#scribbling under a bare light bulb

[pearlplusau]

Pearlplusau Chapter 10 Part 3 - The Farewell

(I once saw a comic that shows Mayor Dewey as the doctor who delivered Steven, so I’ll just stick to that cuz it kinda explains why his skin tone is all red and similar with Greg’s when no one else had it.)

It was well past 7pm in Beach City. The streets were unusually quiet and the only vehicle on sight was Greg’s van. It sped through Beach City as the currently in labor Rose was forcing down pain induced screams. The establishments and other stores went by in a flash and pretty soon they reached the residential area of the town.

The van screeched to a stop in front of a... house? It looked like a standard American home with a smaller front yard and a concrete paveway to a garage. It was also getting dark, so that was all Rose could make out at the time. With little lights operating around the home, it seemed dusty, unkempt, and not really well taken care of in terms of housekeeping.

“This is the place.” Greg checked the name card with an address scribbled at the back. The card information was barely readable, but it said "Dr. Dewey, the only doctor in Beach City, for now!"

From shotgun, Rose saw a skinny human man coming out from under the garage door with a folded-up wheelchair. The man got to Rose's side of the door and unfolded the chair.

He unlocked the door as Rose stifled a scream, not at the newcomer, but at the pain of labor. The pain was getting worse.

Greg was already outside of the passenger seat, getting ready to catch her if she fell off.

After some certain assurances that Rose was nowhere near falling off, the man wanted Rose to get onto the little wheely contraption, so she wouldn’t have to walk to the operating room. It wasn’t easy, but the two humans managed to get her in the wheelchair. It was designed for normal human-sized patients, so it was a bit snug for a pregnant Rose.

As Rose was pushed towards the now open garage, she turned to the skinny man with prespiration on her forehead. "W-who are you?"

The young man pushing her wheelchair introduced himself. “I’m the future Mayor of Beach City! But for now, I am your Dr. Dewey.”

They pushed the pregnant woman into the garage. The space in the garage was filled with dim lighting as a single light bulb pulsed in the middle of the room. Under the flickering lightbulb was a hospital bed along with pieces of equipment for childbirth. The surroundings of the bed were pitch black until the doctor turned on the big lights, which showed the normal garage setting along with various tools and woodwork scattered around the edges.

“Easy does it.” Dewey said as they both lifted Rose onto the bed.

Rose was heaving, sweating, and panting as the contractions got more and more severe. She was offered ice chips, but she didn’t think she should have any.

Dr. Dewey turned away and grabbed a book on obstetricians and delivering babies. He checked something on the opened page and asked Greg. "How far along are we? Time wise."

“Uh, 5 minutes apart? Darn it, I don’t have a watch!”

The doctor flipped through the pages until he found something. “Okay don’t worry, I just need to see how dilated the cervix is to see if we’re ready.”

He set Rose’s ankles on a metal holder each and went under to check the dilation. “8 centimeters. We’re halfway there, just need it to reach 10 centimeters and we’re good to go!”

He left the room to get some more equipment and sterilizers. The gem in labor was left on the bed with the soon-to-be father.

Another contraction, but this time Rose heard a faint humming from somewhere, somewhere close by. She looked up to her gem on top of her belly. The sound, she thought, that’s where it's coming from. As the contraction got to its peak, a barely noticeable glow can be seen in the gem. It faded right after the pain went away.

“Rose, are you doing okay?” Greg asked, noticing her jerky movements and pained expressions from being in labor. “You sure you don’t want some ice chips? They say any water or liquid can be very dangerous to women in labor, at least that’s what Vidalia said.”

She shook her head, “I don’t think getting hydrated over icicles would take the spiking and torturous pain away.”

Greg looked stumped; he didn’t know what else to do than just…wait. He was gonna buy some snacks for her, but Vidalia also said food was strictly forbidden. Something about the anesthesia numbing the muscle that blocks substances from going into the lungs. From what Pearl explained on the gem anatomy, gems do not have any of the human organs, like, at all. But better be safe than sorry. There’s a bag of painkillers from the drugstore, but he doubted any of it was going to help a non-human being. Maybe talking could take her mind off the pain. “I know I may have asked this before, like, maybe a few dozen times, but do you... regret anything?”

“Oh Greg,” She gritted her teeth and sighed, “I regret a lot of the things I’ve done, but I’ll never regret knowing you and giving birth to this child. You’ve opened my eyes to so many blindspots and I am forever grateful to have you as a part of my life.”

Here comes the big question, Greg thought. “I know we never talked about this but, what do you think’s gonna happen to you after the baby comes?”

“I…” She winced at the next contraction and groaned. She was struggling, that’s for sure, but she’s strong. “I honestly don’t know, Greg. Maybe I’ll be inside my gem and actually get to be a part of the baby’s life. Or maybe I’ll just cease to exist, no conscience or anything at all.”

Both possibilities filled Greg with a huge sense of dread. He was silent for a while until Rose uttered more. Her voice was straining, “But I know, that whatever happens, the baby will be in good hands. I see no better protector and guide than the father of the child himself.”

After what Rose said, Greg felt incredibly touched that he wanted to go in for one last kiss until a door slammed open.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Dr. Dewey came back with a more professional obstetrician look. He wore a mask, rubber gloves, and an overcoat over his shirt. “I couldn’t help but overhear that…” He turned to Rose on the bed, his eyes full of concern. “-you might not survive this birth?”

Greg looked down and scratched the back of his head. “It’s…complicated.”

“Nonono, its alright. No need to explain. I’m just not sure how things might turn out with a single parent. Especially if it’s the dad.”

He grabbed a nearby chair, turned it around, and sat on it backwards. “I’m a single parent myself.”

Greg and Rose glanced at each other for a brief moment, unsure what to do with that information, before turning back to Dewey. They both responded, “Okayy?”

Dewey took out his wallet and showed a string of small sized photos of a baby. “My son, Buck, just turned 4 years old and things aren’t really going great between us.”

Greg took the string of pictures for him and Rose to see. Rose was sweating bullets from the pain, but she was able to identify a newborn baby on first few pictures. A happy baby infact, swaddled by a woman and giggling by the looks of it. The next few pictures degraded to pictures of the boy growing up, but the smile slowly shrinks off and a grim frown was seen at the four-year old at the bottom of the pictures.

Rose knew it might be a touchy subject, but she asked anyway. “What happened to the mother who gave birth to him?”

Dewey, still on the backward chair, turned uncomfortably to the side and away from the two. “She… it’s complicated too. The most important thing is that Buck, our son, requires a bit more love and patience than what I could offer.”   

He looked so down, so depressed, so lost as a father. “I’m one of the lucky single dads that’s capable of taking care of a kid. I’m a doctor, sort of, and a soon-to-be mayor of this town. But you Greg? You’re barely an adult. How do you think you’re gonna take care of a kid without his mother around?”

More dread and panic seeped out of Greg as he seemed to have lost his grasp of his confidence. He sighed in an exhuasted tone, “Oh boy…”

Dewey, realized what he just said, cursed himself and tried to take back what he said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to undermine your competence. I’m sure you’re gonna be a great single parent. I heard you work at It’s A Wash, that car wash gig right? Sure hope the minimum wage from that job can put food on the table and a roof over your heads. Although, the town has been quiet lately, not a lot of tourists coming over to Delmarva for their summers and all that. And I doubt you’ll be making much with barely half of the town citizens owning vehicles in need of washing-”

As the doctor further delved into the current and possibly future states of the town’s economy, Greg was having a not-so-jolly time imaging how he might end up as a street hobo searching for food from the garbage cans while the kid ends up sick and malnourished because he doesn’t have the money for any food or the local doctor. And if worse comes to worse, he’ll have to give the baby up for adoption just so the kid can have a chance at a good life and he’ll end up as the worst father to ever-

Rose's screams of pain woke both Greg and Dewey from their respective trances. As she huffed and struggled to breath, she reached for Greg’s hand and pulled him close. “Greg? Greg listen to me!” She smushed his face in her palms and realized he had tears all over his cheeks. “The gems will be right there with you. They’ll help in any way they can. You’re not doing this alone, remember? You have the gems, and I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to help.”

“Y-you think?” Greg’s voice cracked as warmth spread on his face.

“Of course.” Rose responded. Unfortunately, their tender moment was cut short by another contraction, this time worse than ever. It was so severe that she had to let go and grip the bed side handles for support.

On certain and rare occasions, Rose had witnessed the beautiful births of humans since the Paleolithic period (cavemen ages). The births since then had been getting more hygienic and less messy as science and technology went by. Every single attempt at birth that she witnessed was a riot, and truly a miraculous scene to witness. The mothers screamed for bloody murder as the tiny weeping humans emerged from their under caverns. She had always admired them for being able to do that, to be able to produce another living being unlike a gem would. She never thought there would be a turn where she was the one on a birthing bed.

Dewey took another look at the dilated cervix, “Okayy that’s definitely ten centimeters, looks like we’re ready.”

He sat back at the end of the birthing table and hesitated.

“Wait wait, I think I’m supposed to do something else.” He quickly flipped through the book and read out loud, ���When the cervix is appropriately dilated, the doctor must be ready at the foot of the bed and follow the proper procedures. A rhythm must be followed for the procedure to go as smoothly as possible. Alright, a pattern! I remember those!”

He turned back to the mother in pain and got ready at the foot of the bed, “Ok Rose, get ready to push!”

Rose was heaving, panting, and giving everything she’s got. This, she thought, was one of the most challenging things she’s ever done, that includes fighting off her own at the rebellion or poofing all those corrupted gems.

She forced herself to open her eyes and turn at Greg, the human that gave her the best gift a human could ever offer, a human experience. She held onto his hand, gently and not putting all her pain and strength into it. Greg took her hand, sensing the energy draining from her hard labor. “I love you, Greg. Thank you for everything and take good care of the gems for me.”

The sound of the humming gem echoed all over the garage as it grew a bright pink hue. From the gem, the pink glow expanded to the entire figure. As the figure grew brighter and brighter, Rose’s form levitated a few inches off the bed but not higher than Dewey’s head.

The glow went supernova as the lights in the room dimmed in comparison. The pink flash seeped through the windows and the cracks of the walls as if the room was not able to contain any more of the light and a nuclear blast was set in motion.

Everything went so bright the humans could barely keep their eyes open. Greg struggled but he managed to peer through his narrow vision just in time to see a baby suspended mid-air.

The baby was barely the size of a melon. Hints of dark, curly hair sprouted from the head. He noticed Rose's gem was now on the baby stomach where the belly button should be.

For a brief moment, the glowing newborn was floating above the bed. The glow came to a dim as the baby descends onto Greg's streched out arms. He winced at the touch of his skin, redden and slightly burned from the ultra light blast. He took a quick glance at Dewey, who’s skin was also reddened from the exposure. He didn’t look like he was in pain any more than he was in shock.

Greg took a good look at his child with sorrowful tears from his goodbye. He knew this moment was coming, losing the love of his life, but he had to be strong for the both of them. He shed them away, cooed the newborn child, and whispered, "Hey there little guy,” he tried to clear the water out of his eyes, “*sniff* welcome to Earth.”

.

.

.

(A/N: Imma keep this short. Thank you everyone for your patience and reading this fanfiction. It's been a while since I began writing Rose's journey since meeting Greg. I really hope my take on Rose's journey/end was on par with most of you guys' idea of what went down before Steven was born. Also apologies for the lack of Coral content, there was just so much I could write in this fanfiction with her as the main protagonist. Most of the chapters beforehand should be enough to encapsulate her entire character to you guys, the readers. So I hope you can forgive me for doing a far tangent into my takes of Rose's decision of the desire to change and all that.

Again, hope you enjoyed what you read and thanks for reading!)

Outcuts (Writings that didn't fit the narrative but felt it would be a waste for them to be deleted.) Part 1

Recently, Rose had been borrowing a video camera and taping herself for the unborn baby. She knew she could never talk to them directly, so she thought a great way for the baby to know their mother was through taped videos. She talked to them about the life on Earth and how bringing the kid to life was the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

Part 2

…Overgrown brambles. Look at them, they’re a mess without her guidance. Directionless, pathetic, clinging, things. It’s going to be ok Garnet!

Rose’s most precious sanctuary (extracted from the episode, “An Indirect Kiss”)

(Pearl the left brain – the rational thought, cautious, planning, logic/ Coral the right brain – Emotional thought, creative arts, imagination, adventurous/fun) each side of the brain controls the opposite side of the body, so idk how much this would make sense.)

Part 3

Oh this is exciting! I have a kid myself ya know. Named him Buck, so you know, there'd be more bucks coming my way. chuckled nervously. (A/N: wanted to have direct and easy conversations going but seems a bit inappropriate for the situation.)

Anyways, good thing you're both gonna be here when the kid comes. Its been a real head scratcher raising the kid on my own.

Ya dont say? Greg comments while he caught Rose's eyes.

The horror of single parenting

Where's the little guy anyway? He's not home is he?

Oh nonono, we couldnt have him here while a kid is being born! It would traumatize him well into his 50s! He's uh, playing with the other kids in the neighborhood, probably.

Is uh, everything ok between you two?

Well, its been hard since his mom left. Hes been asking questions abt her that I cant really answer.

while they wait for Rose to be properly dialated 10 centimeters, they talked

[lizzie-saltzman]

Title: We Will Never Be The Same (The More You Change The Less You Feel)

Summary: Lottie’s 18th birthday party is imminent. As their senior year slowly comes to a close, she’s determined to throw the most unforgettable rager Wiskayok has ever seen, but the sudden and unexpected death of one of their teammates leaves her with more questions than answers. Everyone’s a suspect, and with Lottie and Natalie mysteriously disappearing right before a floating body is found on the Matthews’ olympic pool, the Yellowjackets mark them as the prime suspects.

Pairing: Lottie Matthews/Natalie Scatorccio Rated: M Word Count: 2894 Chapters: 2/? (Includes a prologue)

READ THE FIC ON AO3 HERE

Preview Under the Cut

It’s not Natalie’s first time in handcuffs.

But it’s certainly her first time in an interrogation room.

It’s nothing like in the television. There are no swinging light bulbs barely illuminating a dark room, in fact, this room is so bright it hurts her eyes to look at the ceiling. There is no good cop on the other side of the glass or a bad cop grabbing her by the collar of her leather jacket trying to coerce her into confessing a crime she didn’t commit. It’s just her, one cop, and a boring read of her miranda rights.

You have the right to remain silent… And look guilty?

You have the right to an attorney… With what money?

If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you… And trust the state to give her proper legal advice? Bullshit.

“Sorry for the wait.” Detective Tan sits right across from her in that small and uncomfortable interrogation room. She’s seen enough documentaries to know they do it on purpose. They make people uncomfortable to make them break. They make people uncomfortable to force false confessions out of them. Natalie Scatorccio is not an idiot and Detective Tan can’t fool her into thinking she is one.

If Kevyn’s father is the best Wiskayok has in their police department then…

“I was talking to your friend. Charlotte Matthews? Quite the charmer that one. I don’t think I’d ever met Malcom Matthews’ daughter in person before.” He looks almost giddy when he says it, in a way Nat can’t exactly read into. It unnerves her.

“Yeah? And what did she have to say?”

Detective Tan pauses, scribbles something on his notepad, and then looks up at her. “Nothing. She lawyered up.”

READ MORE ON AO3

[grim-faux]

3 _ 37 _ Childish Antics

First - An Echo Rebounds Through the Silent City

Was there any point in dragging the bundles of tomes, all swathed in a clutter of messy scrawling? He did not know for certain, nor did he have an inkling or a hunch if it could be worth the effort to horde all this... 'work'. Some of the scribbled pages he fancied to keep, if only for a sliver of nostalgia. Often when the piles began a takeover the desk (or whatever surface he parked that was beyond the kids range) he had rationalized dumping the pages, and then starting fresh - new theories, new questions, a new perspective. The writing did appease some sense of functionality though it could not offer much more, and he had no long-term ambition to persist with it, if not for some whimsy that it felt productive to watch the notes plague the once yellowed pages. It made the prospects of his situation less dire, and who knew. There might come a use of it yet, if he happened to stumble upon the notes in another cycle....

The apartment block was barebones as typical, with rooms to spare and a few spaces for bathrooms, but not much else. He barely noticed the rooms he would come to inhabit, and could not remember anything of the last layout. They tended to merge together, much as the days and the unyielding storms. The fortitude and privacy of these rooms did not threaten the tomes he had horded, along with his written pages, but he did not favor his possessions getting dismantled prematurely - which was a suspected fate to any work he might have committed to in another cycle (he had many suspicions on that topic). Everything else across the city was under ruin of the Tower and its mirthless gaze; he on the other hand, preferred restrain at most instances. He had not shown much restraint in the past but that was some aspect of his temperament that could be subject to practice.

As he patrolled the corridors, sometimes a book in hand or anxiously plucking at a cigarette, the lights pulsed and shimmered. Bulbs once dusty and dreaming of icy, would shimmer with new vigor – like candle flame following a caricature of a long dead person roaming empty rooms and searching for uninvited specters. The Thin Man lost himself in thoughts about buildings and structures, of paranormal recounts that did nothing for his studies – homes expelled voices and foul odors, unexplained events occurred, accidents incurred. Nothing of the pages provided details to the magnitude of the Towers spiteful glare.

At peculiar times, the inspiration struck him and he added into the notes regarding the Flesh and Walls which served as his Sanctuary. Nothing about him was an illusion, and the Flesh walls were very forceful to be regarded as something living. Something always watching. Perpetually feasting but never satiated. Everything in the world was hungry, but the Flesh and its watchful Eyes did whatever it could to satisfy unnatural cravings.

That too, went added into the piles of marks which did not so much recount a memory but relayed despair in every tone of voice.

The Viewers were a food source, but how did that source of food never deplete?

As far as he could remember, the Viewers remained a persisting nuisance. That had never changed, and it did not seem this facet ever would.

Upon exiting a corridor and ducking into a crumbling room, some small mechanism zipped across his path and creaked to a stop. He drew his foot back and pondered the machine, head tilting and a sigh disturbing the smoke. Perplexed, he held motionless and listened to his surroundings.

The antagonist shot from the murk and more or less tackled the small device. A hand fixed the tussled hat back into place, while the child full bodily worked to heave the thing up into its arms. Never an ounce of peace.

“S’no plane,” the figure rasped, hefting the thing higher.

In reply, he grunted some sound lost in the static. The Thin Man bent over, but the child withdrew a smidgen and cradled the thing tighter to his chest. “Ah. You are not willing to share?” Not that he cared, but the prompt sufficed. The child looked down on the contraption, then up to him, before offering it skyward.

The item did intrigue him. It was sizable for the child, but he pinched it delicately and managed to lift it up for examination. The miniscule object had gaping sides and spinning wheels, by build it was a motorized machine, but appeared crude and unfinished. Hmm. “Where did this come from?” It might have been a… vehicle of sorts. Such things glimmered through the Broadcast, but automobiles such as this sort had been banished long before his time.

The Signal Tower could not risk combustible chariots racing at high speeds, damaging the helpless Viewers locked in their own little world. He recalled how disastrous his own experience with the train was. Thankfully Mono….

“Brrr…” the boy buzzed, as if that was a suitable answer. “Is n’uh box. For t'box.” He rubbed at his eye and dug a foot into the floor panel. “Brr. Box. Am made.” With a soft growl he shuffled closer to his shoe and stood on tiptoes, arms outstretched. “Soft. Don’hurt. No-no. Am keep. S'keep am.”

The Thin Man shoved the thing into the boys chest to cease the bouncing. “What box?” For whatever reason, the child flopped over his foot once the item was returned to his arms. That did not affect the boy in any way, and the garbage contraption did not appear injured, thus the child rolled to his feet and padded off.

He wondered why he even bothered.

The child tottered (slowly) down a hall and showed him to one of the unremarkable rooms he had evaluated upon his first survey of the apartment. Except now the child led him to a box left beneath the edge of a bed, where pieces of plastic rods and other evidence had been eviscerated from the rectangular coffin. When he knelt low to puzzle over the container, the child scooted a bit of paper pamphlet towards his hand, which prodded at the torn box. It looked akin to something the child might have chewed on, even when none of this appeared edible.

“S’not to plane. Still good. Ya'see.” The boy crawled aside and continued to fool with the thing. The apparatus worked by dragging the wheels on the wood floor, until a mechanism inside the case resisted, then, let it go. The child sprang off once more! Zooming.

Meanwhile, the Thin Man poked through the leftover scraps, peering hard at the puny pamphlet that did not even fit on the pad of his finger. Some of the pictures and lines inside seemed legible enough, this did not explain how the boy could have managed… whatever must have fit into the box, but was now discarded. The dimensions were too small, he could not grasp how all the machine had been compressed and then unfolded into what the child now flew after. Behind him, the contraption made another VRRRRR as it skittered across the floor, bumping and galloping over the uneven floor panels.

The whole package and components – if he understood the scattered castoffs – all was too small for an adult, even one less impressive than himself. He could not fathom the association of this machine and who the intended builder should be.

“Where did that come from?”

The machine swooped under the arch of his shin and crashed against his shoe. For whatever reason, the child decided to squeeze under his leg as well, in pursuit of the thing. “Box.” To mount on with the cryptic mystery, the child rushed to the pamphlet and swung that up, as if it had been hidden all this time. “Story. How make.”

That did not clarify a thing, except how the boy managed to come into possession of the thing. Not exactly where it came from, or how it fit into the box. There was something missing. All of it was drilling him with a migraine.

While he struggled to fabricate a suitable conclusion, the child had taken to mumbling. “Come again?”

The child gazed up at his arched form, arms dangling at his sides. The boy took a dramatic breath, “When… t’leave. For sad?” The boy reached up and tugged on his knee. “Sad? Was leave? Have t’lost n’leave?”

He sighed a swell of smoke and tapped his cigarette. “I am never sad when I leave. Why such a question?” The child hissed and dusted the ash from his hat.

“No. Mh… have sad,” he hesitated here, his eyes glittering beneath his hats rim. “For keep. Y’have Mono,” he murmured, and looked around. “T’busy and come. Stay t’have. Impor-ent.” He swayed more on his toe tips, and tugged on his pant leg once more. “Always have look. Keep. T’impo’ent. Coz Mono.” It took the boy a moment to catch his breath, and resume wherever he was going with… this. “Have n’keep. Always find t’keep. S’what have. Mono’n you. Mm-hmm. Am Mono.”

Honest, the Thin Man was disassociating from this spiel. The child was a struggle to grasp at the best of times. The worst of times? Heh.

“T’have. Und’n-stand? For’yuh. S’not’gether. Uh-huh. But mm know. Still, import’ehn. Best for’yuh. Does make mmm?”

Then the child gawked up at him, as if he-himself did not grasp what he was trying to say altogether in such a flabbergasting way. “This n’have keep. S’for comp’knee. F’not have. Then’lone. Make sad’yu. Y’see make? Sad? S’for you. Have sad n’Mono gone?”

The Thin Man blinked. That was a whole question.

“Ah… well.” He took a breath. “Important.”

The child only stared, mouth open ajar, before he nodded. Okay. Good start.

“Important. Ṯ̶̽õ̸̰ ̴̳̿ H̵̱͌á̵͙v̴̦̑ě̴̞.̷͎͋” He did not grasp half of that. “I H̵̱͌á̵͙v̴̦̑ě̴̞.̷͎͋ to keep S̷̬̏ó̴͎m̸̨̾ě̷̡t̵͔̀h̶͇͆i̵͔̐ṇ̴̕g̶͔̓.̷̗̈́”

At this, the child pursed his lips and shook his head. “Say impont’n. So keep Mono. S’not like. T’keep. Am know s’not together. S’impor’ten. Am keep. Have. Y’have Mono t’lone. Y’lonely. S’what keeps for. Un’er-sand? Coz have no s’bad. Am have. Keep. Under’sand?”

