk to before I can, but no one else has as many stories as the infamous Tony Stark.”

He smirked as he looked over at you,”what story would you like to hear tonight?”

“The one where you got so drunk in Brazil after a conference, that you woke up handcuffed to the bed of your hotel room.”

He let out a loud groan, causing you to cackle, as he covered his face,”you’re going to hold that against me forever, aren’t you?”

“Always, Tony.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Hey Tones”

“Yes, bambi?”

“When did you realize Pepper was the one?”

You heard a small sigh come from him and there were a couple minutes of silence. You didn’t think he heard you, until the words came rushing out.

“My mother used to tell me,” he began softly,”that when you meet the love of your life time stops and it happened as soon as I saw her. It still does happen, it feels like there is nothing in this world other than me and her. We both had our disagreements, but no matter what, we always came back to each other because I don’t think I could live without her.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” You whispered, smiling as you looked up at the stars.

“Always,”

“I’m glad you met Pepper, you’re truly happy with her and she is what you need. She always looks after you and takes care of you, even better than I could, Tone.”

You felt him squeeze your hand softly,”Don’t kid yourself, you both keep me in check. Both of you team up on me and it gets scary-,” he said with a small chuckle before pausing,”just don’t tell Pepper that.”

“I would never!,” you exclaimed with a gasped, feigning hurt. Tony laughed loudly,”You would and you know it!”

“I only tell her things when it seems best fit,” you said, lightly pushing him with your free hand, even though it didn’t do much with you both laying on the roof,”It’s only because I care about you, Tones.”

“I know, bambi.”

“You know I used to hate it when you called me that,” you began, squeezing his hand,”but I guess it grew on me, just like you did.”

“Oh please, you were stuck with me the moment you made fun of my goatee,” he responded and your bit you lip to hold back a laugh.

“Oh no, I think it was after that when we got into an argument that Pepper had to spilt us up for,” you laughed, tears filling up in your eyes from how hard you were laughing, causing Tony to start laughing too

“I had to defend myself!”

“You could have just taken a joke!”

And after a couple minutes, you both finally calmed down, breathing heavily from the laughing spell.

“You know you’ll be stuck with me forever?”

“Always, Tones,”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Tones..”

“What’s wrong?”

“How’d you know something was wrong?”

“Because I know you like the back of my hand, now talk to me.”

“I got stood up,” you whimpered, clutching your phone as you tried to blink away your tears. There was silence on the other side before Tony finally answered,

“I’ll be there soon.”

Before you could reply back, the call ended abruptly. You sighed, putting your phone back into your purse and leaned back against the wall of the restaurant you had been at for the past hour and a half. After a couple of minutes, a black car pulled up and you shook your head.

“Of course he sent Happy,” you sighed to yourself as you walked towards the car, your step faltering when the car door opened and the billionaire got out with a small smile before opening his arms. Your pace quickened again and you wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face into his neck as the tears finally escaped.

“It’ll be okay, bambi,” he mumbled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and the other being placed into your hair, his fingering running through it.

You cried into his shoulder,”t-they said they would be here,” you whimpered, clinging onto him,”it was supposed to b-be our one year..”

Tony signed, squeezing you softly,”did he text you?” and you paused before bursting into tears again as you nodded,”okay, and what did he say?”

“T-that it was over..”

He started to rub your back, ignoring the looks that you both were reviving from people passing by. “I didn’t like him anyways, bambi. He wasn’t good enough for you.”

“I-I just wanna be somebody to someone for once..”

“Bambi, you already are,” Tony whispered,”you’re somebody to me, to Pepper, to the team..to all of us. He just didn’t deserve to have a girl like you, sweetie.”

You sniffled, slowly loosening your grip from him before looking into his eyes as he smiled in the stupidest way you have seen. You giggled quietly as you wiped away your tears and he squeezed your shoulders softly.

“Go live your life, Y/N. Go see the world and own every second that the world can give you,” he whispered and he stared at you for a second before walking you back to the car and opened the door for you.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Call Rogers and tell him that we have some business to take care of when we get back to the tower.”

“On it, sir,” the A.I. responded as Tony got into the car.

“You know I care about you, bambi?”

“Always.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“So..”

“So?”

“We’re snowed in..”

“What?! I was supposed to go home to see my family for Christmas, Tony.”

“I know, but the blizzard isn’t going to let that happen anytime soon. So, I have an idea..” he trailed off, his arms hidden behind his back as he looked at you, which caused you to raise your eyebrows and looked at him to continue,”I bought your favorite Christmas movies!” he exclaimed, finally bringing his arms from behind him to show the DVD’s.

The stress you felt earlier slowly disappeared as you smiled at the man in front of you,”you’re the best, Tones...”

“So i’ve been told.”

You laughed quietly before it faded into a soft smile and you quickly pull him into a hug, catching him by surprise as he stood frozen before he finally wrapped his arms around you,”thank you.”

“I’ll accept that as long as you make the hot chocolate,” Tony replied with a small smile before it slowly disappeared,”...you will be making the hot chocolate right?”

“Always, Tony.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Tony..”

“I have to do this.”

You sighed softly, pinching your nose as you closed your eyes,”this team is gonna be the death of me,”

“You even know I have to do this, Y/N, I have no choice because this is us. This is the team,” Tony scoffed and finally looked over at you, but not meeting your eye. This caused you to look up at him in disbelief and as you opened your mouth to respond, he beat you to it.

“117 nations, Y/N. What else can we do?”

You purse your lips as you shuffle your feet and cross your arms,”this isn’t going to end well for the team, Tony. Steve didn’t sign and I doubt Wanda will or Sam.”

“But what will you do? Are you with me or against me?”

“I’m with you, Tony,” you finally replied after a while, dreading what was going to happen next.

And you were right to. Steve and his team were nomads now and Rhodey ended up being paralyzed from the waist down after the battle that took place at the airport.

You squeezed Tony’s shoulder softly and if you weren’t paying attention, then you wouldn’t have heard him.

“Since everyone runs, are you going to stay?”

“Always, Mr. Stank,”

He groaned and tried to hit your hand away and he barely missed it as you cackled at him.

“You’re the worst, bambi.”

“Don’t blame me, Rhodey put it in my mind!”

“I truly am stuck with you idiots.”

“Always Tones,”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Tones”

“Y/N! Where are you?”

“Tones, it worked..”

You stood, bloody and beaten, watching in amazement at all the portals opening with tears filling your eyes as you turned to look at Tony.

“It worked Tones,” you repeated with a sniffle.

“It worked, bambi,” he whispered, looking around the battlefield before swallowing and turning his gaze back to you,”but it’s not finished yet.”

You swallowed as you saw what he meant and looked straight into his eyes before pulling him into a hug,”no matter what Tony,” you said quietly before sniffling again. He stayed silent, holding you tightly against him, not knowing if this was the last time it would happen for you both.

“No matter what happens, you better come back to me safe and sound.”

“You know I will, but you need to come back too. We’re both stuck with each other until we’re old as fuck.”

You chuckle softly, slightly shaking your head. “You’re the same man you were ten years ago, Tones.”

“So are you, bambi. I couldn’t have picked a greater woman to be Morgan’s godmother,” Tony whispered, bringing tears to your eyes as you pulled him as close to you as you could.

You watched in silence as Steve seemed to be talking to someone else over his com. “You still have a horrible goatee,” you joked, as he scoffed and pulled away for a second to finally smile down at you.

“I might, but you still love it and wouldn’t get rid of it,” he said before kissing your forehead.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” You smiled softly, still not letting go, but still watching as everyone started to come out of the portals. It was breathtaking.

“I love you, bambi,” Tony said and you froze. This was the first time you heard the words come out of his mouth and everything seemed to become more serious and difficult to comprehend.

“I-I love you too, Tones.”

“Avengers!” Steve yelled out as you slowly let go of your best friend and you swallowed, looking over at him.

“You’ll still be here, right?” you whispered, looking into his brown eyes as his lips quirked up into a small smile.

“Always.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You were broken out of your thoughts when you felt a hand on your shoulder and you looked up to see Steve staring down at you with a sad smile.

“It’s time to go kid, where do you want me to take you?”

“Home.”

“Where’s that?”

You opened your mouth to answer and paused.

Home.

Home was where you and Tony would always mess with the team or just with each other. Home was watching your favorite Christmas movie with him while drinking hot chocolate. Home was at the lab in the middle of the night, swapping embarrassing stories until you were both asleep or crying from laughing so hard. Home was with Pepper as you both got on Tony for not taking care of himself. Home was with him watching his daughter grow up.

Home was in his bed where you had sleepovers when neither of you could sleep. Home was the living room where you made a fort out of blankets and pillows. Home was watching him fix his suit, no matter how boring it was. Home was crying into his shoulder when things went wrong. Home was going to him and telling him how horrible your day was. Home was the smell of motor oil, coffee and his cologne. Home was with Tony Stark.

You held back the tears as you choked out,”just take me back to the compound.”

You’ll still be there, right?

Always.

[mashtonasfuck]

come with the starry beams, my love

Pairing: Michael Clifford x Ashton Irwin

Prompts:

Mashton Pen Pals

“Kissing you is all I’ve thought about since the moment we met.”

Warnings: Angst. (So much angst that Beth yelled at me, oops)

Word Count: 4.7K

A note from Lucy: This is part of the writers collab organised by @maluminspace​ and @h0tsos. The masterlist can be found here. See the end of the post for more notes. Shoutout to @loveroflrh​ and @kindahoping4forever​ for your advice, and - as always - thank you to Beth for being my number 1 stan.

You can find my masterlist here

This work must not be reposted anywhere - I do not give my permission for it to appear anywhere other than on my blog, or on my ao3 page.

——————————————————————————

My darling,

The last few days have been endless - whenever you leave it feels as though you take all of the sunshine with you. 

If you can sneak away, I will meet you under the Oak just after sundown. 

Yours, always.

–

The note had been tucked into the lining of Michael’s riding coat. To anyone else, it would have been impossible to find - but Michael always knew where to look. He smiled softly as he ran his thumb over the cream coloured paper, gaze drifting towards the stables. It had been three days since they had seen each other. Not that they were supposed to see each other as frequently as they did. That had been made clear to them both when they were still children - it had left Michael terrified of his father for almost eight months. 

Michael found the first note not long after his sixteenth birthday. It had been shoved into a crack in the wall in the rose garden, the white paper standing out against the grey stonework. There had never been any doubt in Michael’s mind that it had been for him. He’d eased it out of the gap and unfolded it eagerly, the scrawl on the paper confirming what he’d hoped. They’d met under the Oak for the first time that night. Michael had been terrified for days afterwards that they’d be discovered - but as time went on he’d grown to relish in the fear of sneaking out. It was the only time he truly felt alive. 

–

The sun was just beginning to set as Michael sprinted across the grounds, a giddy feeling overtaking his senses. The sky was streaked with pink and gold, casting a glow across the well kept lawns. The September air felt cool against his skin as he ran, a sure sign that Autumn was on her way. As Michael neared the bend in the river he slowed to a jog - the ground here was always changing - they had both fallen at one time or another, Michael having fallen into the river on one particular occasion. He smiled softly to himself as he thought about that particular night and the events that had transpired afterwards. Michael glanced over his left shoulder - the house was almost out of sight - before checking the ground in front of him and breaking into a sprint once more. The chances of anyone seeing him were slim, but Michael didn’t want to take any chances. He knew that he didn’t have to run - he was to inherit the house and grounds one day, he could go anywhere he pleased - but the thrill he gained from sprinting towards his destination was unmatched. Michael skidded to a halt as he reached the grey stone wall that marked the border between the gardens and the forest beyond. He leaned against the low wall for a moment to catch his breath, heart thundering in his ears. Once his breathing had slowed somewhat, Michael clambered over the wall. 

–

“My love?” Michael kept his voice low as he approached the tree, “Are you here?”

The branches just above him rustled, an acorn falling and hitting him squarely on the top of the head. Michael hissed and rubbed his hand over the spot, quiet laughter coming from within the boughs of the tree. Michael rolled his eyes fondly before reaching up and placing his hands around two of the sturdier branches, pulling himself into the thick foliage. 

“You really need to stop dropping acorns on my head, you know.” 

A snort met Michael’s words as he situated himself on a branch, hazel eyes meeting his green ones as he looked up. 

“Where is the fun in that, my darling?” 

Michael scoffed at the comment, smiling slightly as he leaned forwards and closed the gap between them. Warmth flooded through him as their lips met, a hand coming up to cup his face. 

–

This was one of Michael’s favourite things in existence. No one could touch what they had when they were here - the Oak was their safe haven in a world that wanted to tear them apart. Admittedly it was sometimes hard having to keep their relationship a secret - all Michael wanted to do was announce it to the world - but they both knew that if anyone found out they would never see each other again. Neither of them wanted to risk that. Michael knew that they were soulmates - not that he’d believed in those until the night of the first note. As he’d laid in bed that night, he knew that everything in his life began and ended with Ashton. Michael had told him as much not long afterwards, admitting his deepest secret to the man he hoped would keep his heart safe.

–

Michael rested his forehead against Ashton’s as they broke apart, the older man threading their fingers together before pressing a kiss to the tip of Michael’s nose. Michael hummed contentedly at the gesture before speaking.

“The last three days have felt like a lifetime. I hate being away from you.”

“And I you, my love.” Ashton pressed a kiss to Michael’s cheek before continuing, “The estate feels empty when you’re not here - it is as though the life of the place leaves when you do. I am sure you’re some kind of warlock and you just do not know it.”

Michael chuckled quietly at Ashton’s words, sitting up to take in the other man’s appearance. Ashton’s cream coloured shirt was tucked loosely into his breeches and he’d rolled the sleeves up over his elbows. His coat was laying discarded over a branch behind him and Michael wondered faintly how the other man wasn’t cold. Ashton seemed to run warmer than anyone else Michael knew, Ashton’s explanation being that he worked outside all year round - his body had adapted to keep him warm. Michael wasn’t sure how accurate that really was, but it did mean that he usually ended up tucked inside the other man’s jacket. Ashton pressing kisses to Michael’s knuckles broke him out of his revive, humming softly as warm lips met cold skin. He tugged Ashton towards him, setting the other man’s hands on his hips. Michael threaded his fingers into the curls at the base of Ashton’s neck, pulling him nearer until their lips met. 

–

My love,

I cannot stop thinking about your lips on mine. Kissing you is all I have thought about since the moment we met all those years ago, and now I simply cannot go without it. Father is insisting upon holding another ball on Saturday evening. You know how much I hate them, but he cannot comprehend that perhaps I do not wish to marry. Of course, you and I both know that is not the case - if the circumstances were different I would have made you mine years ago. 

Perhaps I can sneak out after midnight on Saturday? You know mother likes to retire early, and father will probably be discussing business. I will meet you in our usual spot.

Eternally yours. 

–

My darling,

Saturday will be too much of a risk. The stables will be over capacity and you know Thomas will sneak off at some point. I would love nothing more than to see you in your finery - but I will not be able to get away. 

In regards to kissing you - I feel the same way. I always have done. You gave me your heart, but remember that you also have mine. In response to your marriage proposal - if that is what you would even call that - you should know that you would never have to ask. We are bound together eternally and nothing will ever change that. 

Yours, always.

–

My love,

You are right about Saturday. It was foolish of me to think that we might be able to go undetected. There will be far too many people roaming the grounds and it is not safe. I will meet you on Sunday as the sun begins to set.

You have bewitched me, body and soul. Never forget.

Eternally yours. 

–

My darling,

How could I ever forget?

Until Sunday.

Yours, always.

–

Balls always felt like a blur to Michael. There was so much preparation for a single night and it made his parents particularly stressed. He tended to keep out of their way in the days leading up to a ball, and ordinarily his plan worked. This particular ball however was proving to be more of an event than Michael was used to. There seemed to be more preparation than usual - he’d seen great quantities of food being delivered to the kitchens yesterday, and flowers appeared in every spare space in the house. The marble columns in the ballroom shone, and the house was somehow more immaculate than usual. Even the servants seemed to be more stressed than usual - Michael had entered the library just after lunch yesterday to find two servants talking in hushed whispers. As soon as they saw him their eyes went wide and they scurried from the room. He’d thought that somewhat strange - but his parents' stress seemed to have rubbed off on all of the staff, so he thought nothing more of it.

Michael had walked through one of the entry rooms this morning, immediately catching the eye of his father - who abruptly abandoned his conversation with a servant to stop Michael in his tracks. His father had asked him to accompany him into his study, and of course Michael obliged. As he sat opposite his father and listened to his words, he rather wished he hadn’t. Michael knew that his parents were eager for him to marry, but never did he think that they would take it this far. 

–

Meet me at the Oak tonight. 

