#saw plenty of people blaming Echo for even coming to see them and coming for help with intel

[the-bi-space-ace]

not to be a downer but I am suuuuuuper worried that because Hunter is going through it and is pissed he's going to say something to Echo blaming him for what happened to Tech.

I am not prepared for that kind of pain.

[keikeu]

drowning love :: nishimura riki

pairing :: nonidol! nishimura riki x fem! oc

genre :: slice of life, fluff, friends (kinda) to lovers

warnings :: kissing

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the village of wakayama was quiet. it wasn't something new, the countryside always seemed dead, and even the people that lived there mostly stayed inside and minded their business. tourists rarely visited the area at that time of the year, the weather was usually filled with rain and storms so the view wasn't as enjoyable.

today though, it was just windy and gloomy. the sun barely managed to make its way through the fluffy grey clouds, occasionally letting rays fall on the sea and mountains. the sound of cold wind echoed in the air, filling in the absence of noise. ai walked on the road where cars were supposed to be driving, but seeing there were none she took the opportunity to walk closer to the guard rail to get a better view of the picturesque ocean.

she had finished another boring day of school, and she walked with her bag draped on her shoulder while holding her cardigan close as it was chilly. the breeze blew her hair and skirt just like it made waves crash aggressively with rocks. she admired how the nature around her moved, taking in the bushy greenery that coated the mountains, the blue sea that covered most of the ground, the sun that tried its best to shine and make the weather better, and the clouds that wouldn't let it. the house rooftops that were still covered in the rain that had drizzled in the early morning and the bugs and birds that made their way out of the trees to find food.

lost in thought and completely struck by her surroundings, ai recalled all the events that took place in school. nothing significant had happened, their math teacher had given them plenty of homework for next week, the history teacher had fixed groups for a near project they needed to work on, her friends had made jokes and conversation at lunch break, trying to include her in but she peacefully ate her food while admiring riki, a boy from her class out from the window.

riki was a 17-year-old boy, born and raised in wakayama all his life, living with his parents and sisters. he was rather aloof so ai hadn't gotten the chance to speak to him much, but she had developed a liking towards him very quickly. he was just different from the rest, different in a good way. ai had heard from the rest that riki had gotten bored of the town from a young age, and ever since 8th grade he had started going to places he wasn't allowed to go and doing things he wasn't allowed to do, getting into trouble with his peers. the girl wouldn't blame him, the people here and the discrete area the houses were built in could get very dull and monotonous.

but the reason people bad-mouthed riki was the reason she had grown to admire him. the villagers didn't like someone who broke the rules, someone who stood up for himself, someone creative, daring, and free. they didn't like riki. but ai loved his untroubled and adventurous soul. she loved that he was curious and almost unstoppable, bouncing back every time they shot him down. and she hoped to one day build as much courage as he had to confess to him.

while thinking about the boy, she didn't hear the sound of someone biking behind her. the person smiled, speeding up and reaching her. they halted in front of the girl, making her stop and stare with shock written in her eyes.

"riki? what are you doing here?" she squeezed the strap of her backpack and looked into his eyes. he held a smirk on his face, and his eyes glimmered, something ai had never noticed before. the wind blew his hair in his face, yet the girl could still make out his beautiful features, from his brown eyes to his pink lips. she gulped, feeling her cheeks heat up after keeping eye contact with him for so long, something she had rarely gotten to do.

"i saw you walking so i decided to come. let me take you home." she got to hear his voice again, and he sure was being kind for someone who appeared so distant from the rest. ai was a bit taken aback by his offer, but she didn't refuse. instead, she hopped on the back of his bike, wrapping an arm around his waist for support. she was thankful riki couldn't see her at that moment because if he could he would have seen how red ai had gotten.

he biked quickly while ai told him where she lived. he wasn't paying that much attention to what she was saying, instead just admiring her soft voice that sounded like a little bird chirping. a smile grew on his face when the girl nuzzled her face on his shoulder, probably because she felt cold. he liked ai, if it wasn't obvious already but had trouble confessing his feelings. nevertheless, that wasn't going to stop riki from trying to make her his. and currently, he wasn't taking her home. he had better plans.

"ah riki, why are you passing my house? it was that one there!" the girl exclaimed, moving to point at a beautiful traditional building that was slowly getting lost in the distance.

"actually, i want to take you somewhere." was the only thing he said, ai opened her mouth to say something but only went back to placing her chin on his shoulder. her parents might get angry that she's hanging out with the boy, but that didn't matter to her because it was all she wanted to do.

soon they reached a forest. ai hopped from the bike and so did riki, letting it fall on the ground with his bag. he walked over to the entrance where a chain that held an old warning sign reading "strictly no entry" was tied to two trees, crossing it he looked over his shoulder at the girl who was putting her bag down and slowly walking over to him.

"i don't think we're allowed here," she said, looking at the tall trees and the dark bushes ahead of them. the rusty chain caused a  separation between the two. riki held out a hand for her and ai took it, carefully walking over to the other side.

"i've been here before, i discovered the place a few days ago. hold my hand and i promise you'll be safe." butterflies erupted in her stomach and her heart was beating faster than the speed of light. she felt she was going to melt at any given moment, but a slight squeeze of her hand by the boy caused her to snap back to reality and walk with him.

the wind seemed to have calmed down, now the only sounds that filled their ears were twigs and leaves cracking under their feet and animals like squirrels and rabbits. riki made sure to hold the girl tight and close to him while helping her walk so she wouldn't get hurt anywhere. ai liked the contact they were sharing and the care riki was showing. she hadn't expected the boy to be so sweet.

without even realizing it, they had made it out of the forest, appearing at a low yet still dangerous cliff. the view was amazing. the sea looked one with the sky, and the sun shining was more visible. the dark clouds almost disappeared and the wind had stopped. ai closed her eyes, breathing in the salty air, and when she opened them again she noticed riki staring at her with a soft caring look.

"do you want to get closer to the sea?" the girl nodded and followed the boy who appeared to know the place so well even though he said he'd only discovered it a few days before. they cautiously walked on rocks, riki occasionally taking glances to make sure the girl was okay. she almost ended up falling, if it wasn't for riki whose reflexes were sharp and quickly caught her.

"be careful next time," he said, still holding her waist even though she was on her two feet, her shoes touching the mushy sand. waves crashed, already wetting her legs and skirt.

"let's go in!" the boy suddenly exclaimed, pulling her closer to the shore. without a second thought, he walked into the water, and ai joined him.

"riki it's cold!" the girl said, her teeth chattering when the water made contact with her skin. the boy only chuckled at her whining while submerging his body even more.

he fully turned to her, grabbing both her hands and pulling her to the water with him. when their feet couldn't touch the ground anymore and their bodies were floating, riki cupped her face and pulled her in for a gentle kiss. feeling his soft lips touch hers, ai felt like she could fly. her cheeks flushed and she was glad that riki was blushing too because it felt less embarrassing. she quickly put her hands at the back of his neck and pulled him in for another kiss.

it felt like fireworks exploding all around them every time their lips touched, it was so magical, so perfect. for once, ai was thankful she had moved to wakayama because she got to meet riki, admire him, fall for him and finally be together with him. and riki was glad he had seen ai too. she was the only person keeping him going, keeping him from running away from the lonely town.

after swimming for a little longer, throwing water at each other, and kissing in the blue sea, they walked through the thick forest again, hand and hand and riki biked back home with ai bolding his waist tightly while letting the breeze blow the wet hair out of her face.

"i love you riki!" the girl shouted, closing her eyes and grinning happily after. riki chuckled, speeding up before also shouting, "i love you ai!"

they arrived at ai's house faster than they would have liked, riki hid behind a tree so her parents wouldn't see him if they decided to suddenly come out or if they were waiting for her at a window. after all, a few hours had passed, and ai should have been home by three, but it was seven.

"my parents are going to kill me." she worriedly said while grabbing her school bag. riki placed a small peck on her forehead before reassuring her everything was going to be okay and helping her make a believable enough excuse.

"if you end up getting grounded, i'll help you secretly escape." the girl let out a dry laugh, pulling him into a hug and walking home. riki only left after she had gone inside.

today was the best day of his life. he was finally going to be with his crush. he didn't care that his parents were scolding him, the only thing on his mind was the moment he got to share with ai. and she was also not paying much attention to her parents lecturing her, reminiscing on the kiss, the sea, and the forest.

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a/n :: i was going to sleep one day but this idea popped in my head and i knew i HAD to write it,, inspired by the japanese movie "drowning love" (check for warnings before watching it if you plan on doing so) i felt very inspired to write this, so it's a bit longer than my other one shots but i still hope you guys enjoy it! (ps. i love riki😍💗)

©keikeu

[oathofpromises]

“You’ve been working really hard. I see that.” - Data to Stella

How much longer could Stella hold out like this? It was always whatever the world wanted from her, and time and time again, she would always answer the call. A part of her hated how helpful she was—the way that anyone, even a complete stranger, would beg for her assistance in a matter, and slowly one thing would lead to another. The Au Ra raised her bow as she shot another arrow towards the dummy. It hit perfectly, just as it always had, yet her heart didn't feel happy.

With rain on the horizon, she desperately sought any distraction from the overwhelming emotions in her heart. Taking a breath, she was just about to let loose another arrow but stopped as she saw Data leaning against the entrance to the shooting range. The two hadn't seen much of each other recently due to the world needing both of their attention. She wasn't upset at him but rather understood that other things took priority first. That didn't stop the ache from echoing inside her chest.

"Data," whispered the Au Ra as she looked away and let the arrow go. It flew through the arrow, landing perfectly next to her first one. The only reason she had improved as a bard was thanks to G'raha and Data. It wasn't a class she had total confidence in, aside from singing. At least those close to her had complimented her singing voice, not that she believed it was worth much to herself.

'You’ve been working really hard. I see that...'

His statement was filled with nothing but gentleness and honesty, yet it dug into a sore sport she wanted to keep hidden away. Tears threatened to fall down the sides of her face as rain started to pour down around them. A hand reached out towards her, but the woman gently pushed it away.

"You say that so easily, yet do you understand how much it hurts to feel like nothing you do is good enough?! No matter how much I give to this world and its people, it keeps taking. How long until they destroy everything that I am?"

Stella's voice broke slightly as she grabbed another arrow, turning to aim it at the active dummy again, yet Data slowly placed himself between her and it. His face was serious, but always had that same gentleness to it.

"Get out of my way, Data. I don't know why you are bothering to come see me. I am the last person that deserves your time." muttered the Au Ra as the tears slowly started to fall down her face. A part of her hoped the rain pouring down around the two of them would hide it, but he probably could already tell.

He slowly tried to pull her into his chest, but Stella placed her arms between the two of them, keeping him at arm length. There was a mixture of anger and sorrow inside her eyes and in her voice. A woman who always gave so much and never asked for anything in return.

The truth was, Stella felt tired.

All her life, the only thing she knew was that nothing ever lasted. Someday fate would take away everyone she cared about, and once again, that painful loneliness she had felt as a child would creep back into her heart. It was the last place she wished to end up, yet lately every day felt like an endless cycle.

"I know you care about me, but at the end of the day, all I do is destroy everything I touch. Eventually, that will reach you too. Even my own brother hates my guts. I can't say I blame him. After all, it's because of me that my parents died and that he was sent away to a place that tortured him for years. A part of me wishes he had just ended me during our fight. There are plenty of other warriors of light out there. I am not special; I never have been."

It hurt to say those words, yet a part of Au Ra felt like it would always be her that someone else would suffer. She knew that the battles she engaged in would inevitably draw her loved ones in, resulting in injuries or worse for some. Stella held down on her bow so hard that she accidentally felt her fingers brush against the arrow. A hiss emitted from her lips as she dropped the weapon and turned away from Data.

"Thank you for your words, but the reality is that I am the cause of so much pain. I will end up losing you. G'raha...the scions. Anyone that means the world to me will leave or worse, and I don't think I can survive that. Not again."

There it came, the painful sobs escaping her lips, as Stella quickly reached up to cover her eyes. The last thing she wanted to do was break down like this, but how many people had actually checked in on her lately aside from those who normally did? Hardly anyone, and what hurt the most is that part of her felt even more undeserving of those who did love her.

A sudden warmth came as Stella felt herself pulled close to Data's chest, one of his hands supporting the back of her head and the other around her waist. He said nothing at the moment; he simply allowed her to shed those tears. After all, the two had always been there for each other, no matter what. He was the last person who would leave her to drown in all this sorrow alone.

Why did so much hurt? It felt suffocating to even breathe some days, and yet she kept trying. Even though it was the hardest thing to act like nothing was wrong when reality was that her heart was slowly breaking from everything and maybe a part of her didn’t care anymore.

“I’m….sorry.”

[teawiththegods]

Going to your discussion of Hades and Zeus and mythology. It really rankles me that people turned Persephone into a #girlboss and rewrite the story so she chooses to go to the underworld. I understand for some it’s a way to justify enjoying Hades and Persephone as a couple. Even with that understanding, I still don’t like it. Guess what? You don’t have to have a rewritten, morally correct story to validate your enjoyment of something. Especially when it comes to the Theoi. Idk part of me just doesn’t really understand the struggle of that. Like why is it so difficult to take the myths the way they are, accept them, examine them yes, but still accept the myths in their entirety. Maybe it’s all the new reimaginings and popularity of LO in particular that has my feathers ruffled but. It makes me want to go deeper into privacy about worshipping Hades and Persephone. - scytheandseed

You don’t have to have a rewritten, morally correct story to validate your enjoyment of something.

I think you hit the nail on the head with that line. Personally I think this is at least one of the core problems. I’ve noticed this issue with media and storytelling in general even outside of Greek Mythology. People, especially the younger crowd, have an aversion to liking morally ambiguous or just straight up immoral characters. They often go to great lengths to either again absolve the character of their sins or put the blame on another character (sound familiar??). This is why redemption arcs are so popular nowadays. People want their favorite character to receive the Zuko treatment believing it’ll give them permission to like the character. But stories don’t work that way and neither do fully fleshed out real characters. Not everyone is deserving of a redemption arc nor do they need one. As someone who LOVES villains (esp badass women who want nothing more than to watch the world burn) I’m quite happy with them the way that they are thank you very much!

But it all def echoes back to the good vs. evil rhetoric of Christianity. It’s why a lot of people have a hard time with The Iliad. They can’t wrap their heads around the idea that there IS NO good guy or bad guy. They are all just dumb guys fighting their dumb war. (Yes, it hurts me to say but Patroclus and Hector are included 😢). But so often you see Agamemnon framed as the “evil” one and Achilles as the “good” one despite the fact that Achilles did PLENTY of awful things. ITS WAR! They all do awful things but you know only one of them was gay and pretty so clearly he’s absolved of his sins. Agamemnon, did you try being gay and pretty?? Maybe if you were gay and pretty everyone would look the other way with Iphigenia like they did with Briseis. Or how about getting a dog? Idk something about a guy with a dog makes people want to forget about all your misdeeds. Just a suggestion. Still gonna cheer when your wife murders you in the bathtub tho so maybe it doesn’t really matter 🤷🏻‍♀️

Writing all that sarcasm made me think how another issue is the romanticizing of these relationships. Like I understand it more when it comes to Achilles and Patroclus considering how lacking we🌈 are of stories about us and our love however removing or ignoring unsavory aspects of Achilles (and even Patroclus bc he WAS a participant in all of this) is a complete disservice to him as a character and the story as a whole. You have to take the bad with the good, babes. The same goes for Hades. If you’re gonna take the myth literally than you have to accept that your homeboy saw a 12 year old girl thought “yeah gotta have that”, asked Big Poppa for permission, and then took her once he got it without any care or concern for Persephone or Demeter’s feelings. That’s just the reality. I don’t make the news I just report it!

Psssst…the solution is to not take the myths literally!!

Anyway, lots babbling from me (I blame the Covid tho it’s likely not the Covid 🤣) and I didn’t even touch on the main part of your ask which is about the portrayal of Persephone. I completely agree! Honestly I’ve read soooooo many of these feminist retellings of the myths and while I understand and support the efforts, they really just all feel the same. Like every character is the same regardless of which character is being portrayed. And they all just follow the same formula and I’m just bored.

That’s honestly how I feel with ALL retellings and even media that features the gods. Bored. So damn bored.

[helloalycia]

my patient’s neighbour [four] // wanda maximoff

summary: taking Wanda to meet your parents wasn't the best decision in hindsight...

warning/s: none i don't think?

author's note: i’m not sure what to say other than sorry in advance oops

part one | part two | part three | part five | part six | part seven | masterlist | wattpad

The restaurant my parents chose wasn't too flashy but rather comforting and homely, with an Italian theme and matching cuisine. It was bustling with people, but it didn't take long for Wanda and I to find my parents sat at the back waiting for us.

"You gonna be okay?" I asked, glancing at her with a comforting squeeze of the hand.

"I've got you, haven't I?" she asked playfully, her accent thicker than usual as she spoke. And though she was joking, I knew there was truth to her words which sent the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy.

"You're cute," I said with adoration, appreciating how lovely her eyes looked in the dimly-lit restaurant. "Come on."

Hand in hand, we approached my parents' table and I had hopes that tonight would go well. My parents weren't exactly intimidating – at least anyone I'd ever known hadn't got that impression – but I still worried for Wanda. Unlike her, I couldn't read minds, so I couldn't tell if she was actually looking forward to tonight or if she was just doing it for me.

"Y/N, you're here!" my mum exclaimed with a grin when she spotted me.

"I am," I said with a nervous smile, before motioning to Wanda. "And so is Wanda, my girlfriend."

"Yes, Y/N mentioned you would be coming," my mum said with a friendly smile, looking to Wanda, before motioning to the table. "Please, sit, sit."

I squeezed Wanda's hand gently before pulling out a chair for her. She smiled at me appreciatively before I took a seat beside her, facing my parents.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Wanda," my dad said with a nod. "Y/N mentioned you plenty of times when we'd call to catch up with her."

"You, too," Wanda spoke politely. "Both of you. Y/N told me that you're travelling the world, is that right?"

I leaned on my hand and glanced at Wanda, who shot me a mischievous smile. Quirking a brow, I mentally applauded her. Getting my parents to talk about their travels was an easy way of bonding with them – they would tell every server and customer in this restaurant about their travelling if they could. She'd cracked them instantly.

I'm just that good, milashka (cutie).

Trying not to laugh as her words echoed in my mind because of her powers, I leaned back into my seat and listened in as my parents went into a ramble about their ongoing adventures. This was pretty much how the rest of the evening went, as the four of us dined on expensive wine and delicious pizza. They seemed to be getting along well, with Wanda asking all the right questions and giving them her picture-perfect smile that impressed all the elders. Heck, she was even impressing me.

Naively, I appreciated how well the evening was going until my parents decided to talk to Wanda about her career.

"So, Y/N mentioned you're one of those Revengers," my mum remembered as we ate.

"Avengers," I corrected her, mildly embarrassed.

Wanda chuckled, glancing at me, before nodding. "Yes, I am. For over a year now, I've been working with them."

"Them being Iron Man, Captain America, the Black Widow...?" my dad asked, looking up as if trying to remember the rest, further embarrassing me.

"Those are the ones," Wanda quipped with a nod.

My mum hummed in response as my dad nodded before leaning back in his seat and eyeing Wanda curiously.

"I can't imagine your job is the safest," he began. "You protect people from threats, right? Keep them safe."

Wanda seemed caught off guard, but recovered quickly. "It's got it's... dangers, yes. But I can handle myself. I've got powers and I know how to use them."

"You do," my dad agreed, before his eyes flickered to me briefly. "But Y/N doesn't. She's just a regular human."

I set my fork down on my plate and looked to him calmly. "Dad, what are you saying?"

"No, it's fine," Wanda said reassuringly, resting her hand on my leg under the table. I grabbed it and held it as she continued to speak to my father. "Y/N doesn't have powers, you are correct."

"And dating an Avenger, I can imagine, must put a huge target on her back," he said with concern, and my mum nodded in agreement. "How can we be certain that she is safe?"

"Dad!"

"Your father is right, Y/N," my mum said, giving me a look, before her expression softened as she looked to a startled Wanda. "We're not implying that you're incapable, Wanda. We can clearly see that you care about our daughter. And you're a lovely person. You're pretty much perfect."

Wanda swallowed hard. "But?"

My mother frowned. "But dating you is bound to put our Y/N in danger. She could get hurt just for being involved with you, with your friends. She doesn't have powers to protect herself. And I can't imagine you're around her all the time to keep her safe."

As angry as I was at my parents for saying this stuff – even if they were saying it out of love – memories of the incident flashed to mind. They were right, but it was a risk I'd accepted when dating Wanda. What good was it doing by bringing this up now?

Noticing Wanda's silence, I spoke up instead. "I appreciate your concern, guys, but I'm an adult. I understand the danger I may be put in by being with Wanda. But I love her and I know that she is here for me if anything were to ever happen."

"We know," my father said, giving me a small nod. "We just thought we'd share our opinion anyway. It's been weighing on us for a while is all."

I sighed quietly. I couldn't exactly fault them for that.

"Anyway, never mind that," my mum said, setting down her fork. "Now that we've got that out the way, let's order some dessert, yeah? Our treat."

Nodding, I let my parents get excited as they perused the dessert menus before them. Instead, I looked to the quiet brunette beside me and saw how lost in thought she was, eyes focused on the table and stuck in a daydream.

With the hand that was holding hers, I patted her hand with my thumb to earn her attention. She looked up suddenly, questioning gaze falling to me. I frowned and quirked a brow, wondering if she was okay. She forced a smile my way, squeezing my hand reassuringly, but I didn't believe her. I also couldn't question it right in front of my parents, so I decided to speak with her later.

Dessert went by quickly as Wanda, suddenly, wasn't very talkative. I didn't know if my parents noticed, but I sure did and I felt extremely guilty. If I had known of my parents' concerns, I never would have brought Wanda to meet them tonight.

After the evening came to a close and we all stepped out of the restaurant, I expected to be going home with my parents since we lived together, but they claimed they had more plans together tonight.

"Wow, you guys have more of a social life than we do," I joked when they told me to make my own way home.

Wanda barely smiled and I felt bad.

"We'll be back in a few hours," my mum promised, before pulling me in for a hug. "Tonight was fun. A great final night before we leave tomorrow."

I returned the hug and as I gave my dad one, I heard Wanda thanking my mum for the lovely evening halfheartedly. After saying our final goodbyes, Wanda led me to her car in silence, giving me time to try and put some jumbled thoughts together coherently.

As she had been for the past hour, Wanda was quiet on the drive back to my place. Whenever I would glance in her direction, she'd be chewing on her lip and focusing on driving, though the blank expression on her face made me think that maybe she was distracted. It didn't take a genius to know she was thinking about my parents' words and I suddenly felt guilty for putting that all on her.

"I'm sorry," I blurted halfway through the journey. "I'm sorry for what they said. It wasn't fair of them, I know that. They just... they meant well, Wanda, they really did." I tucked my hands under my thighs, wincing as their words echoed in my mind. "It doesn't change anything though, y'know? We're still us. We're still okay. I don't want you to feel like anything's changed because it hasn't."

I paused, swallowing hard, and glanced her way. She didn't even look my way, still in the same position as she was before I started to speak. Looking back to the road ahead, I let out a disappointed sigh, figuring she wasn't in a talking mood. I didn't blame her, but I hoped she would have understood what I meant.