Another smokey sigh. “A̸̺̍m̷̮͛ ̸͍̍ I̸͔͑ ̵̳̐ T̸̕ͅo̶͔̊ ̵͔̚ T̶̻͑ă̶̜k̵͕̄e̶̜͋  ̴̖́T̸̝̕ȟ̸͕ả̷̗t̷̝̚ ̸͚̀ A̶̛̹m̶͉͑ ̶̳̒ Ǐ̵͔s̷͖̀ ̶̘͐ M̶̱͌ò̶̺n̴̢̐õ̵̙.̵̪̈́”

“Am Mono.”

Of all the convoluted…. “You keep S̷̬̏ó̴͎m̸̨̾ě̷̡t̵͔̀h̶͇͆i̵͔̐ṇ̴̕g̶͔̓.” The Thin Man struggled to piece together that garbled mess the boy insisted was speek. “A̸̧̿ṅ̸͇ḓ̷̎ ̶͇͂ Y̸̦̑o̵̺͂ṷ̵̕ ̷̡͗ A̶̺͘r̶̽ͅé̷̥ ̵͉͋ Ḷ̸͌o̴̯̊n̷̺̈́ḙ̴̌l̷̰̈́ÿ̶̡́.̴̡͛”

“No. You. S’lonely,” the child clicked. And smiled.

“̵͉͋Ḷ̸͌o̴̯̊n̷̺̈́ḙ̴̌l̷̰̈́ÿ̶̡́.̴̡͛” He rubbed his eyes. This was ș̵̌o̴͈͝ò̷̯ȍ̴̟Ọ̶̐O̵̼̕Ó̴̝ǒ̴̻o̴͍͘ò̷̟ tedious.

“Was lonely. N’lost t’Mono.” Again, he tugged at his knee. “S'make sad? When lost? For’not have Mono? Am search t’find. S’hard. But am keep. Make lone’lee not more.”

He brushed the child back with his hand. “I do not care when you are leave.” Curses that butchered linguistics…. “When you are absent, I do not feel sad.” The boy latched onto his fingers like a sticky leech.

“No. But lost. Have find. Am Mono t’find.” The Thin Man tried to shake the child loose, but the wiry thing constricted tighter with his arms and legs. “Am keep when'ave. Mono has. Un’er-sand. Under’sand. Y’sad an’lone. Eck’cept Mono has. For keep. That right. Y’sad when’lone.”

“You are in the belief that… I am lonely?” Mono coiled over his hand ever tighter, and nodded. “Where did all that N̸̬̊ő̸̪n̴͚͆s̶͉̏ḙ̷̊ṅ̴͚s̸̡̋ẹ̶̌ ̷̧͋ S̵͔͊p̵̻̂r̵̮̚ó̵͜ǘ̶͖ẗ̶̝́ ̸̳͠ F̵̳̀r̵̩̀o̶̫̕m̴̙̏?̷̱̈?” He gripped the collar of the child’s coat and tugged.

“Y’lone’eeh. Not fair.” The boy gave a suppressed whine when he tore free.

Dangling the boy by the collar, the Thin Man uncoiled from his uncomfortable crouch and carried the ratty wad of cloth and limbs to a collapsed dresser. He set the boy among the forgotten garments left moldering in one of the drawers. “Someone thinks Ḣ̸̲i̵͖͂g̶̢̿ḫ̷̊l̷̈́͜y̴͖͊ ̷̢̿of Ḣ̸ͅi̶͈͐m̸͉̊s̵͉͝e̴̘̿l̶̖̍f̸͕̋. To be honest, with or without you I F̴̫̂ȇ̸͔ĕ̷̮l̸̩̈́ ̴̩̈́ N̶̻̒o̷̰͒t̵̥̉  ̶̠̕Ä̶̭ ̶̼͘ T̵̛͚h̷̥͝ȋ̷̱ñ̷̻g̶̳͛.̷̣̇ Every turn I take, Ỵ̴̊o̴͓̊ư̴̭ ̶̻̾ Ḫ̴̄a̷̝̎p̸̻͂p̴̞͝e̷̥̽ṋ̴̑ ̶̬̋to be Ǔ̸̢ṋ̶͝d̴͔͆e̴͇̓r̴̙̿ ̷̺̏ F̶̧̎o̸̫͑o̷̩̔t̷̛͓.̸̺̔” He bundled scraps of pants and a shirt around the child.

“B’t miss. And’lone. S’not happy.” The boy did not struggle free yet, but wriggled around to face him.

“Strange child, I̸̧̓ ̵̩̿ K̶̩̐n̶͉͐o̷̦͠ẁ̵̳ ̸͓̾ Ń̶̢ǒ̶̯ ̶̑͜ Ǫ̴͗t̸̡͌ȟ̸̬è̴̹r̵̢̄ ̶͔̓ Ẁ̵̠a̵̼̎y̶̘̎.̵͋ͅ T̶͙̊h̴͋ͅā̸͓t̵͎̆ ̸̠̆ I̷̺͝s̷͔͝ ̵̼̈ M̴̖̍ỳ̵͓ ̵͔̆ É̸͚x̵̩̌ī̴̘ş̸͊ṭ̷̉e̷̥̋n̷̘̏c̸̟̈́ẻ̴̳.̵̥̂ By now, I would have thought you able to grasp such truths O̶̞͛f̸͙̈́ ̶͉͑ T̶̝͛h̸̰̃i̶̠̿ś̴͚ ̷͉̆ W̶̤͌o̵͇̍r̶̯͝ĺ̴̲d̷͇͊.̸̍͜” He knelt on one knee and plucked away the hat on the boy’s head. The child did not have his hands free to snatch the hat back, thus settled to bury his face into the mound of cloth. “I lived in that Tower, in that room, S̷̜̅i̴͇̾n̶̼͌c̴̢̋e̷͕͌ ̵͈̀ I̷̛̝ ̷͖͂ Ẅ̸̩́á̶͕s̶̭̏ ̵͎͂ Ñ̴̨ŏ̶͙ ̴̬̅ Ǒ̴̲l̷̡̂d̷̥͒e̴̮͊r̸̞͆ than you. How could A̷͎͌ ̴̢̓ C̸̗̈́r̸̰̕ë̵̢ą̷͊t̷̖̅ṷ̴́r̴̙̅e̵͍̒ ̶̙̈́ Ŝ̸̖u̵͇̒c̵͇̐h̵͚͒ ̵̺̈́as I ever feel L̷̫̇o̵͕͑n̶̗͑é̵̼l̸̝͗y̷͎͌?̸̦͂ Least of all, for some F̴̤͗ị̸̊e̵̬͠n̷͖̋ď̵̨i̷͔̔ş̷̀ȟ̶͉  little stray like you?” He rubbed the child’s back, smothering some of that shivering.

“Am keep,” the boy growled. “S’import’ehn. Make fix. Am fix….”

The Thin Man chuckled. That was something he thought might work, once upon a time when he was naïve and felt the crimes weigh upon him. He still searched the streets hoping to glimpse that boy – as a reflection in a dirty puddle somewhere, or careening around a corner on one of his important missions. His lips turned down, as he recalled a child poised on a high banister regarding him. Scorn streaked those strange eyes. Then like that, he was gone. That was the last time he saw that boy.

“A̴͕͝ĥ̸͕,̶̡͋ ̵̘̎ Ẏ̵̤e̵̲͂s̶̜̎,̶͚̃” the static thrummed. “How Ṵ̴̀n̷̨̾f̵̣̀o̴͓̔r̶̗̀t̸͔̒u̷͎̎ņ̵͋à̷͜t̶̥̔e̸̗̍ ̴͍̚ you are not Ṱ̸̈h̶͕͝ë̵ͅ ̵͚̃ T̵̛̖y̸̱͐p̵̙̂ë̵͍́ of child to F̴͓͒í̶ͅx̴̤́ ̵̳̍ À̸͉ǹ̵̬y̴̲̑t̸͉͗h̸̩͝i̸͓͗n̵͂͜g̵̪̓. That is N̶͓͝o̶͓̒t̴̫̏ ̴͙͘Y̶͙̓ö̴̗́ụ̴̓r̸̭̋ ̴̣͒F̸̧̂a̷͔̕ṳ̷̃l̶̳͘t̵̤̓.̴̟̿ Do not feel sorrow for the inevitable. Ī̵̹t̵̞͊ ̶͙̎ I̴̢̍š̵̹ ̵̛̮ O̸͛͜n̸̹̆ḻ̴̈y̵̰͑ ̴̪̂ W̷͖͌h̵̦̀o̴̠͝ ̷̫̓ Ẁ̵̟e̶̮͠ ̴̪̃ A̷͉͐r̴̫̔ȇ̶, and why  ̵̬͊W̴͍͛ȩ̵͛ ̸̱̀ A̵̤̐r̷̳̋ĕ̷͎ ̷̩̌ H̵̞͠ḁ̸̚t̸̞̅ë̷̹d̷̗͌.̸̡̛.”

Ironic, in spite of what he did, the child was always cast into some peril or other. Try as he might to intervene and align the boy, assured he knew the world and all its follies. A futile ruse this all was. In the end, nothing would change.

What always is, shall always be.

The child gawked at him from the musty clothing, nothing but a pair of eyes framed by threads. He had never changed. It was such a shame. Out there, the Tower only needed to wait. None of anything of this world, the child would ever begin to grasp, or why these things were the way they were. Why there was a nightmare shadow always present, where his questions and curiosity would lead him. What his single-minded and stubborn ways would eventually reap. He existed, thus the boy subsisted. The cycle connected them like the hours of time, the Ante Meridiem to the Post Meridiem, one fading into the other as if it never existed. Then, in the end, being forgotten as time rolled away. Slipped like sand from their grasp. Always forgotten and never missed. Disposable Entertainment for the mirth of the Tower to crow and grin at.

“Ô̴̮h̴̖̄ ̸̘͆ D̴͈̊o̶͓͝ ̴̮́ N̵̰̽ŏ̶̼ṱ̴̔  ̵̗̈́Ģ̸͑i̶̹̾v̷̳̏ê̷͍ ̷̘͒ S̵̞̓u̵̲͐c̵̩͋h̶̥̐  ̷̞̊A̵̰͠ ̴͓͆ L̸̩̂o̸̼̿ǒ̶̙k̷̜͂.̷̨̃ ̷̬͆ W̸̉ͅh̸̳͐a̷̰͘t̸̙̋ ̴̞̐ D̶͈͘i̵̙̔d̶̫͋ ̶̛͙ Y̷̩̾o̶̫̍ṳ̷͠ ̸̘̍ È̴̯ẍ̶̬p̵͇̅ȅ̵̩c̶̮͠ẗ̶̼́?̸̺̀” The boy sniffled and wriggled more into the nest he was placed into.

“Lie,” the child hissed. “Make lie. Sn’eer veer truh.”

The Thin Man reached over and patted the child’s matted hair. “Y̷̪͗ọ̷̓û̵̝ ̸̠̇ Ä̵͙́r̵͎̅e̴̟͒ ̸̰͑ C̷̰̎o̶̦̓r̴͈͊r̷̘̈ë̶̼́c̶̺̎t̷̙́.̶͈̿ “I jest with you. Ỷ̸̮o̸̰͆ų̴͆ ̴̘͌K̶̘̾n̴͎̆o̶̟͐ẃ̵͔ ̵̼̕M̷̀ͅe̵͎̅ ̴̹̽T̵͠ͅo̴͙͆ò̶̙ ̷͖̑W̷̰̿ë̵͓́l̵̝͆l̵̟̈,” the static hummed, “Such A̸̪̔ ̷̹͊ G̵͔̾i̶̭͆f̸̜̿ẗ̵͔ for I̵̕ͅn̷̜̈́ẗ̶̰ě̷̠r̸͉̈́p̶̙̏ṙ̶̙e̴̛̙t̶͈̽ĩ̵̳n̵͉̔g̵̦͊ ̶̣͑ the most stoic Ạ̸͘d̸̗̅v̸͓̀é̵͚r̸̻͛ś̸̨a̵̦̎r̴̝͊ī̷̡è̵͔s̶͉̆.̴̧̾ I am just Ş̷͘à̶̱ḏ̶͆ ̶͝ͅ A̶̬͛ň̴ͅd̴̫̈́ ̴͇͋ L̸̤̈́ô̶͓n̴͚̐e̶͉͝l̵̰͘ỳ̶͓, and cannot cope without my spiteful little H̴̠͑e̶̮̍l̷̨̋ȉ̴̮ó̶̗n̶̛͖ ̶̭̌ C̶̪̔l̵̯̅ḭ̴̚n̶̡̔g̶͖̃i̴̭̾n̷̰̕g̵̩͊ ̷̝̿ Ḁ̴̒l̵̤͝l̷̻͝ ̷̺̿ Ô̷͈v̴͈͘é̷͇r̵̰͛ ̶̻͐ M̸̪̏e̴̗̅. What a cunning little detective you are, putting that all together on your own. It must have taken quite a bit of A̷͓͘ ̴̋͜T̵͉̓h̸̝͘î̷̭n̸̼̄k̸̖͐.̷̛̥”

The Thin Man unfurled and strolled to the entry. “I wonder… D̷̮̒o̵͕̾ ̸̫̇Ỷ̷̗o̷̠͑u̵͇͝ ̷̭̎E̵̖̅v̶̩̏e̶̲͒ŕ̷͉ feel as tired A̶͙̔s̸̙̃ ̶̤̅ Ï̵͙ ̶͓̽ D̷̳̈́o̴̬͋”in being W̸̟̓r̶͙̕ȍ̴̹n̵̪̾g̷̗̐ ̵̤̋ Å̷̘b̸͓͋o̸͉͘ủ̴̙ț̷͋ ̶̧̛ Ẽ̴̟v̴̛͓e̴̖̎ṟ̸̋y̷͎̚t̴̳̋h̸̹̽i̷͜͠n̷̰͝g̷͓͠. The city, Ö̷̙́ủ̴̢r̵̭̕ ̴̳̌ F̵̰̄ȓ̶̹i̷͉̾é̶̗ṋ̶̊d̸̞̊s̵͎͌….” He sighed. “U̸̫̓s̵͓̐.̸̢̉” With a last shake of his head, he departed the room.

That little vehicle was interesting, he would give the boy that. It was difficult to grasp that the whole thing came from the flat box. However, if the child lived long enough, well… Mono would figure it out for himself.

He returned to the room with a spare desk and bed, though he had no intention of using the bed. Aside from his youth, his interaction with such things was minimal, unless to hide. It was not until arriving to the Tower and was granted ‘access’ to certain medias, that he learned of the nature of the strange, low furniture. They mystified him as a child, everything did. The world he came into was a strange place, littered with the indentions of long-gone ways, customs. A culture wiped out, but the memories refused to fade entirely.

Polished furniture and plush carpets, crystalline windows to take in natural light and scenery. A kitchen stocked full of foods, the endless flavors of water, the various shapes and textures of food. A room to sit within and entertain oneself, void of threats creeping through the corridor beyond the brittle wood door; little rooms to go for rest, or time away from others. A space to get clean, to look at oneself and realize – I exist – Here I am.

The Thin Man sat on the long edge of the bed, and dragged the desk to his elbows. An open book lay on the table, alongside the scatters of notes he had disconnected from. He looked over the room, at the cracked patches in the wall, the flaking wall paper. Across the floor scurried an insect or two, hiding away in slivers between the ratty carpet. The ceiling was caving inward, but would go no further while he was present. This structure would stand, as he willed it so.

The boy would never know the things he took from the Tower. What the Broadcast offered, or what he was denied as he aged. Tantalizing feedback from another place, another world entirely. He could only watch and pine for these temptations, always mocking his aching hollowed eyes. The child constantly brought him packages of stale food things and whatever else the vermin had not violated, but it was the despair and ache he fed on. The longing for things so beyond reach, he settled for illusions as a valid substitute. The Tower chewed the Viewers as they surrendered to the lies, while he settled for the agony of the scant realization that there was nothing beyond the screen. Nothing but the same nightmare they deluded themselves into escaping.

Escape was an illusion. Only acceptance. Accept that nothing ever changed, no one ever truly changed. He was the same child rushing for the Tower doors, gullible, virtuous, fool. The boy would never change. He accepted that and moved on with his... hobbies.

The Tower’s laughter had a tendency as of late to echo through his thoughts, rebound through his ribs, and drill into his delicate reflections. He pried his chin off his palm and sat up from the atrocious slouch he had sagged into. The cigarette he lit right before browsing the book, was nothing but a pitiful stub between his knuckles. He tossed it aside and stretched, glitching out the frayed edges of his fine suit. After crackling and buzzing, he gave an inspection of the new atmosphere of the room - the wind had dulled, but a eerie sense of anticipation pricked the migraine taunting him. A storm was brewing beyond the walls.

On the desk beside his stack of literature, a small thing caught his eye. He reached up to the toy car and prodded it with his finger, a hint of a smirk edged at his lips. Gently, softly, he tugged the small contraption backwards enough to wind the cord, and released. The car buzzed across the table surface, but not far enough to reach the edge.

Despite knowing the child was not in the room, the Thin Man was compelled to check under the bed and sift the other furnishings for the spindly thing. He suspected the boy became crafty enough to pickup when he roused from dormancy, which suited him. He would probably never understand that child.

Then again, that little boy no longer existed. He lost him in a different sort of tower, where he could not leave well enough alone. He had accepted... he had to accept....

Somewhere in the kitchen area, a child was hiding. The Thin Man knew this is where Mono was, but the boy shuttered himself into one of the cabinets when he came tapping from the living area. He could try to inquire what the lad was up to, regardless how obvious that was. However, it was apparent the rascal was in one of those moods, and it was best to let him alone.

The lights doused briefly as he dissolved and reappeared, phasing through a shadowy outline in the more open living area. Off behind a collapsed wall stood a mostly together sofa seat, which is where he sat, secluded in the dark cloak of lacey drapery and camouflaged. And waited. He could see a portion of the kitchen doorway facing him, though he could not determine where the boy was in relation of his station. The mystery was moot, he cared nothing of where the urchin would pop up.

At some point, he suspected the child had curled up into rest. Or perhaps was sleeping before he arrived on the scene. It wasn’t until a long while later, that he picked up on the stifled noises of movement, along with a creak.

While unable to see a thing of what the child was up to, he could imagine what business he was about. A cabinet door whispered gently, then the rustle of a box or bag. The kitchen would fall into pensive silence, as the boy no doubt choked down whatever he grabbed. Or, perhaps he was giving the space a thorough examination to insure he was alone and nothing was sneaking in, despite the healthy light source - 'You are very welcome, boy.' A packet or some other empty case might hit the floor, and a fleeting hush would fall within the kitchen.

It was entertaining to envision the odd antics the boy was getting up to. The feathery sweep of feet across the floorboards, or the occasional creak of a cabinet door. Though the child fought to squelch the breathy grunts - when he climbed somewhere - the Thin Man could still pick them out. On a rare spur, the child might go still for a while and the muffled grumbling picked through the steady roll of a breeze. He could never make out whatever the boy muttered about or what 'inspired' the speek, all the same the boy had much to discuss with no one.

Unfortunately, the child at long last emerged from the kitchen threshold. He dashed across the floor, some item clutched in his embrace. The Thin Man was surprised, but mostly irritated.

Yes, the boy had some offering. He brought it right to the Thin Man and held it up. The man in the hat tapped a finger on his knee, disinterested entirely with interacting with… whatever. The child shook the container, some lumpy bag he had difficulty hoisting above his head because it sagged. When the Thin Man failed to acknowledge  – he suspected the boy wanted some sort of reaction – Mono shoved it against his shin.

“No.” He brushed the package away. “I do not W̸͍͝ā̴͜n̵̟͘t̷͙͊ ̵͉͊ T̴͚̈́h̸͇̑ȃ̷̲t̷̡͌. Enough of this.”

Mono lost his balance with the weighted item clasped above his head, and toppled to his back. In a haste, the child fixed his hat and scurried away.

Satisfied, the Thin Man slumped in the chair and set his elbow on the chair arm, he cradled his chin upon his palm. However, he’s not surprised when Mono raced back into the room, this time carrying a clunky box in his arms. The container bounced against the boys knees as he scurried back over, eyes glistening with self-importance. Typical. The tall thin man brought his other hand to his face and rubbed at the weariness in his eyes.

Stifled ripping drifted beneath the simpering draft, and some sealed package was shoved onto the seat beside his leg. “C̶h̷i̸l̴d̵.̷ ̵W̸o̴u̴l̴d̸ ̶Y̸o̷u̸ ̵J̵u̴s̶t̷ ̴S̵t̷o̷p̴.̸ ̸I̶ ̸D̸o̵ ̷N̸o̷t̸ ̶N̴e̷e̶d̷ ̵T̴h̷a̷t̸.̴” He looked down.

The new hat kept slipping over the boy’s eyes, while he plucked at whatever was in the cylinder package. Set up beside his leg. The boy stood gazing up at him, munching on whatever the thing was without the presence of mind to shut his trap. When the disaster child polished off the food bit, he dragged another piece from the package and climbed the chair - and his pant leg - in order to set the new item on the Thin Man’s hand steadily tapping hand.

Once the boy plopped back to the floor and sat, tearing into the bag container, the Thin Man flicked the little cracker thing off. “N̶o̶.̶” He flicked the canister aside as well, though it did not roll far.

The boy collected the broken pieces off the floor and ate them. Of course he would. Then the miscreant collected some sort of mush from the waxy parcel of the box, and set it on top of the sideways cylinder package. After assembling a masterpiece of distasteful cracker and goop, the boy scrambled to the chair on his rerun mission. Toss the questionable concoction onto the chair seat beside him. Climb up. Then haul the sodden gunk over to his leg. He did this a few times, until a row of... yuck, perched upon his long leg. All that effort for nothing.

From there, the boy crouched beside his own malformed dinner table - the canister - on the floor and gnawed at the bag mush, all while gawking up at the Thin Man. As if expecting after all this time, the man in the hat would just… join him in the need for eat. Spontaneously and out of the blue.

“M̵y̶ ̵W̶o̴r̷d̷,̶ ̴Y̴o̶u̸ ̴A̸r̷e̵ ̵A̵ ̷R̸i̶d̷i̶c̷u̵l̶o̷u̴s̷ ̴C̴r̵e̴a̸t̴u̵r̷e̸,” he sneered. Another disgusting construction of a sandwich manifested, and the child growled as he forced his teeth through the stale crust. When he finished chomping the crumbs into nothingness, the boy worked diligently to pluck up the traces of powder from the musty carpet. The Thin Man suppressed the groan as he cringed. At least the hat bill slumped further over the boy's face, and he could fabricate a delusion where the child was not so filthsom. To his dismay, the boy had another offering to set upon his knee.

The child bounced back to the container and crouched, the bill of the sagging cap gawked up at him. "Mmm. T'food." He made noisy smacking with his mouth.

Enough of this. The Thin Man stood from the chair and dusted his pant leg off. Stepping over the child, he paced to the entry door and flashed, his resituated form surged into its impressive stature outside the dwelling. The aged door rattled at the gust, and he only paused to observe the unraveling splinters for a moment; in anticipation that the boy should flash through as well. He was not invested in crafting an elaborate means to keep the child fixed to one location, even if it was not difficult to do so. It was such a damn challenge getting the kid to take rest and recover - he suspected this may be in part the malfunction to the child's lackluster abilities.