–

Ashton read the note over again hoping that more words would appear on the page. Michael was never that short with him. In all the years that they’d known each other a note from Michael had never filled Ashton with so much dread. He chewed the inside of his lip as he read it over again. Michael’s hand was barely legible - it was clear that he’d written it in a rush. The note had been shoved into Ashton’s jacket pocket while he was mucking out the horses. How he’d missed Michael going past he wasn’t sure; Ashton was usually fairly good at being able to tell if Michael was in the general vicinity. He glanced up at the house and saw some of the other servants carrying armfuls of flowers out onto the driveway. Michael’s mother never put flowers around the edges of the driveway. Alarm bells sounded in Ashton’s mind as he watched the flowers being arranged. Waiting until nightfall was going to be his end. 

–

Michael took his time on the walk down to the Oak. He replayed the conversation with his father over again in his mind as he walked, and every step that took him nearer to Ashton filled his insides with more and more nerves. The air had more of a chill than usual and he pulled his jacket tighter around himself. As Michael approached the wall he paused for a moment and looked back towards the house. No one could see him here, and no one had seen him leave - he could quite easily just slip away without anyone realising. He shook his head to clear the thought from his mind before crossing over the wall. 

–

From his treetop vantage point Ashton could see Michael ambling slowly towards the wall. Where had his carefree spirit gone? Ashton loved to secretly watch Michael sprint towards him, arms stretched wide with a grin to match. He watched the blonde pause by the wall and look back towards the house. Ashton could see that there was light coming from more rooms than usual, but he wasn’t entirely sure what Michael was looking for - he knew that you couldn’t see the house from here, so why was the other man looking back? Ashton watched him shake his head before he climbed over the wall. Slowly, Ashton climbed back down into the lower levels of the tree to wait for Michael. 

–

“I don’t understand.” Ashton’s voice was quiet in the evening air and he refused to meet Michael’s eyes. 

“Mother and Father have taken it upon themselves to organise a wedding,” Michael swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing, “that is what Saturday is for. It is to celebrate the union.”

Ashton chuckled darkly, looking up at Michael. 

“How can it be a celebration when it is forced?”

Michael shifted uncomfortably under Ashton’s gaze, glancing down at his hands. Ashton sucked in a breath as he studied the other man, his voice wavering as he spoke. 

“You’re going ahead with it, aren’t you?” 

Michael looked up at him incredulously. 

“You say that like I have a choice, Ashton.” The other man flinched at Michael’s words as he continued, “Do you not think I tried everything to prevent it from happening? You know how… explosive my father can be at times, and forgive me but I would rather avoid that event.”

Michael’s jaw clenched as he finished speaking, Ashton once again refusing to meet his eyes. The pair sat in silence for what felt like a lifetime before Ashton finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper. 

“What about.. what about us?” 

Ashton’s hazel eyes finally met Michael’s green, hurt painted clearly on his face. Michael steeled himself before replying to the other man’s question. 

“There cannot be an ‘us’ anymore.”

–

Michael had expected Ashton to be angry. He’d expected him to shout and scream, and demand to know why Michael was giving up on them. What he hadn’t expected was Ashton to suck in a breath and drop down out of the tree. Michael sat there in a daze as he watched the other man walk quickly away, looking back one more time before breaking into a sprint. Michael choked out a sob as he watched Ashton get further away from him, the bond between them stretching and stretching until Michael felt it snap. Waves of nausea washed over him as he realised what he’d done - what he’d said.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat in the Oak, eyes fixed on the horizon willing Ashton to come back to him. At some point the tears had stopped falling and Michael became aware of the coolness of the night air. He shivered involuntarily, still refusing to look away from where Ashton had finally left his gaze. It was only when tiredness began to tug at his consciousness that Michael lowered himself out of the tree and began to walk slowly back towards the house.

–

It was two days before Michael tried to track down Ashton. He knew that his words had hurt the other man, and he wanted to give him space. Michael ambled down towards the stables, stomach churning. He wasn’t sure how Ashton would take seeing him - Michael hadn’t seen him around at all whenever he’d been skulking around the grounds; this was something he’d found himself doing more and more as the wedding date approached. He pushed the thought of Saturday from his mind, smoothed down his jacket and strolled into the stables. It wasn’t uncommon for Michael to visit the stables - his horse was kept here after all - but very rarely did he visit without notifying a stablehand first. As Michael entered he spotted Thomas immediately. The man was well into his 50’s, having been on the estate for most of his life. Ashton used to joke that Thomas had come with the house when Michael’s family first purchased it - Michael was well aware that this couldn’t be the case. The house was in the hands of the third generation of the Clifford family - a legacy his father was clearly keen to continue.

“Good Afternoon, Sir - forgive me, we were not expecting you. Can I help you with anything?” Thomas was looking at him quizzically, Michael suddenly floundering to find an excuse as to why he was standing in the middle of the stable block.

“Good afternoon Thomas. I was, uh, I was looking for Ashton - he was supposed to be getting new shoes fitted to Shadow. I was coming to check on the progress.”

The older man frowned at Michael’s words, glancing over towards where another stable hand was clearly eavesdropping.

“Pardon my manners Sir, but I wasn’t aware that your horse was in need of new shoes. I’ll get it seen too right away.”

“Thank you, but I’m sure Ashton has it all in hand - I simply wish to discuss it with him.” Michael’s patience with the man was wearing thin - he couldn’t understand why Thomas was being so evasive about Ashton.

“Forgive me, but Ashton left your father’s employment yesterday morning.” Thomas frowned before he continued. “He came to tell me he was leaving after he’d spoken to your father’s steward - I tried to find out why but -“

“Thank you, Thomas.” Michael cut the older man off. “I was not made aware. Please ensure that Shadow is seen too.”

Michael turned on his heel and walked briskly out of the stables, breaking into a sprint as soon as he was out of sight of the doors. He continued running until he reached the river, skidding to a halt. He gasped for air, his chest heaving.

Ashton was gone.

Nausea reared up inside him, and Michael emptied the contents of his stomach out onto the grass.

–

Ashton.

I do not know where you’ve gone - I know why you left.

Forgive me. I never wanted this. If I could take back what I said to you, I would do so in a heartbeat.

I never wanted to hurt you.

I promised you my heart, and you promised to keep it safe. Perhaps all this time it should have been you who was worried.

I felt it.

When you walked away. It felt as though a rope was pulling and pulling and then snapped.

Did you feel it too?

Thomas told me that you had gone today. I had no idea. I never wanted you to leave - I did not expect you to leave. If I am being truthful, and I promised to always be, I do not know what I expected. You have been here for as far back as I can remember, and I suppose I just thought that you would always be here.

I understand now that it was foolish of me to think like that. How could I have expected you to stay, when I was the very reason you felt it necessary to leave?

I do not know if you will ever read this. I have decided to leave it at the Oak. I do not even know if you are still in this county. If you do find this letter, then please know:

You are my sun, my moon, and my stars.

I seemed to have forgotten that. My heart will always be yours.

I do not expect you to forgive me - I cannot undo what has been done, and I must go ahead with the marriage on Saturday. I need to protect my family and our legacy.

I hope you will eventually come to understand.

Eternally yours.

–

Ashton,

I often find myself wandering down by our tree these days. It is the only place I still feel your presence it seems.

My first letter was gone when I looked yesterday. I am trying not to get my hopes up. The wind could have dislodged it, or someone else could have taken it. I suppose I should be more careful in case the latter is true.

Though part of me wonders if I care anymore? It has taken you leaving to make me realise that I was far too caught up in what other people would think.

I love you. And I know that I always will.

Eternally yours.

P.S. I got married yesterday.

The whole affair was far too lavish, but mother seemed to enjoy herself. My bride is Elizabeth Merryweather, if you can believe it. I remember her from when we were young, though I cannot say we have spoken a word from the age of 6 or 7. She seems agreeable enough. From what I can gather she was also not pleased about the arrangement we find ourselves in. Her father was rather generous with the sum he promised to us if we married.

–

My love,

I hope you do not mind me calling you such. I thought it would perhaps conceal our identities once again.

My second letter has also gone from the tree. I hope that it is indeed you receiving them - though I wish you would give me some sort of sign to confirm my hope.

I hope you are well. Mother and Father left the estate today. They have gone to London to stay with my Aunt and Uncle - I highly suspect the move will become permanent. So now it is just Elizabeth and I.

I think you would like her, you know. Her humour is much like your own. I enjoy being in her company - though we both agree our union will only be one of friendship. Neither of us have any desire to parent children; though if our parents enquire we have agreed to say that we are trying.

I am not sure what would become of the house if I do not have an heir to leave it to - I suppose a cousin will take it on.

I had once imagined you and I sitting in the library in our older years. This estate is full of hopes that I once had for us. You are the only person I see myself growing old with.

Eliza was reading a new collection of poetry to me after dinner last night. There is one in particular that made my thoughts drift to you, and I would like to share a part of it with you, if I may?

“Oh, come to me in dreams, my love!

I will not ask a dearer bliss;

Come with the starry beams, my love,

And press mine eyelids with thy kiss.”

This is only the first stanza, and I am unsure who the poet is, however I feel it perfectly expresses our current situation. I see you in my dreams nightly. Forgive me if I overstepped.

I hope you are safe. My heart has not stopped aching since that day we last saw each other. I am not sure that it ever will.

Eternally yours.

–

My love,

It has been almost two months since you left.

Every day I find myself thinking about you more and more. I think Eliza - I have started to call her that - knows that something is distracting me. I am rarely in the house at the moment. Even though the November air sends a chill through my bones, walking the grounds is the only way I seem to be able to collect my thoughts.

Mother and Father have not returned from London. Mother wrote last week to inform us that they had found a large house near The Strand and were moving into it at the end of the month. I was not surprised by the letter's arrival - I seem to recall telling you that I did not think they would return. It seems as though Father has decided that I should receive my inheritance early. We have invited our parents to dine with us at Christmas, however both have declined. I sense that they are trying to encourage children out of Eliza and I. You already know that neither of us consider children to be an option.

I find myself wondering where you are more and more frequently. My letters keep disappearing, however I am still trying not to keep my hopes up in case it is not you reading these words.

I know that I already asked you for a sign, and I have thus far received nothing. I am simply hoping that you are choosing to keep your distance - I understand this of course. The more I linger on the events of September, the more sorry I feel. You did not deserve my harshness. You have always kept my heart safe, as you promised.

It still belongs to you, you know.

Eternally yours.

–

Michael meandered slowly down towards the Oak, pulling his coat tighter around himself and patting his pocket to double check he had Ashton’s letter. The chill in the November air was verging on unbearable - Michael was sure that snow would soon be on its way. He was unsure as to whether he’d be able to continue visiting the Oak when it snowed - if the snowfall was anything like the year previous it would be almost unreachable. Michael had walked this path so many times in the last two months he was sure he could do it with his eyes closed. He knew that Eliza was curious about his prolonged absences during the day - he just wasn’t sure how to explain to her why he was out so often.

I’m in love with my old stable hand and I’ve been writing him letters ever since he left two months ago. It broke his heart when I told him I was to be married.

Even saying it in his head sounded ludicrous. Michael was sure that she wouldn’t judge him for writing letters to Ashton if he explained that he was just a friend. But Michael knew that Ashton would always just be more than a friend to him. They had been through - and shared - so much. Ashton had his heart. Michael wasn’t certain that Eliza would understand; loving another man was not something that you were supposed to do.

Michael sighed as he climbed over the wall - the stones were starting to dislodge from his constant passage back and forth. The Oak stood not far in the distance, it’s branches barren. Its leaves had seemed to start dropping the week that Ashton had left - Michael had since decided that the universe was playing a cruel trick on him. The more leaves that fell, the more lonely Michael felt. He of course knew that the transition into Winter caused the leaves to fall; the timing however, Michael had decided, was uncanny. Even from this distance Michael could see that his previous letter was gone. His heart always jumped a little when he saw that it was no longer there. What he did notice this time around was something in the place where he’d left the letter. Michael quickened his pace, glancing around to check for any sign of Ashton.

The something Michael saw turned out to be a small box wrapped in a red cloth. He gingerly plucked it out of the tree, cradling it gently in his hands. On the top of the parcel was a small card, and Michael felt his heart beat louder in his chest. He pulled it free from where it was lodged in the cloth, turning it over.

Consider this a sign.

Michael sucked in a breath as he ran his fingers over the words on the paper. This was Ashton’s hand. These were his words.

Michael pocketed the card with shaking hands, sucking in a breath as he looked back at the small parcel. He slowly undid the knot on the top of the box and pulled the red silk free, wrapping it around his left hand. Michael eased the lid off the box slowly, holding his breath until he saw the contents. He let out a breathy laugh as he pulled out a singular acorn. Michael blinked away the tears that threatened to spill over as he turned the object over in his palm, his heart continuing to pound in his chest.

Ashton had been getting his letters. He’d read them.

Michael clutched the acorn to his chest, his heart soaring.

“Michael?”

Michael’s eyes grew wide and he spun around, hazel eyes meeting his green.

——————————————————————————

Notes: So. There is a lot more of this to come. This idea became far too big for the event and part 2 is already in the works! This is a real labour of love and the self-indulgence is rife. I really hope you all enjoyed this. It really is my own Regency forbidden romance and I love it - I hope you do too!

Any questions, advice or constructive criticism? Shoot me a message here

Taglist: @pxrxmoore, @queer-5sos, @irwinkitten, @kindahoping4forever, @sadistmichael, @loveroflrh, @mysticalhood, @adoringlrh, @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles, @koalacal, @maluminspace, @malumsmermaid, @lashtonswildflower, @irwindoll, @castaway-cashton, @everyscarisahealingplace, @converse-luke, @zhangyixingxing1

[artemisegeria]

The Picture of the Mind Revives Again (1/?)

Title: The Picture of the Mind Revives Again (1/?)

Rating: T

Word count: 1532

Warnings: None

Summary: Sequel to “A Formula, A Phrase Remains.” Title is from “Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey” by William Wordsworth.

Vision has gone missing after Shuri, Bruce, and Helen revived him. Now they must tell Wanda what they did without her knowledge.

A/N: Onto the second part of this story. We’ve had some new material and news about the future of Wanda and Vision in the MCU, and the MCU as a whole, since I started my initial plan, but I think I will be ignoring most of it. I am completely disregarding the events of Spider-Man: Far From Home; none of it happened. I may feature a little more Strange and Wanda interacting due to the news that she will be joining his sequel, but that’s about it.

Instead of alternating POVs between Wanda and Shuri, this part will alternate between Vision and Wanda.

  And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, 

With many recognitions dim and faint, 

And somewhat of a sad perplexity, 

The picture of the mind revives again: 

While here I stand, not only with the sense 

Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts 

That in this moment there is life and food 

For future years. And so I dare to hope, 

Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first 

I came among these hills; when like a roe 

I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides 

Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, 

Wherever nature led: more like a man 

Flying from something that he dreads, than one 

Who sought the thing he loved.

-          William Wordsworth

Vision tried to move his fingers and toes, but his limbs were slow to respond to his thoughts. Buzzing filled his head. He opened his eyes slowly, and the world gradually came into focus. All of that was forgotten as he remembered who and where he was. He expected the to hear the sounds of battle all around him, but there was only the quiet hum of computers.

He called out, “Hello.” No one answered. His thoughts were sluggish. There was something very important to remember. Wanda! She had jumped into battle just moments before. He forced himself to his feet and walked toward the window. He finally realized that he was in a different room when the view outside the window was not the wide-open field that he was expecting. Instead, it was a view of the city. He recognized the Wakandan style of architecture, so he was evidently in the palace. But he could not understand why there were no signs of struggle.

Vision attempted to scan the internet to find the answers he was seeking. He was shocked when the timestamp read September 2024. How could he have missed more than six years already? His body slumped against his will. He struggled to bring it back under his control. It felt as if his arms and legs belonged to someone else. He managed to lean against the wall to support his weight as he continued to search.

A search for “Wanda Maximoff” brought up articles concerning recent missions with the Avengers. One article described how the team had recently been handed keys to New York City. A picture showed her smiling with one arm around Sam and one around a blonde woman he didn’t recognize. Sergeant Barnes, Peter Parker, and another man he had never seen before were also present. Wanda was on several lists as the number two and number three most eligible bachelorettes in New York City. Vision also scanned through and quickly closed several Reddit threads about her.

Wanda seemed happy at least. Vision knew how she would hide her true feelings, and he wished to speak with her to ascertain that her surface appearance was an accurate representation of her emotional state. But she had the team. She was still able to be an Avenger and help others, as she always talked about wishing she could return while she was a fugitive. Most of the articles he read lauded her powers and her efforts and proclaimed her a valuable member of the team, as Vision thought they should. People were finally starting to appreciate her as she deserved. He was so proud of her.

Vision forced himself away from Wanda and to the world at large. From what he could gather, Thanos had been successful in his plan, half the population of the universe had disappeared, and they had returned five years later. A full year and more had passed since then. Despite Vision’s free access to the information, the weight of all he had missed fell heavily on him. There was still so much he did not understand. How was he functioning? His hand went to his forehead. He felt the ridges of a stone, but that did not make sense. If Thanos tore his Stone from his forehead as was reported, how was it still in his head?