The remainder of the drive was like this, Wanda deep in thought and me huddled under an imaginary blanket of guilt. When we finally reached my house, she turned the engine off and I waited for her to say something, literally anything. Her fingers drummed against the steering wheel mindlessly and I figured she was out of words for tonight.

"I'll ring you in the morning," I mumbled quietly, opening the car door. "If you want to speak, that is."

Leaving her there, I grabbed my bag and headed to the front door, but stopped when I heard her get out the car, too. Waiting, I turned around and watched as she approached me, eyebrows knitted in thought.

"Please say something," I said with pleading eyes.

She licked her lips, biting her lower lip so hard I'm surprised she didn't draw blood. Finally, she released it and looked to me with apologetic eyes.

"Your parents were right," she said.

I blinked with confusion. "What?"

She nodded, looking down at her shoes momentarily. "They were right, what they said. My life puts you in danger."

"Yeah, I know," I agreed, crossing my arms. "I knew that when I got with you, but that doesn't change anything."

She gave a disbelieving smile. "Seriously? Y/N, that changes everything."

"No, it doesn't," I told her sternly, growing frustrated. "This is the stuff you sacrifice when you love someone."

She sighed, shaking her head and looking away. "You shouldn't have to."

"But I chose to," I said, clenching my jaw.

"Don't you remember what happened last time?" she asked, stepping forward and holding my hand. "The incident?"

"We said we wouldn't talk about that," I reminded her with a low voice.

"But you remember, right? When they took you and I wasn't there? They could've hurt you!"

"Shut up!" I told her, raising my voice. Pulling my hand away from hers and taking a step back, I continued, "Why are you saying that? You came! You helped me!"

"But what if they did something to you before I got there?" she snapped. "What if I hadn't got to you on time?"

The memories came spilling into my mind, escaping the locked box I kept them in. Tears burned the corner of my eyes as I tried to think about anything else.

"You remember how scared you were?" Wanda asked, frowning at me with exasperated eyes. "You couldn't be by yourself for weeks!"

"Why are you doing this?!" I yelled, clenching my fists. "Why are you trying to frighten me?!"

"Because you should be frightened!" she retorted, stepping closer to me. Her dark green eyes were swirling storms of rage as she added, "It could happen again!"

I shoved her away from me, pinching the bridge of my nose with annoyance. Tears slipped from my eyes at the terrifying memory of what happened, what could have gone wrong, but I ignored them as I swallowed down the lump in my throat. Why the hell was she acting like this? Making me so angry at her for no reason?

"It's not even just that," she continued, jaw tensed. "How many times do I get hurt because of work and you get worried?"

"That's because I care about you," I muttered through stinging eyes.

"This will always be my life," she said, a hint of regret in her words as she looked to me. "I can't change it."

"I'm not asking you to!"

"Exactly! You're not! Which means you'll suck it up and stay with me and will live your life in constant concern for my well-being. It's not right."

I opened my mouth to respond because what she was saying was entirely stupid. But my emotions got the better of me and no words came out. Instead, my bottom lip quivered as I sucked up a breath.

"I need time to think," she suddenly said, anger disappearing from her voice and being replaced with an astute calmness.

My gaze snapped her way and through blurry vision, I watched her step back with her hands on her hips.

"So you can what – think about breaking up with me?" I said bitterly, and despite my anger, I didn't expect her to look at me with a softened expression, meaning my words were correct.

"Maybe it's better that way, Y/N," she said gently, eyes meeting mine.

I squeezed my hands together and tried to breathe through the pent-up anger that she'd caused, but the longer she stared at me, waiting for a response, the more I wanted to explode.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I muttered, scrunching my eyebrows together.

She pressed her lips together, looking away, and it only pissed me off more.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Wanda?!" I yelled. "You're quitting on our relationship because, what, you think I'm in danger? Well, news flash, honey, the worst already happened and I'm still here!"

She barely flinched as she avoided my eyes.

"You're a fucking coward!" I said, pointing at her. "If you needed an excuse to end things, you could have just said so!"

Breathing out, I wiped my tears away shakily. I expected her to argue back, to realise she'd made a mistake and regretted her words, but as I waited, I knew she was certain of her decision.

"Fine," I settled, brimming with rage. "Fuck off, Wanda."

Still, nothing.

Turning on my heel, I stormed to my front door and went through my keys with difficulty, hands shaking with anger. I heard Wanda's car door shut from behind me but didn't bother turning around. I clearly didn't need to as I heard the tyres screech against the road and knew she was gone.

Kicking my door with frustration, I found the key and opened up before heading inside and slamming the door behind me. How dare she break up with me because of something that I chose off my own back! She just gave up like we meant nothing to her, not even bothering to talk things out with me! And selfishly, she left me feeling pissed and resenting her more than I ever thought I would.

"What a bitch!" I shouted into the empty house, throwing my keys to the side harshly.

When they clinked against glass, I looked up and saw the vase of flowers Wanda had given me before dinner.

"The first and fucking last," I said dryly, before grabbing ahold of it and throwing it against the wall without thinking.

The glass shattered on impact, leaving a mess of water, flowers and small shards on the wooden floor. I looked at it, the brokenness resembling how my heart felt. As the adrenaline of my actions and previous angry words wore off, all that was left was hurt and pain and oh God, Wanda was gone. She'd left me. She'd given up.

I sank to the floor, pulling my legs up to my chest, and hugged them tightly. Stifling my cries, I dug myself into my knees and felt a pain in my heart. Why didn't she fight for us? Did she not love me enough? Was I not enough?

—

"You ignored the memes I sent you, I thought you died."

As Natasha pushed right past me and into my house, I blinked with disbelief.

"Sure, come right in," I mumbled sarcastically, closing the front door.

Following after Natasha, I found her making herself at home in the living room, plonking herself on the couch and pulling her feet up comfortably.

"You could have sent an emoji or something," she continued, giving me a knowing look. "They were some good memes."

"Well, forgive me if I wasn't in the mood," I said sourly, joining her on the couch.

Her playful smile faded as she picked up on my words. "How are you doing, sweetie?"

I ran a hand through my hair and leaned my elbow on the back of the couch, getting comfortable. It had been two weeks since Wanda broke up with me and in those two weeks, I hadn't been doing particularly well. I guess you could say I was still in a slump. A horrible, tiresome, angry, sadness-filled slump.

"I'm fine."

She pursed her lips, looking like she wanted to argue, but thankfully, she didn't. I was glad – the last thing I wanted was to prove that I was okay when, really, all I wanted to do was curl in a ball and suffocate under my duvet.

"I'm sorry," she said, resting her hand on mine. "If it's any consolation, I think Wanda made a huge mistake."

"Ah, so she told you," I said with a nod of realisation. I hadn't told Natasha the specifics of why we broke up, but clearly Wanda did. I guess it made sense – they were teammates. If anything, I was surprised Natasha still wanted to speak to me, instead expecting her to side with her friend.

"She did," Natasha answered. "And I think she's an idiot, but that's not my business. I just came here to make sure you were okay."

"Really? I thought you wanted to show me the memes," I said jokingly, trying to lighten the mood with a small smile.

She chuckled, slapping my hand gently. "That, too... but seriously."

My smile faded as I looked down, my finger playing with my trousers distractedly. "I'm not okay, but I'll get there." I began to glare at my trousers, my anger for the witch returning. "I have to be. Because she doesn't want me anymore... fuck her."

"I'd rather not," Natasha mumbled.

Though my anger was present, making me tense like it had been the last few weeks, I couldn't help but smile at Natasha's words. Then laughter bubbled from my lips and for the first time since Wanda left, I felt momentarily happy.

"I'm glad we can still be friends," Natasha said, making me look to her with a smile. "I know that you and Wanda are over now... but I still like hanging out with you."

"Me, too," I said in agreement. "Thanks for coming to check in. You didn't have to."

"Yeah, I did." She nodded before offering me a small, encouraging smile. "You're gonna be okay, y'know."

I wanted to believe her, but despite how pissed I was at Wanda, I still loved her. And I couldn't imagine stopping, though I knew I'd have to if I was to make it through this.

—

Getting over Wanda was a difficult process. Everything I felt was a mixture of resentment, exhaustion and misery because I missed her. I missed being able to call her when I saw somebody do something stupid in public; I missed kissing her when I hadn't seen her in a long time; I missed hearing her adorable accent first thing when I woke up after she spent the night; I missed her.

Two months followed the breakup and the only time I'd see her was when she'd dodge Anna's apartment upon knowing I was going to take care of her. I guess I was glad in that sense, as it meant I wouldn't have to deal with her awkwardly. But it also made me feel like shit because it meant she didn't care about me at all. Clearly our breakup wasn't affecting her like it did with me.

And it was definitely affecting me.

I was scrolling through Instagram one day when I saw a particular post on my feed from Natasha's account. Yeah, one of the Avengers had a private Instagram account. She gave me her username when she saw me on it one day and I remember being so confused to how she had it.

"I'm an Avenger, not a hermit," was her response, and from that day onwards, we followed each other.

So, I saw a post on her Instagram and it was some goofy photo of her, Tony, Bruce and Wanda. They were posing with exaggerated smiles as Natasha grinned up front; the caption said something about working long days, but I wasn't paying much attention as, naturally, my gaze fell to Wanda.

Just like everyone else, she had a playful, exaggerated smile on her lips like nothing kept her down, but what stood out was the sling around her arm and the cast underneath. It must have happened in a mission or something and it wasn't my business, but I couldn't help but worry. Was she okay? Was she looking after herself? I wanted to text Natasha and ask, but I stopped myself.

She'd broken up with me for this very reason. I wasn't agreeing with it, but for a second, I did see why she'd made her point. It still wasn't fair though. She didn't get to make that choice for me.

We weren't together anymore, I reminded myself. She broke up with me. It had been two months and I needed to let go. If she didn't care about me, why should I waste my time and energy caring about her?

Not letting it get to me anymore, I simply liked the post before continuing my scrolling. Though I knew that deep down, her face was imprinted in my mind and I still worried for her well-being.

—

The fourth month following our breakup was when I properly saw Wanda again, excluding the times she would duck out of Anna's apartment upon my arrival to care for her. It was also the first time since the breakup that Wanda made the effort to speak to me.

I was sat eating dinner on my day off when I got a call from the hospital nearby, interrupting my meal. The nurse was explaining how Anna had fallen over and hurt her back and was now in a hospital room. She was calling me because she thought I'd like to know since I was her registered nurse and carer. I was glad to get the call, immediately pulling my shoes and coat on and rushing over there to make sure she was okay. She didn't have anyone else apart from Wanda and I – it was no question I had to go.

Though, of course, I didn't really think about the fact that Wanda may be there until I saw her there. I also didn't consider the fact that I was wearing my pyjamas when I stepped in the lift and headed to Anna's floor. Too late now.

After asking the receptionist where Anna's room was, I found Wanda hanging around it outside the door. With only Anna on my mind, I approached her and tried to hide my panic. She spotted me instantly, stopping her pacing and looking to me with tired eyes and a frown on her face.

I didn't care that she looked worried, nor that she was holding up well since we last spoke in anger. I didn't care that she'd dyed her hair a reddish-brown colour, nor that she managed to pull off both that and the whole 'loungewear' look in a place surrounded by blinding white and blue. I didn't care that my heart ached when her green eyes found mine, nor that I missed seeing her so close and not in my dreams for once. I didn't care about any of it. Or, at least, I tried to tell myself that.

"What happened?" I cut straight to the point, stopping in front of her. "Is Anna okay?"

Wanda nodded instantly. "She's fine. She tripped over her dining room chair and hurt her back. The doctors just checked her out and said it's nothing too serious, but she won't be able to walk for a while."

I pressed my lips together, feeling the panic wear off at the sound of good news. Anna had always been more than just a patient to me and the last thing I wanted was to hear she'd hurt herself badly.

"Can I see her?" I asked Wanda, quirking a brow.

"Yeah, of course," Wanda said, before looking away awkwardly. "I was just waiting out here for you. The nurse said you were coming."

I chose to say nothing as I walked past her and into Anna's room, seeing the older woman laying on a hospital bed and staring at the ceiling. When she noticed my presence, she smiled at me and motioned for me to join her side.

"It's so good to see you, milaya (sweetie)," she said happily, as I stopped by her side, "but you didn't have to come! I'm not dying."

I heard Wanda enter the room behind me, but she took a seat on the chairs opposite the bed. Ignoring her, I smiled down at Anna and grabbed her hand.

"Don't say that," I told her gently. "Of course I'm here. You're my number one priority. I had to make sure you were okay!"

Anna waved her hand in typical Anna fashion. "I've suffered worse. I'm absolutely fine."

I knew it was best not to question her, so I didn't.

"I'm glad you're both here," she said, looking between Wanda and I, making me swallow awkwardly.

Since breaking up, I hadn't mentioned it to Anna, but she wasn't stupid and she'd clearly noticed that we weren't spending time together anymore. I didn't know if Wanda had told her, but if she had, Anna never mentioned anything. Like now, she simply looked between us both with a grateful smile, unaware of how awkward we felt.

Thankfully, the awkward silence was interrupted when a doctor walked in the room. After introducing herself, I asked if I could speak to her outside about Anna and she happily obliged. She told me about Anna's condition and how it would affect the way I cared for her, especially regarding her new medication, and I asked anything and everything to make sure she was truly okay. After being reassured that she was, I thanked the doctor and returned to Anna's room, only to find Wanda and Anna in a heated a argument.

I couldn't tell what had got them so fussy as they were bickering in Russian, sentences too fast for me to comprehend with my limited knowledge of the language. It got to a point where Anna began slapping Wanda on the arm, looking angrier than ever, so I stepped between them and pulled Wanda away.

"What the hell is going on here?" I interrupted, holding Anna's slapping hand down to the bed and raising a hand to keep Wanda at bay. I looked between them, seeing the frustration in both their expressions, and asked questioningly, "Well?"

Wanda said nothing, eyes avoiding mine as usual, so I looked down to Anna who was glancing between us before spouting off into another ramble in Russian, trying to grab Wanda so she could yell at her directly. To my annoyance, Wanda tried to push past me, yelling back, and I was unfortunately caught in the middle as I attempted to keep them from ripping each other's throats out.

Thankfully, their bickering came to a halt when an unknown voice called into the room: "What is going on in here?"

I looked to the door, following the mystery voice, and saw a young woman, maybe in her thirties, standing in the doorway and looking between the three of us with confusion. I had no idea who she was, though she seemed familiar. Judging from the confusion Wanda had, she didn't seem to know either.

"Sasha," Anna breathed out with surprise, and then I realised. That was Anna's granddaughter. "What are you doing here?"

[strange-lace]

Comfort & Realization

A gift for @winterpower98 since it’s her birthday! Below is some shadowpeach hurt/comfort for her Mentorswap AU, enjoy!

Content warning for descriptions of a character having a panic attack.

Wukong wasn’t sure when it started happening. This… truce between him and Macaque.

If he had to try and pinpoint it, it would likely be the first time they stumbled upon each other in Mei’s apartment while the mechanic wasn’t there. Where they were both far too exhausted that instead of fighting, they simply just… hung out around each other. Not much talking. Just simply finding quiet comfort in each other, two people who just felt beat down by life. Two people who simply needed rest and peace.

They had silently agreed that they wouldn’t speak of their meeting after waking up snuggled close to one another. That this was a one-time thing and would never happen again.

Or at least, that was the plan.

But they kept running into each other at Mei’s apartment. And every time, they kept coming up with excuses to put the façade that them hanging around each other was only done begrudgingly. And every time, they’d end up falling asleep on Mei’s couch out of sheer exhaustion for her to inevitably find late at night after a long day at the shop. And every single time, Mei would simply smile at the sight of the two and leave them after laying a blanket over the two of them.

Well and perhaps after taking a photo… or several.

She found them adorable, so sue her.

Regardless, while Wukong would only admit it on the threat of death… he had found himself genuinely enjoying Macaque’s company during those quiet moments of truce. Moments where he didn’t have to put on the mask of still being the cocky, energetic young man everyone saw him as and instead could let it drop. Macaque didn’t ask questions or try to prod, he simply gave Wukong a look of concern and didn’t protest if he sat closer to the monkey demon than necessary.

It was… nice. A lot nicer than he wanted to admit.

But, like seemingly everything in Wukong’s life, it had to change. Quickly, suddenly, and uncomfortably.

And what’s worse is that he couldn’t blame anything aside from things he had been holding down, repressing, since the very beginning. When things came crumbling down. Things he couldn’t ignore anymore.

He just couldn’t.

It had started well enough, Wukong allowing himself a breather after defeating another demon that thought they could take the staff for themselves. But they certainly put up a good fight, even giving him a couple of close calls that could have been bad if Bajie hadn’t screamed out a warning to him at just the right moment. That certainly let his heart thundering in his chest, even after the danger was long gone.

And yet Wukong couldn’t help but smile as his friends were quick to rush him into a crushing hug filled with relief. Bajie especially, despite his claims to the contrary.

“Nice to see that you still love me Bagel.”

“Call me that again and I will suplex your skinny ass.”

Tang, Sandy, and Bai Long could only chuckle at the two as they bicker back and forth, the familiar sounds and routine bringing a surprising amount of comfort to Wukong. Things weren’t quite the same as before, of course. But it was enough to slowly start putting his racing heart at ease and he slowly had started to become comfortable.

Until he saw a flash of red hair in his peripheral vision. A shade of red that he knew anywhere.

And his eyes met with Red’s, who was staring at him in shock from across the plaza.

It felt like time had stopped.

Wukong could faintly hear his friends calling his name and yet it only sounded like muffled echoes. All that his mind could register was the jackhammer beat of his heart and how Red seemed to be weighed down by… Wukong didn’t know what. Guilt? Sadness? Self-loathing? He didn’t know.

All the young man knew right in that moment was that he needed to leave. Now.

And that he did. It was all a blur of panic and fear for him. He might have heard Bajie and Tang call out to him as he had the staff take him away, but all Wukong could hear was his skyrocketing pulse and feel the impending nausea curdled his stomach. He just wanted to get away to somewhere safe where nobody would find him. Where Red wouldn’t find him or be able to even see him.

Wukong stumbled into Mei’s apartment, breathing uneven and tears already brimming his eyes. His chest felt tight, as if still in the vice grip of the demon he fought earlier, and his legs wobbly that it was a minor miracle that he was able to make it to the couch. The young man collapsed on to the sofa and curled into a fetal position, unable to hear anything but his heartbeat.

Unable to see anything except the sight of his former father figure for the first time in months.

Not since he lied to Wukong, stole his powers, tried to kill is mentor and nearly killed him in the worst way possible during the process.

Wukong thought with how long it had been that maybe the sight of Red wouldn’t hurt anymore.

He was wrong. It had hurt even worse than before.

In the dark quiet of Mei’s apartment, Wukong was left to quietly sob and spiral back down to the memories of where everything changed. The shock of having his powers ripped from him by someone he thought he trusted. Nearly being buried alive, something that gave still gave him nightmares to remember. The stab of betrayal. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

He stopped completely. Breath, thoughts, and all. There was a hand on his shoulder.

Before Wukong could lash out at any possible threat, he caught sight of familiar black fur and ridged ears. It was Macaque, eyes soft with worry despite the poor attempt of a smirk to hide it.

“Hey… you okay there, monkey wannabe? Did something happen?”

That was the needle to Wukong’s metaphorical balloon of anxiety, stress, and heartbreak.

Quiet whimpers became full-on sobs and Macaque stumbled back as Wukong clung to him, desperate for comfort. Countless questions were running through the demon’s head, wondering what could have possibly left someone like Wukong in such a state. But he left them on the backburner of his mind.

Now was definitely not the time to ask questions.

Instead, he silently held Wukong, stroking his back to offer comfort.

Macaque wasn’t sure how long they were there but eventually, Wukong’s sobs died down and yet he still continued to cling to the other. He was tired and cold; Macaque was comforting and warm. His fur was surprisingly soft and smelled faintly of jasmine.

“You… feel better now?”

“…A little. Thanks Macaque.” Wukong’s voice was scratchy from all his crying, eyes red as well, yet he gave the other a weak smile of gratitude.

He froze. He called him Macaque. Wukong never called him by his actual name. It was always ‘Hot Topic reject’ or just ‘Mac’, never his full name.

Macaque liked how it sounded when Wukong said his name.

Oh. Oh no.

“Uh, no problem. Do you want me to-?” He stopped as he felt Wukong squeeze tighter around his shoulders, burying his face in the crook of the demon’s neck.

“Stay. Please.” He had never heard him sound so small.

“Okay, I’ll stay, just stop with the puppy dog eyes,” Macaque grumbled, ignoring the chuckles which rumbled through Wukong’s chest. He huffed, silently wrapping his tail around the other’s waist in hopes it would go unnoticed.

“Sorry if I got your shoulder soggy Macaque,” Wukong mumbled, exhaustion heavy in his voice as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Thankfully, that kept him from noticing the demon’s cheeks turn red as he came to realize just how much he liked the sound of his name when it came from his supposed nemesis. Enough that Macaque was starting to hope that Wukong would continue to call him by that name after all of… this.

“Don’t worry about it… Wukong.”

“Hm… I like how you say my name.” Macaque’s face was now completely red, right to the tips of his ears.

Oh no!

“Well, if you want… I could just keep calling you that instead of ‘monkey wannabe’. But only if you stop calling me a Hot Topic reject. Do we have a deal?”

Wukong yawned, allowing the demon to see the others tiny fangs and while Macaque would carry it to his grave, he found it extremely adorable.

“Deal. I like calling you… Macaque more anyway.” He let out another yawn. “I’m just gonna, rest my eyes for a bit.”

Wukong was immediately out like a light.

And as Macaque stared at the young man’s face, now much more relaxed in the throes of sleep, he knew he was completely gone. And it had only taken him now to realize it. A part of him was tempted to immediately do something about it, start courting Wukong, but he held himself back.

He had plenty of time. For now, he would just enjoy the moment. And maybe… rest his eyes for a moment too.

Macaque was also immediately out after he closed his eyes.

[sierraraeck]

Control

JJ x John B

Masterlist

Summary: JJ likes losing control, and there is no one safer he can do that with than his boyfriend, John B. But after a particularly awful week, JJ just needs something he can be in control of.

Category: Smut, angst

Warnings: Cussing/slurs, JJ’s home life so abuse and violence, allusion to sexual abuse, rough sex, choking, safe word used. Look, this gets dark, so this is your warning.

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: I agree with a lot of other people that in their relationship, John B is usually the dominant one because JJ likes losing control, but I’m convinced that after a really fucking bad week, he just loses it and needs something he can control. This is what I imagine that would look like.

•••

It had been a bad week. It felt never ending, getting roughed up by the Kooks, running from the cops, taking the fall for Pope, and now this.

If you keep going down this road, you’re going to end up just like your dad.

Maybe his best friend, and within the last year or so his boyfriend, was right. Maybe he, and everyone else on the island who constantly reminded him of his blood, was right. Maybe he was destined to be a complete fuck up with no future other than three cement walls and a grid of bars. Not like JJ’d ever imagined his life going any differently.

We’re sick of your shit.

Those were the words echoing in his head as his feet made the decision before his mind did.

You are a worthless piece of shit.

He remembered something Pope had told him once, that the brain can’t differentiate between the truth and something that has been repeated to you over and over.

You’ll be back here one day. You good for nothing piece of shit, that’s why your mamma left. Stay down, boy. I don’t care where you’ve been. Really living up to your name, Maybank. You’re just like your daddy. Fucking bastard. Worthless.