Lo and behold, the boy does stay put. Praise the Transmission.

Glitching periodically, the tall thin man slipped through the corridor and relocated to the elevator. Once he was absent from the environment for a short spell, the child would resume his typical business unimpeded. He served as a distraction and at times a threat, thus, it was best to be scarce during these bouts of moods. He had his own chores to attend, perhaps explore a new location he perused that had a practical section of books surviving through the intolerable ages. The child would not be traveling far anyway, if the suspected electrical theatrics splint apart the sky soon.

Next

[docholligay]

"The way you said “I love you"": 3 (A scream) Rei & Usagi

Prime Jettison angst for a Jetty birthday. A rewrite/btl/whatever for 196. 1,050 words. Still taking prompts today for Jetty’s Magical Friendship Day! 

“REI!!” 

Galaxia’s beam didn’t hurt as much as hearing you scream. That’s when I knew it was real, that we’d lost, that I was going to die, and I had to leave you with a bunch of idiots, children, and lesbians. I don’t regret fighting for you. I don’t regret what I had to give up. I don’t regret getting in the way of her killing you. 

I don’t regret loving you.

I do regret that the Sailor Starlights just stood there, because if one of them had protected you, I could have got a shot off. I could have pierced her straight in the eye and this whole thing would have been over, I just didn’t have a chance to get there. I had to save you, because that’s my job. It’s my job, but MIchiru was right too, and I can say that now because I never have to say it to her: It’s what I want to do, too. 

One of those irritating assholes just asked why we did this for them. I can’t tell them apart. 

It’s a good question, and one I’d ask, if I could yell, if I could even speak. Why would any of the rest of the Senshi step in front of them? We have to take care of you, that’s what we’re meant to do, and how am I supposed to die knowing that you won’t have any of us? Who am I supposed to trust with you, Usagi? Who can take care of you the way I can? Am I supposed to believe these people who couldn’t protect their planet, their princess, can take care of you? 

“No way” says one of them, and I know she must be agreeing with me. 

Even if they were brave, even if they were strong, even if they were clever…they don’t know you. They don’t know how to make you smile, how to badger you into doing all the things you need to do to take care of yourself, when to push you and when to comfort you. They don’t know any of that, no one does but me, but I’m here, dying, because they couldn’t step up. 

And because I’ll always step up for you, Usagi. 

You held me, and you said my name, and I wanted to tell you to go, and to run, but I couldn’t. Because I didn’t want to do that either. I have to leave you with this mess, with all these messy people, but I can still say goodbye. 

Here we are, at goodbye, and I don’t want to do it. 

Maybe, if I try hard enough, if you just hold onto me, I can stay. Just for a little while. I’ll try, Usagi, I’ll try with everything I’ve got. For you. I don’t care if it hurts. I don’t care if it’s hard. You need me. And that’s enough. 

It takes so much just to lift my hand to your head. But you need it. You tell me you don’t want to be alone, and I’m trying Usagi, I’m trying to stay, but I can feel my body breaking apart, and I keep screaming at it to stay together, because you need me, because they can’t help you. 

It’s not listening. I’m dying. 

I am so, so angry. 

You need to be pushed, Usagi. You need to be brave, you need to take whatever’s left of me when all this is done and pull it into you. Then I’ll always be with you. Then you won’t cry. Then you’ll be brave, and you’ll be fierce. You’ll win, Usagi, just take my fire into you and don’t give up. 

“Pull yourself together, Usagi.” 

It’s all I can handle, and it comes hard enough. I hope it sounds as annoyed as I mean it to. Things are like they always were Usagi, I’m getting on your case again. 

“I can’t, Rei.” You’re sobbing, and I feel terrible, but what can I say to you? How can I fix this, how can I protect you? “We promised to be together forever, but you’re leaving! You’re so mean, Rei!” 

See? Things are like they always were. Everything’s okay. I’m telling you to get your shit together, you’re telling me I’m mean. May as well be sitting at the shrine doing homework, or at the arcade, or at one of Michiru’s fancy parties. 

Michiru. God, I hate that she’s become my best option, but if anyone can outsmart Galaxia, it’s not these goofs in hot pants, and if Haruka’s life is on the line she just might do anything. And it just might be enough. 

“You still have Michiru, right?” A jolt of pain goes through my body, and I can’t hide it, and Usagi cries again. Toughen up, Rei. It doesn’t hurt so much. Usagi doesn’t need to know. “She’ll–” 

I can’t. This isn’t how I want to waste my breath, now. 

“I’m sorry, Usagi,” I want it to sound strong, but it doesn’t, not at all, and I’m angry at myself, and at least for one perfect moment, that anger can cover the pain. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.” 

It’s not what I was going to say, but it’s the truest thing I know. I’m supposed to protect you. It’s my job. It’s my pleasure. It’s everything I understand. How could I leave you? Here? Like this? I feel like I’m betraying you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. 

It’s all I can say, but I can still hear you, Usagi. That’s the worst part, is my body is breaking apart like a log on the fire, and I’m popping and drifting apart, but I can still hear you from somewhere in my soul. 

“Rei?? Rei! REI!!!!” 

I don’t know how I see, but I do. I do, Usagi. I see you look up at the sparks of everything I used to be, and I hear you yell up at them.

“I love you, Rei! I love you!!!” 

I love you, Usagi. I just remembered I didn’t say that. You’ll have to know it, in every spark, every glimmer you see out of the corner of your eye, every bit of me you manage to carry on. 

I love you. I love you. I love you. 

Goodbye.

[l0vegl0wsinthedark]

Harry was up before dawn.

By the time first light touched the horizon he had a large fry-up keeping warm in the oven and a vat of butter softening on the counter, Padfoot drooling sadly by his feet. The grocer's would owl a fresh loaf of Draco's preferred wheat bread sometime before they sat to eat.

He showered and dressed with care, attacking his hair with a wet comb like Mrs. Weasley used to. He couldn't remember any of the spells Draco had taught him.

He was putting on his boots when Padfoot wandered into the bedroom, slowly ambling around the bed and picking up the stuffed Niffler that Hermione had crocheted for him, before blinking sombrely at Harry.

Harry smiled. "Are you excited, Pads?"

The dog blinked and slowly lowered onto his haunches.

"He's going to pretend to be offended by you but I promise he will love you more than I do."

Padfoot sighed and rested his snout on the Niffler.

"'Smelly old stray', he'll probably call you." Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Ponce."

He stood and looked around the room; after a moment he drew his wand and flicked it at the bed, stripping it. Then he fetched fresh sheets and made the bed by hand, like Draco always used to.

"See how there are no wrinkles here on the corners? Say what you will but magic always leaves wrinkles," Draco would say. Then he'd sigh. "Unless you're a house elf. Everything you do is impeccable when you're a house elf."

Harry shot some freshening charms at the curtains and just as he was turning away he spotted Ron and Hermione's owl flapping towards the house in the dim golden light.

Harry untied the large cloth bag the owl carried. "Hi, Rufus. Treats are in the kitchen."

Padfoot growled at the owl but didn't go after him, sighing tiredly instead.

Harry smiled as he pulled out a bunch of gorgeous fresh white lilies tied together with a red ribbon.

"Typical Gryffindors," Draco might say.

Ron and Hermione had sent him a gift each. Ron's scribble on his card was barely legible, as usual, and Hermione's said, "Happy birthday, Harry! I hope today goes according to plan. Have a smashing day! Love, Hermione."

Harry smiled and put the flowers in a vase on Draco's bedside table. He left the presents unwrapped. There would be more. Draco loved watching him unwrap others' presents so he could criticise them.

He checked his watch. It was time.

He pulled on his jacket and after a last sweep of the house, deemed it in order.

"Be back in a bit, old boy," he said softly, rubbing Padfoot's head. The mutt pushed himself up and followed Harry to the front door on his shaky, arthritic legs. "Look cute when we get home," Harry reminded him.

He Apparated.

He was instantly chilled to the bone. The island was pitch black, like the early dawn light couldn't touch it quite yet. Harry's breath fogged in front of his face. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Harry trudged quickly to the iron gates.

He spent twenty minutes filling out paper work under a single flickering light bulb. The groans of distress and the jangle of keys made him feel queasy. The wizard at the front desk, white and pinched looking, watched him with a mixture of fear and awe.

At last the papers he signed glowed gold and vanished. The wizard behind the desk nodded and then trotted away, disappearing into the gloom of the place.

Harry waited, his stomach aching with knots. It was even colder inside, somehow. Harry just wanted one single glimpse of him because he knew that would drive away every last trace of the cold.

Pacing restlessly to the single window, he looked out into the still grey morning. There were unmarked graves in the backyard. In the distance, a single line of brilliant silver-gold gleamed - the sun was on the very brink of showing itself; any moment now, there would be light.

There was a rattle and a crash of iron doors. Harry whirled around.

The front desk wizard hurried back to his station and behind him, two burly guards supported a heavily bundled third person. Harry hovered behind the yellow line on the floor marked "Visitors Stop Here". He was about to throw up. He was about to cry. He was about to whoop like a banshee and wake up the whole building.

At the last second, he lost patience, leaping over the line and grabbing the third, smaller figure between the two guards, one of whom growled.

Harry met his gaze calmly. The guard actually stumbled back a step.

The bundle in Harry's arms quivered. The layers around him, Harry recognised; it was the dark green cloak he'd picked up for Draco in Albania while on a mission.

"It's me," Harry whispered. "It's me, love. We're going home."

Harry slapped off the hand that the remaining guard had foolishly left on. Then he half-carried Draco outside.

"I've made us breakfast. I cleaned the house. The whole fucking house, Draco. You owe me. And I have a surprise for you. You'll hate him at first. He smells a bit. But he's so loving. So loyal, Draco. You're going to be buying him things soon enough. He's actually really cute."

The iron gates clanged shut behind them and Harry exhaled with a whoosh; a seven year old whoosh of air.

At that moment the sun cleared the top of the craggy mountain in the distance and the light dazzled Harry's babbling right out of him. So bright was the light that the pale hair under his nose gleamed Patronus-silver.

There was a heart beating frantically against his own. A pair of bony hands clutched at his jacket. Warm, shaky breaths danced across the side of Harry's neck. For a few seconds, it was as if Azkaban, in its entirety, simply did not exist.

Then, in a hoarse, barely audible whisper: "Happy birthday, Harry."

*

[kaerichan-yatta]

Can't stop what's inside (Part 1)

(Solomon, Angels & Kaeri)

Summary: As demons can barely feel the result of Solomon's last experiment, he himself asks Kaeri to be the subject to test it, but things seem to take a different turn.

Enjoy!

"I just apologize if this could be a waste of time for you"

Kaeri shook her head. "It doesn't matter, Solomon. I'd be honored anyways just to be the subject to your new experiment"

Solomon smiled. "You're too kind. Here it is" he handed her a vial containing a strange clear liquid. It looked like ordinary water.

"It's colorless," Kaeri observed "but it's interesting. What would my side effects be?"

Solomon blushed slightly with embarrassment at what he was about to say. "I have no idea, but it shouldn't be anything dangerous or painful"

He was basically about to give a totally unknown potion, a mixture of liquids and powders, with completely unknown effects, to Kaeri.

He only knew that if it turned her skin all blue, or all purple, or invisible, he wouldn't forgive himself easily.

"I'll drink it anyway" she smiled sweetly. She uncorked the vial and drank it all as required.

The tip of her tongue pinched at the immediate contact with the poison, an annoying tingle spread through her throat.

"I-it kinda burns"

Solomon worried. "It burns?"

As Kaeri was about to answer, a strange sensation began to rise up her body. Like chills, but more tingling-like.

"W-what's going on-" she started squirming on the spot.

"How does it feel like, exactly?"

"Ah! Nohoho!" Kaeri squirmed more, falling backwards. Solomon grabbed her hips before the fall.

"Ah- gehehet your hahahands off! It tihihihickles!"

Solomon was too busy noticing what he had done that involuntarily squeezed Kaeri' sides in his hands.

"AHAHAH- NOHOHO!"

"Ah! Sorry!"

"What's going on? Solomon, are you-" Simeon stopped.

Solomon laid Kaeri on the bed, rubbing his forehead. "My latest experiment turned out it was a potion that increased the subject's ticklishness based on how much they drank. To try it, you had to drink it all. So Kaeri 'sensitivity now increased about tenfold"

"T-tehehenfold?!"

"So much so that even her clothes are tickling her now"

"How can we put an end to this?"

"The only thing I know is that the potion's effect lasts 12 hour. It's the only sure thing"

A light bulb went off in Luke's head. He walked over to the bed and sat down on her. "Maybe I know the solution"

"What could it be, Luke?"

The young angel smiled brightly. He began to tickle Kaeri's upper body wherever his fast fingers could reach.

"Wait, what are you doing?"

Kaeri shrieked. She tightened her arms on either side of her ribs and squirmed under Luke.

"I'm tickling her. The more tickles she gets, the easier the potion's effect will be to endure!"

Kaeri, however, knew what was going to happen. The news would have spread, and each of the demon brothers would want to test this thing out, for sure. 12 hours of tickling would have been impossible for someone like her. Still, if Luke's theory was right, she'd have accepted.

"Wait then, let me help" Simeon took her ankle and raised it up.

"NOHOHO! NOT THEHEHERE!"

Simeon had snuck his fingers under her knee, a sweet spot that apparently only Simeon himself knew. He scribbled with vigor, making sure not to miss a single inch of the spot.

"AHAHAHAH! WAHAHAHAIT, SLOHOHOW DOWN!"

"Luke, ease up" Simeon slowly stopped.

Kaeri was still giggling nonstop from the potion anyway, but her fear now was that someone out there could have heard the screams and the loud laughter, someone like the 7 brothers...

to be continued...

[sp00kworm]

Silence (Part 1)

Part 2 - Revenant’s Ending

Part 3 - Bloodhound’s Ending

---

Pairings: Revenant x Reader, Bloodhound x Reader

Warnings: Mild Violence, Threat and Alcohol Consumption

---

Working for a living. How you hated it. Well, it wasn’t as bad as it could be since you owned your own business. The city was quiet this time of night, but the bar was the total opposite. You smiled pleasantly as you served a group of women with cocktails. They were higher class, flashing their credits like it was pocket change. You turned the money into the till before turning back to the task at hand, inventory of the alcohol. Quite a few of the bottles needed replacing and you pulled out your notepad to quickly scribble down the brands of each. The bustle continued behind you as the party of women jeered and giggled in the corner, fluttering their eyelashes at a new group of men that entered the bar. They whistled and rushed over to the bar for their drinks.

“Hey there! A round of beers!” The tallest man jeered at you, laughing as one of his companions rushed over to the group of women.

“Coming up.” You snapped your notebook and pencil onto the bar as you turned to grab the glasses from under the wood, holding them between your fingers before you started pulling the drinks. You watched the men saunter away, leaving two to collect the drinks. You stacked the pints in a line on the bar. They paid you with transfer before joining the women in the corner.

 “Rough night?” You jumped as you picked you notepad up, the pencil in your grasp dropping from your fingers as you peered to your left. There was a rogue looking man sat to your left, playing with a coin, running it over his fingers

“You could say that again.” With a small sigh you picked up your pencil, “It’s been insanely busy.” You turned back to note the last few bottles of liquor you needed for restocking. There was an expensive whiskey which you weren’t sure you had in the back.

“Let’s see how much rowdier it gets with those lot around.” The man jabbed his thumb towards the group before looking at the door, grinning over the top of the whiskey you had poured him. The rogue grinned and you looked over to the door in confusion as the lights flickered.

“Maybe there’s another storm...” You muttered as the lights flickered again before the power shorted and everyone was plunged into darkness. Silence.

 The shocked murmurs of the patrons quickly turned into upset hysterics from the women in the bar. The men seemed concerned as they continued to drink. All eyes turned on you as the lights remained out for longer than normal. Power surges were normal in this neighbourhood’s the amount of electricity that was used in the robotics plant nearby. It was a job creator but the community sometimes suffered for the privilege of the engineering potential. You looked up at the lights and looked at the bulbs just before a whirring sounded. Black and orange energy crept from the screw fittings of the bulbs, crackling and whirring with unholy noise.

“I guess this is my last stand.” The rogue man stood and flipped the coin in his hand before looking at the result under his palm. He hissed in upset, “Tails. Maybe I lose.” There was a rush of power again before two orange lights appeared outside the glass panelling of the door. The patrons screamed as claws raked over the glass, making a shrill screeching noise as they connected with the metal second.

 The metal crunched before a heavy metal foot connected with the hinges, slamming the door open to reveal a titanium covered robot. Then the panic started. Men and woman rushed for the back entrance, streaming past you and the bar, ducking low when the rogue man revealed a Wingman Pistol. He spun the pistol over his hand and snapped the ammo into place as the monstrous robot hunched and climbed into the door frame. You ducked under the bar but peered over the edge as pistons clunked and the creature ducked low. It was then that it clicked. Hammond Robotics’ symbol was stamped onto one of the fingerless leather gloves. You covered your mouth and ducked again as the Simulacrum hummed, orange optics roving over the bar to find the rogue man with his pistol drawn.

“Finally.” The Simulacrum purred darkly, “Another robotics lab-rat for my list.” His hand span into a sharp point before whirring again to reveal claws, “Scream for me, skinsuit. I’ll make it hurt enough for the both of us to enjoy.”

 A gunshot made you cringe under the bar, clutching at your head as you listened to the Wingman thunder with shots. They slammed into the walls with cracks and you heard the sound of the Simulacrum’s pistons slamming before he cackled, and his limbs twisted backwards. You looked up as his robotic body slammed into the ceiling, claws and knives slamming into the plaster and metal as he walked over your head, dodging bullets as his arms snaked and rippled in their sockets. His orange eyes peered downwards. You were caught like a rabbit in a predator’s gaze, looking back into the fiery depths as his head tilted, the orange spinning with a swirl of black as he watched you shiver and huddle further back under the bar.

“Duck, skinsuit.” The robot purred as the rogue jumped over the bar and you slid back to avoid having your hands stood on.

“Get back here you fucking monster!” The man howled, “You’re just another failed experiment!”

“Oh? A failure, am I?” The Simulacrum hummed as he detached from the ceiling, his hand spinning into a spear like appendage as he launched himself downwards with a grunt.

 The robot crashed into the floor with a great clatter and you peered up at him, crouched before you, trying to gauge whether you were going to be collateral damage as his head span, the red scarf wrapped around his head and neck fluttering as he pushed off and rushed at the rogue.

“I’m the monster? I killed for your disgusting little customers for three hundred years!” He jeered as his hands sliced towards the man, bullets pinging off the plating covering his shoulders and face. One slammed near his eye socket, leaving a dirty black streak over his bone white faceplate.

“You’re killing for fun now. Your programming isn’t…” The Wingman clicked. Empty. The Simulacrum chuckled, his hand spinning as he dashed forwards again and sliced at the man’s guts. A pained cry rang against the walls and you dared to look to your left as the Simulacrum hoisted the rogue by his neck, claws trailing down the soft skin before he dug them into the cheeks, humming before he started to tear away chunks of skin.

 “Scream for me then. Make this fun, skinsack.” He peeled away a nice chunk of skin and laughed lowly as he dragged the man across the bar, sending pint glasses flying as his legs thrashed in the air. Beer soaked the bar top as he smashed him against the levers, but the Simulacrum seemed indifference to the stench as his clawed fingers wrapped tight around the man’s throat. The rogue gave a strangled cry as he dropped his weapon and pried at the robot’s fingers in a futile attempt to be free.

“Fuck…you…” He cursed at the Simulacrum, “And fuck…that code…” He choked out as his lips went blue and his eyes ringed with red from lack of oxygen.

“Tell me where it is.” The Simulacrum demanded as his other hand’s fingers formed a sharp spear, linked together in a shining point of titanium.

“Fuck you.” The man spat a wad of spit at the Simulacrum’s faceplate. The robotic man didn’t flinch, but his orange burning eyes flicked to the saliva on his cheek before he growled and slammed the point of his fingers into the other’s gut, humming joyfully as blood poured down his arm.

 “What have we here?” The Simulacrum let go of his neck to rummage in his pocket, revealing an access card to the building labelled with the lab he was allowed into. The robotic man scoffed, “You’re barely even a coder but you have sensitive information access…Access to the source.” He hummed and slid the card into a compartment under his scarves, “Ooo.” He cooed, “Is that your spleen?” He questioned. His arm whirred as he squeezed the rogue’s organs. A scream bounced off the walls and you huddled back under the bar, covering your ears until eventually, the noises stopped, and a dead body slumped against the bar top. Silence. You breathed quietly, shaking under the counter before you swallowed and dared to crawl out from underneath the wood. Peering around, you peeked over the bar and tried to ignore the body slumped against the back of the bar beside you, dead eyes looking past you at the liquor cabinet.

“Boo.” The Simulacrum dropped from the ceiling with a snap and hiss of his legs, his weight thudding to the ground as he towered over you, orange gaze burning and spinning before the optics flickered to bright whole light again.

 You jumped, grabbing for a glass before he snatched it from your grip and slammed it back down on the bar top.

“Ah, ah, ah, skinsuit.” He waved a sharp finger in front of you, “Not a word. Shh.” The claw tapped your mouth, “Listen to me and listen quick.” He grunted at you, his fingers flaring threateningly under your chin, pointed at your jugular, “You don’t say a word about this to anyone. You didn’t see anything.” He tapped the sharp titanium against your chin once, “Not a soul.”

You swallowed against the sharp edges and nodded once.

“Good.” The Simulacrum looked at the bar and snatched the expensive whiskey the man had been drinking, his skeletal like nose sniffing at the contents before he hummed and opened his mouth. The inside was dark, but copper plating shined inside before he snapped it closed again like a trap. The whiskey disappeared, and there was no noise of liquid dripping onto the floor. The Simulacrum’s mouth remained closed as he spoke, “Good taste.” There wasn’t another word as his arms whirred and the pistons in his legs readjusted before he walked to the hole where the front door had once hung on its hinges, “Thanks for the drink.” And he was gone, past the giant glass windows and into the night, leaving you with a bleeding body as the police entered the bar.

 It took far too long for the Apex Games to reimburse you for the damages. There was though, after about a weeks delay, a fat cheque left in your post-box for you to collect. It was perhaps far more than the bar was worth, but you knew it was hush money.  Keep quiet or they take everything. That was the threat. A threat because they couldn’t keep their murderous toys under control with the money, slaughter and fame of the Apex Games alone. Revenant. You had learned his name when you watched a match, watching the Simulacrum hiss and spit at the drone cameras when they got too close. It was a slaughter until the other team found the death totem, then the entire match was won by a curious line-up of Bloodhound, Lifeline and Gibraltar. He deserved the electrocution from Lifeline’s drone you decided as you turned on the Holoscreen in the bar for one of your regulars. You had access to the sport channels with the new ariel you’d had installed, and it kept a lot of older patrons coming back weekly for the matches. Softly, you whistled as you pulled another pint and handed it to an older looking worker. He was sooty and probably had spent the day mining ore in the distant mountain. You smiled, took his money and thanked him before continuing with the rounds down the bar, not noticing as it got later and closer to closing.

 “Nice bar, skinsuit.” A robotic voice jeered before a bar stool creaked noisily under a heavy weight. You sucked in a breath as you looked into the corner of the bar, meeting orange optics as the Simulacrum seemed to sneer, “Made use of the money I see by upgrading. Nicer décor now. Much more…” He rotated a hand, “Swish, or whatever.” He didn’t seem to really care as he grunted in a poor attempt at appreciation.