He heard footsteps approaching his room. Without thinking, Vision phased himself through the wall, remaining incorporeal as he floated above the city. He needed someplace to sit and think, alone. He traveled to the forest. When he found a convenient branch where he could perch, he widened his search to discover more about the world today.

Vision researched the other Avengers. The roster was quite different than it had been. He bowed his head in grief when he realized both Tony and Natasha were gone, having sacrificed themselves to save the universe. One of the men in the picture was Doctor Stephen Strange. He had apparently become Wanda’s mentor, if certain news articles were to be believed. Sergeant Barnes had been healed by Princess Shuri and had joined the team. King T’Challa had taken on a larger role while focusing most of his energies on Wakanda. Vision scrolled through information on others who were also only with the team part of the time; he knew none of these people. He tried and failed to process all the changes that had occurred.

Vision frowned when he saw that Thaddeus Ross was the president of the United States and was running for re-election. It appeared that he was still not facing accountability for his involvement with the RAFT. It was at least a relief that the Accords were no longer in force.

The sun was beginning to set when several of T’Challa’s Dora Milaje passed underneath him. He slipped further up the tree to hide among the leaves. He did not know why he did not simply make himself known to them. He knew that T’Challa was still king here and Shuri was in charge of developing Wakanda’s technology. Surely, they could help him understand and get in contact with Wanda and the others. But he could not confront another person right now. It was all too much.

Vision remained where he was, absorbing this new world. He scanned through every article he could absorb on the politics, religion, and culture that were all unfamiliar to him. So much was different from what he knew. He could categorize the data, draw up charts and graphs, but he could not truly comprehend the changes.

It was some hours later when he heard a familiar, precious voice. “Vizh! Vision! Are you here?” Wanda collapsed on the ground beneath his perch. She shouted his name a few more times before she broke into wordless keening. His instinct was to go to her, but he could not move. He could see her distress, but he could not feel it. He realized that their mental link, which he had enjoyed throughout the years they had known each other, was completely absent.

Wanda continued to cry beneath him. Vision began to hate himself. What kind of man was he that he did not try to comfort the woman he loved, that he merely watched while she mourned for him? But still he could not force his limbs into motion.

Eventually, Wanda’s sobs quieted, and she rose to her feet, dusting herself off. She walked away from him with renewed exclamations of his name. Vision knew that it was not too late to talk to her. He could follow her, explain how confused he had been, ask her what was happening, beg her forgiveness for not approaching her immediately. She would understand him. Wanda always understood him from the very beginning of his existence.

But still he did nothing. Darkness fell completely and he remained in the same position. Wanda even passed directly underneath him again on her way back to the palace, head hanging low and steps lethargic. But he did not go to her.

When Vision could not bear the thought of remaining in this place any longer, he lifted himself into the air and began to fly away. He found that it was far easier to navigate through the air than to walk. At first, Vision had no destination in mind, simply away from what he had lost, all the people he could not face.

By the time he had been in the air for several hours, he was able to think more clearly. Vision decided he needed a destination with which he had no connection. That eliminated anywhere he had traveled for a mission with the Avengers or searching for his fugitive teammates, and certainly anywhere he had visited with Wanda.

He settled on Geneva, Switzerland. His typical human disguise would not appear amiss there. He could explore an area that he had not experienced.

Vision flew some hours more before he landed in a back alley, remaining incorporeal until he was firmly on the ground. He was grateful that he did not need food or water or shelter, except under the most extreme weather conditions. Now he only faced the question of how he would fill his days.

And there was one more detail that he had to take care of before he did anything else. He needed to explain himself to Wanda. Vision began composing an email, careful to take measures to ensure he could not be traced.

  A/N2: All the news we recently learned from SDCC 2019 has reinvigorated my interest in finishing my three-part story because I can’t predict or control what happens in canon, but I do promise a happy ending here.

[jinmukangwrites]

Storm

Based off this post by @insertdisc5

Couldn't stop thinking about it at work and decided to write a bit of this unique AU. I have it take place a couple centuries after BOTW. Idk, just random, but I might continue if depending on how many people like it.

-o-o-o-o-

"Stop calling me that!" She practically screamed. She had kept it to herself for long enough, smiling and nodding and not letting them know how much her own name effected her. Yet she was almost seventeen, and she'd kept it hidden for so long her chest felt like it might burst. She was done with pretending, done with feeling so wrong, and done with these people who should accept her for who she is.

"I don't know what you're so upset about, Zei-"

"Stop! That's not me!" She yelled once again. Her mother stopped in the middle of the name… that name that did not fit her… and gave her an odd look. Her father was sitting off to the side, pretending to write letters when in reality he was probably listening in. "I asked you to call me Zelda. That's my name."

Her mother tilted her head to the side, allowing hair to fall down her pointed ears. "But… that's a girl's name, honey."

"I'm a girl. That's what I've been trying to tell you, but you won't listen!"

"…"

Her dad suddenly stood up from his desk and walked towards her, and for a second hot dread filled her body to the point she thought she trembled. "You're not a girl."

"Yes," she said, sounding as brave as she could. She squared her jaw and looked her father… the King… straight in the eye, "I am."

-o-o-o-o-

"So you really did it, huh?" Ganondorf said quietly. He sat next to her on a small boulder in the castle garden. Their knees just barely touched as the birds sang in the tree tops. The sounds of lazily moving water and rustling leaves filled her whole being with a calmness she desperately needed. "How did they react?"

Zelda sighed and leaned down into her hands before she turned slightly to see him. He was the only one that had known. He was the only one who truly knew her and didn't insist she was not… a she. "Badly, but at least they didn't throw me in prison. Said I'll grow out of it eventually."

Ganondorf let out a small chuckle. "If they threw you in prison, I would kidnap you and bring you back to Gerudo town with me."

Zelda let out a small laugh and let the dream play out for just a second. She had met some Gerudo women before, and each of them had accepted her, surely that must be proof that her gender at birth isn't who she really is? If only she could convince her mother and father of that.

"No, it's best I stay here," she said, "I told them, now I just have to prove myself to them."

-o-o-o-o-

It didn't take long for an opportunity to prove herself to come along, she just wished it wasn't this. Anything but this.

Blood dripped down onto the tile as three Royal Guard Knites used up all their strength to hold each other up. The King sat upon his throne in shock, the Prince's looked lost, looking too and from each other as if they had no clue what to do. Zelda; she felt nothing. Even as the words "we don't think she's alive," and "we lost her," met her ears, she felt nothing.

Nothing but the feel of her legs as they slammed against the tile. Nothing but the vibration of large doors closing behind her. Nothing but the pounding in her chest.

She burst into the storm outside, typical for something so horrible to happen on a stormy day. She didn't even realize she had armed herself and had grabbed her horse until she was riding through the rain that came down thick, desperately trying to keep droplets out of her eyes.

Lynel, they said, ambush, they cried, we just barely left alive, they pleaded.

Went towards the Queen, Zelda felt her heart stop, lost sight of her, Zelda's throat closed up, too dark to see, and suddenly it didn't matter that her mother still insisted on calling her by the other name, still insisted on having seven sons and no daughters, it didn't matter because even though Zelda was not accepted, punished for wearing the dresses she wanted to, scolded for growing her hair too long, shunned for looking at the boys around the castle, she still loved Zelda, but not as a daughter. It didn't matter. Zelda still loved her as a mother.

Hoofs pounded on the muddy ground and she burst through Castle town into Hyrule field. Half put together ruins and Guardian corpses littered the pathway, but there was no danger near the castle besides the lighting that was attracted to various metal things that still haven't been picked up.

She turned right, forgetting the path and choosing to go straight through instead. Long grass whipped at her slippered feat and twigs snatched onto her dress she had somehow convinced her father to let her wear around the castle. Her chopped hair—too long was something her father didn't approve of—slicked down to her forehead and made it harder to see. She should have put it up…

And there, with a flash of light, she could see the statue of a grand horse that her mother loved so much. She took many trips too and from the statue, telling tales of a grand white horse used by the hero so long ago to defeat the great evil that took over the castle. "Much is forgotten about that time," her mother said with a sad smile, "but I knew a woman who was the great-grandchild of Impa. She died a very long time ago, but she told me stories when she was strong enough. Stories about a hero and a very brave princess from another time. They say her name was Zelda, and the hero, her knight, was Link."

Zelda…

Lightning flashed again and Zelda was close enough to climb the stairs to the statue. Her horse shrieked when a bolt of lighting got too close and Zelda felt herself get flung off, landing roughly at the foot of the statue. She felt something in her wrist snap, but her heart ached too much for her to think of any other pain. She scrambled to her feet, blinking in the storm, trying to ignore how rain water wasn't the only liquid pooling on the ground, trying to ignore the figures of soldiers still on the ground.

Then she saw it, a familiar blue dress that was washed with rain, stained darker by liquid of life. She felt like she needed to throw up. Her ears rung as she took a couple steps froward… only to fall to her knees and clutch at a mangled hand.

A sob tore through her throat when there was no warmth to feel. She stayed that way, letting the rain soak her to the bones, until her horse made a scared whimper. She looked up to the distance, where she saw lightning flash once more, revealing the silhouette of a half horse beast standing a great distance away. When another flash lit up the sky, the Lynel was gone and Zelda was left to mourn until the soldiers found her there.

-o-o-o-o-

The funeral was depressing. The songs were tuneless and not a smile was to be seen. The whole kingdom would mourn the loss of it's Queen, far and wide. Even other creatures from different kingdoms visited. A young prince came in the stead of King Sidon, who was too frail and old to travel. Zelda didn't know the name of the current leader of the Rito, their lifespan was very small, so leadership changed often, but they were there too. The Goron King was there to give prescious gems as a sympathetic gift… the Ganondorf was there too, King of of Gerudo.

They sang songs in the Queen's memory. They placed her mangled corpse wrapped in fine cloth in a grand boat made of intertwined branches of a cherry blossom tree. The sent the boat off, and Zelda's oldest brother had the honor of firing the arrow to set the boat alight.

Zelda wore one of her mother's dresses. Her father didn't approve, but she didn't care. As embers rose to the heavens, Zelda vowed to not let anything like this happen ever again. The only issue was finding out how.

-o-o-o-o-

The moon rose high three days after the funeral. Zelda wrapped her body in a cloak and stepped into the cool air. She snuck past the guards, avoided Castle Town, and made her way towards Hyrule Field. She had a goal in mind, and the only things she was taking with her was the pouch around her hips filled with rations, the garments on her back—not a dress like she would have preferred to wear, dresses were not that practical at traveling after all—and the bow slung across her shoulders.

She didn't risk grabbing her horse, not that she could ride it anyways with her wrist wrapped in a cast. She had to leave silently because she already knew her father would not be happy about what she was planning to do.

But it had to be done.

She was turning seventeen in just a few days, now would be the perfect time to go.

The stars shifted quite a distance by the time she made it out to the fields. She let out a breath of relief at not being caught.

"Where are you going?"

Zelda gasped at the sudden voice behind her and red rose to her ears at the familiar sight of Ganondorf.

He had his arms folded across his chest and a narrowed look to his gaze. She shifted her feet akwardly. "Out for a walk," she replied smartly.

All Ganondorf had to do was raise his eyebrow, and Zelda sighed, letting her posture relax in shame. "I was going to the Spring of Wisdom." Ganondorf took a step forwards and she looked away towards the mountains in the distance. "The Goddess Hylia's powers had been passed down in the Royal family, mother to daughter, for generations. I will awaken that power, and then rid the world of Lynel's and creatures of the like. I will obliterate then all, so that not even the Blood Moon will be able to revive them." She looked over to her childhood friend. "Do not stop me."

Ganondorf took a step towards her. "I thought so," he said softly, "but the lands away from the castle are dangerous. You cannot hope to go alone."

"Then come with me," she said. Ganondorf's eyes widened in surprise, and before he could say anything she continued, "I'm going whether you like it or not, so if you want me to be safe, you might as well come with me."

"Or I could overpower you and take you back to the castle."

"I would never forgive you."

Ganondorf stared at her for a moment before he let out a hearty chuckle. "I see. Then it seems I have no choice but to follow. Make sure you don't get yourself killed."

Great joy traveled through Zelda's whole being and she ran up to embrace Ganondorf. He let out a puff of air and returned the hug. "Thank you."

[madscientistjournal]

Fiction: Godwin, or The Modern Prometheus

An essay by Captain Jack Passerday, as told to Dave D’Alessio Art by Luke Spooner

11 Nov 1824

My dear Wilhelm:

I am writing to you as my solicitor in order that I may place into your hands certain information that may someday have value to the public at large. I ask you to retain this privately in the event that I meet with some form of malicious misadventure, at which time you may place it into the hands of the authorities as you see fit.

You are certainly aware, Wilhelm, that I, and my ship and crew have recently returned from our unsuccessful attempt to navigate the Northwest Passage. This failure, and the hardships it entailed, has been described at length in the Annals of the Explorers Society and so I will not bore you with it. Instead, I wish to describe for you an unusual event that we met with at the outset of our voyage.

As you know, we put forth from Dover in June of 1821. At the time, the prevailing winds were such that I decided to take the ship into the North Sea, up the Scandinavian coastline. It was while we were in easy view of Tromso that we spied a single boat, quite small and inappropriate to the rigors of the open sea, and apparently empty. As we closed on it, however, we saw a man lying insensible in the bottom who, by dress, was clearly no Norwegian fisherman, as he wore a black cutaway jacket and top hat rather than the usual heavy sweater and knit cap.

He was brought aboard, where our ship’s doctor, the estimable Surgeon Kaye, pronounced his condition the result of starvation and exposure. The unfortunate man found a large and powerful hot toddy more than stimulating, and after he had consumed it in its entirety, along with a good handful of ship’s biscuit, he felt sufficiently revived as to tell us why we had found him as we had.

After introducing himself as a physician from London, one John Polidori, he explained that his intention had been to row north until he was lost at sea and perished. I asked what might drive a reasonable and sane man, for he seemed both reasonable and sane at the moment, to such an act, and his exact response was, “I can no longer bear the secret that I hold within my breast.” Thus he began, and from there went on with a story so unlikely that if my Lieutenant and Surgeon had not also heard very much the same, I would have doubted my own sanity.

~

Doctor Polidori said:

It was in June of 1816 that I was installed in the household of George Gordon Noel Byron, that is, Lord Byron, the preeminent poet of our age. He was currently summering at the Villa Diodati overlooking Lake Geneva, a large and open building with a broad veranda well sited and designed for enjoying the vista of the lake as surrounded by the Alps.

Alas for all of us, you recall the summer of 1816 was particularly dreadful in terms of weather. Rain accompanied by thunderstorms was general, and when there was no rain, skies were none-the-less overcast for the largest part. At times the precipitation was so precipitous that we were confined entirely to the Villa and left to our own devices in terms of entertainment.

In that latter regard, we were in great and good company. A former paramour of Lord Byron’s, the aspiring actress and singer Claire Clairmont, joined us, and had brought with her her step-sister and, for lack of a more delicate term, her step-sister’s lover. He was Percy Bysshe Shelley, known as the author of Queen Mab, and Alastor, or the Spirit of Solitude, and a rising literary light. As for the step-sister herself, she was perhaps even more formidable. At the time, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin was of but eighteen years of age, but like her name, she was clearly the product of two formidable parents, her father, William Godwin, the radical philosopher, and her mother, Mary Wollstonecraft, the noted essayist on the rights and abilities of women.

It was, of course, I who filled our party out to five.

But the time came that the apparatus was perfected. All we needed do was await the next thunderstorm.

To read the rest of this story, check out the Mad Scientist Journal: Summer 2019 collection.

Captain Jack Passerday, RN, Member of the Explorer’s Society, served with distinction during the Napoleonic Wars, being promoted from Ensign to Commander. Following his unsuccessful voyage in search of the Northwest Passage (1821-1824), he and his crew disappeared during a search for Hawaiki, the legendary home of the Polynesian peoples (1827-?), presumably during a tropical typhoon. The attached manuscript was found among the papers of Wilhelm Cheatham, Esq., upon the dissolution of his firm Howe, Dewey, Cheatham Associates in 2018.

Dave D’Alessio is an ex-industrial chemist, ex-TV engineer, and ex-award-winning animator currently masquerading as a social scientist. His more than twenty previously published stories include “The Twenty-Year Reich,” finalist for the Sidewise Award for best alternative history short story of 2017, and “Jack the Giant-Killer: A Species Traitor?” in Mad Scientist Journal, Volume CXCVIII, August 2015.

Luke Spooner, a.k.a. ‘Carrion House,’ currently lives and works in the South of England. Having recently graduated from the University of Portsmouth with a first class degree, he is now a full time illustrator for just about any project that piques his interest. Despite regular forays into children’s books and fairy tales, his true love lies in anything macabre, melancholy, or dark in nature and essence. He believes that the job of putting someone else’s words into a visual form, to accompany and support their text, is a massive responsibility, as well as being something he truly treasures. You can visit his web site at www.carrionhouse.com.