Must be true, right? If everyone is saying it, including the only people he’s ever really thought cared about him, it must be true.

As he opened the door to the run down shack, he already knew what he’d see, but a shutter of fear still raced down his spine. His dad was sitting on the couch, all kinds of beer and pill bottles scattered around him.

“What the hell you doing back here, boy?” the gruff voice of JJ’s nightmares asked.

“Dad, I-”

“The least your worthless ass could do is get me a beer.”

JJ complied, because, what else was he going to do? Weak.

As he walked over to his dad, the smell of beer was overwhelming. It always was, but the smell seemed stronger than he remembered. His dad's tolerance must be higher than it was a few weeks ago.

“Open it,” Luke demanded.

JJ tried, he really did, but his hands were shaking too damn much. Come on, don’t be such a pussy.

Apparently he couldn’t do it fast enough, so Luke ripped the bottle out of his hands, causing it to shatter on the floor. JJ flinched at the sound.

“What are you, retarded? Can’t even open one goddamned bottle!”

JJ didn’t even try to duck. He felt Luke’s knuckle make contact with his cheekbone, head whipping to the side. We’re sick of your shit, JJ.

“Dad-”

“Don’t fucking beg you weak, worthless piece of shit!”

Flames enveloped his gut, followed by another fire lit over his ribs. We don’t want you around.

The voice he was hearing sounded an awful lot like John B’s.

“Fucking pathetic! Just like your mother!” JJ was on the floor now, not completely able to remember how he got there. As his body screamed in pain with each new kick, his mind was getting farther and farther away from where he was.

Our lives would be better without you in it. I would be so much happier if I had a boyfriend who wasn’t such a burden, such a fuck up. Someone without so many fucking issues.

He could feel the blood dripping down his face and leg, but refused to make himself consciously aware of it.

This is what you deserve, JJ.

This is what you deserve.

•••

Twenty-eight hours. That’s how long it’d been since John B last saw JJ. The moment he walked out the door John B kicked himself for it.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually said that to JJ. ‘You’re going to end up just like your dad.’ He couldn’t think of a worse thing to say to JJ.

It’d overall been a shit week, and John B knew that he was sleep deprived and irritable from everything that’d gone on, not like that was any excuse for what he’d done.

As time ticked by, John B just kept going over everything he’d done wrong in the past week.

You’re going to end up just like your dad. We’re sick of your shit.

Not to mention the time he grabbed JJ by the collar of his shirt and shoved him up against the wall. The way JJ flinched and seemed to shrink into himself, immediately casting his eyes down, was an image John B couldn’t get out of his head. He knew better than to touch JJ without explicitly asking or giving him plenty of forewarning, let alone grab him out of nowhere while he was angry.

God, JJ looked so scared in that moment, and John B couldn’t even believe he’d just made the person he cared about most in the world feel threatened by him. And JJ didn’t even look like he’d fight back. He looked like he was bracing himself, ready to take whatever harm was to come to him.

JJ put so much trust in John B, letting him be in control of their most intimate time together. JJ once told him that he felt the most safe when he was around John B, and he heard all of the words not said in that one sentence. I trust you. I trust you to have power over me, emotionally and physically. I trust you enough to be vulnerable, knowing that I won’t get hurt. Knowing that you won’t hurt me.

And John B felt like within the span of a week, he’d destroyed all of that.

Just come home, just come home, just come home. Please, JJ, just come back to me.

The sun was starting to set, and John B was getting even more antsy. They’d never had a fight that kept JJ away for longer than a day or so, which meant that John B already knew where JJ was, even though he didn’t want to believe it.

Shit, shit, shit…

John B headed toward the door of the chateau, flinging it open on a mission to save JJ when he looked up.

Oh thank god.

JJ was standing on his porch, hand clutching his side and a couple butterfly bandages over his eyebrow and cheek. His shirt was torn, displaying the three developing bruises John B could see, meaning there were probably at least twice as many he couldn’t see.

John B’s mouth was hanging open, stopped dead in his tracks, unable to find the words to tell JJ how sorry he was and how much he wished he could’ve been better and how-

But his train of thought was cut off when JJ took two big strides towards him, smashing their lips together like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His hands were gripping onto John B’s sides, wadding up the cloth in his fists, and moved the pair of them back into the chateau, kicking the door shut with his foot.

JJ backed John B into the nearest wall, the intensity of the kiss momentarily distracting John B from the bigger situation at hand. JJ tugged John B’s shirt up, helping him out of it.

As they parted to remove the garment, John B tried to get JJ’s attention. “JJ-”

He didn’t let him get any more words out, though, pressing their lips back together the moment he could.

John B knew that JJ had a lot of pent up anger toward his father, toward the kooks, toward the world. He knew that JJ put on a show of being powerful, untouchable, even. JJ wanted others to think he was always in complete control, and while unhinged at times, a force to be reckoned with. JJ wanted others to think he was strong, and John B knew that was because of how frequently he was told he was weak.

John B thought JJ was as tough as they came. He was sure that if anyone else had been dealt the hand JJ had, they’d be doing a hell of a lot worse, and was impressed by his boyfriend on the daily.

But John B always thought JJ was the strongest when he was the most vulnerable, when he was with him, making this new dominant side of JJ concerning. JJ liked losing control and letting his guard down when he was with John B, letting John B take the lead. Right now, though, JJ was putting his walls back up, the tough act coming out. That’s how John B knew shit had really gotten bad, and he couldn’t help but blame himself for it.

John B tried again, “JJ.” He got the same reaction he did the first time, a non answer. John B delicately placed his hands on JJ’s shoulders, creating just a few inches of space between them as he finally got his attention. “JJ, JJ, slow down. I’ve been worried about you. What is going on, what hap-”

“John B,” JJ cut him off with a low, abnormally calm voice. John B stared in silence, growing even more concerned and confused by the look of intensity in his eyes. “Shut up.”

John B knew that at the end of the day, he’d do whatever JJ asked of him, but it didn’t stop him from trying to get more information. “JJ, I just-”

“Please,” JJ almost pleaded, gazing deep into his eyes. “Give me tonight.” John B stared at his boyfriend for a few more seconds before nodding his head. “Tell me if things get too-”

“I know,” John B assured, remembering the safe word they’d established early on in their relationship, South, and the one time JJ had to use it. He’d had a panic attack, mumbling something about a flashback, but John B had never gotten anything more than that.

With the green light, JJ slipped his tongue back into John B’s mouth, cool rings on his hand pressing into his neck, using his body to push John B back against the wall.

JJ was running his hands all over John B’s exposed chest, John B slowly moving his hands up to place on JJ’s waist. The moment he made the slightest contact though, JJ flinched away, grabbing both of his wrists and pinning them to the wall.

His grip was unfaltering, and stronger than usual, and JJ held his wrists there as he started kissing down John B’s body, pausing to suck and graze his teeth over a few spots.

Reaching the waistband of John B’s shorts, JJ moved his grip from John B’s wrists in order to yank his shorts and underwear down. John B’s hands started to tingle, unaware until just then that JJ had been gripping so tight it started cutting off blood flow.

JJ, now on his knees, started pumping his hand slowly up and down John B’s half-hard shaft, the contact sending a shiver down his spine.

At one point, John B couldn’t stop the small jerk of his hips toward JJ, which was the wrong thing to do, as JJ’s crushing grip was back, both hands holding onto his hips and slamming them back into the wall. JJ resorted to using his mouth instead, lips wrapping around the tip and hollowing his cheeks. John B tossed his head back, harder than he intended, making a somewhat painful contact with the wall. JJ started bobbing his head up and down at a faster pace, only breaking contact once to wet two of his fingers which he circled around John B’s hole.

John B could see the contractions of JJ’s biceps, and almost felt his fingers shaking against him. He was confused at first about what it meant, but soon figured out that he was holding back. JJ had always been the dominant one in his flings with girls, but had never been in this position with John B before. He could tell that JJ wasn’t going as far as he wanted to, that he was restraining himself from taking what he wanted.

John B wanted to know everything that JJ had to give, and acknowledged, in almost a challenge-like way, “You’re holding back on me.”

Within a flash, JJ stood up, threading his fingers through John B’s hair to yank his head back, his other hand keeping it’s harsh grip on his hip. John B whimpered at the sensations.

Looking down on him, JJ demanded, “Is that not what you want?”

John B thought it wasn’t, but seeing him now, and knowing how much darkness he has, there was a fraction of a second where he wanted to change his mind. But the second passed and John B still wanted to see all of JJ, every dark and twisted corner, everything he hadn’t seen before. And he could tell that it was taking a lot of effort for JJ to restrain himself, too much effort. John B wanted him to let go.

He shook his head, voice coming out as only a small whisper, “It’s not what you want either.”

It was like flipping a switch. With force, JJ dragged him by his hair to the bedroom, and once inside, threw John B onto the mattress.

It felt a little unfair, John B completely exposed in front of JJ while he still had his shorts and shirt on. It was getting dark now, the sun having completely set over the water, leaving only the light of twilight to illuminate JJ’s face as he climbed over John B.

He quickly coated his fingers with the lube from the bedside table before shoving them into John B. With his other hand, JJ was tugging his own shorts down and reached for a condom. He had to remove his fingers from John B to put it on, causing John B to squirm in his absence.

Without any forewarning, and barely any time to adjust, JJ was pushing into John B, drawing a small whine from his kiss-swollen lips.

JJ set a bruising pace, leaving John B gasping for air. “JJ-” he choked out.

“Is this what you wanted?” JJ hissed, hand snaking up to wrap around John B’s throat. “You wanted to see just how fucked up I am?”

JJ’s grip was getting tighter, his pace faster, as he kept talking. “Well, Maybanks are only good for one thing, so you’re right. I will end up just like him some day. I already am like him. A fucked up monster.”

“J, no, that’s not-” John B started to say, as he reached a hand up to grab JJ’s wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip.

“Don’t touch me!” JJ yelled. John B removed his hand like he’d been burned. “Don’t you get it? I ruin everything I touch!”

John B’s face was starting to flush, his head getting fuzzy. He could only concentrate on the cool rings digging into his neck and the words JJ was saying, sounding farther and farther away.

“Have you ever experienced death before?” JJ whispered like a threat next to his ear. “Because I have. I can show you.”

“Jayj-” John B pleaded, using his last reserve of breath. “S..so-south.”

And just like that, JJ was off him, backing himself against a wall as far away from John B as possible. John B took a deep, shuddering breath and swallowed, closing his eyes until the fuzziness in his head subsided.

When he felt like he could think again, he sat up and looked around the room for JJ. He was crouched in a dark corner of the room, head in his hands, knees trying to block his face.

“JJ,” John B said with a scruffy voice, standing up to walk over to his boyfriend. He slid down the wall until he was seated next to JJ, sure to leave enough room for him to move without touching him. JJ curled into himself even more, leaning away from John B. “JJ, please look at me.”

JJ did as he asked, alluring blue eyes shimmering with tears, a dramatic difference from the dark, intense orbs of only a few seconds before.

“I’m okay,” John B assured.

JJ shook his head, eyes roaming over his hands, and hiccupped, “I hurt you.”

“You didn’t, I promise. I’m okay, I’m right here,” John B told him.

JJ’s eyes were panicked as he scanned over John B’s body. John B followed his gaze, evaluating the already forming marks on his hips and wrists. He was sure that JJ’d left a handprint on his neck, too, which was where JJ’s gaze lingered the longest. “No. I hurt you. I need to leave.”

JJ stood up, making a noise of discomfort as he did so, and hurried toward the door. John B was behind him in an instant and put his hand on the door. JJ stopped in his tracks, taking a step back from John B and looked back at the ground.

JJ was shutting down, John B knew that, and he knew that he had to reach him fast before he went completely under. “JJ,” John B whispered, “Can I… Can I touch you?”

JJ didn’t answer, but he didn’t back away or say no. John B slowly raised his arm, hovering his hand before JJ. “Is this going to be okay?”

JJ nodded, and before John B could fully process it, JJ was throwing himself into his arms, clinging to him like he never had before. He started sobbing, forehead pressed against his chest, and John B couldn’t hold back the tears that slipped down his own cheeks.

“How can anyone ever trust me if I can’t even be trusted around you?” JJ choked out. John B wasn’t sure if he’d heard him right, because he was speaking so quietly, but he thought he heard him ask ‘how can I trust myself?’

John B walked the two of them backwards toward the bed, sitting down as gently as possible. He attempted to pull away from JJ, but JJ held onto him. Tilting JJ’s head up, he pressed a kiss to his forehead, then promised, “I’ll be right back.”

John B walked over to put on a new pair of boxers before grabbing the first aid kit, and returned to where JJ was on the corner of the mattress. He lifted JJ’s shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

It hadn’t been this bad in a while. There were four purple, fist-sized bruises littering JJ’s torso, a yellowish one on the back of one of his shoulder blades, and a cut along the top of JJ’s shoulder down his tricep, not to mention the cuts he’d already bandaged himself over his eyebrow and cheek. John B coaxed JJ out of his shorts, which displayed something even worse.

There was a giant stack of gauze covered by a poor wrap job below JJ’s hip, reaching down the side of his thigh. “J… what… what happened?”

“He uh… he um… uh,” JJ trailed off, swiping at his nose. John B stayed silent, giving JJ time to put the words together in his head. “He called me… he said I was a dirty fag and that anyone who wanted to be with me was lying and using me because who would ever actually want to be around me? And then he made me…” JJ shuddered out a sigh and shook his head. “And then he tore his beer can in half and jammed it into my leg.”

“And you tried to bandage this up by yourself?” John B asked, concern dripping from every word. They both heard the real question, ‘You didn’t come to me?’

JJ shrugged. “I don’t know, I thought… I thought you might be getting tired of having to deal with this.” Having to deal with me.

“I will never get tired of being around you,” John B guaranteed. To emphasize his point, John B placed a kiss on JJ’s lips, then both his cheeks, his closed eyelids, down his neck. “I love you, JJ. There will never be a moment when that is not true.” Kissing across JJ’s cut shoulder and down his shoulder blade, John B felt him start to relax. He brushed his lips as delicately as he could over the bruises he found there, then traveled down his torso to do the same. “I love every inch of you. Every corner of your mind.”

“That’s the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard,” JJ said with a small laugh.

John B smiled, looking up at JJ through his eyelashes. “I know. Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

JJ brought John B up to kiss him, a finger under his chin, pulling him as close as he could.

When they parted, JJ whispered, “I love you too.”

They stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at each other with small smiles for a while before John B said, “Let’s get you patched up.”

•••

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you thought, feedback is appreciated. :)

Find me on AO3 at the same username.

[cazimagines]

Hold on I still need you

Author's note: This was a request from anon, I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to get to it but here you are. I hope you are also doing okay and have a lovely day. If you ever want to chat, any of you, my DM's are always free. I've also decided not to tag anyone in this fic as it deals with triggering themes and I don't want to tag people if it could potentially trigger them. Oh and if for some crazy reason you want to be even sadder I based the plot also on the song 'hold on' by chord oversheet so uh listen to that if you wanna be in the feels.

Synopsis: Request from anon: Can I request a sui*idal reader? Like they have thudding thoughts, the whole day her head is buzzing. Then they decide to do IT (you can decide how) and Zemo walks in and becomes heartbroken and floooooofff pls

Word count: 2k

Warnings: MENTIONS OF S*ICIDE, if you don't think you'll be okay reading it then please don't, your mental state always comes first, lots of angst followed by slight fluff, overdose

Masterlist

(Please check out my master list to see what I will be writing next and if requests are open or closed)

Cross-posted to ao3 under the same username

They wouldn’t miss you

You’re just an inconvenience to them

He doesn’t care for you. It’s all a huge prank.

It would be better if you leave

You groan in anger, hitting your head slightly to get those thoughts out of your head, but no matter how much you willed it, they would not leave you alone. Each time you tried to resolve one thought, reflecting on reasons why they do like you, your mind instead found persistent reasons for why they didn’t. Every small thing they have done which seemed off weighted down on your mind. Especially Zemo. Why didn’t he kiss you goodbye this week like he had done other weeks? Your logical side tried to argue that he simply forgot, but your paranoia always got the best of you. There is more. There has to be more. Another reason for him to avoid you. To hate you.

You didn’t want to be one of those girls whose entire life revolved around their boyfriend. You had your independence, your responsibilities, your hobbies. But these days they seemed so bland. They didn’t excite you the way they once did. Things you did for fun now felt like a chore to you. Doing anything these days felt exhausting. You knew it was annoying Zemo by how much time you spent in bed, how you stopped organising dates. But how could you find the will to do anything when you were so exhausted of life? It wasn’t as if you wanted life to end for you; it was just that you needed a break from being alive.

If you thought about it, it was the best option, right? You would finally get your peace. Your friends didn’t have to pretend to care about you anymore. Zemo could move on to date someone he actually loved. He wouldn’t feel like he only dated you out of pity. This was the best outcome. It had to be.

One of the worst things was the last walk. Your footsteps echoed along the pavement as you walked to yours and Zemo’s house. It was almost as if everything was going in slow motion for you. The corners of your eyes were blurred as you just concentrated on the path ahead. The usual outside sounds were faded, muffled to you. Instead, that singular voice inside of you rang out clearly.

‘I’m going to do it,’

Just that, again and again inside your head, unrelenting. It was as if you were still trying to convince yourself to go through with it by repeating it. Your legs felt like stone as you forced yourself to continue to walk to your resting place. Your breath quickened as you approached the door.

Walking in, you were barely coherent. Zemo was still out. He should be gone for the next few hours. That’s plenty of time. You felt a pang of guilt in your heart as you thought about him. How would he react to seeing you? You didn’t want to think about it and thankfully if all goes to plan you would never would.

You manage to find yourself in the bathroom, locking the door behind you. By the window was the medicine cabinet. Stored full of many painkillers for the headaches Zemo often got. Often his past would come back to haunt him. Shakily your hand reaches up to grasp the door handle and open it up, your eyes focusing on all the orange pill bottles that cluttered it. You weren’t focusing as you reached to grab them, your hands instead accidentally knocking them to the floor.

Swearing under your breath, you rush to pick them up, feeling your eyes water up. Finally, you felt you had enough. Swallowing one last time, you open your mouth and down the hatched.

-

Zemo’s hands clutched the bouquet. The smell of sweet roses floating off them. Roses were typical, but always one of your favourite types of flowers. His hands gently graze against the box held in his trousers pocket. A reminder of the task that had been making him nervous for the last month. To propose. No matter what happened, the time had never felt right. He wanted it to be meaningful, for it to be special. After losing his last family, he wasn’t ready to let someone like you go away.

Still, he worried for you. Your behaviour had changed over the last few months and though he tried to ask you about it, you had always shrugged it off. It was nothing. You were fine. It wasn’t nothing. You weren’t fine, and he hated that you didn’t trust him enough to tell him the truth. That is why he was determined tonight was the night. He’d show you just how much you meant to him, and maybe then you would trust him enough to open up.

“Y/n?” he called out as he walked into the house. He’d taken the afternoon off for this moment, preparing it down to the tiniest detail, and finally, it was all falling into place. Now he had to just find you.

“Y/n?” he called out again

He paused, waiting for a response, but furrowed his eyebrows when none came. That was odd. You were always back by this time.

He started to walk around the house, checking in every room for you. As he found every room empty, his voice rose higher as he became more panicked.

Reaching the final floor, his eyes focused on the closed bedroom door, dread pooling into his stomach. The roses slip from his hand and the petals broke off as they hit the ground. His feet were already rushing to the door, his hands reaching for the handle, but no matter how hard he would push it wouldn’t give away.

“Y/N!” he shouted, hitting his fist against the wooden door in a desperate attempt that you might still be awake. He pushed his shoulder against the door with all his strength. The lock strained, giving crack to a single strain of hope for him.

He pushed his weight against it again, and then again, and finally; it broke. He stumbled, almost falling to the floor as the door burst open. He glanced around and his skin went cold as he saw you laying there surrounded by empty pill bottles. His legs folded as he collapsed beside you, pulling you close to his chest. His ears were ringing and his eyes were blurry as his fingers rested against the pulse in your neck, his head resting against your chest as he prayed for something, some sort of life.

A sob echoed from his throat, whaling coming deep from inside his chest. “Please,” he cried out, “Don’t you leave me. Not you too”

The tears streamed down his cheeks, falling on your pale, clammy skin. “Y/n” he whispered, his fingers still pressed against his pulse.

And then if by a miracle he felt it, hardly there, but he felt it, he’s sure he did. A beat.

He had already gathered your body in his arms and was racing you to the car. Ambulances would take too long. He had to get you to the hospital now. He was driving well over the speed limit but fines could easily be paid, your life couldn’t.

He swerves in and out of other cars, desperately trying to avoid any traffic, almost causing traffic by how carelessly he was driving. He could hear the cars honk at him, the expletives shouted, but none of that phased him. All that mattered was getting you to that hospital and thankfully, it paid off. He was at the hospital in a matter of minutes.

Grabbing you off the seat, he runs into the hospital holding you bridal style, screaming for help. The poor receptionist looked traumatised as she saw your ghostly pale head swinging as Zemo rushed towards the desk.

Quickly nurses had grabbed a hospital bed, and Zemo carefully placed you onto it. As they carted you away, Zemo grasped your hand, determined to follow you. He was instead forced to let go of you. He argued relentlessly to them that he needed to be there; he had to be there with you. Didn’t they know who he was? He got everything he wanted if he so asked but now he was forced into the waiting room along with everyone else. He couldn’t be with you, and it was killing him.

He paced around the room anxiously. People watched his stressed-out self as he ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up. Occasionally his hand would flicker down to his pocket where the ring rested and a lump would come to his throat. Every time a nurse came into the waiting room, he would instantly turn to them, hoping that it would be about you. But it wasn’t and so he was left with his thoughts again as he went over in his mind what he had done wrong for you to ever want to do that. It must have been something he did. The way he treated you. Something he said. The blame rested solely on him.

Finally, the nurse came in, looking for him. As soon as she said the words, he was rushing to your room. As he reached it, he burst through the door, his eyes focusing on the bed in front of him.

There you laid peacefully.

Asleep.

But alive.

The next few hours he spent sitting beside you, just staring at your peaceful face, his hand grasping yours. The nurses tried to get him to leave, claiming you would be asleep for a few hours, but he refused. He had to be there when you woke up. He couldn’t imagine leaving you to wake up on your own.

After a few hours, your eyes finally crack open as you awake. As your senses come back to you, you could feel something holding your hand. Moving your head slightly, you saw Zemo beside you.

As soon as you moved your head he perked up and a wave of relief washed over him seeing you awake.

“Y/n, oh thank god,” he whispers, squeezing your hand tightly.

“Zemo? Where am I?” You ask.

“You are at the hospital after you… well,” he trails off, the word getting chocked in his throat as he thought back to what happened.

Your eyes started to swarm with tears as you feel guilt wash over you, knowing what must have happened for you to end up here with Zemo.