With a scowl, you reached to snatch away another customer’s drink from his prying fingers, “Revenant. I learned about you and your escapades after you slaughtered a man in my bar.” You crossed your arms over your chest and looked at his chassis, “You have guts showing your face here again.”

The few patrons left ignored your anger and the confrontation that was about to occur, looking down at their drinks and ducking their heads low as the Simulacrum turned his gaze to the crowd.

 No one stood in your defence. Revenant's orange burning eyes span with processing before his metal fingers rapped against the bar in two swift pounds. He shifted back in his seat and then looked over at your liquor cabinet.

“What about if I buy a drink?” Revenant grumbled, his eyes moving over your hands as you reached for a tumbler on reflex. You slammed it against the bar a little too harshly and gave him a smile as you gestured to the liquors behind you.

“We have a new Cognac. Or would you prefer something more bitter?” You snarked as the Simulacrum hummed, once again indifferent to your attitude as he leaned around you to look at the liquors.

“Whiskey then. That one I had last time wasn’t strong enough.” Revenant complained with a snort as he reached into a pouch on his hip and flashed his wallet of chips from his winnings. Loaded was an understatement. He placed one chip out worth a thousand and hummed again.

“Yeah. That’ll pay for it.” You pulled a heavy, expensive bottle of liquor down, a malt whiskey and offered him the bottle after pouring him a shot.

 Burning orange eyes followed your hands under the bar as you reached for the ice bucket, “Don’t bother with ice.” Revenant rumbled as he rotated his hand backwards, wiggled his fingers, then rotated it back the other way, ignoring you as you slammed the cover back onto the ice cooler a little too harshly.

Your eyes turned away from him as you went back to serve another customer, “The bottle is yours by the way, bot. Try not to get too drunk before closing.”

“Pah!” Revenant scoffed as he reached for the tumbler and swirled the dark fluid inside, “If you think I can get drunk I might have to disappoint you, skinbag.” He snarled before he poured a small amount of liquor into his mouth, snapping it shut as he ran the fluid around over the sensors.

You watched him before raising your voice, “Do you even need to drink or eat? You don’t piss fluid out of your chasis so I assume you can but…”

“I can. So, I do. Just fluids.” Revenant replied shortly, his fingers moving to tuck his scarf back over his shoulder, “If you’re gonna ask if there’s any point. There isn’t. Its…a sentiment.” He hissed, seemingly disgusted with himself before he grunted against and finished the whiskey before pouring himself another one and knocking that back as well.

 You ignored him for an hour as the regulars called for their final drinks before paying and packing up to leave with lingering stares at the Simulacrum in the corner with his feet up on another stool and his arms stretching and bending at odd angles as he played with the Silencing orb. The orange and black orb crackled with energy as he threw it up and caught it between two fingers, pointing it threateningly at another patron who looked at him too long.

“Move it skinsuit.” Revenant rumbled as a man with a robotic arm lingered behind him, “This’ll get messy otherwise and I love a good mess on my hands. His fingers pointed into a sharp spear as the ball of crackling energy snapped back into the launcher. The man snorted but took his drink, drank the last dregs before leaving, leaving the bar in silence with just you and the Simulacrum perched in the corner of the bar.

 The towel was damp with beer as you wiped the side down before throwing it into the basket for washing and taking out the disinfectant spray. You sprayed down the side and made sure to catch Revenants arm in the mist.

“Watch it, skinsuit.” He grunted as he snatched his drink from the chemicals and poured the rest into himself. The bottle was still on the bar, and he took hold of that and leaned back to let you wipe down the side in front of him.

“You’re really not taking my hint, huh?” You grumbled, “Revenant, its closing time, and unlike you robots, I really do need to sleep.”

“Pah.” Revenant huffed, “I paid for this.” He held up the bottle, “So I’m going to finish it, in peace.”

You opened your mouth to protest just as the front door opened again and a heavily clothed individual stepped inside. They were strapped in belts and pouches and thick leather with heavy furs, their face covered with a pair of goggles and a full respirator. The respirator whooshed with air as they politely closed the door behind them, turning their orange goggled gaze to the edge of the bar as they tilted their head to peer around.

 “Oh goodie. They sent the lap dog.” Revenant sneered at the other person, his orange gaze dropping to find the tube of the ventilator to pull if he needed a quick escape.

“You were not exactly hard to track. Your tracks are very ...distinguishable.” A heavy Scandinavian accent was muffled through the respirator, “They want you back before the morn’. We have interviews.” They continued, ignoring you in favour of sizing up the Simulacrum.

“And what, ‘Hound? You gonna drag me home kicking and screaming?” Revenant took hold of the ball of energy, the silence threat hanging over his supposed foe.

“Yes.” The other hummed as they reached for a knife on their belt, “I will drag you back, silent, with both your arms and legs removed, bot.”

“Sure.” Revenant purred, “I’ll look forward to gutting you really slow in the next match, skinsuit dog.” His claws slammed at the bar.

 “If you’re going to gut each other, do it outside!” You shouted between the two of them. The newcomer appeared startled as you slammed the bar door up and then back down. Revenant’s optics squinted in glee as you stood between them both, “I want no more bloodshed in my bar!”

The newcomer lowered their head, “I apologise. I am Blóðhundr, you can call me Bloodhound."

Your eyes widened, “Another Legend. Wow. Its an honour to meet you. You’re the three times champion, right?”

Bloodhound nodded their head, “That I am. I am sorry for the intrusion, but I have been sent to collect a rogue maniac.” They sounded smug behind the mask.

“A maniac. That’s got a nice ring to it.” Revenant took another glug from the bottle.

“Are you inebriated, bot? You embarrass yourself.” Bloodhound snapped as they drew their knife and pointed it at Revenant, “I am sure the bartender has had enough of you.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” You rolled your eyes.

“Careful, skinsack, maybe I’ll take more than just this bottle, hm?” The Simulacrum purred, “I can think of a few things I would like more…Maybe your guts as a necklace.”

“Quiet.” Bloodhound snapped, “We go.” They pointed the knife to the door, “Now.”

 You looked between them both and took a step back, “Look. Its closing time and I want to sleep. So, again, can you please take this outside. Its cool having celebrities in here, but I don’t need another insurance claim and hush money on my hands.”

Bloodhound tilted their head, “Hush money?” Their goggles looked over at Revenant, “This was your doing then. Slátra in the ring was not enough?” They sounded simply disappointed, “You never fail to give into your programming like some primitive tool.” The insult was sharp but muffled through their respirator.

“Watch it, dog, you’re still a squishy skinbag like the rest of them.” Revenant threatened as he stood up, the bottle in hand as he walked around the bar and loomed over Bloodhound, his clawed hands held up in front of their goggles and respirators. He flicked a bead on their hat before he looked back at you with burning orange eyes, “See you around, bartender.” Revenant hummed as he headed back towards the door, tucking his scarf over the bottom of his face.

Bloodhound snapped their hunting knife back into their sheath on their chest before nodding at you and placing a hand over their heart, “I apologise for the intrusion. Pray, have a good night.”

“Thanks for clearing him out for me, Bloodhound. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.” You smiled as well as you could as you scooped up Revenant’s used glass, “Be safe. He’s… something.”

“Something is perhaps kind.” Bloodhound tipped their hat before they followed Revenant out of the door.

 A call of a Raven followed them as the door closed and you were left in peace.

 The next game was broadcast over a week later, and you tuned the holoscreen in as a crowd gathered in the bar to watch. The drones were following the last two teams, and it seemed that Revenant and Bloodhound were working together, with Caustic as their third. Gibraltar, Octane and Lifeline were the other squad left alive, hunkered down on the high ground with Gibraltar’s shield stopping the bullets from Bloodhound’s Kraber. It was setting out to be a long and slow final match though Revenant and Bloodhound possessed more rushing capabilities. Caustic was the first to move before Revenant followed, leaving his totem in the guard of Bloodhound as they continued to rain deadly shots against Gibraltar’s defences. Bloodhound span in time for a scan to see Octane moving against them, and they turned with a quick shot, downing Octane with a precise headshot as he spat profanities at them. Lifeline was too far for a resurrection and so Octane was eliminated.

“There are two left, félagi fighters, fight strong.” Bloodhound’s voice sounded over the sound system.

 “Great. One less to make a mess with.” Revenant huffed as the drone switch perspective and the cameras watched Revenant storm the shield up high as Caustic laid his gas out below. The Simulacrum slid into the shield and hailed bullets into Gibraltar before leaving a grenade inside and sliding from the roof into the room below.

“Toxic traps in position.” Caustic mused before he snorted, “Lifeline has Gibraltar back up, they haven’t taken the bait.”

“Urgh.” Revenant howled as he was sent back to the totem where Bloodhound was laid on the roof, “Back at the Totem! Caustic, move!”

“Lovely.” Caustic cursed but dropped a gas cloud as he headed towards Bloodhound.

Bloodhound made no noise as they took a shot and watched Lifeline go down, “Move! They are weak.” The other two turned heel to finish the match and the crowd jeered as they won the title of champions.

 You couldn’t help but wonder if it would have gone differently if Bloodhound was on the other side.

 “Artur, you cannot come in, you know this.” Bloodhound said from the door, their voice hushed as they held their arm outside, “Come now, do not cause me any more problems.” They cooed softly.

“Bloodhound?” You asked gently, “You’re here late?” You questioned as their goggles looked at you, “Who is Artur?”

Bloodhound carefully pulled their arm inside and showed you the Raven. It was perched on his arm and squawked curiously as its beady black eye analysed you, “Artur is my companion and friend.” Bloodhound stroked their finger over the soft feathers of the Raven’s chest, “Do you allow animals in. I’m afraid he does not want to stay outdoors…I believe he can smell the rain.”

“Sure…so long as he doesn’t shit on my floor, he can come in.” You smiled as Bloodhound ducked inside, the beads on their hat clicking as they entered and headed towards the bar with graceful long strides.

“I came to apologise for Revenant’s behaviour. The Simulacrum knows nothing else than the slátra… ah that is… he only knows killing.” Bloodhound sat and let Artur rest on their shoulder, “I know he left a mess, and you were paid for it out of his winnings. I hope that brings you some joy.”

 The tracker shifted in their seat as Artur hopped from their shoulder, over the heavy material and leather on their arms before the Raven jumped along the bar, squawking curiously into an empty pint glass.

You watched the bird before smiling and collecting the rest of the glasses from the top, “It felt like a kick in the teeth. No one cared about me, just that I kept quiet about it.” You shrugged your shoulders, “Hey, at least Revenant likes what I did with the place now, huh?” It was a sour joke.

Bloodhound looked at you curiously before their goggles shifted a little with their head, looking at the drinks and liquor behind you, “What he thinks is of little importance.” They stated before a gloved hand pointed at the drinks, “Do you have Brennivín? It is not common.”

Shocked, you stumbled for a moment before turning back to the cabinet. You hadn’t heard of the drink until a rogue group of Outlanders came through some years ago, “Brennivín…” You hummed before you snatched the clear liquid from the shelf, holding up the harsh green label for Bloodhound to see, “It’s a dill flavoured drink, right?”

 “Ah. It has been some time since I have seen it.” Bloodhound happily took the bottle from you with careful hands, spinning the glass bottle to look at the back with a small huffy laugh, “The Black Death.” They purred, seemingly happy before they passed it back, “May I have some? A chilled glass will be sufficient. It is best chilled in the snow outside, but we are far from the snow here.”

“I didn’t think you would ah…want a drink.” You confessed as you took an iced glass from the fridge and turned it up on the bar before pouring a generous shot. Bloodhound reached for their pouch, but you held up your hand, “Its on me. Think of it as a thank you for dealing with Revenant.” You smiled and Bloodhound nodded before holding the drink close.

They made no move to drink.

“Wait how are you going to…” You trailed off as they span their finger around in a silent command for you to turn around. You turned around awkwardly in embarrassment and waited, the urge to peer back strong as the respirator hissed with air and they coughed quietly.

“You may turn around.” Bloodhound’s voice was infinitely softer without the mask and you smiled at the exposed mouth and chin.

 They were pale and scarred with faint, harsh lines over the lower half of their face, but they gave a half smirk at your look before taking a careful sip of the alcohol.

Bloodhound gave a small hiss before they shook their head and chuckled again, “That is strong. Good.” They gestured to their chest, “Heart-warming.”

“Heart-warming is one word for it.” You held up the label again, “It’s sixty percent proof. I think I got it off some weird Outlands dealer.” With a shrug you placed the bottle back into the cabinet.

Bloodhound took another burning sip and looked at Artur as the Raven hopped back towards him from the glass, he had been entertaining himself with, “Artur. Do you want one too?” The tracker teased, “Can Artur have some water. We have travelled quite far.”

“Oh, sure.” You turned and then whipped back around, “Can he drink out of a bowl?”

“A bowl will be fine, but he may throw water all over your bar.” Bloodhound nodded as you filled a shallow bowl and leaned back as Artur hopped over, dunking his beak into the water to have a drink before he shook side to side and cawed loudly. Bloodhound offered the bird their arm and watched Artur walk back up their arm before taking another sip of Brennivín.

 A comfortable silence covered the both of you as you worked through your clean up routine in the empty bar, putting the empty glasses into the back room to be cleaned by the steamer bot you had installed. The robot chugged to life happily, almost like a MRVIN, before setting to work putting glasses into its stomach for washing before organising the others into stacks for the second cycle.

Bloodhound was sat with their respirator back on when you returned, stroking Artur’s soft black feathers underneath the bird’s chin. Artur cooed happily before jumping back to Bloodhound’s shoulder and regarding you with one beady black eye.

“Thank you for the drink.” Their voice was muffled and lower through the respirator once again.

“You’re welcome.” You uttered as they stood.

Bloodhound adjusted their hat before looking around again, taking in the bar one last time before they headed to the door, “Farewell, krúttið mitt.”

Before you could ask them what exactly it meant they were gone, the metal door closing with a thump behind them. You followed to the door and clicked the old school and new technology lock into place, making sure that the door didn’t open before you turned the lights off and went to check in on your dishwashing companion, curious as to just why an Apex Legend had taken it upon themselves to come and check on you.

 You watched the games for the coming weeks of the season with an interest in the two Legends that had entered your bar. Revenant and Bloodhound were machines on the field, but often grew too invested in their own kills, which lead to their failure. Bloodhound was less likely to be so focused on one person, but recently with Revenant’s goading, they were easily thrown off in favour of hunting one team for an entire match. Neither of them had a solid win for the rest of the season, they were mostly luck wins where they downed injured teams. You wondered what was wrong with them but tried not to pay much attention as your regular life settled back into place. The bar was busy on match days, and you laughed as new customers became regulars, and learned who liked what drink along with which Legend they loved as well.

“Who are you rooting for today?” Kennedy asked as he sipped his beer, “Your preference for that bot is slightly disturbing.” He laughed.

“Bloodhound is up with Mirage and Wattson today.” You hummed, “Revenant is with Octane and Lifeline. I think Bloodhound has the better option.” You laughed before the games started, wondering just who you should really be rooting for.

[chipper9906]

Love Is...

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie 

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 12,016

Status: One Shot - Complete

Summary: 

He could barely see a thing past the rain pounding down on him, soaking every inch of his clothes in as little as a second. The howling wind around him seemed to bite into his skin, the raindrops feeling like small blades as they shot down against his body.

And yet, somehow, he knew. The moment he stepped into this place, the moment he felt the rain atop his skin, he knew.

He had been here before.

* * *

A continuation fic set after the events of the Season 1 Finale. Filled with plenty of angst and comfort, because apparently, I enjoy writing about pain - so long as that pain is eventually healed.

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Perhaps, in another time, another him, he would have told the story of this moment differently. He would say that he stared upon that looming statue, the impassive stone face of ‘He Who Remains’, and he did not tremble. He looked into the face of the man he knew he was to take down, and he got to work.

But he’d be lying if he’d said that. 

He had looked up to that statue in horror. He had stood there, wishing he was looking at the statues of the timekeepers, instead. Because he knew that, the horrors of all that happened before? That was going to be nothing, nothing, compared to what was coming. 

The room he was sat in now was almost familiar. The same type of nearly every interrogation room that the TVA had, but there was something… off about it. Perhaps a slightly different shade of orange compared to the previous TVA’s color scheme. Or… or perhaps the font they used for the number plastered on the wall was different?

What was familiar was the collar locked in place around his neck. ‘Purely for safety purposes’ they had told him as TVA security swarmed him, all but picked him up by his arms, and hauled him off into this room. He had been sat on this hard, uncomfortable chair for… actually, he still wasn’t too sure how time worked in the TVA. All he knew was that it had been too long already. 

It had barely been a moment. The change had happened so fast. Too fast. He had tumbled back through that time door, and… time itself had erupted. Chaos, just as ‘He Who Remains’ had told them it would. And this was just one. One branch of what was going to be infinite - some good, and some very, very bad. But it didn’t even matter if there were good ones. Because ultimately, the bad ones were coming. The bad ones were out there, and this time, they were going to do everything in their power to make sure their timeline came out on top.

And somehow… he had to stop it?

No… No, not just him. 

Perhaps… perhaps he can find a way out of here. Steal a TemPad, perhaps? No, no, that wouldn’t work… There was only one TVA, wasn��t there? So, that meant… Mobius was truly gone. His Mobius, anyway. The one who was going to burn this place to the ground. The one that was going to spread the truth. Now, he was… just another variant. The same Mobius he had first met, who was just trying to do his job. Maybe he could do this all over again, find a way to get Mobius to believe him. 

Or... Or what if there were multiple TVA's now? All those branches were no longer just branches, but entirely new timelines. New universes that would, ultimately, clash with one another. So maybe, somewhere out there, was the true Mobius from his timeline. Perhaps, if he explained everything to them, to this TVA - tried to find a way for them to understand that his timeline was the only one that didn't involve all-out chaos? 

But it seemed unlikely. This was… different. There were no more lies about the TVA in this timeline, it seemed. No timekeepers. Just him. They might already know that ‘He Who Remains’ is in control of everything. And… what exactly is this version of ‘He Who Remains’ like? Was this one that had already planned for eons of chaos? 

Was this TVA already planning for a multiversal war? 

No, perhaps the TVA wasn’t the way to go. He… he needed to go back there. To that place in the void, beyond the end of time. He… he had to go find her. He needed to find Sylvie. 

Simply thinking of her name lodged a hard rock of messy, almost unidentifiable emotions down his throat. Loki’s nails dug into the soft flesh of his palm as he squeezed his hands together atop the cool surface of the table, his eyes scrunched shut as he struggled to get his thoughts back under control. This pain was… new. And horrible. Dull, like a heavyweight pushing down on him, yet simultaneously sharp like a dagger being plunged through his chest. He knew what it felt like to be on the other end now, he supposed. 

It wasn’t fun, to say the least. 

Would she still even be in the citadel? In whatever time had passed, surely she would have… actually, he doesn’t know. Neither had she. The plan she had meticulously crafted her whole life had finished with slaying the one responsible for all her suffering. And now it was done… what else would she do?

‘Maybe… we could figure it out… together?’

‘Maybe…’

Loki shakes his head vigorously, trying to push away the memory that seemed to echo around the room. He had to focus. Sylvie could be…

Oh. Oh, but… this TVA had a new ruler. The one consistent factor among all the branches, was the same TVA. Which surely meant the same place at the end of time. The same citadel. And if that was the case, then…

Would everything have changed within? Would the new variant of ‘He Who Remains’ already be shacked up in his office?

Would Sylvie still be there?

Was she even alive in this timeline?

No. She couldn’t… It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t think like that. She was still out there, somewhere, he knew it. But… but where? If she had grabbed that TemPad, then… then she could be anywhere. There was only one place he could start looking, though. He had to go back to the citadel. 

“You doing any better?”

Loki startles at the familiar voice, looking up from the table he was sat on to the door that had been pushed open. He can’t help the small jolt of hope that rushes through him at the sight of Mobius, but the reality of which Mobius he was looking at quickly drains it away. 

“Happens more often than you’d think,” Mobius tells him with a soft chuckle, stepping into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him. Loki keeps a cautious eye on him as he strides over to the table, sitting down on the orange chair opposite with a tired-sounding grunt. Mobius pulls out the wooden clipboard he had tucked under his arm, placing it down onto the table and tapping his hands against it like a drum. 

“What happens more often than I’d think?” Loki asks, not even trying to hide the miserable tone seeping into his voice. 

“Cracking under pressure,” Mobius picks up the pen tucked neatly away within the clipboards holder. “This is a stressful job. We know of the importance of our work - the fact that you’re going through this now shows just how much you care.”

Loki barely holds back a snort of laughter. He had no idea…

“Can I… get you some water or something?” Mobius offers. “Sorry about doing things all… you know, like this. Treating you like some sort of variant-,”

He can’t help it. The laughter does push out of him this time - though the way none of his smile reaches his eyes definitely puts Mobius on edge. 

“No… No, I wouldn’t like any water,” Loki finally speaks once his short burst of laughter is over. “And to answer your earlier question? No. I am not doing better. In fact, I am quite far from anywhere near okay-,”

“Alright, alright…” Mobius stops his rant, hands held up in defense, as if it would somehow calm Loki down. “That’s why I’m here, okay? We’re gonna figure things out.”

“Figure what out?”

“First of all, it’d be good to know who exactly you are.”

Loki’s brow scrunches in confusion, his eyes flickering between Mobius’s peering stare and the file clipped onto the clipboard. “You’re telling me you haven’t figured it out already?”

“Well, we tried looking you up in our database,” Mobius’s hands go to the insides of his jacket, pulling out the rectangular appliance Loki was all too familiar with by now. “Weird thing, but uh… you didn’t come up on our employee register. Not a thing. Now, I know there’s a lot of us here - partly why I wasn’t too worried when I didn’t recognize you from anywhere. But… there should be some record of you here.”

Loki’s eyes were drawn to the TemPad Mobius still held in his hands. Mobius took notice of the direction of his stare, his eyes narrowing by just the slightest as he safely tucked the TemPad back into his jacket pocket. It was only as his hand went into his pocket, moving the side of his suit away from his body, did Loki catch sight of the pruning stick holstered by his side. 

“How about we start with a name?” Mobius asks. 

He could lie here. Spout out some random name, send Mobius searching for the records once again. It could give him more time, put together at least some semblance of a plan. And yet, on the other hand… There was that urge, that nagging feeling deep down to tell the truth. He still wasn’t sure what the rules of this new reality were exactly. There could be a chance, however small, that the Mobius he knows still exists somewhere within the stranger sat opposite him. Maybe, if he told him his name… Mobius might get that slight tickle of ‘I know this person'. Perhaps even enough for him to go looking for secrets that change his view on the TVA forever. 

It was worth a shot. 

“Loki,” Loki answers, his eyes searching deep into Mobius’s face for any sign of familiarity. “My name is Loki.”

But there’s nothing from Mobius. No light-bulb-over-the-head moment of realization he was hoping for. He simply shakes his head in a nod, before scribbling down his name upon the record sheet in front of him. 

“And it seems you already knew who I was,” Mobius mutters as he finishes writing something down that Loki can’t see from this angle. “Though, not too sure how. I mean, it’s not like…”

Mobius pauses, an almost curious look on his face as he looks at Loki. “…Have we met before? No offense, but I meet a lot of analysts in my work, and… I can’t say I remember us ever meeting.”

Loki gave Mobius a strained smile. “What’s the point? You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, anyway.”