“Godwin, or The Modern Prometheus” is © 2019 Dave D’Allessio Art accompanying story is © 2019 Luke Spooner

Fiction: Godwin, or The Modern Prometheus was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

[tangyyyy]

Lucille and Eliott met when they were both very young, here is a piece of their love story. They truly loved each other, maybe in a wrong way, but love isn’t always an easy thing to live and to do. From 2014 to 2019. From Lucille to Lucas, with a lot of Eliott in the middle. 

This is it

Tuesday March 5 2019, 11:05 am

As time went by, Lucille had to face the facts, something had been broken between her and Eliott. Yet the young woman had done everything she could to revive their past relationship, everything. She had been patient, had listened to him, had taken care of him. They had both gone to a party organised by Chloé. If the two young people had seemed to be having fun, it was only superficial. Lucille was devastated. Helpless, she could only watch Eliott move away from her a little more each day. She would have liked to think that all was Lucas's fault. She would have loved to blame the young man for all her misfortune but unfortunately it wasn't the truth. Eliott and him weren't together. Lucille didn't know the details, but she knew something had gone wrong between the two of them. No, she had to accept it : Eliott was slowly walking away from her because he wanted to.

Every night the young woman couldn't stop the tears from running down her face. What would she become without Eliott ? She had only known him, she grew up beside him. Lucille without Eliott wasn't really Lucille anymore. Her whole body seemed to be suffering from this situation. As if every step of Eliott's farthest away from Lucille, was a stab in every inch of the young woman's skin. One Tuesday morning, while Lucille was supposed to be at college but had preferred to stay home to mope in the dark, Eliott had sent her a message. The message that Lucille dreaded seeing on her phone for days. "We really need to talk. Are you at home?" At the reading of this message, Lucille had let slip a small plaintive groan from the bottom of her knotted throat. It would have been tempting, for the young woman, to ignore the message, to fly her phone in one of her room's corner and to return to hide under her comforter. But she didn't do anything. As painful as it may seem, Eliott was right, they had to talk. Lucille wasn't stupid, she knew very well where this talk would lead them but... This time, not like the last one, she had to face it. Whatever Eliott's decision might be, she would accept it. She texted him back with shaking fingers, a tear of grief crashing down on the phone's screen. "Yes. Come anytime you want." Not even bothering to wear something other than her old tracksuit, she still styled her hair in a simple pony tail and heated some water in the kettle. Once the water was hot, she filled two big mugs. In one she put down a bag of Japanese green tea, her favorite and in another, a spicy black tea bag, Eliott's favorite. Hardly had she put the two mugs on either side of the small table in the living room, she heard a small knock on the front door. Lucille smiled sadly. Would she ever find a boy she'd know as well as she knew Eliott? Did she only want to?

She opened the door and greeted Eliott without coming over to kiss him as usual, just smiling at him in a shy way. The young man sat on one of the comfy blue velvet armchairs and grabbed the mug between his fine hands. Lucille sat on the couch, which seemed, for the first time, way too big for herself. "Thanks for the tea." Drinking a sip of hot tea, the young woman didn't answer. She liked this feeling, the too hot liquid in her mouth, burning her tongue slightly. "This situation makes us both unhappy.” Said the young man without any preamble. Lucille squeezed her mug in her hands and looked up at him. "That's right..." She simply replied. A heavy silence fell on them. Lucille would have liked to disappear, to fall asleep for ten long years and to wake up thinking about this talk which would be nothing but a bad memory. Or else, better, she would have wished to fall asleep to wake up a few moments later, realising that this moment was a mere nightmare. Her worst nightmare, seeing Eliott leaving her. But she wasn't crazy, it was real, even if the young man struggled to find his words, his intention remained clear. He was leaving Lucille for the second time in a few days. Except that now, the young woman would let him talk. Anyway, deep inside herself, Lucille had always known this. If their love story had to end one day, it was inevitably Eliott who would go away, not her. Never her. "I'm sorry.” Eliott faltered. Lucille wiped a small tear on her cheek and looked up again at the young man. "Sorry for what ? -For... You know what I told you last Sunday, I really meant it and I still mean it. But... It didn't work well with Lucas and... And I felt sad and you were there. I... I let you hope that something was possible, but I should have been clearer, stand my ground, it was... -Eliott.” Interrupted the young woman. "It's... Well, I'm sorry too. I didn't take you seriously and... And last week when I saw you so sad on the bench I thought maybe it was because you regretted this breakup. I took advantage of... Of your sadness to reassure me. It was stupid." Silence fell again, leaving each of them immersed in their own thoughts. Eliott was biting his lips nervously and Lucille could no longer restrain a single one of her tears. "So this is it. This is the end.” Eliott's voice was low, almost a whisper. "Looks like it, yes." Lucille heard a voice in her mind. A small voice borned in her heart and blooming in the hollow of her ear: "Fight! What are you waiting for?! Are you dumb or what?! You'll lose him! You have to fight for him for fuck's sake! He's leaving you, do something, you're nothing without him, nothing! Nothing at all!” But all that was useless, Lucille knew it well, she no longer had the strength to fight. She was nothing without Eliott? Alright, then she would become nothing. Just a little speck of dust, remains of a broken heart that had once been full of joy alongside Eliott.

"I... I just have a question and... and then I'll let you go.” Lucille said in a sob. "Do... Do you regret those five years?" Eliott took a deep breath, leaned over, brought the mug to his lips and sat down again. He seemed to hesitate. Or did he weigh each of his words before answering? Lucille hung on his lips like a shipwrecked to his lifebelt. "Not at all. We had some great moments together... and... I wouldn't be the same today if you hadn't been there. It's just... We fell in love when we were still kids. We have grown up, things have changed." Lucille wiped her cheeks soaked in tears again. "You're wrong." Eliott looked up at her. Lucille clarified her thought. "Well... Maybe, no doubt, your feelings have faded over time, but..." A new sob. "But my owns only got stronger. It would have been easier for me if we'd never met. " Eliott lowered his head. Above all, not wanting the young man to misunderstand her intentions, Lucille forced herself to speak again, this time raising a little more her broken voice. "I don't say that to make you feel guilty. It's just that... I've always been honest with you, I've always told you everything... And I don't see why I'd shut up now. I still love you, it's not a secret." In front of Lucille's self-assurance, Eliott frowned. "Don't worry Eliott, I understood this time. We're no longer a couple.” The young woman added to reassure him while tearing her own heart apart by pronouncing these mere but terrible words. For a few seconds, perhaps a minute, nothing was heard in the livingroom except the street's noises, Lucille's discreet sobs, and the spoon in Eliott's mug, which the young man stirred nervously. Then, the latter stood up. "Well... I think I'll leave now. -Okay." Lucille stood up too. He walked to the front door, she followed him. Then, when he put his hand on the handle, the young woman couldn't help but ask him one last favor. "W... wait." He turned around. "Can... Can you kiss me? One last time. Just one last time." Lucille hated herself. She hated to be so vulnerable, so pathetic. But it was stronger than her. She would have climbed mountains, sold father and mother, killed if necessary, to even feel one last time Eliott's lips against her skin. Hesitant for a moment, the young man walked to her slowly, leaned over and kissed her wet cheek. By automatism or by need, she didn't really know anymore, the young woman raised her hands and carried them to Eliott's hips. The latter, as if electrocuted by this touch, straightened up, gently gripped her wrists and pushed them towards her. "No, Lucille... -Yes, yes, I know, sorry.” She apologized, sniffling loudly. Eliott, too, had slightly wet eyes. This sight reassured the young woman for a split second. So, it wasn't that easy to break up with her... She lowered her eyes. "You... you really deserve to find someone who'll really love you and who'll be able to make you happy." Lucille remained silent, her eyes staring at Eliott's feet.

"See you." The young man turned away and walked to the door. Lucille wanted to answer him but the words remained stuck in her dry throat. As soon as the door closed on Eliott, the young woman collapsed to the ground, banging her knees on the old crackling floor of her mother's apartment. She took her head in her hands and let sorrow invade her whole body. That was it, it was finished. She was nothing.

[myssthyss]

Lost Dreamer ch1 - Distraction

Forsaken's story was a time for Myss, but not for the reasons you may initially think.

With @amara-the-average-hunter | On AO3

Casper, Iris, and both Hunters had felt poor Sundance go. The immense blast of Light she’d held shook them to their core and filled them with dread, their vision blinded for a moment. They’d fought their way down, trying to get to their Vanguard as soon as possible, but the corrupted Fallen kept blocking their way. Amara elected to run ahead, deftly dodging every enemy she could - just to try and reach Cayde in time - while Myss hung back to cull the horde.

They were too late.

She’d run up on the scene just as the Exo uttered his last words. Her partner was already knelt at his side, the cracks in her already weak composure visibly splitting as he - their Vanguard, their mentor, her girlfriend’s best friend - died his final death.

Amara had frivolously begun pleading for him to return, uttering denials that would never be heeded. There was nothing they could do now except comfort each other in mourning. Myss immediately slid in beside her girlfriend and took her into her arms. Amara roughly grabbed whatever pieces of Myss’ jacket she could get a hold of, and wailed.

Neither of them noticed Petra enter the room until she too knelt beside the body of their friend, a practiced, stern look barely masking the grief she shared with the pair. A blue, lightly illuminated hand was placed on Cayde’s chest, just over the hand he left there.

“I’m… So sorry.” was all the Queenless Queen’s Wrath could muster, meeting Myss’ glowing, grief-swollen eyes for a moment, before she shook her head, stood, and left the room. Whether she was apologizing to the pair of mourning Hunters, or to Cayde, Myss couldn’t be certain.

It was nearly an hour before they gathered the composure necessary to contact the Vanguard.

Returning to the City with Cayde in tow lasted a lifetime. How would the City respond? The Vanguard? The Guardians? The rest of their fellow Hunters? Everyone would mourn, she was certain, but what would be the response after that?

Ikora was angry. Vengeful, even, and rightfully so. Zavala was calm and calculated, processing his grief by putting his position as Commander, his people, first.

Myss fell more on Zavala’s side of the situation. It was irresponsible and reckless to send every single Guardian to tear apart the Reef hunting down a single Awoken target and his Baron lackeys.

She knew it wasn’t her place, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t want to exact revenge.

Cayde’s death was meant to buy Uldren and the Barons time, to allow them to properly organize whatever scheme they were planning, but… If Uldren thought that his actions would leave them free to roam, he was sorely mistaken. At least a third of all Guardians now placed a large target on the back of the Prince’s head. It wasn’t currently known how many of them would actively seek to hit it, but one who would try her damnedest to make sure she would be the one to hit it first was about to make herself known.

“You won’t have to.” Amara spoke up, prompted by the Commander’s refusal to bury any more friends. She stepped forward out of Myss’ arms, wiping the remnants of tears from her cheeks. “Uldren Sov… is mine.”

The redhead marched out of the room, all eyes following in surprise for a moment, before Myss quickly retreated behind her.

Once they were further down the hallway, Myss noticed that Amara wasn’t heading to the exit, down the usual way they went home. She was making her way to the hangar, and panic began to take root in Myss’ chest. She didn’t think Amara would act this soon.

“You can’t do this alone.” Myss called after her girlfriend, reaching for her shoulder.

“I have to.” The redhead said, never missing a beat in her stride towards the hangar. “If Zavala and Ikora aren’t going to do anything, someone has to.”

“It’s suicide!” The taller Hunter said with unusual force and frenzy. “You saw who he’s dealing with. He’s got two Kell-sized Fallen on his side, one of which makes zombies out of dead vandals, and there’s six more besides them! Who knows what tricks they have up their sleeves.”

Amara never faltered in her stride. “I don’t care. I have to. For Cayde.”

Myss’ hand finally makes purchase on Amara’s shoulder, trying to stop her advance.

“Let go.” The redhead snapped as she glared at her girlfriend, lightly jostling her shoulder to escape from Myss’ grip. “You can’t stop me from going.”

“I know.” She sighed, burying her reaction to Amara’s snap as she placed her other hand on her cheek. “I’m going with you.”

“Oh, Myss...” Amara tutted, shaking her head as she removed Myss’ hands. “Don’t. You don’t have to. You yourself said it’s suicide.”

“I’m not losing you too, ‘Mara.” Myss glared back, a small frown etching its way into her cheeks. “If nothing else, you need someone to watch your back. To make sure you can pull the trigger.”

A moment of silent understanding passed between them, then Amara took Myss’ hand and bolted for the hangar.

A week’s gone by, and they’ve managed to take down two Barons: The Rider and the Trickster, Yaviks and Araskes. The Rider’s toxic fuel still sat heavy in their lungs, and the Trickster’s sick games made them continuously wary of every engram they picked up.

Otherwise, the other Barons remained elusive, their progress slowed to a crawl, and Myss can’t stop staring at the Watchtower.

As soon as they landed in the Shore and she saw that immense structure in the distance, the Awoken couldn’t keep her mind, or her eyes, off of it. She felt a pull, a draw, to the gorgeous porcelain-like tower. Petra hadn’t told them much - if anything - about the massive building, other than its Queen-ordered sealed state and her theories on the Prince’s endgame plan.

And yet it continued to beckon her.

Myss had felt a pull to return to the Reef since her revival, but it was always quiet enough to ignore. Now that she’s here, the call is deafening, and she found herself staring off in the distance more often than not. She wondered what the structure holds, what secrets and answers it must contain in order for it to have been calling to her. They were here to hunt the Barons, get Uldren, and avenge Cayde, but all she could think about was getting closer to that tower.

“I shouldn’t be telling you - Guardians - this, but…” Petra had begun, eyes trained on the ground as she composed herself. “My people’s - our people’s…” The Queen’s Wrath shot Myss a brief, pointed look, before turning back to Amara. “...greatest secrets lie beyond that Watchtower.”

Myss’ attention hyperfocused on that information as Petra continued debriefing about Uldren and the Barons. Could the other Awoken sense her curiosity and desperation? Was she dropping hints? Whetting her appetite? Luring her into the hunt with the hope of ending up at the tower, and finding what she’d been searching for? She wished she could ask more, but the mission is the focus, and Petra’s known to be very good at withholding sensitive details.

Over all, Myss is distracted by the potentiality within and beyond the tower, while Amara is angry and neck-deep in the hunt.

During the initial part of their mission, small rift forms between the Hunters. Myss is there to watch Amara’s back, but she can barely keep her eyes on Amara for more than five minutes before they take on a thousand-yard stare in the vague direction of the tower. Amara barely seems to notice, as her eyes are always pointed forward, focused on the mission and exacting revenge. Their conversations began to dwindle, they spent most evenings in less-than-comfortable silence, and they often found themselves doing anything but sleeping during the night.

It’s only after the fourth Baron, the Hangman - Reksis Vahn, was defeated that the two begin to open up to each other about their individual struggles with their mission.

Amara was scared of what this hunt was turning her into. She didn’t like feeling so angry, acting so cold, being so distant from her loved ones. Was this hunt worth it? Would it really make her feel better? Killing Uldren wouldn’t bring Cayde back, which is what she truly wanted, after all. A healthier way of dealing with her grief needed to be found, because the current method was making it harder for her to deal with the loss.

Myss shared her feelings regarding her distraction. This was the closest to her people, to the last place she lived - in her first life - that she’s ever been, and she felt like the Watchtower held answers to hundreds of questions she’d never even thought to ask. She had no idea why the draw was so powerful, why it was consuming ninety-eight percent of her attention, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest until she had answers, however she managed to get them.

Amara ensured Myss’ draw to the Tower and her people is valid, despite the taboo of Guardians looking into their past lives. The origin of the Awoken was shrouded in so much mystery that even the most far-fetched theories seemed plausible. Her people have an endless list of never-answered questions that often manifested in wildly varying, vivid, cryptic dreams, which Myss couldn’t even identify with until very recently.

Myss comforted Amara in her anger and grief, allowing her to let it out, to cry in her arms, to be held, to be loved the way she needed to be loved. In addition, she brought Amara to an isolated corner of the Shore that she had found, a place that she’d be free to scream and curse if she so chose. She did both rather promptly once her chains were let loose.

In the end, they made a comfortable camp in a cave, next to some ancient white statues. Myss had Casper transmat her guitar and began strumming, while Amara joins in with her voice after some coaxing. The pair formed a tune not yet heard by either of their ears, but had been brewing in their hearts during the mission. This didn’t fully close the rift that Cayde’s death and the subsequent hunt had torn between them, but it helped it begin to heal.

The pair began openly communicating again shortly after. Amara regularly pulls Myss out of her reveries, and Myss in turn keeps Amara focused on the greater good of the mission. Together, they managed to take down the next three Barons in a matter of days, and were ready and eager to move on to the Fanatic and Uldren.

The next day, Petra’s final reconnaissance update made Myss’ breath catch in her throat. Uldren and the Fanatic were already on their way to the Watchtower, and they’d need to move immediately in order to stop the Prince and his last pawn.