“Zemo, I’m so sorry”

“Please don’t apologise, you don’t need to apologise” Zemo instantly says, sorrow deep within his eyes, “But please, tell me what I did wrong. I can’t lose you y/n, so whatever it is, whatever lead you to that tell me”

“Zemo, it isn’t your fault. You’ve been perfect, you always have been. It’s me, it’s all me. It was so stupid of me Zemo, I shouldn’t have put you through something like that”

His grip on your hand tightened as he leaned over to put his hand on the side of your face, making you turn to look at him. “Don’t say that. You are not stupid. Far from it. Now please, tell me the real reason”

You sigh, leaning into his hand. “I didn’t feel worthy of you. Of anyone. I’m tired Zemo, I’m so tired and you deserve someone who can give you their all. And that isn’t me. I don’t feel alright and I’m not sure if I ever will again”

Zemo’s thumb strokes your face in comfort as he looks at you before deciding to get up and get on the bed next to you, pulling you into a hug in the tight space you two had. “I love you y/n, if anything I do not deserve you. I understand how you feel and I know you will feel better in time, with help you will be. I will ensure you get the best help and will be with you every step of the way if you will have me”

He clasped you as you cried into his chest, his whispers of comfort and reassurance settling deep within yourself. You knew things would be hard; you knew you would doubt yourself again; you doubt him. But a part of you knew that with Zemo beside you, helping you, loving you. You could pull through.

A/N: If you made it to here I salute you for getting through the angst. Just remember you are never alone and if you are ever feeling in a bad way don't be afraid to reach out, I love you all 💕

[sohin-ace]

Rohan - It's got to be Rohan

This is inspired by something that just happened to Giovanna. I chose Rohan as the mysterious japanese man.

This is kind of crackfic-ey, it's not to be taken too seriously, I just had a moment with @gio-is-writing. Please don't expect any quality from this.

Also no beta, we die like men, we take it raw, my gangsters.

You were seated in the boarding room of the airport, rubbing your tired eyes. No matter how much you loved travelling and how relaxing your vacation was, you could never get used to the stress of boarding, moving around from one plane to the other and walking kilometers of huge airport grounds.

You barely had any sleep at all and your neck was killing you from the poor excuse of a nap you took in the preceeding plane. You felt like your head was about to fall off from your shoulders.

Now you could only wait for your seat number to be called for your next flight back home after another bizarre adventure.

You tried to mute out the dull background sound of people in the airport, staring out the large window right to the vast runway where workers were signaling pilots and directing planes to the parking zone and moving around to who knows where, making sure air traffic was fluid and secure.

Barely able to focus on the boring sight, your eyes instead fell upon not what was across the glass but rather was was reflecting it.

Right behind you was a young man, seated just there. You could make out his handsome features and beautiful face from where you were.

Now, you tried not to stare and act like a creep, but no matter what you did to distract yourself, your attention always came back to this beautiful stranger sitting so close behind you.

He seemed to be about your age, nicely-styled dark hair, and with very intriguing sharp eyes. He looked asian-phenotyped, but you could never be sure of his exact origins. You could only guess he was most likely japanese.

He had came from the same plane you just landed from and your departure destination was a place known to be popular amongst the Japanese population, so you speculated.

But how could you confirm? You could never just go talk to him. You just couldn't dare. You couldn't imagine walking up to random people asking them if they were japanese or not based on nothing concrete.

Talking to him was out of the question, you thought to yourself. He looked so handsome and intimidating. A normal, basic person like you couldn't just come up to him and strike a conversation, not even knowing if he spoke your language at all. You couldn't muster the courage to do so.

In a pit of despair, you thought of the brilliant idea of trying to peek at his phone discreetly through the glass reflection. Maybe you could see which language it was set in, clearing up the mystery once and for all.

... But all in vain unsurprisingly.

You rubbed your temples in frustration. You didn't know why you were suddenly so infatuated with this man, but for your defense, he was the most interesting thing in the boring, endless wait of your boarding.

Ah, yes. Like that could work. You just had a thing for coming up with clever ideas that you would never execute.

You thought. Hard. What would your best friend do in this situation? Maybe you should just throw logic out the window and punch him in the face for daring intruding your already fragile peace of mind.

Or maybe on the other end of the spectrum you should go out there and kiss him until he doesn't remember his own name.

Sighing at your own very stupid and mindless thoughts, blaming boredom and exhaustion for them, you glanced back at whatever just made noise somewhere in the boarding room.

It seemed like the mysterious supposedly Japanese stranger had the same idea and glanced behind him, your eyes meeting for a brief moment.

You couldn't help but take in his features once again, this time even more clearly. His eyes were greener than emeralds and his skin looked as gentle and heavenly as porcelain. You couldn't believe how soft yet inexpressive he actually looked like from this close.

You even took in his strange bandana, suddenly curious about the odd shape and thinking that could make for a great conversation starter. Nothing weird about asking some stranger about their fashion, right?

But alas, before you could even think about opening your mouth, the beautiful man had already turned back around to mind his own business.

You pouted, thinking of the lost opportunity. The butterflies in your stomach and the burning warmth in your cheeks completely staining your proper judgement on the situation.

Oh you two must be meant for each other. You looked back at the same time, your eyes met. That was a sign, you could already hear the wedding bells singing your union. Your heart was stammering.

Oh you couldn't wait to tell your best friend all about this fictional husband you haven't even talked to at the airport, knowing they would absolutely approve of your ectoplasmic relationship and would root for you all the way, like the supportive friend they were.

You stood up. Maybe you could walk around a bit in his direction, pretending you had something to check somewhere farther in the boarding room, motivated by your own inside pep-talks.

You had no idea what you were doing but you hoped to get his attention somehow. Who knew what could happen. There were plenty of people out there having incredible stories straight out of movies where they found love in such improbable ways, meeting people from across the world once and ending up meeting them again in impossible circumstances or somesuch.

Maybe the little child inside you wanted to live that kind of fantasy as well.

You suddenly regretted looking so awful today. Make up and hair barely done and hardly bothered to put on nice clothes for the sake of comfort and practicity on a long and tiring trip.

Trying to act as nonchalant as ever yet still elegant, you slightly turned back around, only to realize you couldn't see him anymore.

...What? What was going on? What happened? Did he leave? Was his seat called while you were turned around?

Your heart pounded in anxiety, aching for a moment, thinking it was over. That you had lost him forever. Your one true love. The delusional love of your life. The man of your dreams. A nameless soulmate that you knew nothing about, yet that you would trade everything for, even your life.

Your lips threatened to twitch as your held back tears, regretting every decision in your life that had led you to this suffering, this tragedy. God, why did love hurt so much? Why did you have to be the one to go through this?

"Why..." You sobbed dramatically in the middle of the boarding room, walking shamefully as your heart bled. "Why did you go... Why did you have to leave me- Oh... Nevermind he's right there."

Your theatrical number instantly switched as soon as you realised you had just wandered too far and were actually walking in the wrong aisle, quickly coming back to where your and his seat were.

You did not care for the strange looks you were receiving from people sitting by who thought you were completely mental, which you probably were.

All that mattered, is that your handsome Japanese prince charming, your very own 'Ouji-sama' was right here, looking as beautiful as ever, staring down at his device and completely ignoring your entire existence.

As soon as you got back to where your belongings were, extremely frustrated with your imaginary lover's sheer obliviousness, you heard the echoed sound of the boarding room speakers call your name.

'Passenger L/N Y/N. L/N Y/N seat B-17, is requested for boarding. Please present yourself at the gate immediately."

Your mother, much more reactive than you, hurried to gather your luggage and walked towards the gate where you were expected.

You grabbed your bag from your seat and instantly noticed the object of your obssession stand up, briefly staring at his boarding pass in hand, confirming his own seat number.

He looked up and sent you an effortlessly handsome look, staring down at you for a moment and you swore you saw his eyes widen for a split second before returning back to his resting sharp look.

You blushed and flinched at his intense gaze, feeling squirmy under his scrutinizing eyes. You didn't know what to do with your hands and averted your eyes, deciding to join your mother who was already waiting in line.

'W-w-what the hell?' You panicked as he elegantly strided in your direction, his expensive-looking clothes framing his body so perfectly he looked like some Versace supermodel. 'Is he... Following me or something?! No way...'

Just as you thought he was about to board in the same plane as you, bringing your hopes up, he talked to one of the airline agents.

"I'm so sorry sir. We indeed called the seat B-17, but it's for the flight GW3180. For your flight you need to go to that boarding room, on the far left." The lady instructed, giving him thorough indications as he nodded in understanding.

You slumped your shoulders in defeat. He wouldn't board the same plane as you, he just got mistaken. Of course, you thought unsurprised, he would probably go back to Japan, he had no reason to join you, now did he? That would be one unsuspecting trick of fate.

You could just watch him as he walked away, farther and farther away from your reach, never to be seen again. Your chest tightened as his legs took your love away, guiding him to fly off somewhere out of your reach.

"Oh, you recognize him?" Your mother called out, noticing how persistently you were staring at the fine man. "He does look familiar..."

You looked back at your mother in confusion, your curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

"He reminds me of that one japanese child you befriended when we came here for vacation. Oh it was years and years ago. You were still a little kid at the time." She chimed, reminiscent of old times.

You blinked. "I... I can't remember at all, I'm not gonna lie."

She hummed. The waiting line not shortening one bit she added, "He couldn't speak our language at all, but no matter what you were telling him, he always acted like he understood you and nodded his head." She chuckled and you smiled.

"That's... That's adorable." Your voice softened, wishing you could have remembered such a wholesome memory. "What else do you recall about him?"

"He loved to draw in the sand with you. I wonder if he ended up becoming an artist. I think his name was.... Hmm.." She furrowed her eyebrows and held her chin, deep in thoughts, "Hold on I can't remember it's been so long..."

"Well, I can't really blame you for not remembering a japanese name you heard once from years ago." You bashfully reassured her, but she still tried to remember.

"No. I know I remembered his name because it was the same at that one famous French art school.... I think it was... Ro.... What was it... Roh...an..? I think. Yes, Rohan."

Your eyes widened at the name. Yout delusional self couldn't barely hold back the joy of finally putting a name to that beautiful face that stole your heart. Needless to say you were quick to jump to conclusions like on a trampoline.

That was it. 'It's got to be Rohan!' you screamed in the comfort of your own mind.

Oh and what a beautiful name it was too. It rolled out the tongue so naturally. Rohan. Rohan...

"Oh but it's probably not him. The odds of meeting a kid years later like that in the same place are too small..." Your mother dismissed as she showed her boarding pass to the gate agents, not aware that she was crushing your tiny little hopes. "Oh well, whatever."

You liked the fantasy of some impossible reunion with a long lost childhood sweetheart love story much better. Especially with the way he stared at you, as if he remembered you, after all those years.

But for now, you just had to board on that plane and go back home pretending your feelings have never existed, for there was nothing you could do about it.

You could only dream that it had got to be Rohan.

[fallenlightsif]

"Can you hear me?" and/or "What was I supposed to do?" for my lovely celestial prince Florian 🥺

Feel free to tear my heart out, dear 😊🥰💞

My imagination's been going absolutely haywire ever since I played the demo and found out MC dies AND comes back. Y'know, as you do. 😂

Thank you for writing such a fascinating story and giving us such a wonderful older brother, I adore him and would not hesitate to die for him–

Good luck with Chapter One and don't forget to take care of yourself!!!💕💕💕💕

"Can you hear me?" and "What was I supposed to do?" for Florian.

(This is a scenario in which Florian and the MC had a less-than-stellar relationship pre-resurrection but Flor had a crush on MC and MC was dating E but is falling for Flor post-resurrection.)

(Their relationship can be very nuanced depending on your choices in-game.)

Also, I'm so glad you enjoyed the prologue! This ask really made my whole week 10x better!

Florian's footsteps were quiet, but the click of his boots still echoed in the near-silent room. He approached you cautiously, and you could feel his hesitance from all the way across the office.

Your office. Your old office, at least.

"You came back." His voice was quiet, the remark less a question and more a statement.

"I did." You sigh, running your fingertips over the hardwood of the desk.

Emil took this office after you were banished. Your heart twists at the thought of him, but you couldn't forgive and forget. Not this time.

Not after all he did, everything he took advantage of. Your eyes meet Florian's again, and he frowns slightly, a concerned pinch between his brows.

His concern is so genuine, so pure. So different than anything you'd experienced before; people who hid behind layers of intrigue and masks so brilliant you never saw their true faces until it was too late.

You'd been unpleasant to him before. You thought he was perhaps foolish, to rebel so needlessly. Too emotional, too attached. He cared too much.

You realize now these are not his faults, but instead his virtues.

"I almost didn't think you would." He gives a nervous smile, lips tilting up ever so slightly.

The words hurt, but you know they aren't unfounded. You'd never been fond of him; why would you leave the opportunities you'd found beyond and return to his side?

You look at his eyes, brilliant and golden, and wondered why indeed. You remember that, even when you dismissed him out of hand, he used to look at you like you hung the moon. He'd gaze at you when he thought you wouldn't notice, but you always did.

Never before had you sought that look from him, but you did now. You are left wondering if you'd ever see it again, wondering if this prince turned king still holds the same affection for you.

A bitter smile twists your lips, "I don't blame you for thinking so."

"Not to say I think you're disloyal." He rushes to say, "You aren't. You never were, and you paid the price for our mistakes. That is why I'm surprised you came back."

"What was I supposed to do?" You shrug, "Leave Ebia? Never return to my home? The prospect is just as gut-wrenching as it was years ago."

He's quiet for a moment, "Emil is still out there. You could go to him."

The words are sour in his mouth, even though he tries to hide it.

Blood roars in your ears for a split second and you close your eyes. Pain and relief are at war in your chest; regret over what you lost so cruelly and relief that Florian still cares enough to be upset.

You open your eyes to his concerned face, and everything snaps back into perspective.

"Can you hear me?" He asks, looking seconds away from snapping his fingers in front of your face to startle you from your melancholy.

"I can." You assure him, sparing him a small smile.

He freezes for a moment before returning the gesture.

"I returned because I wanted to." You gaze at the office, "You were excited when your mother named me your advisor. Why?"

"You're brilliant." The words seem to slip out before he realizes he's said them.

You open your mouth to respond, but no words escape. His face flushes a deep red, but he carries on regardless.

"You're second to none when it comes to magic. The way you navigated the court even made the nobility envious. You were suited for the position in every way." He pauses, "You still are."

There's an awkward pause that hangs in the air until-

"You still haven't named a new advisor." You note, "Not after Emil."

"None have lived up to the precedence set." He responds.

The precedence set. Your precedence.

"Is that so?" You muse quietly, looking out the large window behind the desk.

The wind makes the flowers of the royal garden sway in the wind. You had seen the white lilies dedicated in your name, the brass bell to invoke your spirit. Far beyond any honor given to a mere advisor before, let alone one as apathetic to their monarch as you.

"The position is yours." He speaks into the silence, "If you so desire."

"I do." You say, "Desire."

And you do desire. You don't long for intrigue anymore; you have no want for shadows and politics, rivalry and struggle, any longer. You have seen death, you've been subjected to the abyss that comes after, and you're cold.

You still wake up shivering, fingers brushing over the scar just beneath your belly button, exhaling ice and death as you sob your way back to the land of the living.

You're so tired of the cold.

His hand brushes against your shoulder, the touch just short of shy. He gives you plenty of time to withdraw if you want, to pull away. You don't.

He's warm, and you're so tired of the cold.

You do desire, despite the fact that you shouldn't. You don't deserve him, never have, but he still sees fit to hold you in his heart. Maybe you can work to earn your place there.

Perhaps you don't need to work for it, you realize as you meet his gaze. It might be the most reliving and confusing thing you've confronted yet; Florian's affection is freely given, nothing needed in return.

You don't have to be anything other than yourself for him, and it's a scary thought.

He smiles again, the expression becoming increasingly familiar, and this one is much wider than the others.

"Then, advisor, you should get some rest." He motions to the quarters attached to the office through the double doors, "I'll send for you in the morning."

He pauses to dismiss the mage light by the door but glances back at you and refrains.

After all this time, he remembers you fear the dark. He knows instinctively it's worse after what you've been through. He also knows you'd never admit either of those things, so he doesn't make you.

The relief you feel at the gesture is overwhelming and the flickering gold light illuminates him as he leaves.

Maybe you do deserve happiness after all, and even if you don't, maybe that doesn't matter.

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding X

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV - - - - - Part V - - -  - - Part VI - - - - - Part VII - - - - - Part VIII - - - - - Part IX

“I realize this is incredibly difficult,” the Nautolan Soul Healer said calmly. “But in order for us to help Obi-Wan, we need to determine the cause of his current disconnection with reality. Based on the drug panel, and convenient surveillance, we have, to the best of our ability, ruled out temporary psychosis brought on by a drug interaction.”

Cody stiffened further, not sure how to react to anything anymore. When a brother tried to end his own life, it was usually obvious why.

Sife Aerdo continued on. “There have, of course, been cases of Jedi Seers giveing into their fears of the future, or losing their sense of reality, but every case study involving such an extreme reaction was the result a gradual degradation over the course of many years. Nevertheless, it seems clear that Obi-Wan experienced a vision, and it may have impacted his breakdown to some extent. The more we know, the more successful any attempts to convince him of reality will be.”

Bant furrowed her brow in thought, trying to replay three decades of increasingly vague discussions of nightmares.

”Considering the high profile nature of his position, we cannot rule out some kind of psychological attack, perhaps even a darksider incursion.

Anakin leaned forward intently, the inside of his skull buzzing with white noise.

"All that being said, we must be prepared to treat Obi-Wan’s self harm as the  culmination of a long and quiet mental health struggle. He would not be the first in the Order to disguise such a thing with durasteel self-discipline.”

At that, Bant and Mace took a moment to release their feelings to the force, while Anakin raised his shields defensively.

Master Aerdo finally hesitated, before continuing in the same smooth tone. “I would ordinarily prefer to structure this kind of conversation quite differently- allow Obi-Wan time to share his feelings first and invite you each separately to support him in the healing process. But he’s gone from fighting sedatives and force compulsions as though the fate of the galaxy depended on it, to a self-induced coma. All while barely lucid, yet still somehow maintaining Master Class mental shielding. We need to get a better understanding of his mental landscape if we’re going to even begin the process of treatment."

It is necessary to note that everyone in that room had led, in one way or another, a somewhat miserable life. This was the main reason none of them could claim that the next five hours were the worst they had ever experienced. 

“But he’s always had terrible sleeping habits.” Anakin said hoarsely.

“Yes, but I think they got worse after Qui-Gon passed,” Bant argued, not sure what point she was making. 

“When I pointed out he couldn’t be getting more than three hours a night he told me that he could manage on meditation” Cody offered irritably.

“That’s technically true,” Mace confirmed. “If the Master in question is well-balanced otherwise”

“So its like his eating habits, crushing responsibilities, and repeated exposure to violence, then? Completely fine for a Jedi, in less it’s not, in which case it’s a major red flag?” 

“I think it would help to establish a timeline.“

Aerdo actually dredged up old mission reports, leading to the group reluctantly contacting Ashoka for her memories of Mortis.

At her Master’s insistence, she told them everything she remembered, hazy as it was, nervously elaborating on her own memories of falling. To her confusion, Master Windu all but brushed past that, assuring her that the important thing with stepping into darkness was the choice to the return to the light. Anakin bizarrely agreed with Windu. Out loud. Unnerved by the cooperation more than anything, she put her holographic foot down and demanded to know what was going on. 

Anakin took the comm-link into a separate room to speak privately.

Upon return, he informed the group (with a visibly red and puffy face) that Kit would be escorting her back from Mount Cala cleanup early, daring anyone to disagree. Windu nodded and the conversation continued on.

Together they rewatched holo-footage of Obi-Wan laughing amongst Ghost company the night before last, and debated reports from psychometric investigators who had scoured the cantina as well as Obi-Wan’s personal quarters for traces of illicit substances. Between that and another drug panel, they were finally forced to conclude that despite the timing, the alcohol at most confused Obi-Wan’s perception of a vision, or possibly simply loosened his tongue.

Bant prodded Cody to repeat every word from the holocar ride to the temple, taking furious notes. Cody was unable to stop the heat that crawled up his face.

Just when the looming horror of Obi-Wan actually preparing to intentionally die started to break over Anakin, Windu interjected.

“You don’t see what I do,” the Harun Kal said grimly. “Something galaxy-sized shattered around Obi-Wan and he didn’t break from it. The closest comparison I have is Master Yaddle’s presence when she meditated on her confinement. He’s chosen to keep going, even when, quite frankly, death would be a release. We’re missing something fundamental.”

“He said there were ‘other dark forces at work.’ Even if the fight was objectively hopeless... there’s no way he would choose to die because of it!” Anakin agreed vehemently, shaking off morbid fears.

“But he did choose to die.” Cody said quietly. And the wind went out of Anakin’s sails.

“Lets go back.”

Anakin gritted his teeth as they picked apart everything ‘unusual’ Obi-Wan had said and done leading up to his visit with Bant.

“What exactly did he...”

“So Plo Koon was able to get a read through his shields?”

“Did he have anything to eat?”

“How did that compare to...”

“When he's mentioned things in the future...did it seem good or bad to you?” Bant asked.

“Bad.” Cody and Anakin said in unison. Remembering the trip to the temple Cody spoke again, “Definitely bad.”

“Right. When we were talking he sometimes used the wrong tenses for things, people. I confronted him on not knowing ‘when’ he was after Knight Skywalker left. He told me that he knew what was real, but he was “enjoying not fully living in the moment” he also said that he intended to “wake up”

“Enjoying? That’s the exact word he used?” Cody asked incredulous. 

“He did seem...mostly happy yesterday. Giddy, at points.” Anakin said, slumping in on himself.

Bant looked at her notes once more before addressing the group.

“This isn’t vision psychosis in any manner I’ve heard of before...but I think I might have a theory. He used to have intense visions when we were kids; plenty of us did sometimes, but Obi-Wan would be unable to sleep after. What terrified him more than anything was the uncertainty that he might make the wrong choice- even when the vision was about something good, or neutral. His visions gradually stopped coming around puberty. We just had a conversation about this a few months ago- how relieved he was to only have to manage flashes of precognition. If he had a random, horrifying vision of a terrible future...suicide wouldn’t be his reaction. It’s too final.”

“Even if he blamed himself for what he saw coming?” Mace asked.

“Especially if he blamed himself.” Bant said. 

“What’s your theory?” Aerdo prodded.

“What if...what if he was telling the truth when he said he could separate out what was real and what was not? What if there was no distortion or blurring between now and then? What if he was just wrong about which was which?”

“That...would be a very extreme and abnormal manifestation of force-induced psychosis. He has training in distinguishing reality from visions. The continued presence of his mental shielding means that the fabric of his mind can’t be so horrifically collapsed in on itself.” 

“What if the vision was actually that realistic?” Bant said, pushing back against the soul healer. “So detailed and vivid that it effectively was a reality in itself, and everything else, all of us...”

“Were just memories” Anakin finished. “It would...actually explain pretty much everything. You said he wanted to wake up and when...when I found him.” He stopped, swallowing. “When I found him, he argued with me...what if he wasn’t trying to hurt himself? If you’re right...that would mean I found him trying to get back to reality.”

“It could explain his behavior in the halls...his desperation to wake...” Sife mused “But it runs counter to every other experience I’ve had with those managing prophetic visions. Master Windu, could that explain the shatterpoints you saw?”

“I’m not certain. It would have to have been extraordinarily real to create the echos of Shattering I witnessed. I don’t know if that depth of vision has occurred before, but then again, many things are possible in the force.”

“You really think he might have been...trying to wake up from dream? By killing himself?!” Cody asked incredulous.