That got Mobius’s attention. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, leaning forward in his chair. “Try me.”

Loki was about to shake his head. Moments away from spouting out some other lie, something to get him out of this mess. But then his eyes are drawn back to the pruning stick he knows is hidden behind Mobius’s suit, and he realizes… there’s only one way this can go. He needs to get back to the citadel, and to do that, he needs to go back to the Void and - somehow - enchant Alioth again. It was a stupid plan, he knew that fully, but there was no other choice. He needed to find Sylvie - and this was the only way to start looking for her. 

Either Mobius believes him, or he prunes him.

Win-Win. 

“We messed it all up,” Loki confesses once more. “The sacred timeline. The original one - the one I’m from. That’s where I was before I was sent here.”

“The original one?”

“Yes. We were… we were trying to set everything free. The timelines, the variants, the TVA, everything. We needed to bring it to an end, bring him to an end, and-,”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait just a second,” Mobius stops him, holding out a hand. “You needed to bring who to an end?”

“Your leader. I believe your strange clock mascot likes to call him ‘He Who Remains.’ But, where I’m from, you all didn’t know he was your leader. He created these androids, three reptilian creatures he called ‘The Time-Keepers’. You all false fully believed to be doing their work, but you weren’t! It was all his! He was lying to you, to all of us, and… He… he offered us something. A way to… to stop the timeline from erupting into chaos. We thought he was lying, that the whole TVA was a lie, but… it wasn’t. It’s already happened, don’t you see? We killed him. We killed him, and it started all of this. And I did know you - a different you. But now it’s all changed, and you… you’re not the you I know, anymore.”

The silence that stretches on between them is almost unbearable. Mobius still looked as calm as ever, quite the difference to Loki who had become worked up, leaning far enough across the table that it dug into his stomach, hands outstretched almost in pleading. 

“Okay…” Mobius was the first to speak, picking up his pen once again. “You said ‘we’ a few times in there. Who’s ‘we?’”

Loki opened his mouth, ready to let her name roll off his tongue, but it remains frozen in place. He didn’t know where exactly this whole conversation would end. The very last thing he wanted to do was send another version of the TVA on a manhunt for Sylvie - again. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Loki said hurriedly. “You need to understand - your leader? He’s not the only one of himself. It’s all because of him, that this whole thing started.”

“You’re telling me that ‘He’ is just a variant?” Mobius’s voice was tense, clearly struggling to keep up his professionalism here. Loki could already tell he didn’t believe his story in the slightest - and he certainly didn’t appreciate Loki calling his leader a ‘variant’.

“It’s the whole reason he started this place,” Loki continued on anyway. “The other versions of him? All they want to do is conquer. They want to rule over every other timeline there is. And they won't stop. There will be all-out war, Mobius. Across all the different timelines.”

Mobius only nodded at him, his expression impossible to read as he reached back into his pocket again. The TemPad was back into his hands, and Loki’s vision filled with the memory of being trapped in that time-loop, reliving the same memory over and over again. Mobius tapped lazily at the screen, glancing up to Loki a few times, switching between the screen and him. 

“Look, I get it - you don’t believe me,” Loki stretched forward, and Mobius immediately pulled himself away. “But just-,” Loki frantically gestured to the ugly little computer monitor sat in the middle of the desk. “Look me up! Look up my name, and you’ll see. You’ll find my file-,”

“I’ve already looked,” Mobius interrupted him. Something in his expression had changed. He was still guarded, still looked just as disbelieving as he did prior, but there was also… a general sense of uncertainty spread across his face. “Just now, I mean.”

“Right? And?”

“Well, it’s… it’s a strange thing…” Mobius uttered softly, stuffing the TemPad back into his pocket, staring at nothing as he found himself lost in his own thoughts. “You have no file, Loki.”

It felt like his heart had come to a sudden and abrupt stop. It… it wasn’t possible. How was that possible? Mobius had told him, hadn’t he? He was one of the most frequent, pain in the arse variants they had to deal with. And now… he wasn’t on their files?

In this timeline, did he… not exist?

“What?” Loki spluttered out. 

“Mean’s that someones messed up their job-,” Mobius says with a pinched expression, the chair screeching as he stands up from it. “Someone must have brought you in when they didn’t need to - took you from the timeline you were supposed to be on. No wonder you’re confused-,”

“I don’t-,”

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of this,” Mobius promised, scooping the clipboard up from the table. “We’ll find whichever Hunter brought you in, get you in front of the judge - they’ll make sure you get back to your timeline. You haven’t done anything wrong; there was probably just some kind of mix-up with the confusion of all these new branches and-,”

“DON'T YOU GET IT!” Loki shouted out to Mobius, one last desperate attempt to convince him. Mobius startled at the sudden yell, stopping any movements he was about to make. “This is because of me! If I was brought in by your workers from my timeline, then why the hell did I come wearing one of your TVA uniforms?! I even had the damn Variant jacket for crying out loud - that you gave me!”

“Calm down - you’re just confused-,”

“I can’t calm down! I… I need to go back. I need to go back to the edge of time, the end of the void, and fix this! I… I don’t even know how, but… I have to try. I have to.”

Loki hated the look Mobius was giving him right now. He much preferred the cocky, equally as manipulative interrogator he got from his Mobius. This Mobius was just looking at him with… with pity. Like he was saddened by the poor, pathetic Variant who was losing his mind.

“We will fix this, okay?” Mobius assured him, soft and quiet, and Loki felt close to ripping his hair out in frustration. He was already beginning to turn away from him, one foot in front as he moved towards the door. “We’ll get you home-,”

Mobius didn’t even see the movement as Loki lunged forward, turning around and looking on in disbelief as Loki grabbed hold of the end of the pruning stick sticking out from his suit jacket. Mobius scrambled to dig his TemPad out from his jacket, just waiting for the moment that the Variant in front of him would activate the pruning stick and prune him with it. 

Only… his fingers still, frozen above the button on his TemPad as he sees Loki step away from him. There’s a look of both dread and utter determination on Loki's face as he activates the pruning stick and then - to both Mobius’s disbelief and horror - holds the pruning stick towards him, ready to self-prune. 

Loki’s view shifts. One second he’s staring at Mobius’s shocked face, the stick in front of him held primed and ready. Then Mobius’s fingers slam down on the TemPad, and the world shifts around him. He’s suddenly right back where he was a second ago, stood right in front of Mobius. There’s not enough time to react, not expecting the shift in position, but Mobius was prepared; grabbing hold of the stick once more, he yanks it back towards him whilst simultaneously shoving the hand holding the TemPad into Loki’s chest, sending him sprawling onto the floor. 

Mobius holds the pruning stick close to his side, staring down at Loki in bewilderment at what just happened. Loki doesn’t even bother to get back up. He doesn’t even look at Mobius. He remains sitting on the floor, head hung low and eyes closed tight.

He was so very, very tired. 

“What…” Is all Mobius can say at first, looking down to the weapon he held in his hands, and then back over to Loki. “You were… you were about to prune yourself…”

Loki doesn’t answer him. He didn’t see the point anymore. 

“...Why?”

Loki just about glances up at Mobius. It wasn’t like he’d understand. “It’s the only way. I need to find her.”

Mobius still looked just as baffled - not that he could blame him. “What do you mean it’s the only way? And who the hell is her?”

Loki feels his jaw clenching involuntary, the pressure of it rumbling in his ears, teeth squeaking and creaking in protest. “Just… get it over with. You prune all the other damn variants anyway, so why not me? Prune me, throw me in a time loop again - I don’t care anymore.”

“Again? I hadn't even met you before 'till-,”

“PRUNE ME!” Loki yells from the floor, his voice sounding unnatural to even him as it echoes back towards him. 

The fight drains out of him just as quick as it comes. Mobius still has that same damn pitiful look on his face, and he can't stand to look at it anymore. Loki drops his head into his hands, pushing his fingers through his hair and grabbing hold of clumps of it, yanking tight until he felt the sharp pain of it across his scalp. 

 “I’m not gonna prune you,” Mobius says so quietly, Loki nearly misses it. “Least, not till I figure out exactly what’s going on here. This could all still be a simple mistake-,”

“It’s not,” Loki interrupts dejectedly, his head still buried in his hands. “Not that it matters if I’m telling you the truth. No one seems to believe me when I tell it, anyway…”

The silence he gets in response is almost stifling. Enough time passes with nothing said in response that Loki pulls his head back up, only to be greeted by… nothing. The room was empty, and Mobius was nowhere in sight. He had somehow managed to sneak out of the room without making a noise. 

Alone again.

* * *

He might have fallen asleep. He wasn’t sure. It certainly felt like he had drifted in and out of consciousness - but there’s a good chance he just found himself sinking in and out of his thoughts, instead. He had managed to move from the center of the room - but not far enough to get himself back up on the chair. He had found his way to the wall, finding some sense of comfort in the wall pressed against his back. A sense of… security.

‘Well, I never sit with my back to a door.’

The sounds of commotion from outside the door snap him out of his memories. He scrapes up what little energy he had left to look to the sound; of pounding footsteps and muffled shouts getting closer and closer. Something was going down. It was only a matter of time before they stormed through that door, and-

Something shifts out of the corner of his eye. A dot, golden and gleaming, suspended in mid-air. He knows what it is before it even expands, jumping to his feet with a burst of energy he didn’t even know he had left. The time-door shimmers just in front of him, inviting him into the unknown beyond. The sounds of chaos from beyond the door had only grown more frantic, coming closer to the door with every second he remains standing in place

He makes up his mind.

Loki reaches forward, jumping through and into the time-door just as the physical door behind him slams open. He doesn’t even get a chance to see who was coming for him before he’s gone from the TVA.

Loki stumbles forward as he exits the time-door, his rushed entrance kicking up pools of water beneath his feet. There's a click, and suddenly his neck feels a whole lot lighter, the TVA collar around his neck falling into the soaked pavement below. He could barely see a thing past the rain pounding down on him, soaking every inch of his clothes in as little as a second. The howling wind around him seemed to bite into his skin, the raindrops feeling like small blades as they shot down against his body. 

And yet, somehow, he knew. The moment he stepped into this place, the moment he felt the rain atop his skin, he knew. He had been here before. 

Loki looks back to the time-door, waiting for the inevitable moment the TVA burst through it. But he only lays eyes on it for a few seconds more before it collapses in on itself, leaving him in nothing but the faint glow of the neon signs ahead.

And there, hidden within the shadows, was where he saw her. Sensed her. She was nothing more than a dark silhouette at this distance, watching him carefully from afar. 

“Sylvie…” Loki whispers, mostly to himself, unable to be heard past the storm raging around them. The sense of relief, of pure joy that overtook him was something he had never known before. His feet are moving forward before he even realizes it, picking up in pace the closer he gets to her. And, miraculously, she was walking towards him, too. 

The instinct of it was overwhelming. Every part of him screamed to get back to her, to be back by her side. He wanted, needed to know that she was okay. He wanted to grab hold of her, to hold her in his arms and-

He stops. So does she. Loki’s eyes fixate on the blade held limply in her hands, the dark liquid he sees coating its end steadily dripping onto the ground as the rain hits it. No doubt the blood of him, he knows. On that same hand he could see the TemPad secured snuggled around her hand, its few cracks of gold in its marble-like surface shining through the darkness. 

She didn’t seem to be holding it like she planned on wielding it against him. They were close enough now for him to see her face in the glowing light of the supermarket’s signs. He knows full well that the droplets of water running down her face are not only because of the rain- mostly because he himself feels the burn of a few stray tears escaping his eyes. 

It was all still so vivid in his mind; the sharp bite of her steel against his neck; her trembling arms underneath his hands as he begged her; a type of euphoria he’s never known as she closed the distance between them, foolishly sinking into the feeling of ‘rightness’ at the taste of her against his lips, eagerly chasing them as she tried to bring it to an end. 

But the pain… oh, he vividly remembers that too; of the shock of feeling himself be flung back by her magic, unable to scramble back to the time-door in time before she had shut it - shut herself- from him. He didn’t know what to do with that pain. He was used to pain - harnessed it, even. It was easy to let the pain turn to anger, to drive him towards his goal. But he had been drowning in this pain, one had never had to experience before. There was… nothing. The world had been sucked out from underneath him, everything that had started to make sense taken away, and he could do was nothing but… sit. Sit, and replay that moment over and over again. What could he have done differently? What did he do wrong? 

What did he need to do for her to trust him as much as he had trusted her?

And worst of all... Why didn't he feel angry? He should be bitter, should be clinging onto that sting of betrayal. But it simply wasn't there. Not anymore. Not with her just a few paces away from him. He didn't care about what had happened, or what she had done to him. All he cared about was that she was here, and she was okay. 

And that scared him more than anything. 

Loki started forward again, closing the gap between them in just a few strides. It's of great relief that she doesn't push him away - or stab him if he's being honest - as he all but collides into her. He pulls her into him, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tight, pulling her close until she was all but engulfed into his chest.

"Sylvie," He breathes her name in relief, not even bothering to hide the tears that squeezed past his closed eyelids. "I was... I was terrified something might have happened, that you... Oh, thank the gods you're okay..."

Sylvie's arms have a weak grip around him, her entire body tense as she's pinned under his embrace. He pulls her away from him, holding her at arm's length as his eyes furiously scan across her face, as if to reassure himself that she was indeed okay. 

“Seems we’re both a fan of the dramatics,” Loki can’t help but say, gesturing to the supermarket behind her with the smallest of smiles. “You’re not going to try and strangle me with a hoover again, are you?”

"Don't-," Sylvie starts, her voice clipped and strained. "Please, just... No jokes." 

Lightning strikes somewhere nearby, a particularly large fork that he's half-convinced could only be conjured by his brother. The strike lights up the darkness that enveloped them, allowing him the briefest of glances of every detail of her face through the murky gray of the night. The twist of pain on her face is the first thing his mind notes. Yet, despite the pain, his chest still constricted tightly at the beauty of her that shone through. . He had never felt so torn, so overtaken by the need to comfort, battling against the sting he still feels at the reminder of their parting. 

"Why here?" Loki asks her. Standing out in the pouring rain with an apocalypse-level hurricane looming nearby wasn't exactly the best place for a conversation. "Why did you take us back to where we met?"

Sylvie glances down at the TemPad on her wrist. "I don't know. I just knew I had to pick an apocalypse, and... This was the first one I thought of."

He nods at her answer, the movement getting a few soaked pieces of hair to plaster onto his face. 

"Aren't you going to say something?" Sylvie suddenly snapped, and he found himself taken aback by the sudden hostility. "I know you want to. You... You have to be angry at me. Want to yell at me, say I told you so-,"

Loki could only blink down at her in surprise for a few moments, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly as he struggled to come up with a response. "I...what? Is that why you brought me here? For me to yell at you?" 

"No-,"

"Then... Why did you bring me here?" Loki can't help but let a little bit of frustration slip through into his voice. "I thought that... That after what happened, this was it. That you were just...done with me. Didn't need me anymore. And now, I… What do you want from me?" 

Sylvie flinches somewhat at his use of words, reminded of the night he had said those very words in this very place. Sylvie swallows harshly, looking away from him for a moment and to the ground. She shakes her head, holding her head high as she looks back to him. "I need you to tell me I did the right thing,” The confession comes out shakier than she probably intended to, judging by the flash of annoyance he sees on her face. “I did the right thing.”

Loki wasn’t too sure if she meant to say that as a statement, or a question. She certainly didn’t sound too sure of herself right now. “Would you believe me if that’s what I told you?”

The look she shot up at him made the weight in his stomach sink heavier. It was the same look she gave him when she thought he wanted the throne. He wanted nothing more for that look to be gone. “No. No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”

Loki sighed softly, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see her disappointed face anymore. He took a deep breath through his nose, taking a risk and reaching out, gently wrapping his hands around her upper arms. She didn’t immediately pull away, or smack his hands away, so he counted that as a success. 

“You did the right thing-,” Loki began carefully. Sylvie frowned up at him, mouth partly open to point out that she had already said he wouldn’t believe him, but Loki carried on before she could get anything out. “-For you. And I get it, okay? I understand why you did it-,”

“No, you don’t-,” Sylvie spits out, one hand shooting up to grab hold of his hand on her arm. “You got to live most of your life. You had a chance to grow up in your home, with your family. You’ve only had to deal with the TVA for a few days; I’ve been up against them nearly my entire life. And it didn’t even matter! Everything I did, every attack I made against the TVA, was apparently supposed to happen! I had no free will! No one does but him! And I stopped it! I freed everyone!”

“Yes, you did,” Loki agrees with her, trying to keep his voice calm to temper the heat in hers. “And I’m not saying that that part of all this is a bad thing. People deserve to have their freedom, the decision to do whatever they want with their life.”

“Then why the hell did you try and stop me?” Sylvie asks, making an attempt to rip his hands off her. “If that’s the way you felt, why did you-,”

“Because I didn’t want you to make the same mistakes as I have!” Loki exclaims, fighting off her attempts at shaking him off, digging his fingers in, and giving her a slight shake. “Making that decision right then and there, after everything He told us; I could see it in your face, Sylvie. The hate you felt for that man, all that pent-up rage you had kept buried down, fueling you your entire life - that’s all you could focus on in that very moment. And I know what that feels like! And I know what that awful, all-encompassing regret feels like after. That’s why, Sylvie. I just wanted you to take a minute, a moment outside of all your emotions - and I know that’s easier said than done. I thought that… maybe you would trust me enough to at least listen. And… I don’t blame you for it; for everything you did back there. But I wanted… I wanted to do what I could to make sure you didn’t have to live with the same regrets I have.”

“Why?” Sylvie whispers, not trusting her voice enough to speak any louder than that. “Why do you care?”

“I wish I knew,” Loki says, chuckling despite the tears that continued to build in his eyes. “I’ve never felt this way. Not like… this. My whole life, I only ever focused on myself. Looked out for me. And now, for the first time in my life… that’s no longer the case. Now… all I care about is you.”

Sylvie gave him a strained smile, shaking her head slowly from side to side. “I am you, remember?”

The corner of Loki’s lips hitched up in the slightest of smiles - one he didn’t really mean. “Yes… except, you’re the one who said that I’m not you.”

Even Sylvie winced at the reminder of her last words to him. It was strangely reassuring to him that she looked pained at his pain. Surely, that must have meant she cared about him in some capacity, right?

“I meant what I said back there,” Loki let his hand slide down the soaked material of her sleeve, his hand coming to a stop at the base of her wrist. His thumb lightly brushes against her pulse-point, able to feel the pounding of her heart and the rush of blood around her body, same as his. “I wanted you to be okay, and when I thought of you killing Him, and the guilt you would have to carry if he was telling the truth, and we doomed infinite amounts of timelines? I knew you weren’t going to be okay.”

Sylvie could only look at him, taking in the earnest, pleading look he was giving her. She wanted nothing more than to believe him, to take that risk and fall straight into the undying trust he so easily seemed to have in her. But trust didn’t come easy. There had never been anyone else but herself to trust. 

“But, if you had taken that moment?” Loki continued, catching her off guard. “If you had just talked to me, thought about it - and you still came to the decision you needed to kill him? If you thought that that was what was going to make you okay? Then I would have handed you the dagger myself.”

Sylvie could only shake her head at him, her fruitless attempts to keep her tears at bay infuriating her as she feels them slide down her face, mixing with the rain that quickly washed them off. “I couldn’t take that risk. He might have been telling the truth, or maybe he was lying just like the rest of them, and you were-,” A gasp catches in her throat as his hand slides further down, his fingers fitting perfectly between her own as he holds them in a comforting grip. “-You were supposed to be on my side. And then you weren’t. This whole time, every moment we spent, it felt like… like you had just thrown it all away. I knew that, with any other person, I should have killed you right then and there.”

Loki can’t fight back the shiver that ripples through his body, one he knows full well isn’t because of the chill of the storm around them. It had felt like his blood had run cold at her words, throat tightening painfully at the thought. 

“But I couldn’t,” Sylvie admits to him, and it sounded like it pained her to do so. “Because you were saying all those things, and… and I believed you - because I felt it, too. I didn’t want to hurt you, and… and I wanted to be okay, too. I couldn’t kill you, but… I couldn’t let you stop me, either.”

The thunder from above is almost deafening, the power of it rumbling against the pavement underneath their feet. It was strangely comforting to hear. It reminded him of home, of family. 

“And so you did it,” Loki states the obvious. “You did what you had set out to do. You killed He Who Remains.”

Sylvie nods, and the blank look in her eyes sends a dagger through his chest. This was a moment where she should have felt triumphant. If things had been different, they would not be here. Not like this. They would have been celebrating, felt accomplished at doing what was the right thing for once - not just for them, but for the entire Universe - and every other Universe out there that had been deemed unsuitable to exist by a single dictator.

But this wasn’t that moment. 

“I saw Mobius.”

Loki feels himself freeze up involuntary at the name. He hated it. He hated that his memories of his friend had been tainted, now nothing more than… a stranger. Perhaps even a potential adversary in the near future… 

“After I…” Sylvie trails off, swallowing harshly with a painful clench of her throat. “After I killed Him, I… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t feel better. I... I couldn’t get you out of my head. I wondered if… maybe you were right, but I… I didn’t want to admit it to myself. Even when I managed to pick myself back up, and saw the space outside the citadel, within the void at the edge of time, and what I saw-,”

“What? What did you see?”

“It looked like stars…” Sylvie whispered, her eyes unfocused as she replayed the scene in her mind. “The timeline, all those branches… There were so many… And I should have been thinking about all those people in those timelines that would never have to live with the fear of taking a step out of line and finding themselves, their family, everything they ever knew taken from existence. But I didn’t. I thought about how many of him were out there. How many would be scrambling to get right back into that damn office to claim their throne once again…”

Her eyes came back into focus, swiveling up to meet his unwavering gaze. “And then I thought of you. I thought you would be safe in the TVA. Safe away from me. But once I saw all those branches, I realized that… I could have sent you anywhere. I might have just killed you myself.”

“You didn’t,” Loki rushes to assure her. “Granted, I’d much rather you hadn’t pushed me through that time-door in the first place - the fall quite hurt, actually-,”

“Loki,-”

“Right, no jokes. Sorry.”

The weary look on Sylvie's face is one he's seen many times before whenever people are subjected to the torture that is interacting with him. "When I made my way back, and you weren't there, I thought that I... That it might be too late."

Loki's lip hitch into a half-smile. "You seem to forget that I am capable of looking after myself."

Sylvie narrows her eyes at him, and it was enough for him to doubt any and all of his combat and survival skills. "Says the guy who planned on running towards a giant cloud that ate everything in its path and stabbing it." 

"In my defense, that usually works."

"Oh really? So it worked on Thanos too, then?" 

Loki placed a hand over a heart in mock hurt and... well, perhaps a little bit of hurt considering that's the only death of his where he was destined to die. "Now that's just cold, Sylvie."

He doesn't mind the hurt too much, though. Not when his over-the-top reaction pulls a small yet genuine smile out of Sylvie, one he finds himself mirroring without much of a thought. He knew that he wanted to do all he could to keep that smile on her face for the rest of their lives. 

Oh, he really was in deep... When he finds his brother once more somewhere out within the multiverse - his version of his brother - he knows he's going to be set for days upon days of teasing and ridicule.

Or...witness the terror on his brother's face as he's confronted with two Loki's...

Their small carefree moment doesn't last long, though. The weight of the situation comes crashing back down on them, wiping the smile from Sylvie's face as quickly as it had come. "The TVA is... In shambles right now; which is what I always wanted, but... I saw that... That statue, of him, and I just knew, I... I knew it was all so much worse now."