They barely had a chance to celebrate the last Baron’s defeat before Petra was eagerly ushering them into the Watchtower.

As they approached, it took every ounce of Myss’ restraint to not stand still and just marvel at the ancient architecture. She’d spent the last week and a half staring at this massive structure from miles away, and now... she was here, standing in front of it - within its vestibule, its foyer. All she wanted to do was explore the building, learn its secrets, discover everything she could. But there would - hopefully - be time for that later.

They had a gun to reclaim first.

As they ascended the first small set of stairs into the grand foyer, intricately carved from an ethereal marble, Myss slowed her pace ever so slightly. She marveled at the dozen or so statues lining the walls, the crystalline glint on the floor, and the glowing threshold ahead. Only Petra’s voice chiming in over the comms was enough to pull her attention.

“Guardians. No one has stood where you are since the Queen closed these doors.” The Queen’s Wrath said gently. Then, after a beat, “Welcome home, cousin.”

Myss stopped dead in her tracks, her free hand flying to cover her mouth in surprise. A small, excited, yet sad whine left her throat, and her eyes began to well. Had Amara heard that, or had Petra said that to her alone?

“Babe? You okay?” She felt a tug at her shoulder… from above? When did she end up on her knees? “C’mon, we gotta go. We’ll come back after.”

She sniffled and returned to her feet, bow nocked and ready. “Right.”

The following events were a blur. They inspected several devices and artifacts along the way, all of which were either impossible or ancient. They traversed the... Ascendant Plane? They fought a haunted, or Taken, or possessed Servitor? It was all so insane and confusing, but now they had a broken and battered Prince Uldren laying at their feet, and Amara had the - equally broken and battered - Ace of Spades in her grasp.

Uldren said that the line between Light and Dark is immensely thin, and asked if they knew which side they were on. Amara scoffed, and dug her heel into the Prince’s chest.

“Do you?” She retorted.

And fired.

The first thing they did was report in to the Vanguard, to alert them of their progress. Zavala’s opinion was unwavering, but he congratulated them nonetheless. Ikora’s pleased with their progress, and commended them on a job well done. If nothing else, they helped stabilize the Tangled Shore, returning some law to the once lawless frontier.

Once they disconnected from the comms, the Hunters exhaled, and shared a quick kiss - elated that the Hunt was over and Cayde’s killers had faced justice for their numerous crimes. Hopefully they’d be able to return home soon and begin to fully heal from the loss.

But first…

“Petra.” Myss called as she approached the Queen’s Wrath. She’d already sent the Prince’s body to her ship, and was stood in front of the now-active portal’s control stone. “I have some questions.”

“I know.” Petra said, looking up from the stone. “As do I.” A hand is placed on her hip. “I am… aware of what Guardianship entails. That you would have died and been reborn in the Light, without knowledge of who you were before, in order to be who you are now.” She sighed. “...But I knew you in your first life, as Myss Thyss, Iris Commander.”

Myss inhaled sharply, training her eyes on the floor before she fished her pendant from her breast.

Petra nods, quickly reading the Awoken symbols that bore Myss’ first identity. “I’ve met many a reborn Awoken that took a new name, and was surprised when you introduced yourself with your first name.” A pause. “You were lost at the same time we believed Uldren and… Mara to be lost.” She sighs and, after a beat, places a hand on Myss’ shoulder. “The Light chose well.”

“I like to think so.” Myss chuckled, and managed a weak smile. “But… I have so many questions. About who I was, who I am. The Awoken and their - our history. There are thousands of Awoken Guardians that feel like they have no identity… because of how secretive they - we are.” She sighed. “I’ve felt drawn to this Tower since we first entered the Shore’s region and, now that I’m here, I have more questions than answers. I feel like I’ve made it but the final door is hidden.”

Petra nodded. “I understand, cousin. Here.” The Queen’s Wrath retrieved a small, broken statue from her pack - one that looked not unlike the statues they had passed on their journey to the top of the Tower. “Repair this talisman, and I’ll answer every question you have. When it is fixed, return here, and I will show you the way.”

Myss nodded in return as she took the small figure. “I’ll be back soon.”

Petra smiled, releasing her hold on Myss. “I look forward to it. Talk to the Spider for your first clue.” In the next moment, Petra returned to her ship.

“Sounds like you’ve got a quest of your own.” Amara called from behind.

“I - Yeah.” Myss responded, holding the talisman to her chest. “This is my key to the answers I’m looking for.”

“Better get to it.”

“Right.” Myss said as she summoned Casper. “You coming?”

Amara thought for a moment, and then shook her head. “No. This is something you need to do. It’s your people. Besides…” The redhead brandished the Ace of Spades, holding it gingerly in her grip. “I gotta repair her. I don’t know what Uldren did to make her look like such shit, but I need to fix it.”

“Mm.” Myss hummed in agreement. “Banshee will know what to do.”

“Yeah.” Amara smiled, holstering Ace to instead take both of Myss’ hands. “Good luck, babe.”

Myss gave a toothy grin in return, leaning to give her girlfriend a kiss. “Thanks, hon. You too.” She rested her forehead against Amara’s, relaxing her breath. “See you soon.”

“Not soon enough.” Amara squeezed their intertwined hands, and is suddenly gone - transmatted to her ship.

Myss is left alone in the massive Awoken structure, her own journey just beginning.

[queencatherynerhys]

Taken - Part 9 TRR AU

A/N: The hiatus is over!! Shout-out to @captainkingliam, @mfackenthal for coaxing me out of my writer’s block and giving me so much ideas for this chapter and for the unceasing desire to help me with my stories. I was really afraid that I was getting lost in the hole that I dug with this series and that all the twists have gotten so complicated with I was able to brainstorm with them about where to take this series. I would watch these videos to get the gist of the ending of this chapter. I kind of ran out of steam with the fights.

Movie Inspiration: Pacific Rim – A Worthy Opponent Scene

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7i4pNsqnls

The Karate Kid – Six Vs. One Scene (specifically 1:54-1:56)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E-wr7dD1n5w

Summary: Is Catheryne going to be all right? Or will she succumb to her situation? How will Liam and the gang deal with all the events that have transpired?

Tag List: @captainkingliam @decisso @devineinterventions2 @madaraism @theroyalweisme @drakewalkerwhipped @laniquelove @drakesfiance @hhiggs @hellospunkiebrewster @alicars @mrswalkerreynolds @mfackenthal @hopefulmoonobject @blackcatkita @cocomaxley @boneandfur @lizeboredom @crayziimaginations @umccall71 @zarina-x-zig @trianiasti @ranishajay @heatherfilliez @flyawayblue56 @simplyaiden-blog

Previous Parts:

Masterlist (too many parts to do them individually)

 Nothing but a flat line shows on the monitor. Commotion is around the room with Dr. Flint and three nurses rushing about attending to Catheryne’s shuddering figure. Abstruse words spew out of Dr. Flint’s mouth and Liam is too deep in his worry to try to understand. “Attach an oxygen bag. We need to start CPR. Stat!” A flustered nurse hurries to attach an oral airway device down her throat and an oxygen bag valve mask on the other end.

As she does this, Dr. Flint pulls up the sleeve of her white lab coat and prepare to conduct the resuscitation. Liam observes, frozen in dread and bleakness. Drake stands beside him, silently offering support but also with the same rigid body language.

The doctor gives Ryne a set of 30 compressions to the chest. “Come on, Your Grace, come back,” she pants through gritted teeth as she strains with the physical activity and pressure of her job. The high-pitched noise still audible. Liam losing hope by the second. Please, my love, please continue to fight. Fight for me. For us. I know I am asking a lot of you, but I will die if you leave me.

Another set of compressions are met with the same results. Dr. Flint and the nurse across from her glance at each other, silently communicating the inevitable outcome. She performs two more sets of compressions, pouring her last strength to revive her. By now, four minutes have passed. The nurse she mentally communicated with earlier raises his wrist, readying his watch to pronounce her time of death.

“TBD 8:07pm,” she declares gravely as she turns to meet the king’s gaze. “I am truly sorry, Your Majesty. I’m afraid we can’t do anything more for her.” Liam loses all control of his faculties and anger flows through him. “NO! No, you must bring her back. Keep doing CPR!” He grabs one of the nurses by his scrubs and yells at him and begging him to bring her back to him. Drake rushes to him, always being the reasoned one when Liam becomes clouded by his emotions.

He struggles in his best friend’s arms, but desperation wins. He runs beside Catheryne’s lifeless body on the bed. “NO! Don’t you dare take her off that machine! She’s not gone! I’m not letting her be taken from me again. I am not letting her leave me!” He hollers at the nurses who are starting to unhook her from the apparatuses. They look at Dr. Flint and she hesitantly nods, giving the tiny ember of hope he clings on to a chance to spark life. Maybe a miracle will show itself.

Liam cradles Catheryne’s still face. If it were a regular day, she looks just as if she’s sleeping but it isn’t one of those days. Here, it’s up to him to bring her back. He weeps, not caring for the audience he has. He can’t, he doesn’t have the strength to summon his kingly side. In this moment, he just wants to be Liam, a Liam that can mourn and be vulnerable with no judgment. As he holds her, he remembers the recurring nightmares he suffered during their time apart. He recalls the terrible visions of seeing her die in front of him by the hands of his enemies, the blood that surrounds him, the sudden cold temperature of Ryne’s body under his touch, and his desperate screams of distress as he begs her to come back.

His nightmares finally catch him. He never thought the day would come that he would have to truly live it, but here he is. There isn’t blood, but everything else is there. His own cries sound foreign to him, “Catheryne, listen to me. I am begging you. I will do whatever I need to do. Just come back to me, please! If there is a God out there, please, bring her back. Bring her back!” He rocks her unresponsive body as he trembles from his frantic sobs of pain and utter loss.

A lifetime passes in the span of two minutes. Nurses and the doctor clear out after she informs Liam that it’s crucial that they disconnect her from her tubes. Her IV and adrenaline tube are taken off as well as other multiple conduits are removed. He refuses to let her go out of his hold as they work around him to attend to her.

His peripheral vision catches the sight of Maxwell and Hana’s tear-stricken faces by where Drake stands at the window. He must’ve called him during all the disorder. He knows he should give a turn to say their goodbye, but he is not ready. He doesn’t know if he can really let go of her, physically and emotionally.

Not once in his life has he been this broken. My enemies are dead, but it doesn’t matter. We only won a battle. Even through the grave, they managed to win the war. The last piece of himself he had kept intact for the moment he and Catheryne are finally reunited again after her coma shatters and he physically feel the effects of it. His body slumps forward and wraps his arm around her and rests against her motionless form.

He whispers ever so quietly, “You guys, if you could, I would love a few minutes with her alone. I just want to say a proper, private goodbye.” He hears them shuffle out of the room and the door click. He pulls away slowly and stands up beside her bed to finally truly get a look of her. She is truly beautiful, even in her current…condition. He takes one of her perfect hand and wraps it in his own, bringing it to his lips.

“I remember the first time I saw your face in that bar, Catheryne. I remember the light you emitted. Oh, the joy you had in you. You were such a free spirit. I had only spent an hour with you, but I knew in that moment of time that you were an astonishing woman. Oh, my lovely Ryne, how I beg to change back those events. I would change it, so you don’t come to Cordonia. We don’t fall in love, but at least you’d be alive. Safe and alive. Happy. I am so in love with you, my beautiful perfect Ryne. The only thing I wanted to do was spend the rest of my life giving you the world, but it looks like I just took you from it. I am so sorry, Catheryne. I am so sorry that even now I am begging you to come back and keep fighting even if I know that’s the harder and more painful choice.” He falls to his knees and touches his cheek with the back of her hand, still holding it.

“I’ve been bred to be a selfless leader, but right now I want to be selfish. I am a selfish man, begging you to come back, but if you can hear me now or if anything or anyone at all in the whole universe can hear me, I am pleading with you…please…please…” he whispers as fresh tears roll out of his eyes to her hand. He squeezes it as he clings to hope for life itself.

What follows comes to him as complete shock when he feels her hand imperceptibly squeeze his back. If he wasn’t concentrating, he is sure he would have missed the feather-light touch, but he is confident of the definite gesture. He slowly looks up and smiles the widest of smiles when he sees her big, brown eyes again. Open and alive. Miracles do happen.

“Oh, my god, Catheryne!” he wraps her in his arms tightly, not worrying if he attacks her again. His happiness overweighs the subconscious threats of his presence around her. She just died and with the current situation he’d be a fool if he lets anything get in the way of showing his joy and relief of having her back.

He wraps her in his arms and cries tears of joy as he hears and feels her grumble underneath him. “Ugh…L-Liam…I…I can’t…breathe…” she struggles to voice out as he clings to her. The deities heard his pleas and granted his desire. He pulls away to see her face, life and color filling it again.

“Oh, my love, I thought I’d lost you,” he says by her ear. His shattered world feels almost complete again as he feels her chest rise and fall underneath his touch. He never wants to let her go but he knows he should or else he endangers hurting her. Slowly, he tugs himself away from her and reluctantly looks into her eyes, hoping he sees his Catheryne in them.

When he does, he loses all control and cries. Right now, it’s just Liam and Catheryne and no one else. In this small hospital room, it’s just them. He buries his face in her hands and kisses it. “Oh, Ryne, I love you.” He sobs, letting all the pain and burden he’s been carrying all this time as king and as just Liam.

Quietness pass between them for several minutes until finally Catheryne speaks up, “I hate to break the moment, Liam, but you’re breaking my stitches.” Liam looks down and see a bloody bandage on her arm, instantly he feels a pang of guilt for squeezing her so hard. “Oh, I am so sorry, my love.”

Liam rushes out of the tiny room to fetch Dr. Flint and inform his friends of the news. “She’s awake. She’s alive!” He breathes hard as if that action exasperated him. Drake, Maxwell and Hana all glance at him as if he is hallucinating. They didn’t believe him. He briskly walks back to her room with his friends and Dr. Flint in tow.

When they see her awake, they all start to rush around her bedside, but the doctor stops them, “Everyone let’s give the duchess some breathing room. She just came back from the dead. Let the professionals do their work before you do anything.” She walks beside Ryne and greets her, “Hello, Your Grace. It’s good to see you up. I must say I already knew you were a fighter, but to come back like this is truly a testament to you. Now if you can look and follow my finger while I check your vitals.” She flashes a light at Catheryne’s pupils, and she responds by squinting.

Dr. Flint reattaches her to the IV tube and heart monitor. “Looks like you reopened one of your stitches. I’ll bandage that up for you straightaway.” She grabs some materials in the cabinet and her friends stand beside her.

“You scared me to death, little blossom. You’re not allowed to do that again, okay. You’re not allowed to die again until a very, very long time from now,” Maxwell complains.

“I am so relieved to see you awake, Catheryne. How are you feeling?” Hana inquires with concern in her voice.

“That was one hell of a feat to come back from the dead, Knightely. You make my gunshot wound look obsolete,” Drake gruffly says.

She looks at her friends and faintly smiles. She is tired, and she doesn’t reply to any of their comments. She just offers a warm smile and apologetic eyes. She feels different from all of them. Now that her past has been brought to the light she cannot escape it. She sees it behind the eyes of all four of them – the fear they have of her. Will anything ever be the same again?

Dr. Flint ordered that she stay in the hospital for one more week after being woken up before releasing her. All of her wounds have almost healed. Scars left in their wake. Her back is full of diagonal, jagged scars from the whips and flogging. A big knife scar sits right above her chest where her heart is. She hates mirrors now. She hates looking at the imperfections that cover her. She doesn’t recognize herself anymore.

Her hair is disheveled; she didn’t have the energy to fix it. Hana would come into her room everyday after she showers and fixes her hair in a French braid while Maxwell and her talk about their day and sometimes noble gossip that she tunes out.

Drake comes in after them and tries to get her to talk about anything, but most of the time they just sit by the window in quiet. The only thing missing is their mutual friend, whiskey. The hospital wouldn’t let him carry liquor. He leaves right after they watch the sun set together. He always tells her that he’ll be back the next day. Sometimes, he’ll try to talk about Liam, but she tunes that out too.

During the week, he’s only been by once to visit her. She doesn’t know if she was grateful. She didn’t really know how to pick up their relationship after this. She was informed of her episode and what she did to Liam. The guilt that she feels eats her alive slowly inside and she doesn’t know how to cope with that.

When he came by to see her, it wasn’t for personal reasons. He was there as King Liam not her fiancé. He came to see one of his subjects is feeling ok and to inform her that her duchy is finally ready, but since she’s still recovering she is ordered to stay at the palace. It was a brief, cold, devoid of emotion meeting.

After he delivered his message, he left without a goodbye or any sign of affection. Again, she doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not. Would he ever be able to look at her the same again? Would they ever be the same? Could he see her as the Catheryne he fell in love with? Or will she always be Catheryne the spy? Catheryne the heartless, cold killer? The woman that has the drive to kill him.