“If that ends up being what happened I am going to give him such shit. That is the worst way to end a vision.” Anakin replied.

“Yes. It is.” Bant said pointedly. “That’s why it’s a last resort, after every other attempt to wake fails.” 

They all sat in silence, processing various implications. Cody was unnerved by another terrifying insight into force powers, as well as the idea that the General might vividly remember Cody being inexplicably mind-controlled into trying to kill him. Anakin was trying to understand what this would mean for them, and the conversations he had thought they had had. Did...any of it count, if he thought he was offering it to a hallucination?

“Alright, this is a valuable working idea, but let’s make sure to examine everything with an open mind before we draw any more conclusions. Anakin, what happened after you left the healers office?”

Obi-Wan’s critique of the practicalities of visiting a soul healer could be and was interpreted multiple ways. The incongruity of peacekeepers in war sparked a rehash of earlier discussion. More apologies. Self identifying as ‘crazy’ inspired new debate, especially in the context of the new theory. 

“When I saw him enter the fountain room I assumed he had had a brutal run-in with  dark force user.” Windu explained. “Based on everything we’ve gone over, I don’t understand when...but some of the more insidious sith compulsions work by taking whatever small anger or hurt you feel and magnifying them until they consume you. If Obi-Wan was already experiencing self loathing...”

Cody sucked in a breath. “Then a Sith mind suggestion would bring him to commit suicide. It...sounds like something he might do, if he was partially in control. Take the blow rather than let himself be used as a weapon against anyone else, even his worst enemy.”

“Hells, it could have been an even vaguer compulsion, driving him to attack the person he hates the most,” Bant added darkly.

Anakin buried his head in his hands, trying to hold it together. He couldn’t afford to lose control or get angry. Hells, getting angry at Obi-Wan for ‘failing him’ when in pain could be the reason Obi-Wan was currently in the healing halls. The man said he loved him unconditionally, then practically had a breakdown over how much Anakin pushed that unconditional love to the breaking point, then killed himself. How was he supposed to-

“Anakin? Are you alright to continue?” someone said.

“Yes. No. There’s more I have to tell you...I don’t know if it will help but - it was hurting Obi-Wan...I...”

“Let’s just take it one step at a time. What happened after you left Mace?”

Apparently even Cody somehow knew more about Bruck Chun than Anakin. Master Windu and Eerin told different sides of the same sad story, which spiraled back into a conversation about Obi-Wan’s inadequacy issues, which somehow devolved into a long rant about Qui-Gon Jinn that Master Windu had apparently been holding back for years. 

“My apologies.” He said afterwards, clearing his throat as the group stared, taken aback. “Old grievances. Go on Anakin, what did happened after you got to the ‘secret spot.’”

“He...was skirting around whatever was bothering him...I pushed him...told him I wanted to help...he said I couldn’t...because it was me...because of what I...”

Anakin stood up suddenly, feeling the walls of the room closing in.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I-” 

He ran out.

He turned around almost immediately, pacing in the small corridor, knowing he couldn’t leave, simply needing a minute to catch his breath.

Master Windu followed him out after a moment, not saying anything, just standing there. Watching him.

“What!” Anakin finally snapped. “What do you have to say that I don’t know already!”

“Knight Skywalker-”

“Don’t call me that! I DON’T DESERVE-” 

Anakin let out a frustrated snarl, punching a wall. The crumble of stone beneath this fist briefly made him feel better, but then he remembered Obi-Wan’s heartbroken expression in the light of an underworldly glow, and the tiny, choked sound he heard when the healers moved him and Anakin just...collapsed, falling to his knees.

Master Windu sank down gracefully beside him.

“Anakin. This isn’t about attachment issues, is it.”

“Not really, no. I mean, maybe you’ll blame attachment but it’s more about...”

“Anger.”

Anakin looked up at that, trying to regain the meditative calm he had felt for a glimmering moment yesterday, right in-between making peace in the cave and everything burning to ash. 

“You know that I have had my own struggles with anger. It is how and why I came to develop Vaapad.” 

“Yes, but you’ve Mastered your anger. And you’ve never...never given in to hate.”

A beat passed and Windu watched some of Skywalker’s familiar breaking points flicker into view. 

“You’ve done something. Something you know the Jedi won’t forgive.”

“Obi-Wan forgave me.” Anakin said, whispering. “He said that even though I couldn’t fix what I did he loved me anyway and I just needed to...to honestly regret what I did and not do it again. I told him I’d get rid of my lightsaber and I meant it and...I thought he forgave me. I was ready to go to the Council with him, come clean about everything. And then I left him alone to get dinner and when I came back...he was holding my lightsaber. My lightsaber.” 

Anakin buried his face in his hands, shuddering with creeping cold.

“I’m not going to critique your and Obi-Wan’s attachment to each other right now. I’m well aware that much of the order has turned to personal ties to maintain their stability given the ongoing horrors of war. I am, for many reasons, wary of the risks this brings us, yet it is also true that risks do not automatically mean failure. I myself have mastered my emotions in a different manner than conventional wisdom councils.” 

Windu spoke carefully. For all that he and Anakin had similar relationships with the force, they rarely saw eye to eye on any given subject. At a certain point, Mace had accepted that the volatile young man was determined to find the worst possible interpretation for anything he said. And Mace was not the order’s most patient diplomat.

“As for your crime, whatever it is, l will tell you this: Unless you choose to renounce the code and leave our number, you will be treated as a Jedi Knight, subject to our protections, as well as our judgement. You will receive appropriate mental counseling. If you are judged to be a danger to those around you, your actions will be curtailed and monitored, possibly through temporary confinement.  The Jedi do not believe in punitive measures for their own sake, but you may be required to provide restitution to those you harmed, perhaps indefinitely. 

Silence hung perilously between them. Windu watched a tremor run through the unfathomable kaleidoscopic of shatterpoints that had orbited Skywalker since he was a boy. A small one broke inward, and an attached tangle of larger, darker ones fell away, crumbling to dust. The rest faded from view, invisible for the moment. A choice had been made, some decision that closed off at least one path to the darkside.

“There’s no one to make restitutions to.”

“...You’re going to have to elaborate on that.”

“Let’s go back inside- I don’t want to do this twice.”

They returned to the increasingly hated meeting room.

Anakin spoke in an outpouring of words about love and hate, about misplaced revenge and now uncertain forgiveness. When he finally finished, the room was deathly silent.

The three Jedi sat quietly while Cody pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess this is why Jedi have the no attachment rule, huh? I admit I never really got it, but I suppose even if I-”

Bant abruptly lunged up, fumbling to bring her lightsaber to Anakin’s neck. Everyone jumped to their feet, except for Anakin, who stared at Bant with a wretched expression.

“MASTER EERIN! This is not-”

“Did you do it?” she asked, ignoring the Master of the Order.

“Bant!”

“It was my first thought after I saw him. We all rushed in expecting a fight, or a bomb, only to find you, insane, and him with a hole next to his heart. I didn’t want to believe it of course, but you’ve always had a violent streak that Obi-Wan, force help him, couldn’t quite soothe away. A fight gone wrong. Master Windu said it was suicide, and I believed him, and I’ve been trying to make sense of that ever since. But Mace found you after, didn’t he? After you felt guilty? Did you think he was going to turn on you?”

“Bant Eerin, you are dangerously-”

“No.” Anakin whispered.

“Obviously I might be why. But I didn’t- I couldn’t. I know I’m not good but I can’t even imagine- holding a saber against him like that. Kriff, do you not get how much I can’t handle losing people I love? I was insane when you saw me because I saw someone trying to kill Obi-Wan and I couldn’t even fight them.”  

Bant held his gaze for several lingering seconds, deactivated her saber and dropping it with a clatter. They stared at each other, breathing heavily and not blinking. She returned to her seat, moving jerkily. “I apologize Knight Skywalker. That was uncalled for.” 

“I wish I could say I wouldn’t have done the same thing in your shoes” he responded lowly. Bant made a tiny, unintelligible noise in reply. 

Cody collapsed back into his chair, holstering his blaster.  “Alright then...so after you finished sitting in the fountain room...what happened next?”

Everyone stared at him.

“What?”

“You’re handling Anakin’s confession somewhat dispassionately. We’re simply surprised.” Mace said slowly, returning to his seat at the same time as Master Aerdo fell into theirs.

Cody shifted uncomfortably. “The vod were trained in a wide range of enemy suppression tactics. While we’re extremely glad the Jedi have never asked us to employ them, I’m not...unfamiliar with this scale of deliberate slaughter. At least in the hypothetical, sir.”

“I see.” Aerdo said. “That is a valuable insight to have, thank you. Knight Skywalker-”

“Just...call me Anakin. Or Skywalker.”

“Anakin. When did this happen?”

“About two years ago, immediately before the First Battle of Geonosis.”

“And have you had any similar experiences with giving into the darkside since?” they asked placidly.

“I don’t think so but...we went to war the next day and....I don’t know if I’ve stopped fighting since it- since I did what I did.”

“Hmm. Anakin, would you mind stepping outside the room and waiting in the corridor for a moment please?” 

He bit his tongue, tasting blood, and quietly walked out the door while the Masters decided his fate. He leaned back against a wall, desperately wanting to see Padme. 

To his surprise, the door opened barely a few minutes later, and he was politely invited back in.

“Anakin.” Master Windu spoke. “Thank you for telling us this. It’s an important insight into Obi-Wan’s feelings right now, and I recognize that you could have kept it a secret. As Head of the Order, and with the advice of a Senior Soul Healer, I have made a decision. You will be assigned a personal soul healer, who you will start seeing tomorrow. Commander Cody pointed out that over nearly two years of continuous warfare, you have maintained some of the the lowest trooper casualty units of any division, by a significant margin if we evaluate based on mission risk level. Your civilian and enemy casualties will be reviewed, but even considering constant war, since your massacre of the Tuskens, you have clearly managed to at least... direct your violence away from the innocent. We do not consider you a threat to the inhabitants of the world. For the time being, I see no real benefit to limiting or tracking your behavior within the temple or on planet, but you are barred from leaving orbit. I have decided to delay a full reckoning before the council until such time that your former Master is well enough to provide his own opinion. Give me just cause, and I will have you confined to a force-suppressing cell. Do you understand?”

Anakin nodded, bowing in acknowledgment. All things considered, it was...honestly better than he expected.

“Now, as Cody” Windu paused. “My apologies, as the Commander was saying-” 

“Cody’s fine, sir” Cody said, wrung out in a way different from anything Kamino had trained him for.

“...I think we can all consider ourselves on a first name basis at this point.” Bant said with a snort. She paused. “That includes you Anakin. I really don’t know how to handle what you did but kark it, I don’t want to hate you. For myself.”

Everyone nodded.

“As Cody was saying, what happened next?”

Peace. Comfort. Hunger. A warning in the force...

-

“I tried to pull the saber back but his finger was already on the igniter...” 

“You probably saved his life. Even a second later-”

“I know, that’s almost the worst part.”

-

“-his neck”

“Why would he change weapons?”

“What if-”

-

“He said what to you and Healer Che?”

“That has to support the detailed vision idea, think about-”

“I’m sorry, Emperor?”

-

“I think we’re done.”

Anakin stared blankly at Sife. “But we didn’t figure anything out.”

“Not conclusively, but we’re unlikely to make any more progress, you’ve given me enough information to preform a meaningful meditative scan, or guide a conversation, should Obi-Wan wake, or navigate through his mind, should we decide to make a more decisive attempt at his shields.”

“Master Aerdo... I leave the final judgement up to you, but I strongly urge you to make a more decisive attempt. I am more convinced now than I was...” Mace glanced at the chronometer “five hours ago that this was motivated by a specific, external stimuli, likely dark. Do you disagree?”

“No.” they said with a sigh. “But I don’t want to underestimate how much underlying factors might have contributed to his response to stimuli, including underlying factors that none of you were aware of.”

The Nautolan Soul Healer stood up, tucking their hands into their sleeves to address the room with classical Jedi serenity. It was a little irritating.

“In any case, we all need to sleep, eat, and meditate. Master Eerin, you have the rest of the day off, I've cleared it with Master Che already. Master Windu, I leave the final judgement up to you, and I am aware that your duties as Master of the Order are unceasing, but I urge you to take some time to center yourself before returning to the council. Commander Cody, I would be more than willing to arrange soul healing for you or any of the Vod, please let me know. Anakin, you will receive a comm later today with further details on your future healing sessions. 

They bowed low, then glided out the door.

Bant stood next, bowed individually to each soul, and sped walked out.

Commander Cody cleared his throat awkwardly, “Mace- what should I tell the troops? We’re supposed to have command briefings later tonight.”

“If anyone asks about General Kenobi, tell them its classified.” I’ll schedule a briefing on the subject. Now go find Captain Rex and take care of yourself, that’s an order.”

Cody saluted, first to the high General, then to Anakin.

Finally it was just Mace and Anakin.

“Is there anyone who you trust who I can call to stay with you.” Master Windu asked.

“I can manage on my own” Anakin replied, not willing to give the Master of the Order anything else he could use against him, even after everything.

Master Windu held back a sigh.

He continued once more, making a deliberate attempt to soften his tone. “Anakin- I know we’ve had our differences, but this is not a trick, nor a trap. You’ve suffered a series of great shocks in the last 24 hours and handled them with immense maturity. I myself am struggling to deal with the emotional fallout.”

Anakin looked up at that, surprised. He didn’t seem to be struggling, but maybe that was what made him a good Jedi Master...

“As I told you before, I am not going to begrudge you the comfort of attachment. I’m rather convinced it would do you more harm than good at this point. I don’t want you flying right now, and you don’t have to be alone. I hope we have come to a better understanding today, but I doubt my presence is suddenly a comfort, though please correct me if I’m wrong. Now is there someone I can call?”

-

Padme ended her call with Master Windu extremely discomfited. She had barely heard from Anakin since he ran out on her the night before last to take care of an apparently extremely drunk Obi-Wan. He had messaged her a few times that night, promising to make it up to her, but had been comm-silent since. She had been starting to get worried, and now the Master of the Order was asking her to pick him up from the temple. Fortunately, she had already cleared most of her meetings for the week well in advance (Courascant leave usually meant THEM time, not that she was jealous of Obi-Wan, of course).

The speeder ride back from the temple was silent. All Anakin would say was that he would explain everything once they were in ‘a secure location.’ 

The door to the apartment had scarcely closed behind them when Anakin fell into her arms, shaking.

“Anakin, talk to me love, what’s wrong?” She gently guided him to the couch, arranging him so she could hold him protectively.

“Obi-Wan tried to kill himself.”

She let out a harsh gasp, “No! He can’t have, he would never-” 

“I got to him in time, but Padme... he was holding a lightsaber to his heart. It was...really close” He burrowed deeper into the folds of her dress, and she gripped him fiercely.

“Oh gods, is he-”

“He’s physically healing, but he’s still...not all there. I spent all of today locked in a room, trying to figure out if it was a Sith Attack, or an insane vision, or..or me”

“Anakin! What do you mean ‘me’ - Obi-Wan loves you, you-”

“I know.” Anakin interrupted her again, knowing he was being unfair; he was just too exhausted to be patient.

“He told me loved me. He...he...found out about what I did to the Tusken village, You should have seen his face, Padme, he was horrified, but he still told me he loved me, and he was willing to forgive me, even though he shouldn’t”

“Of course he forgave you,” Padme whispered. “You’re not a monster, Anakin, I know you would never do something like that again.”

"And then after we talked, I left him alone and he-” Anakin choked out into her dress.

Tears ran down her face, heart breaking. “That’s- that’s horrible. Anakin...it must have have been a attack, Obi-Wan wouldn’t do that.” she said urgently.

He pulled away, horrified. “I made you cry. I made Obi-Wan cry too. I’m sorry- Padme please, promise me you won’t-”

She grabbed the sides of his head. 

Her nails bit into the soft skin behind his ears as she pulled him down so they were face-to-face, vowing, “Never. I swear by the force itself, I will never choose death over life.”

He let out a relieved sigh, eyes fluttering closed.

“Now you,” she demanded

“As long as I have anyone to live for, I swear by the force, I will never choose death over life.”

She pulled him the rest of the way in for a bruising kiss. He lifted her, and they desperately clung at one another as he carried her to bed. They continued like that, clinging and grasping, until exhaustion carried him to sleep. She pulled the covers over top them both and curled around him defensively as the day slowly faded away.

Part XI

[itslieutenanthawkeye]

Three Firsts

Day 2 of Jeankasa Week 2021: First Kiss

Ao3

There are different types of first kisses: The one at the beginning of a relationship. The one to seal a relationship forever. The one to welcome a new life into a relationship.

Another nightmare. Three years, and they haunted him at least thrice a week –the faces of his fallen comrades, the millions of children stomped into the ground, the thousands of families left without a home to return to. He faced them in his nightmares; they accused him of not having seen the signs in Eren earlier, they accused him for not running after him the day he’d left, for not forcing him to tell Mikasa -once and for all- how he felt about her.

Perhaps this was why he’d become so dead set with Armin’s ideals of peace. He wanted to help the world and the island, yes, but above all, Jean wanted absolution.

“Jean,” a voice called, and in the crowd of millions pointing fingers at him, Jean recognized it immediately. His friends’ voices anchored him to sanity, but this particular voice was also anchored in his heart. “Jean, wake up.”

Jean came back onto his senses. He’d fallen asleep at his study table in the royal library, where most of them spent their time now that the negotiations had started. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands and stretched against the chair; budgeting wasn’t his forte…nor was it to try and convince a rich western president to spare scraps for the refugees. But Armin had trusted him with the tasks and Jean couldn’t let him down. Besides, he didn’t have the heart to leave all the work to his negotiations partner, who had surprised them all with her abilities with numbers.

“Hey,” Mikasa said to his right, reaching out to graze his arm with the palm of her hand. Jean jolted in his seat, confused at the sight of her. Mikasa drew her hand away and recoiled, and he wanted to slap himself in the face for his stupid reaction. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“No, I thought I was dreaming when I heard your voice.” He hurried to say. Mikasa’s lips formed an O and nodded, looking more relieved that he hadn’t been terrified of seeing her. Jean smiled, noticing her rucksack lying on the table…and the empty tables around. “What time is it?”

“Midnight, almost.”

“Huh?” Jean said, rubbing his eyes. “What are you doing here? Wasn’t Armin leaving at six today?”

Mikasa shook her head. “He left at five,” she corrected, giving him a sideways glance. “I was waiting for you to wake up. I didn’t want you to walk back alone.”

Jean’s heart leaped in his chest, and he pictured a small rabbit bouncing inside his torso. He shouldn’t be surprised, his mind reminded his heart. They��d exchanged letters before his arrival, they’d been comrades at arms in the battlefield, they’d stopped the end of the world together. Of course, she would be concerned about him. That didn’t mean she felt anything special for him.

Friendship love was still love. He didn’t aspire to anything else. Five months had passed since their arrival, and he was content with just spending time by her side, seeing her smile come onto her more and more naturally.

“Buses aren’t running anymore, are they?” Jean guessed.

“Last one must be leaving now. Historia took the last royal car about an hour ago,” Mikasa said, looking at the pocket watch Armin had brought for her from the continent. “It’s going to be a long walk back.”

Jean sighed and gave her an apologetic look. Historia had given them rooms in one of the newest buildings in the district, with beautiful views of the countryside and rivers and only a fifteen minute drive away from her own residence…and a whole hour walk away from the royal palace. “I’m sorry, Mikasa. You shouldn’t have waited for me.”

“It’s alright.” Mikasa replied, coming to her feet, grabbing the pink cardigan she’d laid out on her table. “We need to get going, though, before all the drunk people come out of the pubs.”

“Allow me,” he said, standing from his chair and taking the cardigan from her hands. She blinked up at him, almost startled, and Jean had to chuckle. “Turn around, please.”

She did as he requested, and Jean helped her put her arms into the sleeves, then flattened the wrinkled fabric on her shoulders. Mikasa looked at him over her shoulder, locking her eyes with his for a moment that stretched an eternity. “Thank you,” she whispered, her low voice creating a pocket universe around them even in the empty room.

“We need to get going,” Jean said, clearing his throat and reaching out to grab her backpack from the table. He focused on the books he’d laid out and began stuffing them in her bag. “Can I put these books in here? I’ll carry it for you. Mine’s already full.”

“I can carry it.”

Jean shook his head. “No, let me. I’m the one that’s taking all these books home.”

“We’re both working the budgets, Jean, I can carry my own backpack.”

“I can do it.”

Mikasa pressed her hand against the paper he’d been about to stash away, stopping him midmotion, narrowing her eyes as if examining a new life organism. “Are you alright? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Not a ghost, but the outlines of his desire for her, which he’d worked so hard to suppress the past months. The impulse of kissing her overcame him whenever they did their runs to Historia’s orphanages, whenever he saw her smile and play with little Ymir and her friends (who loved clinging to her three at a time, since they knew she was the strongest around), when she was focused doing calculations he was too dumb to understand…when she spoke to him.

She’d grown so talkative the past month. At first, it had only been with him and Armin. But the more time passed, the more he noticed her opening to people. The other night, he’d seen her having dinner with Pieck, Hitch, and Annie. From their table, he and Armin had heard her laugh alongside for something Pieck had said about Annie. Later that very night, she’d walked back to their apartments with him, talking about the littlest matters and court gossip Historia filtered down to them whenever she felt bored.

Being her friend was his most precious treasure, and Jean didn’t want to ruin it by putting his romantic love for her first.

“I’m fine,” Jean replied, turning to look at her after a deep breath, counting to ten as he always did whenever he felt the urge to kiss her. The curiosity in her deep eyes pierced through him, and in the enclosed space, Jean’s almost felt as if an invisible force drew his body to hers. He straightened before he got any closer, clearing his throat yet again, ignoring the pink tint of her cheeks. “We need to get going.”

_________________________________

In the end, she hadn’t let him carry her backpack for her. He seemed tired enough as things were, and a couple of extra pounds on his back would do nothing to help his health. He ate well enough, but he never got many hours of sleep, and it concerned Mikasa. She wanted to wake him up before, at eleven, when Historia had sent her errand boys to let her know the last car was leaving the royal library…but he’d looked so cozy on the chair, she hadn’t had the heart to wake him. She’d decided to wake him until the nightmares started, certain they would catch the night bus.

Not that she didn’t enjoy walking the whole way back with him. They’d done it plenty of times these months, when their work extended long hours into the night. In most occasions, they’d walked back in a group, accompanied by the banter of Pieck and Reiner, or by Connie’s longing remarks for his girlfriend at the continent.

Besides, she’d taken a liking to dinner with Annie, Pieck and Hitch the past couple of days.

All in all, it had been a while since the last time it’d been the two of them alone on the road home. She liked being alone around Jean; his presence gave her reassurance. At first, it had been like a firm, sturdy ship that had pulled her out of a sea of monsters and terribly high waves crawling with corpses. But now he was a tree; a tall tree overflowing with beautiful ripe fruit, perfect words for any situation, with astonishingly wide branches to cover her from the searing pain of guilt and grief.

It had taken a while for his roots to take hold in her heart. But they were there, growing deeper with each day, cementing themselves further and further into her soul.

She’d felt this before, when her first home had been ripped away from her, when that little boy with the green eyes had reached out to her and offered her a new one. Back then, they’d been surrounded by so much horror that she hadn’t figured out exactly what the boy with the green eyes had meant for her. Now she was an adult, however, well past her first heartbreak, her first lost love. And she recognized the same warmth in her heart whenever she looked into the hazel speckled eyes of the man walking by her side.