"I take it that was you that caused all that commotion outside my door, then?" 

Sylvie nodded her head, and Loki was surprised to see that pained look back on her face again. "It's because I tried talking to Mobius."

Loki grimaces at the reminder. The hurt of what had happened never seemed to lessen. "Yes, I... I might have made the same mistake."

"They seemed a tad bit preoccupied with everything going on, but... Mobius definitely seemed on edge."

"Well, it was twice in one day that someone he didn't know came up to him spouting nonsense and claiming they know him. I think he might be smart enough to realize something's not right."

"Considering the security that swarmed me, I'd say so," Sylvie huffs. "Quickly realized it wasn't a situation I was going to fight my way out of."

"How did you find me?" Loki asks. 

"Mobius," Sylvie answers, and the guilt that crosses her features makes his stomach clench uncomfortably. "I... I had to take him hostage. Was the only way to stop their hunters from surrounding me. Opened up a time-door and just... dragged him through with me."

"Is he...?" Loki didn't even want to finish that sentence. 

"He's okay," Sylvie's answer helps to loosen the knot in his stomach. "I enchanted him. He fought back a bit, but... I got through in the end. Found out where they were keeping you, and... Opened up another time door to get you out of there."

"And... What did you do with Mobius?" 

"He's in a time-loop," Sylvie says, the smile on her face no way near malicious. "It's a good one. I think there was a jet ski?" 

Loki huffs out a laugh of relief. "Good, that's... That's good."

"I told him, you know," Sylvie says, the serious tone to her voice catching his attention. "I told him the truth - about him being a variant. How everyone that works for the TVA is a variant."

"Did he believe you?" Loki asks. 

"He already knew," Sylvie tells him, and it feels like another blow. "Whatever this version of the TVA is, and whatever version of Him rules it, it seems he was a bit more truthful with his workers than the last one," The frown on Sylvie's face deepens more and more with every word she speaks. "They just... don't care. They believe they were selected for a higher purpose - like it makes it okay they were ripped away from their lives."

"Ah... I suppose that might make it a bit more difficult to sway Mobius onto our side again," Loki says, his overwhelming feeling of dejection seeping into his voice. 

Sylvie's eyes drop down to the ground, suddenly finding herself unable to meet Loki's gaze. Loki frowns as he notices her avoidance of him, craning his head down to try and meet her gaze once more, only to find her stubbornly focusing on a drenched piece of paper as it floated by. "Sylvie...?" 

"Loki, I..." Sylvie starts, closing her eyes from the sight of what she could only describe as 'sad puppy eyes'. "I... I still don't know what to do."

"About... What?" 

"Everything," She forces out. "I should feel accomplished now, shouldn't I? Satisfied, that I finally killed the man who took my life from me?" 

Loki barely pushed down the urge to reach out for her again. He had a feeling she wouldn't take too kindly to physical attempts at comfort right now. "I take it that means you don't feel that way?"

"No," Sylvie whispers, and Loki could tell she hated to admit that. "I just felt... Empty. Because if he was telling the truth, and... And you were right? There's just gonna be a bunch more of Him out there. It feels like I've done nothing. Nothing but-," 

The sentence gets stuck in Sylvie's throat, forcing her mouth shut with an aggregated shake of her head. Loki lets his instincts guide him, taking a step towards her, arm outstretched ready to comfort. But then Sylvie takes a step away from him, just a small single step, but it feels like she's trying to put miles and miles of distance between them. 

"What are you doing to me?" Sylvie gets out between clenched teeth, threading her fingers through her hair in a way that Loki knows he does when he's stressed. 

"I... I don't know?" Loki said, sounding rather baffled by her exclamation. It wasn't exactly like he wanted to aggregate her further - far from it - rather... There was something about the way his heart leaped up to his throat, wondering if whatever she said to him next would reignite that small spark of hope still burning in his chest, or extinguish it before it can fully catch aflame. 

"This isn't - wasn't - who I am. I've never needed anyone in my life! This whole time, it's been only me. Me who kept me alive, me who's been carrying out this plan for years. And then I did it. I accomplished that, and... I didn't think about the victory I had earned. I didn't think of how I was finally free to live my life, make my decisions and know they're solely my own. All I could think about was you."

Loki froze in place. He didn't dare move, didn't even dare breathe. To say he was transfixed was an understatement. It seems he was wrong, in the end. She had found her own way to enchant him...

"I've never had... Companionship. I've never known what it's like to have someone by my side, someone who... Who understands. When I pushed you through that time door, I thought that I'd be okay. I'd been alone my whole life, I was used to it. But when I was sat there, alone in that office, and I wasn't okay. I was lonely, in a way I've never been before, and I didn't want to, but... I missed you. And... I wanted - needed - for you to be okay, too.

"Now, it's... it's all so complicated. After... After what I did, it's... I feel like I can't even trust myself anymore, let alone..." Sylvie trailed off, bowing her head down so Loki wouldn't see the tears that were ready to spill again. Not that he even needed to see them to know they were there. He could feel the pain radiating off her in waves as much as he could feel his own. "I'm sorry."

Loki nearly couldn't hear that last part. Whether that be because of the overwhelmingly strong blast of wind that knocked down the weather battered sign above the supermarket, or because she had purposefully uttered it so quiet like she didn't want him to hear it. He was fairly certain it was the first time he had heard her say those words to him. 

They don't come very often from a Loki, that he knew for sure. 

"I'm sorry, too," 

Sylvie nods her head, still bowed, her face pinched as she struggled to bury her emotions back down. 

"You know, back in that interrogation room, I had time to think," Loki starts, giving her a sad smile in preparation for what he's about to say next. "I, um... I thought over that dagger metaphor I said before, and I think I've got something." 

The confusion of what he's doing at least manages to distract Sylvie a little. She still eyes him with understandable caution as a burst of lime green light manifests a dagger into his hands, but the wary look in her eyes disappears almost immediately as he holds the dagger out for her to hold. She slowly reaches out, wrapping her hands around the thin handle and lifting it out of his grasp. She raises an eyebrow at him, eyes flickering between him and the new blade she held. 

"Love... Is like a dagger," Loki couldn't help but smile, brought right back to that day on the train, with everything a little a lot dizzy, and warm, and nice. 

"It's a weapon to be wielded far away, or up close," Loki continues, gesturing to the weapon in her hands, still pointed at him. "You can see yourself in it. It's beautiful... Until it makes you bleed. But ultimately, when you reach for it-" 

Loki's hands shifted in a blur of movement, taking Sylvie by surprise. His hands had shot out to reach for the dagger - but not for the handle. Instead, he had wrapped his hands around the blade itself, the sharp edges of the weapon biting into the soft flesh of his palm. She jumped at the rapid movement, but found that - to her surprise - she had not responded by trying to move the weapon out of his reach. She had instead dropped the sword she held in her other hand, the clang of it hitting the concrete below echoing around the parking lot. Her now free hand had shot up in an attempt to stop him from cutting himself on the blade, looking up to him in utter bewilderment. 

"You reach for it too quickly-," Loki didn't even wince at the sharp sting across his hand. He slowly pulled his hand away from the blade, suppressing a shiver at the feel of her hand partly covering his. He held his hand out to her, revealing the shallow cut as a thin stream of blood oozed from the newly opened wound. "-And you only end up hurting yourself."

For the most part, Loki had been expecting for Sylvie to call him an idiot for cutting his hand open. Which, while he had no doubt she was probably thinking that, wasn’t at all what she did. She shot him the tiniest of smiles, removing her hand -that of which she had used to try and stop him from doing said idiotic move - from the blade, revealing a slice in her own palm that mirrored his. “And more often than not, you both end up getting hurt.”

Sylvie could already see the blame Loki was placing on himself as he saw her wound, unable to fight back the bubble of warmth at the clear concern on his face as he took her hand in his, completely disregarding his own wound. There was another burst of light from his magic, and that bubble of warmth only grew at the sight of the bandages he had materialized. His hands were methodical yet oh so gentle as he applied the bandage around her hand, pressing his fingers into her palm tenderly once he was done, as if he wished he had the power to magic away her injuries. 

“Probably should have done that after you bandaged yourself,” Sylvie says, biting back a smirk as she gestured with a pointed look of her eyes down to his handiwork, handing him his dagger back.

The dagger disappeared back to where he had manifested it from, glancing down to the bandage he had applied around her hand and seeing his own blood smeared across the once pristine white material. “Right… I wasn’t really thinking about that.”

She shook her head at him, though this time with nothing but fondness for the man in front of her as she slid the other piece of bandage he had left from his hand. Despite the fact that he had just done it for her, Loki still looked baffled as he watched her begin to bandage up his hand just as carefully as he had, like the thought of her returning the favor would have never crossed his mind. 

Sylvie finished tying the knot to his bandage, giving his hand a soft pat as she does so. Her hand begins to slide away from his, and almost on instinct does Loki reach out to grab hold of hers once more. Her hand seems to fit in his like a mold, his thumb gently caressing across her knuckle whilst her thumb comes to a rest at the base of his wrist. Typically… touch wasn’t a thing she welcomes. Touch usually meant a tight grasp around her wrist, dragging her from her home. Touch usually meant the hard rack of knuckles across her jaw, or a swift kick of a boot to her ribs. Touch usually meant meaningless nights with no name strangers, trying to feel something other than the desire for revenge that kept her going, as worlds upon worlds came to an end. 

But with Loki… touch was the feeling of his hand under hers, letting her make the first move as they stared out to the lake, waiting for their coming death. Touch was his back against hers, letting her know that he - quite literally - had her back; letting her know that she wouldn’t have to fight the TVA alone. Touch was his hands wrapped around her arms, the lightest of touches that told her that as much as he wanted to hold her, he would let go if she asked him. Touch was the first set of lips against her own that wasn’t one of end-of-the-world desperation; the first to make her heart pound against her ribcage as she pulled away from him, only for his lips to chase hers once again - and letting herself fall straight back into him. 

“So, love is… something that can be twisted without meaning to. You might reach for it too quickly, and in doing so… you only end up hurting one another,” Loki broke her out of her thoughts. Sylvie’s eyes danced across his face as he spoke, though Loki’s stare was still fixated on her hand in his, and the wound he knew that lay just below his own, parallel with one another. “But… you can learn that, despite the pain…You can always find a way to heal. Together.”

His words were at least enough to pull another smile from her lips, which at the end of the day, seemed to be the only mission he wanted to succeed in. Sylvie took a deep breath in through her nose, returning his comforting squeeze on her hand with one of her own to prepare him for the coming blow. 

“I still think it’s a stupid metaphor.”

The burst of laughter that escaped Loki seemed to catch them both off guard, as close to a snort as Sylvie thinks she’s ever heard from him. 

“Well, to be fair, I was very drunk when I came up with it.”

“I thought you said you were ‘just very full’, not drunk?”

Loki’s mouth shifted into a rather comical ‘o’ shape as he tried to come up with a response, only to find that there simply wasn’t one he could use to defend himself. 

“Okay, so maybe I was drunk-,” 

Sylvie does snort at his answer. Loki huffs indigently, though the smile plastered on his face gives away the illusion of irritation. “Well alright then; what’s your metaphor for love?”

This gets her to stop laughing. Loki hadn’t entirely been expecting for her to take his question seriously, but judging by the calculated look in her eyes as she looked into his, it was something she was giving considerate thought. 

“Love…” Sylvie begins softly, the syllables of the word rolling off her tongue like she was testing the way it felt in her mouth. “Love is… a song sung to a crowded room that feels like it’s being sung to you; of words that remind you of home.”

Sylvie felt Loki’s grip on her hand tighten for just a moment, though she could tell he was being careful not to touch the tender wound on her palm. “Love is… lingering glances where you both don’t care to hide it, even as the world falls apart around you.”

Sylvie didn’t know if it was Loki that shuffled closer to her, or if she shuffled closer to him. Not that it mattered much. They always just seemed to be drawn to one another like magnets. 

“Love is… knowing that you care about someone as much as you do yourself. And the terrifying realization that… you may just care more.”  Sylvie’s voice quietened with every word she spoke, as if inviting Loki to move even closer on the excuse that he couldn’t hear her. “Love is… pretending to be cold - despite being frost giants - just to find an excuse to huddle close under a blanket; which, for the record, I’m still convinced is some kind of drapery you stole from a dining table.”

Loki tries to hide his bashful smile by bowing his head down, but it doesn’t escape Sylvie’s gaze. She placed her fingers under his chin, forcing his head up to look him straight in the eyes.

“Love isn’t a damn metaphor,” She whispered to him, savoring the sight of his Adams' apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. “Love is whatever the hell we decide it to be.”

The gap between their mouths was so small that she barely had to lean forward, her entire body melting into his as their lips slotted together. His body had seemingly turned to putty under her hands, one of them sliding up his arm to rest on his shoulder, trying to pull him even closer until his body was flush against hers. 

This one was different than the last. There was no painful tug in her chest in knowing she needed to turn him around, to get to the TemPad and get him out of the way without hurting him. She did not feel the wetness of his tears as they slid down to their joined lips; only the droplets of rain that ran down from the drenched strands of his hair. 

She did feel that same curling, burning heat in the pit of her stomach, similar to the pleasant burn of her skin wherever his hands trailed, leaving a trail of goosebumps as they moved up the back of her neck, threading his fingers through her hair. She could feel his reluctance to end this any time her lips left his, even for a moment of air, as he quickly swooped back down to reclaim her lips. The feeling of his lips were feather soft, warm, yet with a firm and addicting pressure as they slid against hers. It wasn’t until she felt the swipe of his tongue across her lips, a pleasant invitation - an eager ask for permission - that she found herself separating from him with a shaky gasp for air. Her entire body seemed to be buzzing with the after-effects of adrenaline, taken aback by the sensation of her body trying to overtake her thoughts, screaming at her for more. 

Loki’s chest heaves just as much as hers as he takes in deep gulps of air that their kiss had deprived them of, too busy with breathing in the alluring scent of each other to remember such a basic necessity. The rain still had yet to let up - which it wouldn’t, her oxygen-deprived brain reminded her - and she briefly wondered how many humans shacked up inside the supermarket behind them were watching them here, standing out in the pouring rain, kissing like -

Well… like the world was about to end.

Loki moves forward again, at first she thinks to re-initiate their kiss. Instead, she feels the comforting warmth of his forehead pressed against her own, and they both find their eyes sliding shut, any pent-up tension left in their bodies seemingly draining away. She could feel the warm puffs of air against her face every time he breathed out, matched with her own; and she had no doubt that if their breathing was matched, then the way her previously thumping heart was starting to slow down could only mean that their heartbeats were matching one another, too.

Loki’s hands had dropped down to wrap protectively around her waist, eyes still closed as he savored this moment of peace. Sylvie placed her hand delicately on his chest, though this time not to push him away. She felt the reassuring thud of his heartbeat beneath her hand, unable to suppress the satisfied smile that pulled at her lips at the way his heartbeat sped up as she dragged her fingers across his chest, curling her fingers underneath her palm. 

“We will figure this out,” He whispers down to her. Her eyes flick up to meet his, believing his sincere gaze. “Truthfully… I don’t know where to start, either. I mean, I know you spent your whole life running from them, but…”

“The TVA,” Sylvie completed the sentence Loki was clearly reluctant to speak. “You want to go back?”

“Good God, no, not that one. But… But somewhere out there is the one we know, surely? The one that our Mobius was in the middle of transforming? A TVA made of variants that didn’t know they were variants - until now.”

“And should be rightfully pissed,” Sylvie guessed with a knowing smirk. “Maybe enough to get revenge?”

“Maybe,” Loki agreed, mirroring her grin. “And I’m sure they’ll be eager to meet the person who freed them from their controlling dictator.”

Sylvie’s smile wavered at that, poking the tip of her tongue out of her mouth to wet her lips - a nervous gesture from her he’s noticed every now and then, making him wonder if he does the same thing without knowing. “And created infinite amounts of that same controlling dictator - who was apparently the best version of him…”

Loki’s eyes softened at the sight of her guilt as it began to dig its claws into her. He knows too much of that guilt, felt it too often; failed to fight off the way it tried to drag him down to that pit of self-doubt that took him eons to climb out by himself - more often than not because he refused the help of anyone that offered. 

But Sylvie won’t have to fight her way out of this alone. He’ll make sure of it. 

“An infinite amount of universes to search through, huh?” Loki wonders out loud, giving a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “No problem.”

Sylvie rolled her eyes at his confidence - even if she knew he was greatly exaggerating it right now. “And I suppose that means an infinite amount of us are out there now, too?”

“And an infinite amount of our brother…”

“Wait, our brother?” Sylvie asked, head jerking back in surprise. “Thor is your brother?”

“Um, yes?” Loki frowned down at Sylvie, wondering what she was getting so caught up on. “Why - isn’t he yours?”

“Uh, she certainly isn’t my brother, no.”

Loki’s eyes widened as his mind caught up with what she was saying. “Oh…” He dragged out the syllable, looking out to the stars above in mock horror. “So your Thor is your… your sister?”

“Yep.”

Loki bent his head back with a bellow of genuine laughter, already picturing the glorious scenario of his brother meeting Sylvie’s version of him… Oh, what a sight would be to behold… Actually, the look on Thor’s face would probably be quite similar to the look on his face the moment Sylvie pulled the hood off her head and showed him her face for the very first time. 

“Oh, we need to get them together as soon as possible,” Loki said gleefully. “Four of us together? We’d make quite the team.”

“Do you… do you really think she’s out there somewhere?” Sylvie asks, and the vulnerability he hears in her voice stops his laughter altogether. “I barely remember her, you know. After the TVA pruned my timeline, and… and everyone with it, I had to accept that I’d never see her again.”

“If what He Who Remains was telling the entire truth?” Loki says with a shrug of his head to the side. “Then anything’s possible now. Every possibility you can think of, every step that could have been different…”

“An infinite amount of butterfly effects,” Sylvie finished for him.

“It’s almost overwhelming, isn’t it?” Loki drawls with as much sarcasm as he can muster. “Perhaps we should… break it down step by step? First things first being to find Mobius-,”

“-And find the old but improved TVA,” Sylvie adds.

“- And see just how riled up and ready for revenge they are,” Loki agrees. “And… I suppose we should probably find some more powerful allies to help us…”

Sylvie raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. “No offense, but do you even have any other allies?”

“Well… not exactly,” Loki said with a wince. “But I’ve been acquainted with a few… highly powerful individuals. Should probably go and find the versions of them that haven’t met us before, though…”

“Hmm - I imagine they’d be a bit more willing to help when you haven’t tried to claim leadership over their home?”

He probably shouldn’t have been too surprised that she was able to guess that. 

“Something about all this still feels so… so strange,” Sylvie tells him. 

“Yes, that’d be the feeling of the need to do the right thing for others, and not just yourself,” Loki says with a grimace. “Strange feeling, I know-,”

“Oh, piss off,” Sylvie cursed with a shove to his arm, though the smile on her face took out any venom from her words. “I wasn’t trying to kill the leader of the TVA just for myself, you know.”

“And now you get to do it all over again,” Loki said with a grin, gesturing to the TemPad on her wrist; that of which had already begun glowing with a faint golden light that streaked through its surface like bolts of lightning. “He’s the one that started all of this, right? Then it shouldn’t be too far out of the question that he’s the one that can end it.”

“He did say he’d be seeing me again soon,” Sylvie mumbled, sliding her fingers across the surface of the TemPad. A door sprung to life under her command, manifesting a portal to a dimension that… well, that of which they didn’t know. The second they stepped through that door, they’d be whisked away to a universe beyond their knowing; one that could be infinitely better than the one they were currently in, or one that could be much, much worse. 

Their hands found each other once more, fingers sliding together like lock and key as they face the door together. Loki turns his head to face Sylvie the same time she does, matching shaky smiles of both nerves and anticipation on their faces. 

“Ready for another adventure?” Loki asks, and the squeeze of her hand in his gives him all the answers he needs. 

Whilst they didn’t know what would be waiting for them on the other side of the door, they had been certain that, as they stepped through the Time Door hand in hand and they disappeared out of sight as the warm glow of the portal faded, that the memory of what happened here would only belong to them as the wrath of nature let out her anger on the small town of Haven Hills, Alabama. 

But what they didn’t know was that this wasn’t the Haven Hills they knew. This was the version of Haven Hills that didn’t find itself wiped off the map, miraculously avoiding the complete and utter destruction the hurricane was predicted to inflict. It was here, for years and years later, the survivors that had taken shelter in the nearby Roxxcart would tell the stories of the mysterious strangers in the rain; who seemingly appeared together from thin air, shrouded by a veil of golden light that came and went with their arrival and exit. 

Rumors would be spread of these two people. As was such in the more religious southern state, the tale of these two strangers would be twisted into one of two angelic beings who had appeared in the glow of Heaven’s light with golden halo’s atop their head, the sheer sight of their loving embrace seemingly bringing God’s wrath to a stop. 

There were many iterations of such a story, but there was one consistent detail that remained in every iteration of this timeline's story of them: that the two of them were heroes, who had risked their lives to save the lives of many. 

And what else they didn’t know was that this was a story that would spread across multiple worlds, in multiple universes. A beacon of hope in even the dreariest of lands, the legend of these two saviors was one of whispered fantasy that wasn’t quite as much fantasy as some thought; the description of the two figures whose heads were adorned with angelic halo’s slowly changing to ones with protruding horns, no longer the devilish image that such a sight once brought. 

These hushed stories would, over time, be reduced to one word. A single word, whispered out by those in the most dire of situations, as if praying to the only God they’ve ever known. This word, this name, would reach the ears of a single man, of every version of this one man, spanning across billions upon billions of timelines. And - despite never having have met the subjects of these stories - he would speak the name out loud to himself as if it were the name of an old friend, waiting for the day they try and stop his work and he gets to greet them personally; of the two beings many people had promised would bring him down with their last, dying breath.

Loki. 

[javisjeanjacket]

Circles : A Mamma Mia! AU - (javi gutierrez x reader)

PART ONE

A/N: this is based solely off of the press photos from the uwomt behind the scenes, so I'm sure the characterization won't be canon once the movie comes out but hey, thats fiction baby😌✌🏻

If we like this, I have more parts that I could write, I just wanted to get a feel for how many of you wanted Javi G content! 

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: non-descript smut, light choking, kissing, weird campy writing?, cursing

The sun burned hot on your skin underneath the cover of the ocean side trees. The sand below your bodies was scorching, but the stinging heat of the minute granules didn't compare to the white hot passion crackling and thumping in your veins. You could taste the salt in the air from the waves lapping at the shoreline. Your emotive cries mixed with the seagulls cawing to keep the two of you hidden from everyone but yourselves.

Javi's wide palm wrapped around your neck, his fingers intertwining with the gold necklaces he had bought for you earlier in the week and putting firm pressure on your throat.

The jewelry pulled against your quivering skin as his hand flexed around the column of your neck, sending a delicious ripple of pain and pleasure down your spine.

His face was tucked into the curve of your neck, his breath awakening each pore as it fanned upon it and his mustache sending off tiny explosions on your skin. "One sip from Aphrodite's fountain." He whispered, tugging the end of your earlobe in between his teeth as he chuckled.

You moaned as your back arched up from the hot sand, your arm reaching up to claw at his back and-

Your alarm blared in your small bedroom and you awoke with a start. The heat of the sun and of dream Javier, faded from your skin. 