When her discharge day came around, Dr. Flint comes to her room to do one last vital check before releasing her. The stitches on her arm were removed before she left. “Now, Your Grace, I am prescribing you one hour of exercise every day. When we put you into an induced coma, it weakened your body and internal system. So, good exercise and good diet for three months. Then, you come back for a check-up. I’ve already talked to all your friends, and they will help you through this process. Just remember, be patient with yourself.”

She hands her a folder of papers and bid her farewell. The travel to the palace was quiet. She feels alienated and a bit nauseous from the fresh air, having been in a sterile, secluded hospital for three months. When they arrive at the gates, reporters and photographers swarm the gates. Thankfully, the guards were instructed to bring the limo to the back, so she doesn’t have to deal with them.

Events pass in a blur. She is ushered to her room with an excessive amount of guards surrounding her. Don’t they know she can protect herself? She figures this is Liam’s doing. His overprotectiveness always shining through, but she finds it annoying. She doesn’t need all this protection and if she chooses to she can disarm all 5 guards very fast.

Her stay at the palace becomes monotonous and boring. Everything feels routine. She gets woken by Maxwell who drags her to breakfast with Bertrand, Hana, Drake, Savannah and Bartie. After, Hana walks with her to the lake she showed her when they returned to Cordonia. Sometimes, when she’s not available Drake or Maxwell will walk with her around the palace grounds, always staying in the back away from the demanding eyes of the press.

In the afternoon, they dine together and sometimes they gather in her room and turn on a movie flick. But tonight, she just didn’t have the energy to accommodate them. She hasn’t been alone since she’s been released, and she is craving that time, so she politely asked them to leave her alone for the afternoon.

She wanders the long corridors of the palace in her sweats and a hoodie over her tank. She lets her feet carry her through the hallways. She zones out her surroundings and she come to an unfamiliar wing. She hears noises in one of the rooms, and her curiosity gets the best of her.

She cracks the door open and immediately recognizes a dojo. She quietly opens the door and slip inside stealthily. Everyone is preoccupied with the sparring men in the mat.

Her eyes roam the impressive room. Training equipment and various stimulator stands are scattered along the fighting mat. An impressive collection of martial art weapons line the left wall. She moves closer to it to get a look. She observes a particular gold-trimmed black bo staff propped on a stand along with regular staffs, several nunchakus, ka-bar knives, daggers, sais swords, katanas. But what catches her eyes is a pack of stainless steel willow leaf throwing knives.

They look just like the set that her father had given for her 7th birthday. She thought how peculiar it was to give a seven year old a set of knives, but her father said that throwing knives helped him clear his mind sometimes. She was able to master knife throwing by the time she was 8 and used it as a calming mechanism just like her father taught her.

Her fingers touch the smooth, cold, steel blade and she picks one of them up. She twirls it in her hands, precise and elegant. Familiarity seeps in through her and she notices a target hung on the wall across her. She holds the blade by the tip and let it fly off her grip, landing straight in the middle of the target. She’s never missed.

The sound of the blade burying itself in the wall pulls the men away from the spar, but she doesn’t notice that they are watching her. She grabs the set and one by one flings it to the target. All 6 fitting on the small dot is the bulls-eye. She smiles to herself. Her first genuine smile through this whole ordeal.

She is pulled away by the sound of applause beside her. She finally notices the crowd that has gathered around her. Liam’s face appears from the group, and he strides up to her. It’s the first time she’s seen him since his visit. He looks a little rugged like he hasn’t gotten any good sleep. He appears to have lost a little bit of weight, but not enough for a random person to notice.

“That was impressive,” he steps in front of her. He’s wiping his brow with a towel and Ryne remembers being so head over heels for him that this simple action would have her wanting him. She observes him and he’s attire. Like her, he’s wearing sweatpants and a white T-shirt stained by sweat.

“Thank you,” she replies with a shy whisper. She watches as the crowd disperses and do their own spars. She watches as they practice a certain style of fighting; she recognizes it as krav maga. “So?” she awkwardly says, not really knowing how to spark conversating. How did they get to this place when not long ago they could talk about anything? They were so comfortable around each other as if they’ve known the other their whole lives, but now they’re so close but so far away.

“Were you sparring?” she asks him. “Yes, I realized after these…events that I have to be more prepared and well-versed in fighting, so Bastien and Mara have been teaching me these last month. My philosophy used to be utilize whatever technique keeps you alive, but it seems that hasn’t worked quite well for me as of late.”

The guilt in her heart grips tighter because she knows he’s talking about the time she almost killed him. She frowns and looks away. She couldn’t bear to meet his eyes for she was afraid of what she might find there. A wistful gloss comes over her eyes as she watches the guards spar each other. She misses the adrenaline and the intense exhilaration from a fight or just spar. She recalls the plenty of memories she has of her parents. Though they weren’t the role model parents she wanted, the experiences she’s had with them are irreplaceable. She hated being bred for a certain lifestyle, but her parents gave her all the attention and love that she needed. Maybe through normal eyes it was odd to teach your child such things, but her parents knew they had enemies and they gave her the tools she needed to stand and fight for herself. When she was growing up, she hated it, but as adultness settled in she sees in hind sight the importance of this side of her.

She would have never survived in the tunnel if it weren’t for her parents. She is slowly coming into acceptance that she will never escape this side of her. This is who she is whether she wanted it or not.

Liam breaks her reminiscing and says, “Care to join me?” He inclines his head pointing to the center of the room to the fighting mat. He must’ve seen the look in her eyes, but her mind starts to think over the offer. Is it safe? She hasn’t had an episode since the last time, but she doesn’t know how severe it can get. She doesn’t know if she can take it if she hurts him again.

“I don’t think that’s a very smart idea, Liam. I’m unstable,” she reasons with him. “Come, Catheryne. It will be alright. Guards are here to watch us if anything happens. Besides, Dr. Flint said you need to have your exercise every day and I doubt you’ve done any kind of physical exertion for the day.” He flashes a tiny smirk and holds out his hand for her to take. She knows there’s no way he would take no for an answer, and as long as he’s the one offering who is she to refuse him.

They walk down to the middle of the room and they split directions. Liam goes to the right while her to the left of the mat. She strips of her hoodie and suddenly she feels very exposed with only her tank top and sweats. She removes her shoes and step onto the mat. She looks across to Liam who matches her, but in the span of few seconds he’s managed to lose his T-shirt.

Clever tactics targeting my emotional weakness for him, but I don’t think he realizes I have years of training in my side. She grins and takes a few steps to the middle of the mat. The foam sinks slightly under her feet, but she doesn’t mind it. She’s been trained to fight in every terrain. Liam meets her in the center and she informs him, “I don’t think you realize just how many years I have against you, Liam. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Ryne. I’m tough and you can never hurt me. But just in advance, I’m sorry, I forgive you and I love you,” Liam assures her. She is caught off guard with the last three words he hasn’t uttered to her in three months. Another tactical advantage because the next thing that happens sends her on the floor. He knew she would be distracted by it, so he used to his advantage and slammed her down to the ground.

It was sudden, but not hard. He’s careful with her just like always. After, he stands back up giving her the chance to recover. “Liam, one. Catheryne, zero,” he boasts. By this time, most of all the guards have their eyes trained on them.

Alright, I guess I need to kick it up a notch and actually mean it. “Nice touch with the distraction there. You should’ve saved it cause you only get once chance to knock me off my feet,” she speaks as she shrugs her shoulders, loosening her muscles.

She stands still in place watching Liam’s figure with laser focus. She’s not the duchess right now. In this moment, it was just her and Liam in a casual sparring session. She observes Liam as he starts to advance to her. He throws punches, powerful and full of control. She steps back with each punch thrown at her, not for defensive tactics, but she’s observing how his body moves finding any opening in his defense.

Finally, she sees it. When he throws a right jab, he angles his body too forward exposing a bit of his side. When he throws that punch, she spins from in front of him to beside him where he’s exposed side is and strikes it, knocking the breath out of him.

“Oof,” Liam holds his side as he bends down putting his hand on his knee. “I didn’t see that coming. I’ll give you credit for that,” he admits his small defeat, but the war isn’t over.

They admit their stances back across each other, gearing up another round. This time there are no smiles only intense stares. They were both competitive in their own right. Liam will be damned if he didn’t put up a show especially in front of his guards. He always could get a little prideful and egotistical.

Catheryne is an embodiment of calm before the storm. She stands with her hands clasped behind her back waiting, testing out the waters. Liam attacks first again, but this time she meets him head on throwing a blocking strike to the punch he throws. Her reflexes are muscle memory to her. Before he throws the left jab, she’s already preparing to block it.

She headbutts Liam with force. She immediately thinks, I hope that doesn’t leave a mark. Liam takes one step back, disoriented for only a moment. He shakes his head and throws his hands up on a guard. I need to think smarter if I’m going to beat her. He eyes the weapon wall and the staff catches his attention.

Liam and Ryne circle each other like two predators hungry for action and thrill. When he makes it to the wall, he grabs the black staff and arms himself with it. He swings like how he was taught with strength and control. He drives Ryne out of his reach, but she doesn’t look the least bit intimidated. In fact, he catches a little glint of amusement in her eye, but it disappears with the blink of an eye.

He holds the staff confidently with both hands as they continue their circling. Liam doesn’t give Ryne the chance to reach the wall and moves forward slashing towards her aiming directly at her chest, but she performs an impressive bend backwards. She does a series of back flips putting distance between them.

She steadies herself by widening her stance. Her body language changes from loose to rigid in a matter of milliseconds. She’s done playing around. Her training kicks in and propels her forward. Liam gears for a swing at her feet but she does a no hands cartwheel to her right, avoiding it and subsequently putting her close enough to grab a staff her own.

She spins it in her hands striking a hard stance with her hands outstretched and the staff tucked in behind her back. They perform a dance in front of each other. They attack with aggression and precision. Catheryne steps away from the defensive and attacks first. Using the staff to lift her, she aims a flying kick aimed at Liam’s face. He blocks with his staff, but her momentum is greater and knocks him backward.

He regains control and strikes her with a series of slashes and swings. She responds defensively, ducking every attack and using the weapon as a shield. Ryne notices that Liam likes to burst his attacks and that he gets very tired quickly when he exerts all the energy in his reserve.

“You know you really should save your energy,” she gives him a tip as she tucks in for a roll knocking him to the ground while catching his leg in her hold using the staff to lock his leg, but she practices control and reels her adrenaline back in before breaking his knee.

“Ah!” Liam exclaims. “That’s two-to-one. I think you need to step up your game, Liam. Or just abandon the staff since you don’t really know how to use it,” she haves fun taunting him. For some odd reason, sparring brought their old relationship back. They didn’t mind being rough with their moves. They both know they’re competitive and they don’t mind it.

He obeys and throws away the staff. “Alright, I’ll give you a fighting chance,” she says with a smile as she lets go of her weapon. Another round starts. Punches and kicks, both blocking and attacking hoping to get an advantage against the other.

Catheryne slaps Liam’s forearms away leaving his torso completely open and she uses her chest and body as a weapon again knocking Liam backwards. By now, he’s learned her techniques. He feigns a punch but ends up sweeping her leg under her.

Catheryne is caught off-guard but not enough to disorient her. She uses her downward momentum to propel her kip up back to a standing position. When Liam throws a roundhouse kick, she catches it and flips him over her head even with the weight difference. She aims a punch for his face but stops an inch away. “You lose,” she smiles in her glory and the guards who have been watching breaks in an applause.

“I concede. You win fair and square,” Ryne holds her hand out and helps him up. They face each other, hands still intertwined. Sweat covers Liam’s face, but Catheryne looks as if she wasn’t even exhausted. They smile, and Liam says, “It’s nice to see you smile, my love. I haven’t seen you this happy and playful since the Homecoming Ball.”

Liam watches as his carefree Catheryne retreat into her guard. He watches as her eyes shift from happy to cold in an instant. He notices her posture, guarded and fierce. Her eyes are dilated and hazy. “Catheryne?” What’s wrong?”

Her grip of his hand tightens, and her nails dig his skin. “Ryne, my love? What’s wrong?” He asks again moving to touch her cheek, but she slaps it away.

“You’re an enemy. You are an enemy and you must be stopped. I must kill you,” she growls.

Liam is confused on what is happening. One minute she was happy, and he was talking to her, but now she’s in her episode. Ryne pushes him on the chest and her punch connects to his face this time. The metallic taste of his blood fills his mouth and he begs for her to come out of her episode while ordering his guards to stay away while he tries to coax her out of this hallucination.

“Catheryne. Listen to me. Listen to my voice. It’s Liam. I am Liam. I am not going to hurt you. I am not the enemy. I promise. The enemies are gone. They will never hurt you again. Not as long as I am living and breathing. No one will hurt you again.” He backs away from her reeling composure.

He remembers the advice Dr. Mallon gives him of trying to remind her of who she is while she’s in her state, “Please, remember who you are. Your name is Catheryne Knightely. You are loved. You are safe. Your favorite color is blue. Your favorite place is the beach. You grew up in North Carolina and moved to New York. You live in Cordonia now. You are a duchess. You own a duchy named Valtoria,” he continues to list facts about her, praying and hoping it works.

She throws a punch again but he’s ready this time. He restrains her against him, “Please, my Ryne. Please remember me. I love you. I love you so much. Remember our trip to the secret cove when we first met. Remember our trip to the Statue of Liberty.”

Having her close, he can see the turmoil in her eyes. He sees it, he sees Catheryne, his Catheryne behind the rage, fighting for control. With that he’s assured that his tactic is working, and he continues to list their adventure together.

He knows that she is still there and that she will never stop fighting. After a long five minutes of restraining her and her struggles, she finally takes control and she falls unconscious from the strain and fatigue. Liam carries her back to her room and sits beside her sleeping form. He recalls the events leading to her episode. He was talking to her about how their relationship felt normal again and how she looked happy.

He can’t figure it out and decides to call Dr. Mallon and ask him for advice. He relays the whole conversation and mentioning how he hasn’t seen Catheryne’s old self since the homecoming ball.

“Liam, did you use the word homecoming specifically?” Dr. Mallon asks through the phone. “Yes, doctor, please. Just tell me what you think it is.”

“Well, when we were in the tunnels. After I’ve administered the chemical into her system and the clips, Amir would recite words to her and I overheard some and one of them was the word ‘homecoming’. I believe, if I am correct, it is a trigger word for her. A word that can spiral her back to an episode almost instantaneously. While she was in the hospital, we were able to remove traces of the hallucinogen from her system, but anything in her memory. We can’t do anything but try to avoid those. I would be very careful about the choices of word you mention around her. I believe they used traumatic moments of her life and the words have a connection to those. I’m so sorry that I can help you more that this, Liam. But good luck.”

“Thank you, Dr. Mallon,” Liam replies before hanging up the room. Again, the guilt in his heart overwhelms him. It’s because of him that she has to continue fighting and go through so much pain. He lays down beside her. Right now, he just wants to feel peace. He just wants to mourn his old Catheryne.

He whispers by her ear and make a promise, “I promise, Catheryne, I promise that I will fight beside you through all of this.”

[igivezerohoots]

Till we meet again - Grayson Dolan Imagine (AU) - Final Part

A/N: War is not a joke and should never be treated as such. Numerous people die and lose their loved ones every minute of every day due to living in the cruel circumstances war causes. The countries and chronology are merely fictional. The sole intent of this piece of writing is to show how cruel war is and how love can sometimes be the only thing we have left at such harsh times. Having said that, I poured my entire heart while making this, so I hope you enjoy it.

Summary: It is the year of 2032. The entirety of almost the whole globe has been engulfed by the cruel reign of war. One of the nations that hasn't yet succumbed, one of the most formerly successful and rich countries, is Inopia. The downsides of war have been ruling over the country for the last years. Grayson and Y/n have lived the consequences of warfare in their homeland; poverty, dehydration, famine and ruthless crime. Their biggest fear is for the war to arrive to Inopia, as well. The two stick together despite difficulties, injuries or fights. But, when the cloud of war slowly begins infecting their own country, too, and Grayson's biggest secret comes to light, they wonder if there is anything that can be done for them just to be happy. But, how can they live happily if they are apart? Continuation: It is the year of 2037. War has truck Inopia, as well. After meeting an old friend and being tormented under the cruel circumstances of war, it is questionable whether Y/n can be truly happy. What will happen when she learns the news that devastate her heart? Can there really be a happy end?

 *

 You really thought it was him when the door slowly creaked open and revealed him. He looked at you with the same beautiful eyes, parted his rosy lips in confusion and let his eyebrows furrow slightly at your presence. Through the tides of your constant tears, you had stood up, taking him all in. You had missed him so much, so dearly; yet here he was, three weeks later, appearing before you. All those cold, restless nights that passed by, all the pain you had undergone; it would all finally dissolve like sugar mingling with hot chocolate.

Within his left palm he held his suitcase, his clothes tattered and his formerly slim stature frighteningly skinny. The hair sprouting from his head was dark and wild, disheveled. There was dirt and sweat upon his glistening complexion, and his facial hair had grown much more than you remembered. But, then you saw it. You looked within his hazel eyes again, watching with wonder as bewilderment and recognition became one. But those eyes were different, those eyes were thin and harsh. Your trembling jaw had dropped open when realization struck you.