“The moon,” she said, pointing at the sky. “It’s really pretty tonight, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Jean said, looking at her instead of the sky. “Are you cold? Do you need my sweater?”

“I’m fine,” Mikasa shook her head and rubbed her hands together. “We just need to walk quicker.”

“I can carry that for you.”

“Jean.”

He hunched his shoulders. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you carry it,” he said with a kind smile. “But if your back is sore tomorrow, don’t blame me.”

“I won’t.”

“Because I’ll tell them the truth, Ackerman,” Jean said, chuckling as she turned to look at him with her brow furrowed. “I’ll tell them you’re as stubborn as the will of kings, three times more stubborn than the queen of Paradis itself…I know, I know what you’re going to say. ‘You’re an idiot, Kirstein’.”

“You are. And you’ve learned from the best,” Mikasa quipped back. “I mean Connie.”

Jean laughed, his voice mingling with the echoes and faint music coming from the pubs around them. Mikasa covered her mouth to laugh; she’d never thought anyone would ever consider her funny…no, she had never thought she would ever feel compelled to tell a joke, or just act her age, ever again.

Her friendship to Jean was her most precious treasure after those three years. Her love for Armin had not wavered, he was still the only family from her past she had left, but Armin would have his own family soon, at the continent. And she couldn’t blame him or force him to stay. She wanted him to move on from the pain, even if that meant leaving her behind.

The thing was, Mikasa didn’t want Jean to leave her behind.

“You look thoughtful.” He pointed out as they passed another pub.

“I’m thinking about Armin,” she replied. “About the wedding.”

“Are you excited about it?”

“Not more than he is.” Mikasa said. “I’m just shocked.”

“Shocked?”

She nodded. “We fought so much against them, the Marley warriors, the titan shifters. And now we’re dining with them, and Armin is marrying Annie.”

“Strange turn of events?”

“It’s weird how life doesn’t go as you imagine it,” Mikasa replied, tilting her head back to look at the moon, its surface rough and damaged, and still the most beautiful sight in the sky. “If you’d asked me five years ago how I imagined my life, I would’ve told you…”

Her voice disappeared gradually as she realized she’d almost mentioned Eren. Jean didn’t mind talking about him; in fact, that’s all they had done the first couple of weeks, reminisce about the past, about their time as soldiers. However, the more time they spent together, the less she liked bringing him in conversation. Why, she didn’t understand. He’d been Eren’s friend, after all.

“You would’ve said you wanted to spend the rest of Eren’s years by his side.” Jean finished saying. “You don’t need to be ashamed to say it. You love him.”

“I loved him.” She corrected, not wanting to look at Jean. Her love for Eren was there, of course, but there was only so much love she could give a dead man. “And you’re right. That’s what I would’ve said…and I would’ve had no idea of what to do afterwards. That would’ve been the end of the line for me. I never thought I’d be alive after Eren’s death.”

“What do you think you’d say now?” Jean asked. There was no hidden message in his words, just genuine interest for her wellbeing, for assurance that she would not drown in grief again, as they’d found her upon their return. “If someone asked you how you imagine your future now, what would you say?”

“I’d say I want to keep living,” she said, with much more certainty than what she’d expected. “I want to keep living with you guys. I want to see little Ymir at school. I want to be at Armin’s wedding, and at Connie’s wedding. I want to keep hearing Hitch’s jokes. I want to keep walking home with you after work and make dinner together.”

“I wanna keep making dinner with you too.” Jean replied, with the longing look she’d come to recognize so well the past few weeks.

Mikasa brought her hands up to her face to blow hot air into her palms, hoping the gesture would cover the color in her cheeks, thinking perhaps she could blame the cold, if he asked, or if he stared too much –he did tend to stare at her every now and then.

“Hey. The skin in your fingers is cracking,” Jean said. He grabbed her hands to examine them, stopping in front of another pub. “I know you’re saying you want to keep living, but catching a cold isn’t precisely going in that direction.”

“Are you going to scold me like a kid for forgetting my gloves?” Mikasa asked, her gaze threatening to turn into a glare.

Jean gave her a playful smile. He brought out a set of bandages from his pockets and began wrapping her fingers with the soft fabric. “Exactly. Papa doesn’t like when children forget their winter clothes, especially when it’s starting to snow.”

Mikasa snorted again. “You’re such an idiot. Please don’t call yourself papa.”

Jean laughed, and they wrapped themselves once again in their little universe. It happened often, when they cooked, gossiped about the court or simple when they worked their budgeting books in the library. One look from either of the two, and they became separate entities from the reality around them, with their attention solely on the other. It was a nice little trick they had; it was what had turned this friendship of theirs into her treasure.

“Put my gloves on, please,” he said, putting them in her hands. “I don’t want you hurt.”

“Jean, a cold isn’t deadly.”

“Still.” He said, his face growing serious. “I don’t want to see you hurting.”

Mikasa opened her mouth to say something, but the crowd coming from the pub to their right was louder. A group of twenty people or so, all their age, surrounded them in a circle of drunken laughter and cheers, their voices too loud for her liking, their faces red and bodies oblivious to the snow that had started falling from the sky. A man older than the rest had a violin in his hands, and despite his efforts to play the cheery little melody, Mikasa and Jean cringed at the dissonant sound from his strings.

“We need to get home. They’re not dangerous, but they’re too loud.” She told him, huddling closer to him. Jean put a hand on the back of her head and the other to her waist, as if to shield her from the crowd. A group of girls pulled the violinist to an empty stretch of street. The man, emboldened by being in front of the crowd, stood on a bench near him and played even more passionately.

Jean turned to look at her, laughing. “He’s really bad, isn’t he?”

Mikasa felt her chest moving in laughter. She closed her eyes as another set of high notes pierced the night. “He’s awful,” she laughed, huddling closer as two couples began to jump nearby. She opened her eyes, cringing still. “Take me home, please.”

Her eyes met the hazel in his; he was staring at her again. There were snowflakes on his hair and face, and his cheeks were more blushed than the cheeks from the people around them. She felt herself relax in his arms and the stupid little tune from the violin became muffled in her ears. “You have snowflakes,” she pointed out, lifting herself up on the tip of her toes to run her thumb along his eyebrows.

She traced a line with her finger down his jawline, wondering when he’d grown into such manly shapes. He leaned in, barely half a centimeter, and her body took that as all the invitation she needed. Mikasa grabbed his face with both hands and touched his lips with hers, moving them in an awkward, simple motion she’d seen other people her age do.

She thought he would push her away that second he held his breath; she thought he would reject her advance, tell her he saw her as nothing more than a friend –a possibility that, she was shocked to realize, made her feel as if an iron fist squeezed the blood out of her heart.

But after that moment of initial shock, Jean wrapped her waist with his arms and lifted her in the air, kissing her as a longtime lover. Whoops and cheers surrounded them, and the violinist stopped playing for the blessed seconds their lips moved against each other.

He put her on the ground and pressed his forehead against hers once they’d finished, catching his breath while the drunken crowd clapped and cheered. He closed her eyes and so did Mikasa, both at a loss for words of what they’d done.

“Oi!” the violinist shouted, and the crowd quieted around him. “Aren’t you the Ackerman girl? The titan-killer? Stronger than a thousand men?”

Mikasa tensed in his arms; she was accustomed to being antagonized by some groups in the island, but she’d hoped the alcohol would keep them from recognizing her. She didn’t like the idea of getting into trouble with Jean there.

“Yes,” Mikasa said, lowering Jean’s arm, which he’d begun wrapping around her protectively. If this was going to be an argument, she didn’t want them to antagonize Jean. “I am. Why?”

The violinist smiled, playing an out-of-tune chord in excitement. “I knew I recognized ya! I didn’t know you had a sweetheart!” he shouted happily. “I saw you in Trost! You saved our lives and you were just a little teenage kid! I never thought I’d see the day I’d see you happy and married.”

“Oh,” Mikasa said, relaxing. “We’re not married yet.”

“Yet?” Jean asked suddenly.

“That’s a lovely sweetheart you’ve got there, boy. Take good care of her or she might as well will rip your balls off,” the violinist half-shouted, half-laughed, putting his instrument under his chin and bowing in their direction. “For the happy couple.”

“For the happy couple!” the crowd cheered on. The violinist resumed playing –or rather, he resumed murdering the song— and the crowd resumed their celebration, forgetting about them as soon as another couple began kissing. Mikasa pulled him by the shirt, leading him into an emptier street. They stood under the shadow of a tall building, away from the crowd but near enough to still hear the violin, although this time the song didn’t sound quite as bad.

“They didn’t take anything from your backpack, did they?” she said, clutching on the floor to inspect hers.

“Did-did you say yet?” Jean managed to stammer. Mikasa looked up at him, and a smile came to her at his shocked expression. It was just so easy to smile when he was around. “Did you say we’re not married yet?”

“You’re going to get a nosebleed, Kirstein.”

Jean laughed and dropped his backpack next to hers; he clutched, close enough that she smelled his cologne. He inspected the contents of his bag for a brief second and then gave her another look. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Do you want to?” Mikasa said.

“I’ve wanted to for a whole month now. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, though, Mikasa. Just tell me to fuck off if I’m being pushy.” He said in an urgent whisper. The raw intent of his words took her breath away; he’d grown into such a good man, he’d become such a good friend. She couldn’t deny him another kiss. No. It wasn’t that she couldn’t deny him a kiss.

She just wanted another kiss. From him. Not anyone else. “You’re not.” Mikasa said, cradling his face with both of her hands. “Your kiss did wonders to cheer up the night.”

_________________________________

Mikasa waited for the music to begin while tapping her slipper on the cobblestones, ripping another flower petal off the bouget to rob its soft surface. At this point, she’d walk in with nothing but skinny branches in her hands. She fanned herself with the bouquet, thinking should’ve cut her hair beforehand; It was late spring, but the heatwaves were already upon them. Her dress was light enough, but Mikasa guessed the nerves were playing against her.

He liked her hair long, though. And she loved feeling his hands running through it.

“Are they ready yet?” she asked Armin the moment he walked around the corner.

“Historia’s ready,” Armin said, then scratched the back of his head. “Jasper is tuning the instrument.”

“We’re just signing those documents,” Mikasa said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning her back against the wall. “None of this has to be this grand…he can just play that silly little tune of his and be done with it.”

“Weren’t you the one who got insisted on getting this violinist guy? You went all the way into the inner districts to find him. Something about it being special?” Armin said, arching an eyebrow. Mikasa gave him an icy look, but that didn’t erase the knowing smile on his face. “You’re going to get your dress stained against that wall.”

She straightened and turned around, allowing Armin to shake the dust of the back of it, her eyes set on the birds flying overhead. “Was he nervous?”

“He had to change his suit twice from sweating so much.”

Mikasa lowered her head to snort. “I’m not surprised.”

“Turn around,” Armin asked. Mikasa did as he requested and allowed him to wrap her up in an embrace; she leaned her face against his shoulder and took a deep breath, steadying herself. Her feet had been trembling in anticipation for a good hour. “I’m so happy you get to smile like this.”

“Me too.” She said, coming apart from him, tucking her hair behind her ears. Soft, mellow notes drifted to them from inside the greenhouse Historia had provided for them and Armin gave her an excited smile.

Mikasa sighed in relief; the violinist had assured her he was good when sober and she hadn’t doubted him, and she was glad Connie had kept him from any pubs until the ceremony. She wouldn’t have minded to hear the same stupid tune from their first night together, but the prospect of queen Historia officiating a wedding ceremony with a drunken violinist…Connie aand Reiner would’ve found it hilarious, to be fair.

“Are you ready?” Armin asked, offering her his arm. Mikasa looked at the birds once more before focusing on her childhood friend.

“Yes.” She said, intertwining her arm with his. Armin kissed her cheek and looked away to wipe a stray tear from his cheek against his shoulder, Mikasa guessed. “Thank you, Armin. I love you.”

It was so easy to tell the people she loved that she loved them. He’d done that for her; he had managed to open her constricted heart by just being there with her. He’d saved her from herself in such a kind, gentle way, and it was something she would forever be grateful for. It was one of the many thousand reasons why she’d fallen in love with him.

She felt like a giddy schoolgirl by seeing him at the end of the hallway, hands clasped in front of him, staring at her with tears in his eyes. The feeling grew as her friends turned to look at her, all smiling, even Levi. And while she knew her head ought to have focused on happiness, Mikasa was reminded of all the horrible things they’d seen together as Armin walked her down the aisle. All the people that were missing in that crowd of friends, people they would never see again.

It made her wonder. what was it about her that was so special? What was it about her existence that had given her the right to keep living, make new friends, fall in love with this wonderful, perfect man waiting for her at the altar…why was her heart so full of happiness now. Why couldn’t she share this happiness and her love for Jean with Sasha, Hange, Mina, Marco, Eren?

“Hey,” Jean whispered as Armin let go of her arm. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“What’s the matter?”

Mikasa lowered her head. “Not everyone’s here to celebrate with us.”

“They are here.” Jean said. “They’re all watching over us.”

He took her arm in his gently, not to lead her to the altar, but to hold her steady. He’d noticed her change of expression, a change not even Armin at her side had seen. And, putting his own desires aside -as always when it came to her-, he spoke in the low, caring voice she adored so much. “We don’t have to do this right now, Mika.”

“I want to.”

“Are you sure?” Jean asked. “If you want to call it off—”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. Her hand went up to caress his cheek. “I love you.”

He smiled at her, looking as charming as the princes from little Ymir’s fairytales, awakening that childish giddiness in her heart that had escaped her so quickly at the thought of her fallen comrades. “I love you too, Mika. But I mean it, if you don’t feel—”

She kissed him in the lips for a long couple of seconds, uncaring about the curious gazes from their friends on the seats. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. It’s been like that for a while. It’ll be like that forever,” she whispered in between kisses. “It’s time we make it official.”

Historia cleared her throat from the other side of the altar, and she and Jean turned to look at her serious gaze. A childish giggle echoed across the place, and Mikasa guessed that was little Ymir, delighted to see someone other than herself had gotten in trouble with her mother. “You’re not supposed to have your first wedding kiss yet.”

“Let’s go,” Jean whispered. “She’s gonna bring firing squads back.”

“I heard that.” Historia replied, not without a hint of annoyance. Mikasa giggled, intertwining her arm with Jean.

“Are you sure?” he asked her in a low voice as they finish making their way to the altar.

“I told you before, haven’t I?” she said without looking at him. “Your kissing works wonders.”

_________________________________

Jean knew he shouldn’t have left for the coastal towns with the welcoming party for the Hizuru commission at this point. But she’d insisted. And she was as stubborn as the will of kings.

Luckily, the little influence he had had gotten him an overnight train ride. And then, he’d found a horse. Few people used horses at the island anymore, but it’d been the quickest way to avoid the traffic of the newly built roads. And since he couldn’t take a horse into the grounds of the royal hospital, Jean had had to run.

He stumbled into the hospital room with sweat running down his forehead, hair sticking to the nape of his neck despite his ponytail, out of breath, but just in time. Armin was at her bedside, his face purple due to the pain of having his hand being squeezed by her.

“You’re here!” Mikasa sighed at the sight of him, then looked at Armin. “Make room for him.”

“I’ll let your mom know you’re here, Jean.” Armin informed him, running out of the room. Something in Jean suspected he was just relieved to have the chance to get some ice for his hand.

He ran to her bedside, brushing hair away from her flushed face. “How much longer?” he asked, his chest aching from seeing her twisting on the bed from the pain.

Mikasa cringed as another contraction came over. “You came just in time.”

He kissed her forehead. “Is it bad?”

“I could say I’ve felt worse,” Mikasa said, closing her eyes as her pain increased. “But I’d be lying.”

“You’re perfect,” he said, kissing her forehead one more time. “I wish I could do this for you.”

“You’d be crying like a baby by now, Kirstein, you and I know that.” She teased, and Jean laughed in relief. If she had energy to give him snarky, serious remarks, she would be fine.

“Ah, this is dad?” a woman he guessed was a physician asked, coming in the room escorted by two young nurses. Mikasa nodded, and the doctor acknowledged Jean with a polite nod. “You made it just in time, sir, she’s all ready to push.”

Jean swallowed hard, exchanging a look with Mikasa, noticing fear in her face for the first time in a long time. “We’ll be fine,” he said. “You can do it.”

“I know I can,” Mikasa said, taking a breath through her mouth. “Just hold my hand through it.”

He took her hand into his and suppressed his squeal of pain when she began pushing, thinking he would look like a complete dumbass if he complained from some hand squeezing when his wife was giving birth right in front of his eyes. Despite her quiet nature, it didn’t take long for her to start screaming as their child came out of her, and Jean could only whisper encouraging, love-filled words to her as she brought forth the life they’d created. The life she’d grown and carried for a whole nine months.

Jean had never thought his love for her could grow larger, but he’d clearly been mistaken, he thought as Mikasa crumbled back onto her chair and tiny little squeals filled the room. The physician and two nurses began cleaning their child, and Jean fell to his knees at the side of her bed. “Are you okay?” he asked, kissing the hand that had almost broken his just a moment ago.

Mikasa nodded, kissing him once on the lips. “And our baby?”

“She’s fine! A perfect, healthy baby girl!” the doctor announced, bringing her over to them wrapped in a yellow-colored blanket. “Want to hold her first, dad?”

“Let mom have the honors,” Jean replied, staring in awe at the tiny human crying in the doctor’s arms. “She just did all the work, didn’t she?”

The doctor placed their baby in Mikasa’s arms, who grabbed one of her tiny hands and kissed it while making shooshing noises. Jean stared, mouth wide open, at the sight of his wife and his child. Two perfect beings living comfortably in a peaceful world; his family, all he’d ever wanted. He swallowed hard, wondering what he’d done to deserve such a beautiful, perfect sight, what he’d done to deserve to be loved back by her.

Jean looked away, wiping the tears spilling down his eyes with the back of his hand as their daughter fell asleep at the sound of Mikasa’s voice. “Hey, dad,” she called gently. “Come see her, don’t cry.”

He leaned forward on the bed, and Mikasa kissed his cheek, using one of her hands to wipe his eyes. “She’s so beautiful. Look, she has your black hair,” he whimpered, running a careful finger across her soft arm. She gave him another smile, the type of smile he’d grown so accustomed to see these past years, a smile that people had doubted it even existed during their years at war. “Mikasa, I love you two so much.”

“I love you too,” she whispered while kissing his neck. “I love you so very fucking much.”

“Hey, language,” he said, kissing her lips and then grabbing their baby’s tiny hand again, speaking with a silly, childish tone of voice he’d heard other fathers use with their newborns. “We’re gonna need to get a swear jar or something. Mom and uncle Levi will fill that one up nicely.”

“Want to give her a kiss?” Mikasa asked.

Jean nodded eagerly, leaning forward to give her a small peck on the top of her tiny forehead; their baby stirred in her sleep, and it didn’t take long for her to begin crying. “It’s okay, Jean. Don’t be scared. Do you want hold her?”

“I’m fucking shaking here, I’ll drop her.”

“Language, Kirstein.” She reminded him, faking that serious expression from her teenage years. “Give her another kiss, come on.”

“She’s going to cry.”

“Just do it?” Mikasa said. “I want to see something.”

Jean sighed and leaned in to place a peck on her daughter’s cheeks, copying Mikasa’s shooshing noises as he neared her. Soon after his lips touched her, their baby quieted down again, closing her eyes as she settled against her mother’s breast. “Hey, how did you know that was going to happen?”

“She’s just like her mom,” Mikasa said, setting her eyes on the baby girl they’d created, the baby girl they would pour their love onto for the rest of their lives. “Your kisses do wonders to cheer up the women in this family. Remember that.”

[clouditae]

The String that Binds Us

Jungkook x reader | pg 13 | oneshot | bangtanarmynet event | soulmate au | florist au | strangers to lovers | angst | fluff | swearing | mentions of cheating

Word: 1.6k 

prompts: ◦ "have you ever kissed someone in the rain?" ◦ on a spring morning, A notices something; a red string attached to their finger. where will it lead them?

In a world where memories are stored in a phone, creating them is just as easy as deleting them

Jungkook adjusts the vase full of sunflowers on the counter, trying his best not to look at the flowers fully. He hates sunflowers. Everything about them makes him want to throw them across the room. To just completely throw them out of the shop, but Seokjin won’t allow him to do that. No matter how much he loathes them. 

The gloves make his palms sweaty and itchy, his fingers getting the only kind of freedom of air. He wants to take them off, but he doesn’t want to see the red string on his finger. He wants nothing to do with it. 

“Quit staring at the sunflowers if you’re just going to look at them like they’re the ugliest thing in the world,” he can hear Seokjin say from behind him. Jungkook finally turns his attention away from the flowers and towards the shop owner and his friend. “There are plenty of other flowers that need tending to,” Seokjin adds, placing his clipboard next to the register on the counter. 

“Then can you stop asking me to tend to those?” he mumbles, jabbing his thumb towards the flowers. 

Seokjin deadpans, answering, “You’re supposed to tend to all the flowers. Not just the ones you like.” Jungkook can’t hide his face of dissatisfaction as he makes his way towards the back of the shop to take care of the other flowers. “Don’t blame the flowers for reminding you of her,” Seokjin asserts, causing Jungkook to stop in his tracks.

“It would be much easier to forget her if there weren't sunflowers everywhere in this shop! They’re not even in bloom—why do you have them?” Jungkook argues, whirling around on his friend.

“Because people love sunflowers. Don’t blame them for your mistake. If you want the constant reminder to stop, then erase her from your memory, but you won’t,” Seokjin counters, stepping in front of the counter and leans against it, “because you fucked up, Jungkook, not her.” 

The pang of guilt pierces through Jungkook’s heart. The guilt and pain he’s been dealing with since you erased him from your memory. Hell, since before that. When he fell for someone else when he was with you. He fucked up. He ruined his whole future with you. He hates himself more than anything, and he loves you more than anything in this world.

Yet he cheated on you.

And you found out.

And you erased all memories of him from your phone, erasing any memory you saved of him. 

Jungkook grabs the apron off the hook, putting it on himself as he gets ready for work. Seokjin called him at the crack of dawn for him to come in to work today. As much as Jungkook didn’t want to come in, it’s money that he needs. So here he is. 

He puts his keys and phone in his box, grabbing his name tag and pinning it to his apron on the right side of his chest. Making his way out of the backroom, Jungkook feels a tug at his finger, his hand jerking forward. He looks down to see a red string tied to his index finger.

When did that get there? Did his finger get caught in a string that was in his apron? 

Grabbing the end of the string, Jungkook pulls at it, expecting it to come undone, but it doesn’t. He frowns in confusion, pulling at the string again, yet it remains wrapped around his finger. 

“What the hell is this?” he mumbles, eyes following the string leading across the shop and through the door. “What the fu—”

A hand grabs a hold of Jungkook’s wrist, causing his attention to turn away from the strange red string to see Jimin staring at Jungkook’s hand with wide, excited eyes. “Holy shit, Kook. Your soulmate’s been found,” he says with more excitement than Jungkook has ever seen in his friend. 

“Soulmate? What are you talking about?” he questions, bringing his arm back to him from the grip of his friend. 

“Dude, the red string ties you to your soulmate! Everyone has it—you’ve never heard of it before?” Jimin’s gaze goes from his finger to Jungkook’s confused gaze. 

“No.” 