With a deep sigh, you allowed the dream to float out of your mind and up to the blue-painted dome ceiling. You ran a defeated hand over your face and stretched your groggy limbs.

~~~~~~

Your day trekked on-wards, but your mind was stuck trying to water down and digest the feelings your dream had brought back to you. It had been years since you had seen Javier Gutierrez, five to be exact, and there was no reason that he should have been something other than a quick 'What a wild two weeks it's been! Javi and I danced on the beach, and we kissed on the beach, and we...all over the beach' in your journal.

But he hadn't been.

With his perfectly tanned skin and the shimmer of his golden rings, he had become stuck in your memory for the better part of five years. The want of him served as the only string that pulled you to think farther than the island. The fantasy of the life you could have had with him, or he with you, carried you through your days, a welcome distraction to the mundane toil and grind of running a tourist hotel.

You fiddled with your breakfast at the makeshift break room table; a lousy portion of eggs, bread, and sauteed vegetables taking up your plate. Sighing heavily and looking down at the cold coffee at the bottom of your mug, your mind began to replay your memories of Javi and the summer you shared. You remembered the weight of his hand in yours and how safe you had felt in his arms. 

Just then, an employee called your name from the lobby, and with a quick swig of the coffee at the bottom of your mug, you stood from the break room table and replied, "Be right there!"

~~~~~~~

Javier Gutierrez did not get nervous. His business demanded that he remain forever stoic, calculating before emotive, strategic before impulsive. Nevertheless, as his Tom Ford's crossed the threshold into the brightly colored tourist hotel, a bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck and tickled his golden skin. His dark eyes searched the bustling hotel for the face he knew so well, the one he had taken apart and put back together over and over again in his mind for years since he had last seen it. But, to his dismay, you were nowhere to be found.

Letting out a deep sigh, he moved through the lobby and to the front desk. "Javier Gutierrez." He said with a tight lipped smile.

"You're checking in?" The frizzy-haired woman behind the counter asked, flashing him a doe-eyed smile.

He nodded and shook his golden watch in agitation. He looked quickly behind him, a motion he most often used to keep himself from danger, but now instead, to keep himself from missing the sight of you.

The receptionist’s cheeks rouged and she turned her face from him, bashfulness overwhelming her small form. She bent down to the desk and scribbled something on a piece of paper before tearing it away from the whole and tucking it in her hand.

Javi leaned against the desk and looked over her as she searched for his name in the computer. He pulled his lips into his mouth before asking for you by name.

"Oh, yeah." The receptionist answered, turning from him to retrieve his room key from it's spot in the lock box fastened to the wall. "She's the manager here. I just saw her a second ago..." The young woman trailed off, looking past the counter and into the rancorous lobby for you. "I'm not sure where she is," The receptionist said, turning back to him. "But, if you're looking for some company while you're here, here's my number." She slipped his room key and a scrap of paper into Javi's large hand.

The kingpin took the key and the paper from her and quirked the side of his lips upwards. "I appreciate it." He looked into her ocean-colored eyes and nodded, leaving her to sulk for the rest of her day behind the front desk.

Javi maneuvered his way through the busy lobby, clutching the strap of his bag and hopping up the brightly tiled stairway to the rooms and hopefully, to an elevator. His shoes struggled to gain traction on the unevenly sanded floor, its glossy finish not helping in the slightest.

A crowd of women passed him, each set of eyes flicking to his, roaming over the scandalous bare chest his shirt left exposed, and the way the expensive fabric tightened around the bulge of his biceps. Lingering on the wave of his chestnut-colored hair and the blonde streaks hidden between the folds of brown.