"Y/n?" His low voice called, a voice familiar, which you had heard many times before. Of course. How could you forget him? How could you forget a person that changed your life so significantly? Your sadness was momentarily numbed, a broken smile capturing your lips; an expression feeling outlandish to your muscles.

"Ethan."

 "It'll be okay," You heard his voice tell you softly. You gazed within Ethan's sympathetic eyes, nodding hesitantly. Your heart was fraught with fear. His hand firmly held yours, squeezing it in order to calm you and himself down. You heard his shuddering inhale of breath, felt the terror coursing through his body.

Children are clutching to their mothers' embrace, couples, young and old, hold each other, orphans and widows and widowers are holding hands with strangers, afraid for their lives. A baby sleeping within its mom's comforting hold; nothing could prepare the poor thing for what was about to happen. Nothing could prepare anyone for what was about to happen. Even though you had lived it countless of times, even though you had broken down from the sheer horror, you still couldn't get used to it. How could you? How could anyone?

The air is so thin and sparse that you can hardly breathe, and it makes your lungs suddenly pulse for oxygen, feeling strangled. You so badly want to make light of the situation; to make yourself and everyone feel better. But you can't. Those people, they are all so scared. How could anyone be happy within a bomb shelter?

The air raid siren is still going off; such a dreadful sound to all the citizens' ears. The planes are incoming. No one knows where they will attack. You hold Ethan's hand tighter, feeling your heart pound your eardrums. Your eyes are ceaselessly shifting, the little hairs upon your skin standing straight and your knees wobbling. You take one final look at Ethan, who has his eyes closed. His face is drained of all color, his brows slanted nervously and his breathing unsteady. You want to comfort him and to take his fear away, yet you aren't at a better state either.

And then it happens.

You have briefly any time to hear the whistle of the first bomb before hell is revived. The desperate cries and screams filling the room have your mind in shreds. You clamored, too, at the first strike, yet now you are whimpering feebly, hiding your face in Ethan's arm. The lights of the underground room flicker erratically and a few people begin weeping helplessly; the shrill cries of the little baby make your heart clench. The mere sounds of the horrid happenings outdoors have your stomach constricting painfully. Ethan gently pulls you in his embrace when he hears your mewling; all you try to focus on is his irregular heartbeat.

Most of the lethal strikes are far away, but one lands upon a nearby building, blasting and splitting ears and leaving hell on its wake. The sound of fire and the muffled screaming of people who didn't manage to hide in time is the only thing that can be heard. Glass shattering, explosions arising, the terrifying noise of planes that hiss through the air. They are heading away from where you are, however. Thankfully.

You have hardly any sense of time. It seems like it has been years of your standing here, yet after some time, the door to light opens. It is finally over. You pull away from Ethan, still dazzled and trembling. The people slowly begin exiting the shelter, and you follow after them with your heart in your throat. You can only hope that your home is okay and still intact.  Your eyes hurt as they see the light of day, widen when they come face to face with the chaos put upon the land. The fire is taller than the sky, the remnants of the demolished buildings aflame and turned to ashes. You can slightly make out the corpses beneath the dense cinders and look away, feeling nauseous. This could have been you. This could have been Ethan. This... this could have been Grayson.

You stood very lucky, this time. It seems like the majority of the destruction was aimed toward the southern regions of the country, far away from where you are, while damage has also been inflicted upon the near cities; you are lucky to have escaped from absolute demolition. One thing that you are worried about is that the army will begin demanding for soldiers from the northern parts of Inopia. You dread the thought of Ethan going to war; you can't lose another like this. What if, God forbid, anything happens and he soon has to leave, too? You don't know what you will do. You can't stand the thought of being all alone again.

"Ethan, you okay?" You ask softly, looking back at him. His head elevates and the slight filbert hue within his irises quiver when he locks eyes with you. They look cloudy, sleepless and sad. You know Ethan has been thinking again. Of the war, of you, of his brother, of his very well-being. He is scared to fight. Sometimes, Ethan can hardly defeat his own demons; what makes people think that he would be capable in the disarray of war?  

"I'm fine," He responds hastily, nodding his head and faking a smile. "Let's just go home, okay?"

As the people slowly scatter around, seeking for their homes, Ethan and you begin your own journey to your house. That small space seems to make you remember so many pleasant memories. It was where Ethan first took you when you met, where you came to know Grayson, where you have dwelled for the past seven years of your life. It seems surprising just how different your life would be if you had never met Ethan in the first place.

You recall that he was working as a volunteer in the HHP organization, offering a safe haven to the homeless, feeding orphans and handing out blankets to the poor. He always looked like a troubled young man, with a bright, gentle smile and a kind heart. You met him on that night when all the others had snuggled within their nooks and fallen asleep, yet slumber simply couldn't reach your swollen eyes. He had come to check on the sleeping innocents, with a lamp that emitted a faint, yellow glow hanging from his hand. He evidently noticed your sitting up next to the window, and he presumed to talk to you further. It didn't take long for you to make friends with him. He was always so admirable, so willing to put himself at risk for the sake of the ones he strove to protect.

When the terrorist attack struck the massive building maintaining the lives of hundreds of people, including your own, dousing the infrastructure with flames and taking countless lives, Ethan had helped you. He took you out of the flaming premises and led you to his home, where he offered food, shelter and company. You had seen Grayson a few times before, yet really took him in that eventful night. He fed you, clad you and kept you company while Ethan was out within the chaos, trying to save the lives of anyone he could. You were still very cautious around Ethan's twin, not really familiarized with being around him alone. But he was so polite and courteous, keeping you with him and keeping your mind off your terror. You had stayed up all night, talking and getting to know each other better. At that moment, you knew you and Grayson would get along well.

The twins were happy and optimistic as one could be, until Ethan had to move away; the amount of time he would be absent undetermined. Grayson was wrecked, having been made to say goodbye to one of the people he cared about the most. You had been there when he told you he was so lonely, sleeping alone on his bed and turning around and seeing that no one was in the room with him. That he couldn't bear the silence and isolation, that the house felt menacing as if the walls would give away and devour him whole. You were there to cure his wounded soul, you were there to hold him when he cried like a helpless child. Every night you would visit him until he was asleep, so that he wouldn't be lonely. Yet, one night, you fell asleep together, curled around each other in the same bed. Since then, you have been living under the roof of that little house.

You can almost see its silhouette as you approach, and before it is a person you recognize. She was dressed in all blue, and she was banging at the door, frantically exclaiming. You can easily recognize the uniform she is robed with; the pulled back hair, the flat, ivory shoes. Blonde strands of hair are cascading from her ponytail. She seems to be scared out of her mind; as if a serial killer is pursuing her with an axe in hand. Her nervous, green eyes glimmer with a wave of relief when she spots you, raising her hand in the air and waving at you in order to get your attention. You are able to identify her quickly; it's your friend, Judy, from the hospital.

"Y/n!" She frantically calls, rushing to your side and taking a hold of your shoulders. What is happening? Why is she so agitated? You try to seek for the answer within her eyes, but the only thing you can make out is panic. "Y/n, I know it isn't your shift today, but we need you at the hospital! The wounded are so many; we need any help we can get! Please," She momentarily pauses, breathing heavily and striving in vain to calm herself. "We need your help, please, after what happened in Oxovy, hundreds are coming in injured."

The bombing in Oxovy was a terrible happening. The terrorist attack took its toll even if soldiers had managed to evacuate many. Thousands of those who belonged to the army, all those men-at-arms, they all had families that they left behind. They all had a mother to cry for their life, a father to rip apart the newspaper, searching for his son's name among the numerous names of those who had lost their lives. They all had to leave a love behind them and serve for their country's sake. The temple that was blown up burst into ash, killing hundreds. The casualties and injuries were so many that they sent the soldiers to Inopia as well, to the first hospitals available. The thing that scared you wasn't that, however.

You hurriedly follow Judy, showing an apologetic look to Ethan as you take your leave. This is going to be a long day.

 *

 Ethan turns around in bed, sobbing vocally and moaning against his wet palms. The entirety of his shaky body rocks violently, making his throbbing lungs clamp in protest, trying to grasp any bit of oxygen they can. His spine is curved inward, his knees nuzzled close to his stomach as he continues weakly mewling, muffling his loud, broken cries within his clammy pillow. Ethan screams against the cotton material, seizing it in both hands and ripping it in half, pouring the feathery contents upon the mattress. He hollers and punches at his bed, his fists tightly shut as if they were hinged bear traps. He can't see anything; all he can concentrate on is getting all this pent-up rage out; God, how, how can Ethan make himself forget, how can he make himself forget all this pain--

Before his father left, he had told Ethan to be a strong big brother. He told his son to take care of his baby brother and stick with him at all costs; because that's how they always operated, how they always lived. They operated better together, they lived better together-- always walked through the storms hand in hand, together.

Dad had told 25-year old Ethan to be a strong person; not to bend when things were at their worst and the war came, not to cry when he saw the names of the dead in the paper. How many friends had Ethan lost, how many names had he seen upon that godforsaken, crumpled paper? Dad had told him, but Ethan never listened. He would always display his weakness, he would always shed tears and feel so depressed that he was left numb inside.

Ethan always was the outcast.

And now he starts laughing; starts laughing despite his muddy tears. He has gone from the state of being able to feel nothing to feeling too much at the same time. His little heart is ready to pop from the pressure. Snot and drool drip from his cheeks, and Ethan can't breathe. And then it is all over, just as it had started.

There is silence as Ethan feels the cold tears upon his lashes, his head throbbing from the coercion and stress. His hands grip his duvet as he slowly cries, trying to find any comfort he can find. But he gets none. His knuckles hurt from the deathly grasp.

The newspaper of the day is a mussed mess upon the floor, crinkled and full with creases.

At the bottom of the second page, there are small, black letters. They are coated in saltwater.

The name 'Grayson Dolan' is written underneath the casualties' headline, along with all the others who died at the Oxovy attack.

 *

 Work was certainly a hectic migraine today. You hardly had any time to cool your head. You asked for it however. Being a nurse was never presented as an easy profession, and never will. The amount of blood and torn flesh you came face to face with today cannot even be counted on both hands. Yet, at last, this stressful day is finally over. The sun has long gone to sleep, and it is time you went to rest, as well.

Some of your friends happen to be in the nurses' room, chatting and talking with no pause. Evidently, their topic is the incident in Oxovy, as they continue to ramble on about patients, families, and the difficulty of people having lost their loved ones there. Thank God, you didn't have to worry about anything of the sort.

"Did you hear? Leslie killed herself," says Natalie, raising a bout of gasps with her words. She nods her head, adding, "Her boyfriend, Neil, was serving as a soldier and the explosion in Oxovy killed him. Poor girl couldn't handle the heartbreak and shot herself, yesterday night."

You feel your heart clench. How can people go so easily? You would work with Leslie almost daily. Only yesterday morning, you were both laughing at a joke you had cracked. And now the poor girl is gone. You close your eyes, sighing softly. At least she is out of this hell.

"I heard her mom found her today morning; she woke up the neighbors with her screamin'! Leslie's room was like a murder scene; I heard she put the gun to her mouth and her brains--"

Splattered across the wall like minced meat.

"Natalie," You call cautiously, giving her a knowing look. Natalie closes her mouth and folds her hands together, looking down at her knees and blushing in embarrassment. You shake your head slightly, in disapproval. "We shouldn't talk about Leslie like this. The woman is gone and there is nothing we can do about it; May her soul rest in peace. No need to get all in detail, Nat. Okay?"

Natalie bashfully nods her head, avoiding your gaze; suddenly acting like a child that has been scolded for voicing mean comments. "Right. I'm sorry."

You feel a little weird as the rest of the girls glance at you, then away. What is going on with them today? Why are they acting so unlike themselves? Perhaps it is because of the stress and rushing today, all these wounds and blood, Leslie's passing. Yes, that must be it.

But still, you can tell something is off.

"Goodnight, girls. Take care of yourselves." You try, showing a small smile, attempting to lighten the heavy mood set upon the little room. "I'll see ya when I see ya."

The nurses mutter all their goodbyes as you slowly shut the door. The nape of your neck hurts terribly; so do your legs from standing upright all day long. The only thing you crave for is to go home, to take off these bloody shoes and rest your fatigued form. You feel guilty for leaving Ethan on his own for so long; you know he hates being lonely, even though he doesn't say it. Doesn't everyone hate being lonely? You've been gone the entire day today and, if you are honest with yourself, you miss his company too.

As you slowly walk down the steps of the exit, you hear a feminine voice yell your name and the sound of feet running. You turn on your heel, gazing over your shoulder and taking in the panting form of your friend, Allison. She is still dressed in the nurse's outfit, and her short, dark hair stick to the sides of her face upon a blend of tears and sweat. Her brown eyes stare at you with desperation and you cock your head to the side, your features holding nothing but concern.

"What is it, Ally?" You question softly, feeling your skin crawl when her wide eyes keep staring within your own. She's clutching something in her hands, and from what you can tell, it is some sort of paper. You raise a brow, and take a step back feeling slightly uneasy being in her presence.

"Y/n," She hiccups, her voice catching in the depths of her throat as her tears start brimming at the edge of her waterline. She pushes the paper to your chest, her lashes gluing together when she shuts her eyes, chutes of water coursing down her flushed cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to be the one to tell you, Y/n, but the others wouldn't and I couldn't--" She pauses, pressing her lips together, her little hands gripping your tense shoulders. You clutch the item to your sternum, bewildered as to why Allison's demeanor is so strange.

"I just.. When I heard about Leslie, I got scared. I don't want the same to happen to you, too!" She cries, her arms shuddering as she whimpers and blubbers incoherently. She looks up at you, her eyes glassy and congested with guilt. "Y/n. Grayson, he's... He's dead! He was in the explosion in Oxovy! He was there with Leslie's boyfriend, Y/n..."

Your body freezes, staying still like a glistening piece of ice. You shake your head, waiting for her to tell you she is fucking with you. You wait with a hammering heart, but she only shakes her head, scurrying back into the hospital. Your hand feebly reaches out to her, but in a matter of a few seconds, she is already out of sight. Your eyes continuously shift as you try to take in what just happened to you. You look down at the rumpled newspaper, your fingers desperately delving through the paper, until...there they are. The names.

You run your eyes over each name more than three times, not even aware of the light rain slowly starting to fall upon the land. And each time you pass it over, it is still the same. There, on the third column, two lines from the end.

Grayson Dolan.

You check for the date over and over again. It is today's newspaper. April 5th 2037.

You turn a page, surprised to see that there is a whole article about him. "Grayson Dolan, former YouTube star and the teenage sensation of the previous generations, has tragically died in Oxovy. Dolan was serving as a soldier when the attack struck. Eyewitnesses say he was dangerously close to the explosion while trying to save his friend, Neil O'Brien. Neither of the bodies have been found, and it seems like the fire left no trail of them behind."

The sound of the wind gently whistling fills your ears, brushing back your hair and crumpling the paper you are holding within your shaky hands. The rain slowly increases its potency, falling upon you and dampening your clothing. You feel empty. Lost. You can hardly react as you stare in the void, the color within your iris quivering along with your slumped shoulders. You always knew there would be a possibility of him losing his life. But now that it has happened, you can hardly believe it. You can't even cry from the shock.

There is that feeling of dense cement lying against your spine and ribcage as you walk home. You feel absolutely horrid. You have the massive urge to start sobbing, but nothing comes out. You feel numb inside. You know that in a while, it will all go away and you will be wailing helplessly.

The rain becomes worse as the air gradually picks up. It seems as if the elements of nature are battling together, battering your poor body. You can hardly see through the congested rain; partly from the fog, partly from the rainwater lying thick upon your lashes. Or, perhaps, that is just the tears of frustration beginning to build up. Your eyes start spewing liquid, stemming from anger, exasperation and from the utter sorrow slowly gorging you alive. You are detached. You are fraught with emotions, yet empty at the same time. You want to spread your limbs across the alley, want to sob into the aggression of the rain until you die from the cold. But, most importantly, you are tired. You are so tired.

When you reach the threshold of your home, body hunched and aquiver and leaning against the timbered door, your fingers delve against the material, thin layers gathering underneath the rims of your nails. You rest your soaring head against the door, your shirt clammy and gluing to your wet skin. You can briefly make out the sound of laughter from within the household. A hint of confusion spores within your very core; Ethan surely has learned the news, he certainly has knowledge of his twin's passing. Yet, he's laughing. It makes your face fume with heat, your heart to flutter at the audacity he has. How can he be laughing?!

You furiously reach for your keys and open the door, unsure of what exactly you are mad at. Are you irritated because you are drenched to the bones, or for Ethan's obnoxious laughter? Perhaps, you are disappointed with yourself for letting Grayson go to war and die.