Jimin pats Jungkook’s back with a loud smack. “Go follow the string. Obviously your soulmate wants to find you if the string is tugging.” When Jungkook doesn’t budge, obviously cautious in this sudden change, Jimin adds, “It’s okay to be scared, Kook. It’s sudden and new, but when you meet them, everything will click.” 

Jungkook isn’t scared—at least he isn’t going to admit to it, but he’s more confused than anything. However, no matter how much his gut is telling him to not go, Jungkook walks across the shop and out the door towards you

He never felt so happy to have met you. He fell in love almost instantly. You’re everything he could ask for in a soulmate, but he lost it all in a moment. 

He hates himself. 

He hates how weak he was to have been swayed to be with someone else. 

The memory of you finding out invades his memory so clearly. It’s like a storm in his head—the look in your eyes, the way they held so much pain and confusion. The tears that rolled down your cheeks and the way your body shook with so much anger. 

Y/N! Hey—waitwaitwaitwaitwait.” He grabs your wrist, stopping you from taking any more steps. You turn to look at him, and his heart drops. There’s no love in your eyes. There’s no sign of any affection for him in your beautiful, glossy eyes. “It’s not—” 

“It’s exactly what it looks like, Jungkook,” you interrupt in an aggrieved tone, and he hates it. “Why did you do it?”

“I…” He doesn’t know in all honesty. He doesn't know why he kissed her, or even slept with her. She’s different? A breath of fresh air—different air. How does he describe that he’s been with you for so long that he feels like he’s stuck? Like he’s just following what life tells him to do?

“I don’t know,” he whispers, his grip on your wrist loosening. 

You jerk your hand from his weak hold, eyes full of hate. “I never want to see you again.” 

The next time he saw you… you…

A lump in Jungkook’s throat forms, forcing him to swallow it down. You deleted any photos of him so easily. It’s like you had no hesitation whatsoever when removing him from your memory and life. 

How could you—how could he do that to you? 

Someone so beautiful, caring, and perfect for him. Yet he fucked up so easily. He hates himself. He wishes he never met you, fell in love with you, hurt you. 

“I know I fucked up,” Jungkook finally admits, grabbing a box full of lilacs that need to be displayed in an empty spot. “I’m reminded everyday of it.” 

Seokjin is quiet for a moment. Jungkook can feel his eyes on him as he works. Finally, Seokjin breaks the silence with a sigh. “It’s never too late to move on, Kook. Yes you made a mistake, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be happy.” 

He’ll be happy if he can just forget you. He’ll be happy if he can erase every trace of you from his memory. He’ll be happy if he never meets you again. 

It’s raining hard, the two standing under the awning of the shop, watching and waiting for the rain to stop. It’s silent between the two of you, no words are spoken. He’s shy to say anything. He wonders if you’re shy like he is. 

“Have you ever kissed someone in the rain?” you suddenly ask, breaking the silence.

Jungkook turns to look at you in complete shock, but when you look at him, you’re curious and… blushing. He clears his throat and answers, “I haven’t.” 

You don’t say anything for a moment, but then you finally ask, “Would you like to?”

That kiss… that kiss is something so different. Butterflies erupt in his stomach, sparks fly, and so much more. He’s never felt so happy to have kissed you that day in the rain.

Happy. 

Jungkook stops his task, numbly making his way towards the back room. “Jungkook,” he hears Seokjin call after, his footsteps echoing behind him. “Is this what you really want?” Jungkook stands in front of his box, grabbing his phone and unlocking it. 

“I want to be happy.” He goes to his photos, the file that has haunted him for months mocks him. He presses his finger against the file, his phone vibrating for a moment before options are displayed before him. The delete button calls to him. Giving him the world he wants to live in. “I want…” 

Jungkook presses delete. 

“Kook?”

Jungkook turns his attention away from his phone and looks to his friend. “Yes?” 

“Are,” Seokjin begins, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, “are you okay?”

Jungkook frowns in confusion. “Yeah. Why?”

His friend shakes his head in reply. “No reason.” The bell chimes from the shop. “Welp, time to work,” he chuckles, awkwardly, turning away from him and leaving the room. “Welcome—” Seokjin stops at the doorway, frozen. 

Jungkook cocks his head, locking his phone and placing it back in his box before walking up to his boss. He looks to Seokjin then past him, at a girl who is looking at sunflowers. She finally looks up and towards the two of them, her eyes bright and shining like sunflowers. 

So many emotions whirl within Jungkook and he has no idea why, but what shocks him the most is when there’s a sharp pain in his chest and tears roll down his cheeks.

[alderaani]

prison break (echo x reader)

A valentines gift for @just-some-girl-92 as part of the event being run by @starwarsfandomfests! Thanks so much for putting another one of these together @lilhawkeye3, and I really hope you like this Dell! I think credit for white haired Echo goes to @/amiro-art? That was the first place I saw it anyway, and I’ve really liked the headcanon that it’s like that post-techno union ever since!

Based on this prompt: Character A moves in next to Character B. They have conjoined balconies and A's pet/child wanders into B's apartment.

Fives and Echo are both reunited and well in this because everyone gets to be happy on Valentine’s Day and I said so. We don’t need canon on this blog.

The other side of the wall explodes with noise. 

It makes you pause, looking up from the knitting trailing over your knees to cock your head towards the opposite apartment. You think you hear the screech of furniture legs being pushed along the floor, then the frantic rumble of several male voices speaking over the top of each other, the clatter and clang of things as they are removed and replaced.

It’s odd. When Tith-Mar lived next door, you used to hear it every time he coughed, or swore at that awful old holodrama he used to watch every Taungsday. As much as you tried to stop yourself you couldn’t help but get invested, and that was almost worse. Out of pride you never put it on your own unit, but that just meant you ended up half pressed against the wall, eventually not even pretending you weren’t listening to Capula and Mont confess their love. It had given you something to talk about, anyway, when you went onto the balcony to water your plants and he went out there to smoke the fancy deathsticks he joked he’d live and die by.

In the year since the war ended and Tith-Mar was finally able to move back out to be with his daughter on Ryloth you’ve never quite gotten used to the quiet. There was a strange comfort in knowing that there was someone on the other side of the wall. Maybe it came from the three years of water shortages and occasional outages - or, notably, the rampage of the Zillo beast, which hadn’t come quite close enough to flatten you in your sleep, but had downed enough of the power grid that you’d been locked in your apartment for five rotations. You miss the soft Rylothi folk music he used to play in the mornings, and you miss seeing him sometimes, blowing smoke up into the brisk Coruscant mornings with his blue lek, faded now in old age, wrapped around his neck like a scarf.

You just miss the comforting assurance of having someone else there. If it wasn’t for the sound of the door going, and the occasional thump of something being moved, you’d hardly know that you had neighbours at all now. It’s almost funny to think back on the furore it caused when the Republic bought the apartment for GAR resettlement. It led to the only neighbourhood meeting the building has ever had, and you’ve been very glad for that fact after discovering that a solid faction of your fellow citizens are bigots. It’s something you knew, objectively, but witnessing it from the people you personally rub shoulders with was a harder pill to swallow than having to watch some of the anti-clone protests on the holonews. You’ve not tried to remember the more colourful misconceptions about clone troopers aired by prim soft-handed mid-levellers as they sat in a lobby you can remember the Coruscant Guard clearing rubble from with nothing but their hands. However, you do very vividly remember someone from two floors up asking you if you’d ‘really feel safe’ living next to ‘those walking warmongers’, being young and living on your own. You’d shut that down, of course, and the resulting vote had passed in favour.

You’d honestly half expected the troopers to reject the place after that, and you wouldn’t have blamed them either. 

Everyone had known the day they moved in, had pretended not to watch as a GAR issue speeder loaded with two armoured figures and a meagre quantity of possessions had pulled up on the walkway and made their way cautiously inside. You’d thought about introducing yourself, knocking or something, but concluded in the end that they didn’t need anyone else ogling them. You’d figured that there would be plenty of time for that later...and now here you are, a whole year on, and that glimpse is just about the closest you’ve ever gotten to them. You think they still spend a lot of time off-planet, helping with the reconstruction missions the now-voluntary GAR conducts throughout the Mid and Outer Rims. You hadn’t even been sure that they were home at the moment, actually. 

There’s no doubting it now, as the frantic thumps and raised voices continue. Through your balcony door, cracked open to catch some of the soft breeze the weather engineers have scheduled today, you can make out a little of what their voices are saying, one frantic and forceful, the other softer, but no less worried.

“ - kriffing hell, can’t believe we’ve lost...Rex will have our heads…”

“...can’t have gotten far...can’t even walk!”

“ - already checked the fresher, Echo!”

“It can’t hurt to check twice...knew we shouldn’t have…”

You bite your lip, turning round while debating whether you should offer your help. Then you freeze. The baby on the other side of your caf table freezes too, chubby hand poised to grab the cookie you’d been saving for later. They’re standing on legs that wobble a bit, and there’s a glint of steely determination in the dark eyes that fix on your face. 

“Hello,” you say a little weakly, realising very abruptly what the troopers must have lost.

The kid appraises you for a moment longer, brow furrowed and intent. There’s a huge amount of judgement there for such a small face, those focused eyes taking you in for several very long seconds. Then they huff, and very deliberately turn their attention back to the cookie. You smother an incredulous laugh. 

“Not impressed, huh?” You say, carefully setting your knitting aside and uncovering your legs. “Can’t say I blame you, I prefer cookies too.”

The baby doesn’t dignify this with any attention, instead making a soft crowing noise as their little fingers strike victory and retract with the cookie firmly in grasp. When they immediately move to cram it into their mouth you burst into action, leaning across the caf table to swipe it. Just those mere seconds of contact have made it slightly damp. 

The baby’s face scrunches in outrage, and they let go of the table edge, sinking down onto their padded bottom with a sharp, high noise of annoyance. They don’t cry, but the frown is something spectacular.

“Sorry, kid.” You force yourself the rest of the way up, keeping a hold on the cookie with one hand. Can kids this young even eat solid foods yet? Do they have any allergies? You don’t have any siblings, so the last time you were around a baby was when you were one. For all this one’s bravado, they look awfully breakable. “I’ll hang on to this for now, yeah?”

You don’t think that they’re old enough to understand what you’re saying, but the huff the baby lets out feels extremely pointed. You stare down at them on your rug.

“Don’t suppose you could give me any pointers on how to hold you?”

It turns out babies are wriggly. You put the cookie down long enough to hoist the kid into your arms and attempt to manoeuvre their little arms and legs so that they’re not jabbing into your vital organs, but at the sight of the food being placed far away, the kid lets out a piercing noise, right into your ear, and attempts to kamikaze their way back to it. A body that two seconds ago was ramrod solid and deliberately unwieldy is suddenly boneless and impossible to hold onto. Your brain goes empty of everything but wrestling with several pounds of struggling infant. 

You end up on the floor, eventually, but at least both of you are in one piece. You’re breathing heavily. The kid’s face is thunderous. It’s very cute, but you can’t wait to give it back and appreciate that from a distance. Somehow, you manage to settle them onto your hip.

“What the f - heck was that for?” You ask, purely to make yourself feel better. Even if the kid could answer you, you get the feeling they simply wouldn’t. “Was it because I put the biscuit down?”

The kid makes a huffing noise. You roll your eyes, but can’t help smiling. The baby’s dark, just-curling hair is soft against the skin of your upper arm, and their weight is warm and solid against your side. 

“I’m not taking it away from you. I’m gonna let you have it, just need to make sure it’s safe for womp-rats first. And return you before those poor guys tear their place apart, okay?”

You re-collect the cookie and struggle back to your feet, looking towards the open balcony. Visions flash through your mind of the baby pulling that boneless trick out there, with nothing but spacelanes separating them from the ground 50 stories below, and...no. You’re not even vaguely risking that. The front door is definitely the better option, but somehow more daunting, as you stand before the neighbouring apartment with your heart in your throat.

The second you knock, the frantic voices inside cut off abruptly, and then you hear the mad scramble that ensues to reach the door. It wooshes open, and suddenly you’re face to face with your neighbours for the first time. 

They’re less identical than you’d expected. Maybe that’s a stupid thought, but it’s the first one that stumbles, half formed and dazed, into the open void your brain has just become. The second, very unhelpful follow up, is that they’re also much prettier than you’d expected. Not that you’d necessarily expected anything, but - you’ve never seen one of the clones without their helmets before. The Corrie Guard, back during the war, had made a point of never taking them off as far as you’d ever seen. That was apparently a crying shame. One of them has thick, dark curly hair, a tidy goatee, and a tattoo on his forehead. The other’s hair is a sharp, startling white, interrupted by metal nodes of some sort. Some sort of post-war medical adaptation, you assume. He’s slightly leaner all over, his eyes a little larger in his face. But the way both of them sag against the door frame is exactly the same.

“Thank the fucking force,” The dark haired one breathes, clutching at his chest.

The other trooper elbows him sharply in the ribs. “Fives.”

“She’s ten months old, Echo. She’s not gonna repeat it.”

“She just escaped from our apartment after General Skywalker swore up and down she’s not mobile yet. It’s gonna be her first word just to spite us.”

You laugh before you can stop yourself and flush a little when all attention snaps back to you.

“That I can believe,” you force yourself to say. “Hi. I think I found something of yours.”

You hold out your armful of infant and - you presume Fives is his name - reaches out to take her, groaning in relief. 

“Thank you,” he says, fervent, taking a moment to bury his face into the child’s hair. She puts a determined thumb into her mouth and stares at your hand, still clutching the cookie. The trooper turns her in his arms and holds her up at eye level. “You are a menace, Leia. I thought we were gonna have to call in a search.”

It’s nice to have a name for that little displeased face. Leia regards the trooper for a moment before sticking her hand into his face. His eyes are impossibly warm as he pretends to gobble her fingers, and it is, quite frankly, cute as fuck. He turns his attention back to you, but just as he opens his mouth, the sound of a comm going off somewhere behind them cuts through the moment.

“That’ll be the General,” The white-haired trooper laughs. “You better take her and show him, before he raises down half of Coruscant trying to get here.”

Fives nods, flashing another blinding grin at you, before he and Leia are gone. The trooper you’re left with blows out a breath and scrubs a hand over his face. 

“Well,” he says, his mouth crooking into a wry smile. “That was exciting.” 

He sticks his hand out, and when you take it, his palm is rough and his grip firm. You give him your name without thinking about it, staring into the kind, golden depths of his eyes. They crinkle at the corners when he grins. 

“I’m Echo. And - I know Fives already said it, but seriously, thank you. Where the shab did you find her?”

“Trying to steal biscuits from my caf table,” you say, laughing openly when Echo drops his face back into his hand and groans with embarrassment. “I think she got in through the balcony door.”

“Force, we didn’t even think of that. What a first impression, you must think we’re idiots.” 

You shake your head, enamoured by the faint colour you can see rising in his cheeks. He brings his metal hand up to his face and presses the cool prosthetic against his skin. 

“Not at all. You should have seen the look she gave me when I found her, she knows she’s in charge.” 

Echo smiles bashfully. “It’s the first time we’ve ever won the lot to babysit the twins, our Company would have crucified us if we’d lost her.” 

“Then I’m very glad to have provided a rescue.” 

There’s a short silence as you fidget with your sleeves, strange anticipation churning in your gut. There’s no reason to keep standing here now that the pleasantries are done with, the baby exchanged, but...some part of you resists it, almost looking for an excuse to stay. He and Fives are the first new friendly faces you’ve met in a long time, soothing a sting you didn’t know was there.

“I - um -,” Echo begins suddenly, shifting a little. The colour in his face deepens. “I really like your plants. I’ve always meant to say something. We keep trying to guess what they are.” 

“Oh!” Your heart turns over in your chest and you wouldn’t be able to stop the smile bursting onto your face if you tried. Those damn things are so hard to keep alive through the unpredictable engineered weather. You don’t think you’re particularly house proud, but you do preen a little that he’s noticed. “Thank you, I, um, I water them every morning. I could...go through them with you one day? If you like?” 

Echo’s head dips an assent. “I’d really like that.” 

You linger a moment longer, a pleased thrill still lingering in your belly, but there’s no putting it off now. “I suppose I should let you go. But...please knock if you need anything.” 

Echo smiles. “Hopefully not in pursuit of any more babies.” 

You’re just about to turn away when you remember the cookie in your hand, slightly smushed now. “Oh! Can you give this to Leia? I wanted to make sure she could eat them, first, but I promised. Seemed only fair, since she went to all that trouble.” 

Echo huffs, his expression softening, taking the cookie with careful hands. “I’ll make sure her highness gets it.” 

Then you go back to your quiet apartment, somehow deflated when faced with the monotony of your knitting and your music. You hear a few more sounds from the other side of the wall, faint laughter, perhaps a child squealing, and find your curiosity has not been sated at all.

It’s a wonderful surprise, then, when two days later on a clear, sunlit morning, you slide open your balcony door to water the plants and find Echo waiting, his face tipped up to the brightening sky. There is a packet of cookies resting on the duracrete by his feet, and two steaming mugs of caf on the railing by his elbow. 

It feels like something special...It feels like a beginning. 

taglist // @nelba @leias-left-hair-bun @battletales @bad-batch-of-fics @iscream4clones @majorshiraharu @snippytano @missinashkin @808tsuika @eries45 @dom-i-nic // 

[forasecondtherewedwon]

3 Simple Rules for Dating a Centenarian

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 2374

Summary: After seeing Steve's shield handed over to some stranger, Sam calls up Bucky, certain he's the one person who can properly commiserate. He doesn't really expect Bucky to answer though (the guy's become a bit of a recluse), or to hear the hints that he might be missing Sam as much as Sam's been missing him. Not that he'd ever say it straight out.

Sam is almost completely still as the feelings rattle through him like a roller coaster’s last run on a derelict track. He only lets it out—the blend of frustration, betrayal, and regret—in the way his fingers squeeze his knee through his jeans, skin damp against the denim. Keeping his hands clasped, and watching those clasped hands, was more grounding, but he needs one of his hands to hold the phone to his ear, and that activity is getting pretty damn tired.

Bucky’s voicemail clicks on for the third time in a row.

“Bucky,” Sam says, “I know you prefer calls to texting, so what are you doing ignoring me, man? Haven’t used your cell in so long that you’ve forgotten how to hit the answer button? At least it rang. That’s something, I guess.”

He sighs away from the speaker where it won’t be recorded for Bucky to hear later. Maybe he did divert his message from the snarky sarcasm he was planning to leave the guy, but Bucky doesn’t need to hear him sigh on top of that.

For a few moments, Sam taps his foot along with the muffled music of his nephews’ video game coming through the closed door. He knows the boys’ routine (and if he ever forgets, he sees the copy Sarah has on the fridge door) and that this isn’t their usual scheduled time for whatever they’re playing out there. Best guess: Sarah wants them hogging the TV so she won’t be tempted to peek at that government-sanctioned shitshow. Sam can’t blame her. Actually, he wonders if she blames him. The disappointment was so clear in her eyes before he stopped making himself meet them. He thought he was doing the right thing when he handed the shield over. Are there people out there who think he’s let them down, or just his sister? Just himself?

He can’t talk to Sarah right now and he’s thankful that she’s giving him some time to himself, but as soon as he got it, he realized he didn’t know what to do with it. Just like that shield. Dialing Bucky over and over—tapping in every number every time because that appears to be part of this pity ritual he’s performing—seemed like the thing he should do. Probably won’t answer. That asshole is terrible at staying in touch. Still, Sam’s heart feels a little heavier with every word closer he gets to the end of this message. Feels like he’s trying to keep the thing afloat in his chest, like his parents’ boat down at the dock. This is what he knows he should do when everything in him wants to sink—reach out, talk to people. Kinda self-sabotage when he picks the one person almost guaranteed not to answer.

Oh, he’ll hear back from Bucky eventually, probably a handful of choppy texts sent in the middle of the night two weeks from now. Sam knows his pattern; Bucky’s chattiest between 3am and 4am, so chatty that what are likely intended as longer blocks of text arrive in broken fragments because he wants to make everything into neat paragraphs, like he’s writing a damn letter, instead of just getting to the point, but he hits send too soon. Sam would teach him—with plenty of mocking and name-calling, but he would teach him—only while he’s been running ops all over the planet, Bucky’s shrunk his own world way down. He’s gone local to the extreme and it aggravates Sam, even though Bucky isn’t his responsibility, isn’t his other inheritance from Steve. It’s sorta just easier to feel like Bucky is a misplaced bequest than to acknowledge that maybe he misses the guy and his sharp-shooter’s eye and his caveman hair. He can’t keep calling him.

“Thought I’d give you a heads-up,” Sam says, voice weary with this half-true excuse. “Maybe you already saw.” He clears his throat and says quickly, “Anyway, guess I’ll hear from you when I hear from you.”

He’s pulling the phone away from his head and has barely ended the call when it’s ringing in his hand. He answers and catches Bucky’s voice saying his name before it’s even back up to his ear.

“Bucky?” Sam says. “You have a senior’s moment and forget where you left your phone?”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “I saw it was you and decided to ignore it.”

“But you called back.”

“You wouldn’t quit calling. Seemed like you needed me to tell you directly to knock it off.”

“Jackass.” Sam’s gaze darts to the door, but it’s still shut. No chance Sarah saw him grinning over this easy banter. Always the banter with this idiot. Always easy. He sniffs and turns his chair away from the black TV screen. “Did you see that joker on the news?”

Bucky’s either less self-conscious or more inept because he sighs right into the mouthpiece, an exhausted breath in Sam’s ear that has his fingers fleetingly digging into his knee.

“Couldn’t believe that shit,” Bucky tells him in a rough voice. He’s clearly holding back his own feelings about today’s events and, from the sounds of it, they’re more along the lines of anger, hurt, and a simmering desire to wrench the shield from the arm of the new Captain America. “You know that thing’s supposed to be yours.”

“You saying I should’ve done something to stop it?” Sam demands.

“Coulda.”

Sam forces his shoulders to drop, draws a slow breath in and pushes it back out.

“It wasn’t mine anymore, if it ever was. I gave it to the Smithsonian. They sealed it in this glass case and added it to the exhibit.”

“Not a very tight seal.”

“Guess not,” Sam agrees.

“You shouldn’t have turned it over,” Bucky says. Sam’s silent, frowning, and Bucky goes on. “Forget about the shield being given to somebody else—it shouldn’t have even been in a glass case. Doesn’t belong there.”

“I do just fine without it,” Sam assures him. The practicalities of carrying that shield around are more straightforward to discuss than his yawning uncertainty in the face of Steve’s legacy and his place relative to it. “The shield would only get in the way of the wings.”

“You and those wings.”

“Hey, they carried me over Tunisia recently. Show some respect.”

“Didn’t hear about that,” Bucky says in a tone that’s difficult to interpret, though Sam squints thoughtfully as he listens.

“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t even be telling the likes of you, but it was discrete. As far as the major players are concerned, I was never there.”

“So it was illegal?”

Sam’s head tips back as he laughs hard.

“Why, you wanna turn me in?” he jokes. “Working on the government’s trust? What’s the next level up from a pardon? Knighthood?”

“You are such a pain in the ass,” Bucky groans, which really does make Sam smile.

“I’m sure it would’ve been illegal if you were there,” he says automatically. Too fast, his imagination fills it in, a fictional alternative materializing in his mind. Him and Bucky, cocky in reckless freefall. Him and Bucky, fighting back-to-back in a plummeting aircraft. Sam screening Bucky from enemy fire with his wings. Bucky deflecting a stray bullet with his arm before it could hit Sam.

“Nah, I can’t do that no more.”

“Uh huh. I’m sure you’re an angel.”

“Anybody get hurt?” Bucky asks.

Sam glances through the window at the blue sky, the truck rolling unhurriedly past with the driver’s arm hanging out to catch the sun. Beautiful day. He remembers a kick that sent a guy through the door of the plane, sucked out into the sky, another guy tossed aside who tried to fight him in midair, and a helicopter aflame as it went down. He shrugs and figures Bucky’ll hear the gesture in his voice.

“Nobody who didn’t know the risks.”

“Of going up against Captain America?” Bucky probes. Sam rolls his eyes.

“You know, that would almost be a compliment if you got my name right.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not using the name just to avoid compliments from me.”

“I honestly can’t say which one would feel more wrong,” Sam says, passing a hand over his head as he leans back in his chair, “calling myself Captain America or hearing a little overdue praise from you.”

“I’m not really a words guy. Ask my therapist.”

Sam sits with that for a second. He’s happy that Bucky’s talking to someone. He needs it, badly, after decades of violence and being belted into the passenger seat of his own brain. It’s more than Bucky’s ever admitted to him before, but Sam would bet—and bet big—that seeing some stranger named as Steve’s successor today has gotten to Bucky as much as it’s gotten to him. Something like that is bound to open Bucky up a little. He’s the only other person Sam can imagine the news having such a monumental impact on.

“You could try words,” he goads, not wanting to leave Bucky hanging more than a few seconds after his admission. “What else do you have if you don’t feel like being a human action figure?”

“I have my system. My rules.”

“Oh yeah? What rules?”

“Three of ’em,” Bucky informs him. “Nothing illegal. Nobody gets hurt. Making amends for the actions of the Winter Solider.”

“You don’t have to make amends for something you—”

“Don’t. It… helps.”

And who is Sam to question what’s helping Bucky? After the multiple-lifetimes’ worth of hell the guy’s been through?

“Good for you, man,” Sam offers softly.

“Save it, Sam.” The words are clipped but light. Sam grins.

“No words for me either? You more comfortable with me sticking to actions? How are we supposed to talk to each other when you don’t come to Tunisia with me?”

“Wasn’t invited,” Bucky quips back.

“You mighta been if you answered your phone more often. I’m not gonna send you the details to a covert operation in a text.”

“You wanted me in Tunisia?”

“You get shit done,” Sam acknowledges simply. You wanted me in Tunisia? echoes in his head. His heart’s bobbing like a buoy now. You wanted me in Tunisia? You wanted me?

“Not like that.”

“‘Not illegal,’” Sam repeats. “‘Nobody gets hurt. Making amends.’”

“Right. Can’t do any of that.”

“Well, I’m glad this regime’s working for you, but you have to admit it’s weird that I saw more of you when we were fighting alien hordes.”

“What can I say?” Bucky asks in a tone that seems to consciously flatten the charm out of it. “I’m old-fashioned now.”

Sam snorts.

“You were old-fashioned then.”

“I assume you had a team on the ground.”

“I had to,” Sam says over the sound of a squabble in the other room. Immediately, he can hear Sarah’s voice rising slightly above, breaking it up. Just like that, there’s the looping music of the video game again. She’s raised those boys well. “Couldn’t wait around for you.”

“I might show up if you asked me on better dates.”

“It wasn’t a date, it was a goddamn op.”

It’s startling to hear the sound of laughter. Not hearty, deep, rich, or loud, but definitely laughter. Bucky laughs? Sam backtracks a minute. Bucky makes jokes? About dating? About the two of them dating? Evidently, that is something he’s capable of, along with returning calls during daylight hours.

Sam shifts in his seat.

“You could come around sometime,” he suggests, nervously rubbing a hand up and down his thigh. “If you like fish and you’re ever in Louisiana.”

“I do like fish,” Bucky says. “I’ve been going to this sushi place a lot lately.”

It’s not his taste that surprises Sam—it’s the readiness with which he responds to the invitation. He would’ve sooner guessed that Bucky would tell him to shove it up his ass. In a joking way, but still.

“On dates?” Sam asks, telling himself he’s providing some good-natured hassling and that it has nothing to do with the odd feeling he got when Bucky’s joke about them dating caught up with him.

“One. Mostly, I go with Mr. Nakajima.”

“And that’s not a date?”

Sam laughs and wishes he could shut his own mouth as firmly as he’s (many times) told Bucky to shut his.

“I’m pretty sure he’s in his eighties, so he’s more age-appropriate for me than most people, but I murdered his son,” Bucky says grimly.

“Amends?” Sam guesses, adjusting his tone to cope with Bucky’s emotional switchback.

“I haven’t told him yet, but, yeah, I’m working on that.”

They’re both working on something, Sam thinks. Both confronting something that feels too big to tackle—the decision not to announce himself as the new Captain America, guilt for assassinations Bucky had no control over but which span the better part of a century. Sometimes it seems to Sam that they go up against the easiest situations as a team and face the hardest stuff alone. But he called Bucky, and Bucky called back.

“You could bring some of those amends down here and trade them for a snapper dinner,” Sam proposes, aiming for irritatingly cheerful to pull Bucky back out of the dark.

“What do I have to make amends to you for?”

“Being a dick. I’ll text you my sister’s address.”

Sam swiftly ends the call. There are two possible sources to which he can attribute the small surge of adrenaline he feels: hanging up on Bucky and the fact that he might’ve just asked him on a date. When Sam dialed, he knew it was because he didn’t want to do this alone, but he thought that meant watching the appointment of an upstart Captain America. Although he believed he could count on Bucky’s understanding today and for the near future, asking him down to have dinner with Sarah and the boys (or tricking him into it, since he didn’t exactly say it’d be a thing with the whole family) lengthens the timeline. Near future? Inviting Bucky to meet his family and see where he grew up means recognizing that he’ll be in his life a little longer. Alone? Sam might forget the meaning of the word.

[delimeful]

not always what they seem

finished g/t space au commission for @legendsgates ! it was super fun to work on, i hope everyone enjoys!

warnings: dehumanization, treating people like animals, abduction, miscommunication, remus being remus, deceit, misguided but good intentioned light sides

-

“Hey, kid, wake up.” 

Virgil groaned, shifting to his side. It was still dark, why was someone bothering him? 

“There you go. It’s a great day outside, open your eyes already.” 

Wait. He lived alone. Who was talking to him?

Visions of chatty burglars or insane door to door salesmen breaking and entering flashed before his eyes, and he jerked upright with a gasp, eyes flying open. 

Darkness. He couldn’t see a thing. “What?” 

Virgil nearly poked himself in the eye in his haste to check his face for a blindfold. He should be able to see plenty; there was an annoying streetlamp just under his apartment window. Had he spontaneously gone blind? Had he been kidnapped? Was he in a trunk, slowly suffocating to death? 

“Hey, calm down. Everything’s going to be fine, don’t pass out on us now.” 

A burst of unhinged, echoing laughter nearly cut off the end of the sentence, and chills ran down Virgil’s spine. “Oh god. Look, I take terrible care of my body, you don’t want my organs, I promise.”

There was an aggrieved sigh nearby. Virgil hesitantly reached his hands out to feel the space around him. It didn’t feel like a car trunk. He was sitting up just fine. 

“I don’t think we’re being trafficked, but if we were, you’d be pleading your case to the wrong guy. I’m in the same situation as you.” A dull knocking accompanied the words. “Unfortunately.”

Virgil carefully turned his body to face the direction of the voice, squinting in case he could make out any sign of an attack. “...Right, sure. Care to fill me in on what-- what exactly that situation is?” 

The stranger only seemed sardonically amused at the bite in his voice. “We’re trapped in a room. There’s glass walls dividing the room into sections. There’s a little bit of light coming in through the roof, your eyes will adjust soon. That’s all I’ve got. Remember anything from before you woke up?” 

 Virgil shoved down the rising panic, rising to a tentative crouch with his arms outstretched for balance. He’d been… What had he been doing? “I… I don’t know.”  

Another sigh. “Yes, I assumed so.” The outline of a silhouette seemed to be coming into focus. Unless Virgil was just imagining things. “Thank you so much for being helpful.”   

He bristled at the tone, but before he could respond, another giggling laugh reverberated around them. 

“Don’t fret so much, figments,” a new, somewhat nasally voice said cheerily. “I’m sure your terrible and inevitably gory deaths will only hurt for as long as the dream lasts.” 

Virgil took a long, shaky inhale. “What the fuck.” 

“‘The fuck’ is Remus, the third occupant in our room. As far as I can tell, he believes this is all a hallucination brought on by sleep paralysis. Best to just ignore him,” the first stranger advised dryly. 

“I’m still ignoring you back,” ‘Remus’ returned in a singsong. Virgil almost couldn’t blame him. He’d really rather wake up and realize this was all a dream, too. 

He wasn’t going to bet on it, though. He stumbled forwards, feeling the walls for a door, a switch, anything. 

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” the unnamed stranger scorned. “I’ve already checked everything that could be checked. Nothing’s going to happen--” 

His voice was cut off by three quick, consecutive beeps from somewhere above their heads. Virgil turned his head this way and that, searching for an intercom or mechanical device nearby. “What’s that?” 

Neither stranger answered, and Virgil realized that this was something new just as one side of the room began to slide upwards like a garage door. He raised a hand as bright light poured into the room, backing up as far as he could. In the corner of his vision, another person was doing much the same.

Something large moved outside the room, its shadow falling on them and making it a little less difficult to see. 

Unfortunately, what he was seeing was impossibly horrifying enough to be real.

A huge figure, like a giant from a children’s fairytale, was visible from the torso up. It was wearing something close to a full body hazmat suit, its inhuman face visible behind a pane of red-tinted glass. Piercing red eyes were placed just slightly too far apart, and a shiny black shell covered the bottom of its face like a curved medical mask.

It leaned closer, and Virgil recoiled harshly enough to slam his back into the corner of the room. The eyes settled on him for a moment, before flicking over to the other occupants. Adrenaline surged through him, but there was nowhere to channel it. He couldn’t flee, and there was no way he could fight. He was helpless.

In the section next to Virgil, a short man dressed in formal wear stood carefully still. He was meeting eyes with the monster, his expression neutral and still. Where Virgil had felt like a deer in the headlights, this man acted more like a snake assessing prey. The only sign that he was unsettled was the white knuckled fists at his sides.

The monster made an unsettling sound, like a hum interspersed with clicks, and then turned its attention to the only human still laying on the ground, presumably Remus. A few rigid plates along its forehead twitched downward, and it chittered at Remus. 

Virgil caught what looked like mandibles protruding from under its face plate, and felt lightheaded. 

“Remus, I suggest you look alive,” the snakelike man muttered, attention still locked on the huge creature. Remus didn’t respond, though whether it was because of the monster or because he was still ignoring them was anyone’s guess.

A moment later, the monster reached up with a limb, the suit glove doing nothing to conceal the creature’s spindly, clawed fingers, arranged like an osprey’s talons. It tapped the glass between them, and Virgil was abruptly reminded of a child at an aquarium. The ‘room’ they were captive in was a mere box to this being. An enclosure.

Remus finally sat up, stretching lanky arms as though it was a normal morning. He cocked his head at the monster, squinting. “What are you looking at, you big bitch?” 

Virgil inhaled sharply through his teeth, but the monster didn’t react beyond its forehead plates shifting back up, and before long, it was looking down at a strange grey cube, flicking talons along its surface like it was a touchscreen. 

In his section, Remus had unfolded to his ridiculous full height, and was ambling up to the wall separating them. He smiled, something about it vaguely unhinged. “Hmm, hallucinations aren’t supposed to be this expansive! It’s almost like we’re actually here, captured by giant monsters that are probably going to stick us in a blender for a morning smoothie!” 

The snakelike man rubbed his temples, still holding onto his composure. He didn’t dignify the gory statement with a response, but Virgil was more than happy to. 

“Hey, it was Remus, right?” Virgil asked, and he saw the man nodding enthusiastically in the corner of his vision. “Please shut the hell up.” 

“Never been very good at that!” 

—-

Roman glanced up from the data sheet, watching as the new specimens wandered about and made little noises at each other. He couldn’t help but hum a bit at the sight; the little animals were so charming. 

“Roman!” a familiar voice trilled, and he turned to the lab’s entrance, clicking in greeting at the sight of his partners. Though he’d been uncertain about working with beings from other quadrants at first, they’d managed to overcome most of their original hurdles and now worked smoothly together. There was nobody he’d rather have as his research team, even with the disapproving twitch in Logan’s ears. 

“Dear friends,” he returned, gesturing widely and making all the specimens freeze up again. “I swear I haven’t opened a single sect, only gazed upon our newest finds. You’re going to love them Patton, they have the strangest little noises.” 

The Nilh wasted no time in scampering forwards, just barely prevented from bumping the enclosure by Logan’s tail tugging him back slightly. “Oh, they’ve already started communicating with each other? What about body language, did you have the vidfeed on?”

“Yes, and of course,” Roman gestured with a pointed flourish, “I have also followed procedures and had the cam on since I entered the lab, treasured nerds.”

Logan’s hand flicked in an exasperated gesture, but his ears were no longer angled down, so Roman counted it as a win. Patton tugged the Glanrim closer by the tail, using his multitude of hands to push him into his spot. “Look, Lo! I think this one is threat displaying at me! They’re all acting so differently, it’s going to be so exciting to figure out what sort of sounds they use!” 

Despite his professional demeanor, Logan’s eyes all widened with excitement as he bent slightly to inspect their samples. “There’s quite a variety in patterns and sizes as well,” he observed, voice low and resonant. The little creatures all seemed to stiffen at it. “I would almost believe them different species entirely if not for the similar body structure.” 

“They’ve even got little primitive outfits, see?” Roman pointed towards the calm one in the middle, eyeing the seams. “There must be a bonding purpose for it, like how some mammalian animals will use pigment-dyes for enhancing appearance to attract mates. The real question is, how did they all end up looking so different? Which one is closest to the traits that make one desirable?” 

“I don’t see any reason we can’t find out!” Patton responded brightly. “We’ve got three samples, one for each of us, so what say we each get started on recording all the information we can!”

“We only have three specimens, so it’s important that we don’t push too far with any of them. This is only preliminary work,” Logan cautioned. “That said, I agree. The sooner we begin, the better.” 

“I’ll take the yellow one!” Roman immediately chimed in, his wings vibrating slightly inside his suit. 

—

“There’s three of us, and three of them, so of course they’re going to eat us.” Remus remained blithely oblivious to Virgil’s glower. “It’s lucky there’s not one more, otherwise we’d have to rock-paper-scissors on who gets torn in half.” 

Of course, this was the moment that the monsters stopped their odd, chitter-click-buzz noises to turn back to the container, and the first monster, the red one, began to fiddle with the side of the glass. Virgil started to breathe heavily as there was mechanical clicking around them, and then the ground under their feet shifted slightly. 

Without another second of suspense, Red reached under the box and slid the middle section out like a book from a shelf. The man in formalwear went with it, stumbling slightly and pressing against the glass for balance. 

“Oh hey, you got the freaky insect one,” Remus said, waving cheerily. “Hope your death is really cool and gory! Try not to make it cooler or gorier than mine though!” 

“Very helpful,” the man hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes slightly panicked. Virgil stumbled forwards to the front of his section as though he could reach the other human through the glass, terror chilling him. It was a pointless gesture, but as he was carried out of sight, the man offered him a nod anyways. 

Remus seemed to be unfortunately correct about them being split up, since next the one with the six arms and rocky skin pried the tall man’s section out and left with it as well. That left Virgil with the last one, a monster whose face was covered in neat fur and long whiskers. It looked at him with way too many eerie slitted pupils, and Virgil couldn’t help but compare it to a predatory big cat. Maybe several predatory big cats.

Its gaze was nothing compared to its size, of course, and Virgil couldn’t help but drop to a crouch, curling in on himself as gloved hands curled around the glass box he was stuck in and lifted it with ease.  

The floor of the box was transparent, and he stared at the dizzying drop to the floor the whole transferring process. When there was finally solid ground beneath him again, he looked up and found that his box had been placed on a sterile, shining counter. 

Before he could get much of a read on his surroundings, a shadow darkened the floor around him, and he barely got to flinch before cool fingers were descending on him, lifting him from the box. 

The hold was firm and clinical; his arms pinned to his sides, and a finger under his chin to prevent biting. The pressure on his throat was just slightly too much, and Virgil let out a choked cough, struggling to breathe through his panic. 

Thankfully, it only lasted for a moment. In the next, he was released, and his hands and knees met a solid surface. He scrambled to his feet, glancing around. 

The bad news was that he was out of the relative safety of the glass box. The worse news was that he appeared to be in a warped version of a hedge maze, walls and corners twisting around him. The worst news was that the monster was still present, and now it was manipulating some kind of square device. 

A heartbeat later, the walls around him started to buzz ominously, making the hair on the back of his neck rise up as he pictured every Saw movie he’d ever seen. 

“Fuuuuck this,” he muttered, shifting to his feet and starting down the nearest path. He alternated between making sure he didn’t get too close to the walls and making sure the monster hadn’t moved or otherwise acted suspiciously. The creature was watching him unerringly every time he looked up, and having all those eyes on him didn’t help his increasing unease at all.

As he turned a corner, he was faced with something new, and automatically ducked away in case it was going to start shooting at him. The small orb continued to sit in the middle of the path innocently, at just the right height to take out someone’s achilles heel. 

Virgil shuddered and turned around, backtracking to the last fork in the path. He wasn’t messing with monster traps, no fucking way. 

Above him, the monster seemed to sigh slightly.

—-

“... just too timid,” Logan was saying when Patton re-entered the main area of the lab. “The specimen didn’t engage in a single puzzle during our session, not even one.” 

“What a puzzling situation!” Patton chimed in, carefully slotting his own specimen unit back into the container. Inside, the little creature continued to make a bizarre assortment of calls, not even in Patton’s direction. 

Logan exhaled shortly. “Am I to assume that your insistence on wordplay means that you had greater successes than us?”

“Well, you could go with that, but you know what they say about assuming!” he replied, tucking a pair of arms behind his back as he wandered over to the others. “The little guy seemed pretty aggressive, so I tried to see if there were any specific threat calls I could make out, but… it almost never repeated. Either they have very complex body language that I’m missing or my little friend is a few sticks short of a tree!”

The other two looked disheartened, and the linguist glanced over at Roman. “You two didn’t have any luck, either?” 

“No. My specimen barely participated in the trials I set up, and so I haven’t discerned what level of intelligence we are working with yet,” Logan gritted out, ears flat.

Patton tilted his head slightly. “Not even the treat ball? Most sentient life forms have no trouble with that one.” 

“No, no interaction at all. It may be worth looking for more compelling bait…” 

Roman cut in, antennae flicking in displeasure. “Anyways, mine was uncooperative too! I was trying to get a few samples of their outer shells to see what the fabric is constructed of, but it was so resistant after just one layer that I started getting worried that maybe removing any more would actually harm it.” 

“Good. Better not to risk damaging them.” Logan turned to the units, nose twitching as he thought. “There are other non-invasive tests we can try, but results might shift if we try different samples for different tests.” 

Roman click-buzzed in complaint. “That could take forever, though! We’re supposed to be coming up with significant research, not trading specimens around!” 

“Maybe, instead, we could observe all of them at the same time,” Patton suggested, getting both of his teammates’ attention. “After all, isn’t controlled engagement with multiple specimens one of the tests?”

Roman and Logan exchanged a look, before the latter inclined his chin, slowly. “It’s worth an attempt, at least. Just watch carefully for any signs of aggression. They can’t harm us, but they could certainly harm each other.”

---

By the time the monsters finally decided to put them all in a penned-in space with each other, Virgil was almost too exhausted to be worried. Almost.

He shuffled away from where the three bizarre creatures were looming over them, but carefully remained out of grabbing distance from the other two humans. He wasn’t stupid; he barely knew these people.

“Aliens,” Remus greeted them, holding his hands up in an exaggerated pose. “I’ve totally cracked it.” 

“You’ve totally cracked,” Virgil shot back, but most of his attention was on the well-dressed man. Or, formerly well-dressed, since now he appeared to have had all top layers except his undershirt removed. “Hey, what happened?” 

“Oh, is it not obvious?” the man hissed, arms crossed tightly. “I’ve been robbed. Clearly, this must all have been an elaborate mugging for my blazer and button up.”

Remus cackled. “Yeah right! That suit is cheap as hell!”

The man rolled his eyes, and Virgil couldn’t help but notice the way he was shaking. It didn’t seem like a fear shake, not with this man’s demeanor. “Okay, but are you okay? You seem, uh, cold.” 

“Of course I’m not cold. Why ever would a half-dressed, anemic man in a glass box be cold?” the man snapped. One of the aliens moved slightly, and their gazes all flickered up for a moment. 

Once it became clear no grabbing was happening, Virgil sighed lowly, pulling at his zipper and shifting the sleeves of his hoodie off. “You’re kind of a bitch, huh?” 

The man snapped his head around, opening his mouth to deliver a scathing retort, but Virgil interrupted him by tossing the hoodie at his face. “Excuse m-- oof!”

“Don’t spill anything on it,” Virgil muttered, ignoring the man’s perplexed stare. “You can pay me back with your name.” 

“... It’s Dee.”

---

“Did you see that?” Patton bounced on his toes, tugging at Roman’s talons. “It gave away it’s covering!” 

“Astonishing,” Roman replied, not tearing his eyes away. “Is it a social hierarchy thing? Did you see any familiar dominance displays?” 

“I… didn’t, actually,” Patton replied, face scrunching in perplexion. “Maybe this one is less attached?” 

“No.” They both turned to Logan, whose eyes had gone wide. “It was an act of assistance. The yellow specimen was shaking, likely from temperature exposure due to losing some of it’s covering. It was… kindness.” 

“Woah, what?” Roman clicked, antennae perking up. “But that would mean--” 

“Look!” 

At Patton’s cry, they all watched as the other specimen seemed to attack, almost jumping forwards to intervene. At the last moment, Patton’s arms pulled them back. “No, wait!” 

Though the small, gangly creature had flopped onto the shorter one, the action seemed to elicit no pained cry or battle screech, only mild grumbles as the two readjusted in their impromptu pile. The one that had given away its covering made a face before carefully folding into a sitting position as well, a seat that kept it between the aliens and the other specimens. 

“These specimens were all pulled from different locations,” Logan half-stated, half-asked. Roman nodded, eyes wide. “They can’t be nestmates. What in the galaxy is this?”

“They’re sapient,” Patton blurted, a hand pressed to his mouth. “The sounds, they’re too complex because they’re not calls, they’re words. Language.”

“Language? But, the planet was said to only contain primitive lifeforms!” Roman protested, wings flaring up in agitation. “You’re telling me… Oh man.” 

“The heat sharing, the communication, even the extreme caution shown in unfamiliar circumstances,” Logan spoke slowly, as though warming up to the idea. “It… does seem to be a potential explanation.”

They all looked back to the tiny bipeds, now seeing their every action in a new light. 

“Well, there’s only one way to be sure,” Patton said, lifting up a hand and waving it slowly in a generic friendly gesture. “We’ll just have to figure it out for ourselves, using our own judgement.” 

After a long moment, one of the specimens-- no, aliens-- waved back.