As you shut the door, you are well aware of the presence of a person beside Ethan. Your eyes stare with spite at the stranger seated on your bed, a hand of soup clasped within his palm. Your ears completely neglect Ethan's greeting, your fists clenching dangerously by the sides of your body. Now he brings the homeless in your home, too? Suddenly, his philanthropic side is coming out?

The man on your bed is swathed in a blanket, his face scarred and his left arm missing. The moment you go to open your mouth and make a fuss about it, it quickly shuts on its own again. The stranger looks at you with an unreadable expression; his right eye is white and blurry, resembling that of a dead fish. The flesh-colored scar that has tainted his skin begins from his forehead, continuing down, hazardously close to his eye, and finally concluding at the side of his mouth. Your body shrinks back at the look he gives you, your eyes wide with disbelief.

"What.." You try, but your discourse halts instantly.

He sets his soup aside, his mouth turning dry with stress. He gives you a sympathetic smile, his lashes batting slowly.

And Grayson looks like he hasn't changed a bit since his leave.

You had thought of this moment so many times before. You had told yourself that if you ever saw him again, you'd run up to him, hug him so tight your arms hurt. That you'd make him feel loved and wanted, like he always should have been treated. Yet, now, it seems so different from what you had expected. The only thing you can do is stare in pure shock, feeling the water tremble within your eyes and the clench of your fists loosen. Your shoulders drop, your lips parted as you watch him stand up. Neither of you say a word.

Grayson wants to comfort, wants to hug, but he doesn't know whether he should or not anymore. He didn't know what he was thinking before. This woman before him had grown up, she had gotten older, she had gotten different. Her face hadn't altered at all, however. Those eyes were the same that would look at him when they lied down together, the ones that would crinkle in delight whenever she would laugh and smile. Those lips were the same he had kissed before taking his leave. And Grayson doesn't know what to do; he can see the tears collecting within those pearly orbs and wants to touch her, to hold her-- goddamn it Grayson wants to hold her but he puts out his hand instead.

And you look down at his hand, view his nervous gaze as he waits for you to shake it. He is waiting for you to shake his hand. You sway your head vigorously, approaching him and pushing his extended arm away. Your head rests against his chest as your trembling arms enfold his torso. Your body immediately relaxes, a warmth basking between your lungs as you hold him, fingers tightly grasping at the edge of his blouse. Grayson is taken aback, and he looks down at you, feeling the gentle tremor of your body. And just as he thought the feelings he harbored for you were starting to fade, they become more alive than ever. God, how much had he missed you. You can't see it, but a silent tear escapes his eye, gently rolling to the mound of his cheek and a smile decorates his lips.

And you couldn't let yourself get too carried away, you couldn't show your feelings like this. All this time you hadn't been with him seemed painful and so slow, yet now that he is here, it seems like no time went by at all. There was this strong desire that whispered at you to cup his face and kiss him. It's okay, however. You are the happiest you have ever been, having him back with you. It feels as if a weight from your shoulders has been lifted, like the rock boulder around your heart has been detached.

You could have spent all night talking with him, reminiscing and sharing stories; sharing those five years you lost from each other's lives. The way he lost his arm, the reason behind the scarring upon his complexion; you want to know it all. Yet, most importantly, you need him to explain how he is alive when the paper's sayings reveal otherwise. But, you simply couldn't torment him with a bunch of questions, at least not tonight. You can only imagine how tired and restless the poor soul must be. You offered your bed so he could rest for the night, told him to take some sleep. And yet...

"Y/n?"

You raise your head to the source of the quiet whisper, your heart almost melting when you look at Grayson, his good eye gazing at your standing form. You watch as the blurry moonlight shining from outside lathers the side of his face, making the rosy skin seem bluish and pallid.

"Gray," You say, and the name feels alien upon your tongue, a sharp pang burning your innards at how soft the nickname sounds, "Why aren't you asleep?"

"I just.. I can't sleep. Why aren't you?" I need you. Do you need me just as much?

You give a small smile, sitting at the side of the mattress and refraining from looking down at him. "I guess sleep can't really reach me either." I need you too. "Having you here is... overwhelming." Something I could never stop thinking of.

There is a moment of silence, and there is the urge to gaze at him yet again; you can sense his eyes, that are pinned on you, and it makes you want to squirm like a fish out of the water. You could have never imagined yourself here yet again, taking care of Grayson, being so close to him. And yet, being afraid to touch him.

"We've both changed, haven't we?" You can hear the sad smile as he speaks. You look down at your knees, fingers fiddling with the brim of your blouse as you try to answer.

"Not particularly," You hate how quiet and gentle your voice sounds, "Only as one can change. I haven't really changed. I'm just older." You emit a giggle, attempting to lighten the heavy, downcast mood hanging thick in the room.

Your heart pounds like a maniac, your breathing become slow and heavy as you try to calm yourself. Why are you so flustered? You need to calm down. "Gray.. the newspapers say you are dead." You croak, voice devoid of all life. "Are you really alive? Or am I just going crazy? I don't know what to believe anymore."

"I'm very much alive. It really is surprising how I managed to escape from the bomb's radius. It's a miracle." Grayson responds, his eyes now gazing toward the ceiling. The memories still haunt his fragile, human brain. "If I was a second too late, we wouldn't be talking right now. I'm lucky I got away with only missing an arm and an eye. Others lost their lives." He closes his eyes, his chest quivering momentarily when he inhales. "They turned into ash, Y/n. They couldn't even find their bodies. My friend, Neil, was one of them. I tried to help him, I really did.. But it simply was too late for him." A sad smile overcomes Grayson's parched lips. "He would never stop telling me about his girlfriend. He had a picture of her, always on his chest pocket. He wasn't scared of death or pain. He just didn't want to leave her behind."

You listen quietly, your left arm baring gooseflesh when Grayson gently touches the knuckles of your hand. You still keep your gaze focused elsewhere. "And I could only think of you, you know. I wondered a lot of times how cruel I was to leave you behind like that. The one thing I didn't want was for you to be sad. Yet I caused you so much pain, didn't I? It was painful to leave you behind, Y/n. It was painful to leave both of you behind. Because, a part of me was missing. I missed it all, I missed Ethan so much and I..." He gulps, his throat dry as he speaks. "I missed you so much. It was ridiculous how much I thought about you. I couldn't get you out of my mind. I could only wonder if you were alright."

His fingers lock with yours, his eyes tightly shut as he tightly grips your hand; lashes adorned with the slick of his tears. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Gray, don't. There's nothing to be sorry for. You did what you thought was right, and that's okay." You turn your head and look at him, using your thumb to gently brush a tear that trailed down his temple. "I missed you, too, Gray. It'll be okay. I'm here with you."

"I-I.." He tries bashfully, but you hush him, caressing the side you his face and pressing an impulsive kiss upon his lips. It is light and fleeting, makes his body stiffen beneath an affection which he isn't accustomed to. Suddenly, he was glad Ethan had been called to work because something happened; he'd be too ashamed to act like this before his brother.

You pull away softly, smiling at the scarlet color of his cheeks. There is a moment of quietude as Grayson slightly grazes your cheekbone with the back of his hand, sighing calmly.

"I never stopped." His voice comes out stark, unfaltering as he gazes within your eyes. You put your hand over his own, gazing at him through the slits of your eyes. You can feel the words seep within your mind, carve themselves deep within your heart. He doesn't need to say anything else. This is one of the rarest moments of your life, that deep connection you have with a person, the understatement you have for each other, as if your hearts are beating like one. You can feel Grayson's joy, his sadness, his guilt and fear. But it is all soothed. It is all alright.

I never stopped loving you.

"Me neither."

Grayson smiles feebly. "I'm glad I'm back home." The squeeze on your hand confirms it. Grayson is back. He is okay, and you will make sure it stays that way. You hope that something more will develop between you; you can feel it as you rest your head against his chest and close your fatigued eyes. You're not children anymore. And even if you were, this isn't a world for children. But there is this feeling within your very soul that tells you that you can finally be happy, that everything will be okay. And it will.

For now.

[rootpatterson]

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are!

Lucitober/Whumptober

Whumptober Day 5 Prompt: "Gunpoint"

Read it on AO3

-----------------------

Trixie was running and she was afraid. 

Her heart pounded in her chest. Her feet hit the hard, smooth ground beneath her. Her heavy breathing echoed off the far away walls. She halted and whirled around to make sense of her surroundings, confused by the tall metal shelving reaching towards the ceiling above her. 

Officer Malcolm had picked her up from school and brought her here, to the room with the helicopter and the plane and the tall shelves filled with parts. Then Mommy showed up and told her to go and hide, and she had, even though she really didn't want to. The sound of her mother’s voice when she begged Trixie to hide had caused fear to spike through her tenfold. Her eyes roved the space in front of her. She was scared, really truly scared, in a way she never had been before. Malcolm had his own gun and both of mommy’s. Trixie was smart enough to know a bad situation when she was in one. 

She rounded the large white item to the right of the room, putting it between herself and danger. She watched her mother open the trunk of the car, then watched with horror as Malcolm smiled and pointed the gun at her mother. Every ounce of her strength was poured into staying put and not running back to her. Trixie dug her fingernails into her palms. There was nothing she could do to keep her mother or herself safe. Cold dread spread through her tiny frame like ice cold tendrils. They were going to die here.

The paper airplane that soared between Malcolm and her mom didn't seem real. But it gave her mom enough of a distraction to run away and hide herself. Lucifer’s voice rang out through the room. Trixie sighed and her shoulders relaxed. Lucifer was here. He was mommy's partner. He would help them. She watched as he taunted the bad man, walking to stand right in front of him despite the gun. Trixie couldn’t make out the words, but Lucifer didn’t seem worried about the danger, just amused. 

A flash and a loud bang reverberated through the room. 

She’d seen enough TV to know what happened, and Lucifer fell to the floor clutching his stomach. Malcolm crouched down next to him and held his hand out. Lucifer reached out slowly for whatever he was holding before the other man pulled his arm away. With the dread inside her growing, she watched Lucifer gasp for breath as Malcolm stood again and walked away from him while calling for her mother. 

Trixie knew she should run again, find a better place to hide, but the fear of being caught and shot too caused her feet to stay rooted to the spot. All she could focus on was Lucifer laying on the ground, a pool of blood spreading out wide underneath him. She thought she heard him call out for his dad, but she wasn’t sure between the sound of the shot ringing out and the pounding of her pulse in her ears. She watched as his jerking movements slowed and he went still. His eyes stayed open, staring at the ceiling.

With her hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs, her eyes overflowed. Huge, hot tears streamed down her face. But she couldn't look away, couldn't think about mommy, couldn't worry for herself. She couldn't look away from Lucifer. No, from his body.

Abruptly, Lucifer sat up with a gasp, and Trixie stared in shock as he took a few deep breaths. He was alive.

His head whipped around the hanger, searching for something. Trixie heard Malcolm, having grown tired of searching for her mom and unaware of Lucifer’s revival, begin calling out her name. She watched as Lucifer’s features set in anger and, almost like magic, two large white wings erupted into being behind him and his eyes blazed red. 

Trixie’s eyes widened as she stared at his beautiful wings. She knew he could do something cool with his eyes, but she hadn’t realized he had wings. They were amazing. Long, wide, and almost blindingly bright. Somewhere in the back of her head she wondered if her mom could see from where she was hiding from Malcolm. Lucifer began scanning the room with his eyes. They almost skipped right over her before he focused on her intently and they switched back to brown. She was still crying, but the tears were not flowing as hard as before. The frown he was wearing deepened.

From one blink to the next, he was gone, appearing right next to her hiding spot with a quiet flutter and the soft rush of air being displaced. He placed a finger to his lips with a cheeky grin, patting her head and wiping away a stray tear on her cheek. She was about to launch herself at him and trap him in a hug, to make sure he was really next to her and not actually laying still on the ground, when she saw movement in the corner of her eye. She tensed for a moment, thinking it was Malcolm following the light coming from Lucifer’s wings to find them. 

Instead she saw her mother sneaking toward her guns, trying to stay hidden from the man stalking her. Trixie looked back to Lucifer, fear flashing through her again. Lucifer was okay, but they were still in danger. He nodded at her, pointing wordlessly at the ground and then held up his hand mouthing, Stay here, urchin. She nodded back and he was gone. 

She peeked out just in time to see him land next to Malcolm, then punch the man hard in the face.

Right as Malcolm spun to face Lucifer again, her mother popped up from the floor and four shots rang out, the bullets barely missing the edge of Lucifer's wing as they sailed into the other man’s chest. Lucifer didn’t even flinch. 

Malcolm slumped to the ground, dropping his gun. Lucifer walked to stand over him. He smiled, twirling a big coin between his fingers before he flicked it up in the air over Malcolm. 

Malcolm stretched out for it desperately, but it disappeared in a flurry of sparks before he could reach it. His hands searched the ground around him and Lucifer crouched down beside him. He leaned in and said something to him, but Trixie was too far away and couldn’t hear. After a moment Malcolm slumped to the ground again as Lucifer smirked. Trixie sighed in relief. The danger was gone. The bad man was dead and she and her mom were safe. But for how long? 

Her mother was standing behind Lucifer, her gun still in her hands and her mouth hanging wide open. She hadn't moved when Malcolm finally stilled. She just stood there staring wide eyed at Lucifer's wings.

At Lucifer. Who was alive.

Trixie sped out from her hiding spot and launched herself at Lucifer's still crouching form with tears flowing anew from her eyes. 

"I didn't… you were… you DIED!" She wailed freely into his suit as he wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. He was shaking slightly, but he shushed her, rubbing her back and stroking her hair.

"I'm quite all right, Urchin. No need to fret! I'm good as new. See?" He eased her head off of his chest and fluttered his wings with a wide smile that didn't reach his eyes. Tears continued streaming down her face, but she nodded at him before finally sparing a glance at her mother. She was still staring, her eyes wider with fear as they flicked between her daughter and her partner. 

"Mommy…" Trixie started slowly and Lucifer tensed slightly, as if just then remembering her mom was there and his wings were out. His arms loosened as he prepared to move away from her, but Trixie just gripped him tighter. "It's okay. We're okay." 

Her mother took one step forward, then another and another, until she was standing just a few feet away. She didn't come any closer.

"He's always told us the truth, Mommy. Lucifer would never hurt us. You don't have to be afraid." She reached a small hand out to reassure her, but didn't make a move to get away from the angel clutching her to him. 

"Trixie… He's the Devil." She didn't look at her partner now, only stared at her daughter with confusion painting her tear stained face.

"Not to me, Mommy. He saved us. He stood up for me to Janice… He's my friend." She looked at Lucifer and smiled while placing her other hand, the one not held out to her mom, on his cheek. 

It seemed that was all it took to convince her mother. She holstered her gun and closed the last few steps to the pair crouched on the ground. Dropping to her knees, she took her daughter's hand and the little girl pulled her into their embrace as her mother began to sob. 

"Thank you, Lucifer. For saving us from the bad guy." Her hand slipped from his face to his collar, clutching it tightly with her small fingers, and her eyes grew heavy. "And for coming back."

"I would storm the gates of Heaven or tear apart Hell to protect the two of you, urchin. Never doubt that." He hugged them tighter, and Trixie knew he wasn't lying. 

-----------------------

When Trixie's eyes opened, she was in her room, safely tucked into bed. Her pillow and face were soaked with tears. Her Malcolm nightmares. Though less frequent recently, they had taken many forms over the years. This wasn't the first time the dream had changed to include Lucifer with his wings and red eyes. She had never seen his wings, but Maze told her about them once, and ever since then they made frequent cameos in her dreams.

She dreamt about him many times after he left a few months ago. Sometimes he saved her or her mom, sometimes they were just spending time together again like they used to. Each one left her with an ache in her chest. She missed him, missed seeing her mother smile and laugh with life in her eyes. 

Mom said he had to go back home. That he didn't have cell service or internet there, so she couldn't talk to him when she wanted to or just needed someone to talk to. But Trixie knew what Lucifer was. Knew who he was. She knew what Mom meant when she said home; that he had gone back to Hell and she would likely never see her friend again. 

She began to cry again, in earnest, huge sobs racking her slender frame. She tried stifling the noise, hoping not to wake her mom. It didn't do any good, she had already heard her, because a moment later her door opened and her mother slipped into bed next to her. 

She shushed her daughter quietly and stroked her hair. "It's okay, monkey. I'm here. Did you have a nightmare?" 

"Sort of… Not really. It was Malcolm again bu- but…" Another sob racked through her and her mom wrapped her in her arms. "Lucifer saved us again, but it was different this time. He had glowing red eyes, and big white wings." 

She felt her mother tense up. Trixie knew it was because she didn't want to admit that Lucifer was actually an angel and not just a magician.  

"I miss him, Mommy. I miss him so much." She cried some more and clutched at her mother's back. Trixie could feel the shaky rise and fall of her mom's chest under her cheek and instantly regretted making her mom sad. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately. 

"I know you do, monkey. I… I miss him, too."

They stayed that way, wrapped in each others arms, until they both fell asleep again.