Javi nodded as he passed them and smiled to himself, his eyes still searching for an elevator or at least a sign to point him towards the penthouse.

~~~~~~~~

Your tongue stuck out from the side of your mouth and you grunted as you pulled the wrench as hard as you could to one side. With a heavy sigh, you threw your head back in frustration and moved both of your hands to your hips, cursing under your breath.

"Stupid fucking light fixture."  You whispered to yourself.

Most tourists didn't want to shell out the money to stay in a penthouse for a week-long vacation to Greece, and for a moment you considered leaving the upsetting broken fixture and your frustration behind, but a family was flying in to have a big wedding, and you reasoned that they would want to let the bride stay in the penthouse for at least one night, surely.

You clicked your tongue and huffed in frustration before bracing yourself on the rickety ladder and reaching out try and loosen it once more.

"Hello?" A voice said from behind you.

You stopped mid-motion and furrowed your eyebrows. Your lips parted and the demanding light fixture no longer held your focus.

The sound of the voice was just as you remembered it to be. Deep and luxurious with a twinge of gravel. Like a velvet blanket wrapped around pebbles from the shoreline near the hotel. Your heart leapt with possibility.

'Could he?'  You thought to yourself, but then stopped. It had been five years, surely it's wouldn't be him. Surely. 'Could he have come back for me?'  The thought finished itself all the same and you had to stop your hands from shaking as you turned on the ladder to face the man in the doorway.

The shape of his face hit you like a punch to the gut. His stubble and the mustache he kept so perfectly trimmed, the curve of his nose and the shocking intensity of his eyes. His hair was longer now, wavy and curly at the base of his neck. 

Just looking at him pulled a whimper from your throat. 

He had grown broader and stronger with age, but it was still Javier Gutierrez who stood before you.

The two of you grew still there, falling deeper and deeper into the other, completely undisturbed by the need to return his hello, to climb down from your ladder, or for him to set his bag on the ground. Not with the two so close to becoming one again. Like the crash of the waves on the shore, you felt the memory of him come rushing back into you, overwhelming your beating chest and thundering across your whirring mind. You felt his arms, secure and so long awaited, you remembered the wind whipping across your skin and Javi's mouth on your shoulder. The feeling of his heavy hand as it pushed into yours, the sand around the two palms shifting to accommodate the passion surging through the granules. The taste of his mouth revived itself in yours, subtle like honey, but raw and alive like the berries he was so fond of.

With a sudden crash, the troublesome light fixture fell to the floor below your ladder, cracking and splintering into hundreds of pieces.

You both jumped at the sound, the gaze of the other having fully enraptured each of you. You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, and began to step down the ladder.

Javi was quick to move towards you, dropping his Louis Vuitton bag to the floor on his way. "Careful." He said, extending his hand as he stepped carefully in between the shards of wood and broken bulbs.

Your heartbeat thumped behind your eyes as you descended the ladder and you worked to squelch the shudder in your chest when you allowed your hand to touch his once more, the tanned palm warm and wide and strong. The power and passion raging through the veins beneath yours snapped and beckoned to you, as if his very skin was aching for your touch.

You let out a soft hum at the contact and Javi's eyelashes fluttered slightly. He allowed his face to twinge upwards slightly; a smile playing bashful. He kicked the broken fixture's pieces out of your way, keeping your hand tight in his own as you stepped off the ladder and walked to ground that was unperturbed by the scattered chunks of wood. His golden and jeweled rings pained your hand, but the pain in your palm meant that it was in fact, Javier's hand that you were holding. And Javier's hand was worth a bit of pain.

Standing now with him in front of you, the years past suddenly were brought to the present.  

He kept your hand in his as it dropped to his side. "You work here now?" He asked, his voice slick with emotion and his gaze devastating.

You dropped your eyes from his dark ones and smirked, "No, I just fix every light fixture I can find."

The kingpin chuckled, a inviting and seductive sound, one that filled his entire chest and compelled the listener to ascend upwards with him.  

"I wanted to call you," You began, your voice warbling under his presence. "but I thought it was a long shot that you'd even reply." You took in a deep breath as you ended, "But I knew something would bring you back to me, a siren's song maybe."

"A siren's song?" Javi smiled, his cheeks filling. He dropped your hand from his and moved a palm to your cheek, the golden rings still warm from the touch of you.

You gasped softly as his thumb drug down your lips and chin.

He shook his head, a caramel-colored curl falling to frame his ravishing features. "No. No one else brought me back here but you. You're someone worth coming back for."

Heat began to pool in your stomach and you licked your lips as his hand moved down towards your neck, intertwining slowly with the golden necklaces glittering there.

"Javi..." You whispered, your dream suddenly replaying in your mind.

He tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows, taking in a deep breath as he looked over you. His mind could not process your return to him, how could he have been so lucky? The most precious thing he had ever found, he had somehow loved and lost and now, in some wondrous twist of fate, he had been given a second chance. "Can I kiss you?" He whispered, his eyes shackling yours in an iron grip.

You swallowed and felt your heart leap at his request. You nodded meekly and moaned just before his lips found yours, the pressure and heat of them instantly knocking your knees out from under you and the wind out of your chest. You placed your palms on his chest, your thumbs running softly back and forth over his exposed skin.

His hands moved up from your neck to cradle your jaw. His mustache tickled your sensitive skin and the taste of him was quick to overwhelm your senses- sweet, warm, and wet.

You let one of your hands wander up from his chest to clutch the curls at the base of his neck, the feeling of his hair in between your fingers starting up a kaleidoscope of memories in your mind.

Javi moved one hand to your hip and he pulled you to meet his body. He hummed into your kiss and the vibration sent a tingle down you and the feeling bubbled and popped in your abdomen. With his broad frame, he stepped towards you, pushing the pair of you back towards the wall behind you. The kingpin reached out and slammed the penthouse door closed as the pair of you passed by it, his hands quickly moving back to cup your face.

“Of course you’re staying in the penthouse.” You sneared in between gasping  kisses. 

“I was,” He replied, then moved his lips from yours to suck a bruise onto your neck. “Until the manager dropped a light fixture in my room.” 

You let out a laugh filled with lust and wrapped your arms around the broad expanse of his shoulders. 

“Guess I’ll have to find somewhere else to stay now.” The man teased, his dark eyes flicking up to look into yours.

“There’s room in my bed if you want it.” You answered, your back arching against the wall and your eyes fluttering closed.

Javi hummed on your skin and nipped at your chin. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

JAVI G TAGLIST: @oloreaa @filthybookworm (I just assumed y'all wanted a tag, lemme know if not lol!)

GENERAL TAGLIST: @softly-sad @over300books @autumnleaves1991-blog @phoenixhalliwell

[violetmuses]

Rupture || Chapter 2

Tag Team: @ocfairygodmother @bekscameron @stylesthesunflower @lilith-blackrose @punemy-spotted @ajokeformur-ray @a7estrellas @clints-lucky-arrow

2023

Marilyn Brooks

“Who is Bucky?” While shouldering my satchel, I narrowed both eyes toward Charlotte as we left that news bureau.

Pedestrians and vehicles clustered with usual noise found all around us here. Now it was just another day in the city. Soon after, we moved right down the nearest sidewalk and turned a few corners before reaching this modern apartment complex.

“Everyone has a nickname Mary, but his true name on record is actually James Buchanan Barnes.” Charlotte continued speaking as she walked through that entrance in front of me and entered the lobby without greeting the receptionist.

I watched in silence as elevator doors opened and Charlotte entered without speaking again. Concern washed over my face here as lights blinked between floors and she just scrolled through her phone, probably trying to keep herself composed.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“You’ll see.” Char cleared her throat just as the door pinged open and gave us her destination.

Dim lighting found overhead in this particular hallway reminded me of hotel bulbs. Various number plates had clasped onto the center of each door. Charlotte then paused by the two digits used for 27 and knocked three times to signal her arrival.

Just seconds later, that door opened and my eyes then widened immediately afterwards.

“Bucky Barnes.” I whispered to no one and nearly covered my mouth as though I’d become a child all over again.

“Don’t act so surprised, Mary.” Facing me, Charlotte seemed much calmer than expected here.

“How are you so calm?” I glanced between Charlotte and James, clearly perplexed right now.

“You already know that I’ve visited Wakanda. Seeing people like Bucky in person is normal at this point.” she laughed, teasing me.

“Fair point.” I shrugged because It was true.

Before The Snap, Charlotte also wrote a piece that covered Wakanda’s plan to join this world. Rather than allow his beloved country to keep standing in isolation, King T’challa had opened that homeland in hopes of welcoming others.

“Bucky, this is my best friend Marilyn Brooks. She’s also worked as a journalist for The Everyday Record.” At least Char had been kind enough to introduce me around James with another well-known smile.

“Good to meet you, Marilyn.” Once James reached out to greet me, he used his bare right hand and shook my own hand. Meanwhile, as he wore this black Under Armour t-shirt, his leftward Vibranium arm gleamed with dark-bronze plating from the corner of my eye.

“We learned that someone bombed the remaining Flash Smashers at some point last night. Law enforcement has already started their investigation of course, but Charlotte says that you can help us develop our story for the news.” I tried my best to explain this nightmare without spooking James here.

“I’ve already spoken to journalists, Marilyn. I’m sorry.” James didn’t close the door, but I knew that he wanted to and I definitely couldn’t blame him.

“What do you know, Buck?” Charlotte folded both arms.

“From what I know, the suspect is already in prison.” James said.

“How can you bomb anything from prison?” I shook my head, glancing again between Charlotte and James.

“Networking, Mary. If the bomber knows anyone outside of their cell, they probably linked with someone else for revenge against the Flag Smashers.” Charlotte answered, facing me once more.

“Ah, but where is the suspect, which prison I mean?” I reached my lightbulb moment here and questioned James further.

“He was officially sent to The Raft by a few members of the Dora Milaje.” This confirmation James finally stamped down one location for us and I frantically scribbled down info after opening my satchel.

Charlotte and I found our possible jackpot.

_______

“So we can’t get involved with the investigation, but how much longer is it going to take for law enforcement to actually do something? Charlotte, if this man bombed things without even leaving his prison cell, who knows what else terrorists might plan in the future?” I paced back and forth, deciding to work from home. Charlotte had crashed here, but typed away on her laptop while sitting at my kitchen table.

“Panicking over this story won’t help anything, Mary. We’ve got typical work because it’s not our first crime headline and unfortunately it won’t be the last particular piece.” Char shook her head between bouts of typing and faced me.

“I know, but damn. We’ve had Super-Soldiers wreaking havoc Post-Blip and no one seems to care that the world just keeps getting worse.” I drank apple juice and sat down on the couch, pissed off and disappointed all at once.

“We’ve got this.” Charlotte told me, saving her work on the laptop and walking over to rub my shoulder for a moment.

______

A few hours later, one update surrounding the investigation completely changed everything.

First of all, new reporting had just exposed the car bomber’s name:

Baron Helmut Zemo.

We soon learned that this monster lived as Sokovian royalty, but formerly worked as an Intelligence Officer. Based on his record, this monster led the covert kill squad Eko-Scorpion as Colonel and bombed the 2016 United Nations Summit, as well as carried out other atrocities.

Now, not only had Zemo escape The Raft, but he immediately fled to another country.

As Charlotte and I watched television, it was said that the island of Madripoor cemented itself in the Indonesian Archipelago. Pirates even used this area as their sanctuary during the 1800’s.

“Are you kidding me? Extradition isn’t allowed on the island either. Even if law enforcement officials found Zemo in Lowtown or Hightown, staying in Madripoor will keep the man protected. This story is just going to piss everyone off more and more.” I cut off the television, becoming fed up.

“Keep writing, Mary. We have no other choice.” Charlotte affirmed, grounding us. If we stopped working right now, no one would be found accountable.

“Fine.” I mumbled back.

_______

[oneletteredwondered]

Odd

Logan's first day of public school.

Minor warning for some brief bullying.

Addams family au, based off this picture and au by @misplaced-my-notes hey ily.

--

The long black car pulls up to the blue gates of the public school. Children are running about all directions inside the property, yelling and screaming. Some are sitting on the dirty ground smacking their hands together in some strange ritualistic pattern. There are adults standing on the outskirts keeping careful watch in case someone gets hurt.

Logan stares out the window with his messenger bag over one shoulder. There's a notebook on his lap for the express purpose of taking notes on the other children. He twists his suit jacket in his hands.

Logan is not intimidated.

"Thank you for the ride, Thing," Logan says. The disembodied hand on the steering wheel scutters and turns to face him. It bounces once and raises a finger. Logan huffs.

"I am not nervous." He says, purposefully unclenching the hem of his jacket. Thing bounces twice. Logan deigns not to answer it.

He exits the car, taking a second to make sure his outfit is wrinkle free and shuts the door. He thanks Thing one more time through the open window and begins to make his way up to the blue gates. He has a pen in his notebook at the ready.

He's scribbling notes as he walks, peering over the top of his notebook at the other students. They are so different from him. It's to be expected when under the assumption they have been in public school for their whole lives while Logan has been home schooled for his.

His first observation is that the other students have more finite social skills, moving from person to person with a simple question but not taking the time to really get to know them. Base level acquaintances by definition but he hears the word friend be tossed around. None of them exhibit the requirements for 'friends' in his opinion.

"Question if I may," he approaches a group of girls in the sand. They look to each other then back at him. He marks down silent communication on his pad of paper to explore later.

"I observed you putting your hands together. What is the benefit to that?" He asks. The girls once again give each other looks that Logan can't decipher.

"You mean patty-cake?" One finally says. Logan writes that down.

"It's a game." Another says but this time the tone isn't nice or questioning, but bordering on rude. Logan finds them staring at him with creases near their eyes.

"What benefit does it serve?" He asks anyway.

"Do you not play games?" And then they are laughing and he doesn't know why. Logan is confused. He does not like being confused. Further more, he does play games. Just last week he and his Uncle Remus played how many light bulbs does it take to to short circuit his nervous system. 37. His brother Remy filmed the whole thing for their next family reunion.

It doesn't matter because the girls get up and walk away from him, one of them smacking his notebook to the dirt and laughing again. It's rude. Logan picks it up and shakes the dirt off. He feels a burning on his face. 

A new feeling he is not a fan of.

A bell rings and Logan plainly follows the teachers rules to find his designated classroom.

He spends the next hour ignoring the teacher and detailing the interaction, trying to figure out the nuances of what he did to get the girls to act unkindly. He comes up with nothing, which is more frustrating than he cares to admit.

He spends the next hour after that arguing with the teacher about Christopher Columbus because they have wildly different accounts of what he did to the world. In the end, Logan has something called a detention and one of his classmates is crying because he talked about murder. He was simply trying to inform them of the truth.

Logan does not pout.

During the scheduled lunch period Logan spends the time alone at a table, writing notes about the hidden groups within groups at each table. It's not until the hour is almost up that he realizes the other children are whispering and looking at him, and it doesn't look nice either.

This is proven as when the period ends, someone snags his notebook, holding it over their head where Logan can't reach without looking undignified jumping for it.

"What are you writing about you weirdo?" They taunt. Logan just stands and stares at them. Without his notebook he begins to details his observations out loud.

"Taller male uses his height against others. Perhaps a tactic learned at home. Possibly used to try and seem more likable by his peers. Uses physical attributes as they are certainly lacking in the intellectual department." Logan places a hand to his chin in thought, circling the student who took his book. A small crowd of students forms around them.

"What did you just say to me?" They ask dumbly. Logan sighs.

"My apologies, I didn't realizes your critical thinking skills were so severely missing. I said you are not smart so you try to be liked by being stronger than others." The bully stares at Logan angrily. Logan stares back. Suddenly the bully shoves the notebook back into his hands.

"Mr Saga! He called me stupid!" The bully points a finger at him accusatory. Logan gapes.

"I did not! I called you severely lacking in intelligence. There’s a difference!"

"Mr Addams." An authoritative voice comes from behind him. Logan turns to see a teacher looking disapproving back at him.

"Come with me Mr Addams." They say. Logan follows plainly, turning to glare at the bully as they look smugly back at him. It's then that Logan realizes they planned their words and got Logan in trouble on purpose. How rude. 

Logan writes that down.

He gets a small lecture from the teacher about how it's impolite to call someone stupid, which Logan clarifies, again, he did not, in fact, call any one stupid. The teacher just sighs.

"Since this is your first day and you're coming from being home schooled, I'll let you off with a warning, try to not let it happen again." Mr Saga says. Logan narrows his eyes but agrees for the time being.

He exits the classroom to find another student leaning against the walls beside the door. They perk up seeing him, waiting for him. They wear a flowy blue skirt and there's a white bow in their unruly curly hair. They give Logan a bright smile.

"Hi." They say first.

"Salutations." Logan says back. The other giggles and Logan isn't sure what they found funny.

"I just wanted to say I thought it was cool the way you stood up to Nate like that. He holds things over people's heads a lot." They inform him. Logan makes a note in his book as he walks, the other student falling in line with him.

"What are you writing down?" They ask. Logan studies them for a second, trying to figure out their motive. They just smile softly at him behind their round glasses.

"I am detailing the differences from being home schooled to those who have been in public schools." The other makes an 'oh' noise.

"Actually if I may, might I inquire some insight from you?" Logan stops in the middle of the hallway, his walking partner stops as well. They nod their head happily, swaying back and forth.

Logan details the conversation he had earlier with the girls in the sand, confusion apparent as he is unsure what he did to make them treat him like that. His new friend giggles again. It doesn't sound mean at all and a part of Logan wishes to detail the noise in his book.

"It's not uh, common, to ask questions like that, so they uh, probably, just acted mean cause they didn't know what else to do." Well. Even if they didn't sound sure, it's a better explanation than Logan could come up with. He details the theory in his book.

"My name's Patton by the way!" The student says. Logan holds out his hand. Patton blinks at it.

"Logan Addams," Logan introduces himself. Patton still hasn't shook his hand. Logan shifts awkwardly.

"It's polite to take my hand," he tries to explain. At that Patton grins wide and takes his hand. But he doesn't shake his hand proper, instead he squeezes it and doesn't let go.

Logan sputters and suddenly Patton is dragging him through the hall, telling Logan all about the strange slapping hand ritual from earlier. It's a game of some kind apparently, made for the pure fact to be fun and sometimes challenging with no purpose otherwise. Logan does his best to remember these details but Patton's hand is warm in his and it's very distracting.

Warm. Not like the burning of earlier where he felt sad and angry. This is soft warmth that makes him flustered and.. happy? Patton guides them to class, making some excuse about getting lost. The class laughs at their misfortune but Patton shrugs it off, so Logan figures it's best to do so as well.

He decides not to speak during class, writing and writing all the information Patton provided to him down. It's important for research, nothing else.

At the end of the day Patton is by his side again, walking him out the front gates and chatting aimlessly about seemingly nothing. They wait together for a while, cars moving in a line to pick up the kids. A long sleek black car is last in line.

"I'll see you tomorrow!" Patton calls, beginning to step away.

"Do you have a guardian coming to collect you?" Logan asks curiously not really wanting their conversation to end. Patton is.. willing to talk to him.. and provide valuable commentary. That's all. Patton shakes his head to the question.

"I live with my grandma just a few minutes from here, so I just walk home," he explains. Logan swallows a lump in his throat.

"Would you care for a ride home then? As thank you for being helpful to me today." He adds quickly. It doesn't stop Patton from beaming at him and that causes something downright strange to happen to Logan's stomach.

"Thanks Lolo," He says and Logan is so caught up in that something he's barely coherent when he opens the door to the car for Patton like a gentleman, and Patton screams.

"THERE'S A HAND!" He yelps, skittering to hide behind Logan and pointing over his shoulder into the car. Thing taps the wheel hard.

"Yes of course there's a hand." Logan says plainly.

"Its name is Thing, its my family's house keeper." Logan goes on, sliding into the car. Patton looks between Logan and Thing with very clear fear in his eyes. He slowly slides in beside Logan and closes the door.

"Can it.. uh, actually drive?" Patton's voice squeaks.

"He is the safest driver in our family." The car moves and Patton is frozen still and not talking as they pull out of the the school lot. He barely manages to give directions to his home. Logan isn't sure what happened. Patton was so.. cheerful a moment ago. Logan fiddles with the hem of his suit then reaches over to give Patton's hand a squeeze like Patton did for him earlier in the day.

Whatever it does, it works, as Patton begins to smile at him again and Logan finds himself smiling back, but just a little. Patton is relaxed by the time they pull up to a small cottage styled house.

"Thanks for the ride Logan, uh.. Thing?" Thing lifts a finger in a wave and Patton waves a finger back at it, a giggle slipping out. Logan ends up staring unable to look away. There's that noise again, the one that he wants to document and hold onto and hear again and again. What is wrong with him?

"See you tomorrow Logan," Patton says impossibly soft and he's looking at Logan so nicely and Logan manages a quick 'bye' and the door closes. Logan scoots to the window and watches as Patton enters his home.

Thing begins the drive back home. It taps the steering wheel.

"It was fine," Logan says curtly, hands crinkling his notebook on his lap. He thinks back over the day and he ends up warm again thinking about Patton and that strange thing happens to his stomach again.

Once home Logan wastes no time in heading to the moonroom in the back of the house. The sides of the room are all glass, but thick black curtains cover them while the sun is up, only opening when the moon is high in the sky. It's filled with plots of rose thorns, the petals and bulbs scattered all over the floor so when his parents waltz they swirl around them.

His father is there, wearing something long and black, a swirling shadow around his neck as he reads from a large tome with witch words written on the inside. There’s a pendant in his hand that sways as he walks the room. His skin is deathly pale and cold, but still manages to give comforting hugs when called for.

"Father," Logan says when he enters. The shadow thing around his father's shoulder puffs into nothingness and takes its rightful resting place under his father's eyes.

"Logan dear, how was your first day at the public school?" Virgil asks, taking a seat at one of the long tattered benches in the room. He pats the seat beside him and Logan goes to sit by him.

"I believe myself to be ill." Logan tells him plainly. Virgil gasps and goes to touch his forehead.

"Did one of the other school children give you a pox? Your Uncle Remus would love to experience it with you." Virgil says. Logan pushes his hand off. Holding his father's hand doesn't feel the same as holding Patton's he notices bitterly.

"I do not think any of them were sick to my knowledge but I am feeling.. Odd." He settles on. Virgil tsks sadly. When Logan had announced he wanted to attend the public school to study the other kids, Virgil had encouraged his brilliant mind.

His son confided that it's not that he didn't love his father's lessons on the occult or his padre's lessons with the sword, but this is an experiment all on it's own, one he got to do all on his own. Seeing his child so distraught about something they were so excited about is distressing.

Virgil looks up as his husband enters the room, giving him a pointed look towards their son. Roman flicks the ashes of his cigar into one of the potted plants and takes a seat on the other side of Logan.

"What ever is the matter son?" Roman asks. He takes one more puff of his cigar and tosses it. One of the plants jerk up to eat it. Virgil glares at him because they have discussed it's not healthy for the plants to be smoking yet.

Logan recounts his day for his parents, flipping through his notebook as he does. Virgil and Roman are attentive, nodding approvingly to Logan's banter with the teacher about the misinterpretation about Chris Columbus, and Roman laughs heartily when Logan explains how he never actually called someone stupid. He has way better insults that stupid anyway.

"And then Patton, he-" Logan cuts off his words with a pout, feeling that strange feeling again. Virgil plays with his hair comfortingly.

"Is Patton a good one or a bad one?" He asks.

"He's good." Logan says quickly. Roman raises his eyebrows at that. He and Virgil share a questioning look over Logan's head.

"He's good, but he- he makes me feel weird. He makes me feel sickly." Logan explains.

"Even though he's good?" Virgil asks. Logan nods but he doesn't look happy about it.

"He's sweet and kind and explained some of the social instances for me." Logan swallows hard.

"He makes my chest feel like it's constricting. Shortness of breath isn't healthy and while talking to him I almost stuttered which is concerning for my brain scan last week did not have any abnormalities." Logan had been upset about the lack of abnormalities, but now he's more upset cause if there were, then at least he'd have a working theory of the cause of this sudden feeling.

He's hugged on both sides by his parents and even though he's still confused it does make him feel slightly better.

"Maybe we should meet your new friend?" Roman asks. Logan stiffens, then nods. The word friend echoes in his head. Are he and Patton friends? It is something he is going to have to inquire about. He hops off the bench and heads to his room, finishing what little homework he has, then proceeding to electrocute his brother until his eyes are glowing blue.

And he takes time to think about Patton. He used a full page in his book to try and document his laugh. He feels odd for sure but not bad. He will have to conduct more experiments he decides, almost smiling at the idea of spending more time with his.. new friend, and the experiments of course.

"Ah, young love," Roman laments back in the moonroom. He takes Virgil's hand and kisses up his arm to his lips. Virgil allows the affection.

"He doesn't realize it yet though," Virgil chides. Roman just smirks at him.

"He will figure it out eventually. He takes after you in that regard." It's teasing and Virgil pushes him away and stands. Roman is quick on the upkeep, chasing to catch Virgil by the waist and pull him into a dip.

"You mustn't tell him," Virgil says hanging from Roman's arms. "You know how he gets when the answer is spoiled for him." Roman pulls Virgil back to standing, twirling him around the room, rose petals dancing at their feet.

"I have full confidence in our little mad scientist," Roman says with a dashing smile. Virgil returns it with a smirk.

"Just like you have full confidence with me?" He's teasing. Roman lights up.

"Is that a dare my darling?" He leans in. Virgil laughs dark and low, gripping Roman by the lapels of his white suit.

"It's a threat," he whispers against Roman's lips. A pleasant shiver runs through Roman as he kisses his husband quiet, knowing the feelings tormenting Logan will come to light all on their own.

And when Logan finally invites Patton over, and the soft boy screams at Virgil's pet spider, giving Athena the fear she deserves and hasn't had in such a long time, and Logan spends an hour comforting him, both Virgil and Roman decide Patton is good, and that Logan has made an excellent choice for a friend.

--

AN: So I wrote this and then after saw OP artist put Emile as Uncle Fester... so I'm claiming creative liberties with making Remus Uncle Fester because a) he and Roman are actual brothers and b) I love him.

[oyesmendes]

half hearted

a/n: this is part two to it was you! sorry if i hurt you!!!!

summary: shawn fucked up and he knows. he’s trying to fix it but could it be a tad bit late?

“Somewhere, anywhere but here”

Those words ran through his mind every single day he was home, and Shawn could barely focus on being with his family. He made trips to the Lakeside Cafe daily, passing by her house just as he rounded the corner to the Main Street. He was hoping to meet her, try to sort things out. He’d stand outside her house for not more than fifteen seconds, wondering if he should go ring the doorbell. Today was the same routine, he stood on the front yard of Y/N’s childhood home running through the old memories they made together. Shawn thought about all those late nights they spent climbing onto the roof of her house, drinking cheap beers and talking about their dreams. He remembered how Y/N was always a constant throughout his life even after he made it big and toured hundreds of cities in the world. Sure, Camila was there from the start too but Y/N, she felt like home. She was his home. He wrapped his arms around his body, the Canadian winter turning him into a 6 foot popsicle. He was getting ready to leave, not wanting to be any creepier than he was the past few days but the front door swung open and Shawn was frozen to the ground.

“Shawn! hey buddy, what’s up?” Mike shouted as he made his way down the driveway. Should he ask if Y/N was home? Was it appropriate to be asking her boyfriend that? Heck it.

“Hey uh, I was just wondering if Y/N is home? I needed to ask her something regarding work” A frown formed on Mike’s face as he approached Shawn.

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“She left Pickering last night”

“She what? Where did she go?”

“Florida, Miami. She said she had to go see Camila, something about-“ Before Mike could even finish, Shawn was running back home. Why the hell would she go to Miami? What the fuck, Y/N? He was dialing her number into his phone, re-dialing and cursing at it when he was led to voicemail.

-

She watched her phone vibrate in her lap again, Shawn’s face filling up the screen. 6 missed calls, 15 unread messages.

“Y’know he’s probably packing up his bags to fly here right” Camila gave her a knowing look. She was right, other than yourself Camila knew Shawn like the back of her hand. He was probably already driving to Toronto and yelling at Andrew to get him on the next flight out to Miami. But she couldn’t care, she couldn’t be bothered right now. She took a flight to Florida to try and fix things for Camila, for Shawn. And right now, she couldn’t afford him yelling at her. It was weird, being here and Camila pouring her heart out to Y/N when she was the underlying cause to her breakup. But they were friends, for as long as they could remember, Y/N and Camila were friends even before Shawn and Camila became a thing. Their parents became best friends after an incident on a family trip in Miami; and ever since that day, they were inseparable.

-

“Shawn you can’t just pack up and leave!” Aaliyah was shouting at her brother who was now throwing random articles of clothing into a duffel bag.

“You don’t tell me what to do, Liyah”

“Oh yeah? How about this - everyone knew she was leaving, Shawn. Everyone except you.” Shawn froze in his place.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Everyone knew where she was going. She came to say goodbye, told us she was going to try and fix things for you. If she couldn’t, then she was going to be a friend, one that Camila needs in a time like this.” She stood in front of Shawn, hands folded to her chest. “I know you love them both, in very different ways but you need to stop and think. They both mean so much in your lives and if you go down there and tell Y/N how much you love her and want her back, how the hell is Mila supposed to react? You’re going to hurt her, Shawn.”

As much as he hated it, he knew Aaliyah was right. He didn’t know what to do, he wasn’t a fixer like Y/N was and neither was he a romantic that knew his way around relationships like Camila did. He was just a dorky kid from Pickering, who wrote out his honest feelings in songs. So he did that, he wrote a song.

-

“Y/N! Como estas?” Camila’s mother greeted her with a warm embrace when they arrived at their Florida home. They led her through the house into the kitchen, where a table spread of food was waiting for them.

“I’m going to leave the two of you to devour this alright?” They both nodded and Camila gave her mother a peck on the cheek before joining Y/N at the kitchen counter. Y/N wasted no time before diving straight into the healing wound on Camila’s heart.

“Why didn’t you fight him on it?” Camila choked on the pancake, food flying out of her mouth. Silence ensued between them for a second, Camila only being able to focus on the food in front of her.

“Because”

“Oh fuck off Mila, you know that’s not an answer”

“Because I’m not the one he’s in love with” She sputtered out, taking a gulp of the coffee in her cup. It was way too hot, but she didn’t mind it burning her throat after what she had admitted on behalf of Shawn.

“Say again?” Y/N knew she was pushing it, but she had to hear Camila confirm the words that were spewing out of her mouth. Camila repeated the words this time, slowly and with more conviction. Y/N couldn’t believe her ears as she leaned back in her chair.

“So you’re telling me, after writing one whole album about you while he was dating me, then telling me he wasn’t in love with me; that he was wrong and he’s still in love with me?”

“And he always will be in love with you” Y/N scoffed at those words, she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. After all the drama, after she’s moved on and found someone new, Shawn was still in love with her?

“Is this a joke?” She looked out of the window at the sky. How could God be playing such a game with her? Camila hugged her from behind, her head resting on Y/N’s shoulder. She couldn’t piece anything together, patch up any holes because she didn’t know where to even start.  

-

I should’ve said a word

Because you were wrong in what you’re thinking

Girl, I’m only never thinking

Of you

Shawn scribbled the last lines to the song, slamming his notebook shut before shoving it into his duffel. It had been a week since Y/N left for Miami, and two days since she arrived back in LA with Mike. Both herself and Camila kept each other company throughout the few days they were together, reminiscing their old friendship and talking about how crazy the situation was amongst them. She didn’t mention much about Shawn to Mike, and he respected her need for privacy. That was one of the many things she admired about Mike, he was so patient with her and he listened to all of her stories after she broke up with Shawn. He knew she needed her space, and in time she would open up to him as long as he waited for her. She was his guardian angel, the one she could count on every single time.

It was late in the evening and Mike was working overtime in the office tonight. So Y/N was on the couch, watching a TV series she never really paid attention to. She was about to fall asleep when the pounding on her front door sent her falling off the couch. She dragged her body to the door, ready to scold Mike for forgetting his keys again, but the figure standing at the door made her swallow all her words.

“Shawn? Wha-how…what are you doing here?” He pushed past her and stomped into the hallway, shaking off his boots and bags.

“What the fuck Y/N?” He’d been waiting for days to say this to her, but when he saw the anger on her face, he immediately regretted every word.

“Excuse me?” She moved closer to him, her head cocked to the side. She was in a white Saint Laurent hoodie, the same one that Shawn had gotten her when she came to one of his shows in New York. He claimed that they should have matching “Best Friend” hoodies because it “strengthened the friendship” Oh the bullshit.

“You can’t just pack up and leave, then go to Miami to see my ex girlfriend!”

“Your ex-girlfriend so happens to be my best friend too!” They were now both shouting, and Shawn was pacing the living room, not ready for where the argument was going. When he didn’t respond immediately, Y/N took her chance to fire some shots. Better to get the damage done and out of the way.

“You are a fucking idiot do you know that?” She paused, looking at Shawn in the eyes, “You lost someone who loved you so much, who gave her heart to you. She thought she was going to marry you, Shawn! You broke her!”

“And I’m sorry! I’ve already apologised a million times what else do you want me to do?” He tugged at his hair. Shawn looked distraught, the bags under his eyes heavier than ever, his cheeks sunken in and the light that was once shining was nothing but a broken bulb flickering in his eyes. But she was in pain too, knowing that there wasn’t a good way to fix this.

“I don’t know Shawn”

“Let me hold you, please Y/N. You’re all I have now”  

“And I have Mike” She whispered.

“Wha-“

“I have Mike, I’m happy where I am Shawn. I’ve moved on.” Shawn felt as if he’d been shot in the chest when those words came tumbling out of her mouth. But it was true, Y/N has Mike who loves her till the end of the world. She saw herself marrying him, having kids together and building a family. She couldn’t see that with Shawn, at least not now when he couldn’t figure out himself. “You once told me that you should fight for love, and to fight hard when you were sure. And I saw you do that, you fought so hard for Camila that I told myself I had to let you go” Tears had welled up in both their eyes by now. They stood 3 feet apart, Y/N wrapping herself with her own arms and Shawn’s hands itching to pull her close to his chest.

“And I let you go” She continued, “then I found Mike, well more of he found me. And he put me back together, gave me his all. He fought for me and I love him, Shawn. I love him so so much. It could never match up to the love I have for you, but he’s my forever. I’m sorry”

Shawn didn’t have the energy to respond to her, hell he didn’t want to respond. All he could do was pick up his bags, and put on his shoes to leave. Y/N watched him gather his items and pull the front door open. He wanted to play the song he wrote about her, scream his thoughts out and tell her she was wrong. That he was always fighting for her no matter the circumstance. But he could only kiss her on the forehead, and whisper the words he never got to say,

“I love you, and I’m sorry”

[docholligay]

New Save

@amberlilly asked me for “The Senshi react to Bioshock Infinite!” A lot of times these “X reacts to Y” prompts can be really difficult, because they can so often descend into really TV-style “Oh that was cool” type stuff and that’s not really what makes me feel proud and happy, so this took me a while, but I think the end result is really interesting stuff! Please let me know if you enjoy! This, as always, includes MY TAKE on the SIlMil, so if “Angel Noble Moon Kingdom” is your thing this may not be for you. 

Mina didn’t take anything seriously. Everyone knew that, because that was what she wanted everyone to know. Mina laughed and she made jokes and she was flippant and she never thought about anything too overly much, and that was the way she liked it. That was the way she liked it to be known. 

Games were just a fiction, everyone knew that, and that wasn’t any less true, she supposed, as she watched the band of crows fly out of a man’s hands, and she elbowed Rei in the ribs, telling her she only wishes she had that sort of power. The water tentacles were Haruka’s wet dream, weren’t they, she laughed. Haruka scowled, and Mina didn’t take anything seriously. 

What could she possibly feel, about a man who knew there were horrors in his past, that he had done things that made him a monster, even if that Booker no longer existed in this timeline? 

Booker ran through the rebellions he put down of men the same as him that he was told were lesser, and he served and he put his bootheel through babies’ skulls, and remembers, oh how he remembers. 

She looked over to Mako, who almost certainly did not remember when the planet of Mercury gave their underpowered rebellion, when Jupiter and Venus and Mars crushed those bookish weaklings with little thought to the matter. When Mars set their libraries on fire and laughed at the flame. When Jupiter grinned as she tossed a flaming book crashing through the stained glass of a university building. 

When Venus put the survivors of the protest to the sword. 

When she made Sailor Mercury kill her sister for her participation.

But this was all a fiction, a fiction of a man from a faraway time in a place that never existed, and the other Senshi hooted and hollered as they passed the controller around, and drank potions that made this man into the things they used to be. The elements, abridged, and Mina could always sniff out a liar. 

Oh to have been Mars with her fire, or Neptune with the crash of her own sea. The rest of them had powers that were destructive in all those easy ways that were like a game in themselves, ways they could wish for even still. But not Venus. No, Venus, as Mina, needed no element but her own ferocity on the battlefield, and so she had been gifted the gifts of the human mind, of memory. Venus could see them, and plant them, and with a touch, call up the most painful moment of your life. 

Mina could not do that, but she could see and do enough. She was not a Seer, but she was not completely removed, either, and she existed as her own island. 

But she didn’t take it seriously. 

What could she possibly take seriously, about a game where a man knew the past was there, just at the edge of his memory, and that something had been lost, something he had to find, something he had to make better? 

Booker found Elizabeth and determined to be what she needed him to be. We aren’t trapped in what we were, are we? What something in another ripple of time might have been? He saved her from the Prophet, because prophecy is all about ruin, and sometimes you need to fight to free someone. Sometimes you have to kill, to protect. 

You could reject prophecy. The proof of that was in Haruka, shoving a sandwich into her mouth and yelling at the screen, and in Michiru, sipping her wine, the matching scars on their chests the only symbol of a death that was meant to be. 

And so that she could hear Queen Serenity, with her dying breaths mirrored in Venus’ own, seaking of the Moon Kingdom to come, and that Venus would lead her daughter to a new order that would cover the Sol System, that would bring this System to order once more. This was prophecy, and for this she ripped the shards of power from their bodies and sent them, like eggs, to wait on earth. 

Why she’d been so fond of what would become Tokyo, Mina wasn’t really sure. You’d think she’d diversify her portfolio a little. 

And there was Mina, joking again. The game was a joke, yelling at Elizabeth, a source of immense power, to get her shit together before she got killed, there was nothing but jokes to be seen in that. Being the instrument of something you can’t understand, something you were dropped into, who could understand that? 

The room was filled with laughter and chatter, and Mina laughed too. 

What could she feel about being haunted by a feral ghost?

Lady Comstock became a memory and a lie and a legend, and those things can still strike, her shrieking fight against the will to change the future, the desire to bring forth the truth in all its ugliness and inconvenience. Preserved under glass, the story being told against and again about those terrible Vox Populi, and how they killed her, and how terrible is it? 

The Vox Populi didn’t kill her, but maybe they should have. Maybe the people should rise and defeat those that would keep them down. Maybe Venus and the others weren’t heroes but with footsoldiers in the oppression that the Moon Kingdom meted out, in the name of peace. 

“There was never a bad peace.” Mina could still hear her, with Venus’ ears, as these words echoed off the cold crystal walls. She smiled. The Queen always smiled when she said these things. 

Even in death, Serenity had written the story, and when the kingdom of the moon was brought to Mina, Pluto told her of a beautiful kingdom, with a princess, and there was peace, and the people of Earth disrupted it, because Beryl was evil, because love between the Earth and the moon was forbidden. 

Poor, sweet Pluto. She had been lied to more than any of them, kept so far from the kingdom, watching its destruction through a sad mirror at the gate, clinging to those instructions from her beloved queen. Raise these girls, and make them fighters. Raise this kingdom, again, for Princess Serenity. For me. 

She looked to Pluto, who whose eyes were on the screen with that face that knew so much, and so little. Did she think often, on her deception? As both deceiver and deceived? Mina could think of little else, as the silver Lady burst through doors and windows, screaming out the hatred of this interloper, bringing violence and death. 

That same scream had filled her mind, as she Remembered. Not those memories suggested to her, by Pluto, by the shard itself, by that sweet whispering voice that said how she loved her wayward daughter. No, Serenity had made a mistake with that shard, in that those powers were bound to memory, and she could not erase that, not all of it. Not for all of them. 

Haruka did not remember that Uranus was a coward, and so she was brave. Mako did not remember that Jupiter was a destroyer, and so she grew beauty. 

But Mina remembered Venus was a commander, and that she was hard and cruel and regimented, and those memories dug into her brain stem. Sometimes Venus’ voice slid out of her mouth, and she gagged on it like a poison slug. Neptune was an assassin, and she slithered that knife into the King’s back from the shadows. Did Michiru know she was born from the seed of a traitor? Did she feel that same pricking heat in her chest as Mina did, knowing the thing might escape? 

Their eyes met over the bouncing heads of the others, but Michiru’s eyes were as inscrutable as always, one of the few hidden corners Mina knew in all the Senshi. 

Mina joked as they wound around lighthouse after lighthouse, each one leading them to a false home, a new place where things were changed and yet always, always the same. All they could do was try another lighthouse. Go through another tear, and be born again. 

She let her eyes wander around the room as she fed that perfect knowledge that Mina took nothing seriously, that she was light and flippant and for all the world a perfect goof. Serenity wasn’t the only one who could create a story, and cast herself as she wanted it to be. 

Venus had made her girls into soldiers. She had beaten them and praised them and brought them to heel and made them into the most terrifying force in the Sol System. She had done this with efficiency and power and a certain violent grace. 

But Mina loved hers. She wanted Haruka to stop trying to give her life. She wanted Rei to forgive herself her mistakes. She wanted Michiru to feel she was part of a team. She wanted Ami to feel heard. 

Mina wanted all these things, against what was foretold. Against what Venus whispered. She wanted to love them as Venus had ruled them. But that wasn’t supposed to be part of the game. 

What could she feel about this man, whose only way to save what he loved was to die?

[shhhhhskars]

See You Again (part 2)

Click here to indulge in part 1. This is kind of our babies getting emotionally vulnerable with each other, and being weirdos together. All the feels. Very fluffy and soft soft Alex things. I hope you enjoy this. (P.S. sorry if there are typos or what not, my brain has been tired lately.)

There was something bittersweet about finding it when she did. A mixture of embarrassment, unease and relief. It over took her body in a rush as she gazed at his messy scribble in the lonely kitchen, and she had to physically close her eyes to ground herself for a few seconds. All was silent, except for the soft humming of the refrigerator, and she basked in it for a second. With the tension leaving her body, she realized just how disappointed she truly was a second ago. And what was this undeniable shift she felt in the pit of her stomach, the muddled clenching that was there just prior- practically nonexistent now? All of that pent up anxiety and frustration. Gone. Poof. Easy like that. Simply because he had signaled that he was still around.

How was it possible that he could shift her mood so effortlessly? The thought made her seethe a little, his pull was far too strong on her emotions, and it terrified her.

Making a mental note to check in with herself later, she took her her sweet time to climb the staircase up to the rooftop terrace- an effort to convince herself that she was not a complete soft trash can for the man who waited for her. She did her best to maintain an expression of nonchalance- an effort to appear cool, calm and collected. Instead, she found herself chewing at the inside of her bottom lip the entire time, to hold back the smile that was fighting it’s way across her lips. 

When she finally reached the top level, firmly pulling open the french doors, she stopped curtly, legs suddenly feeling like lead.

The roof terrace which was designed to be a cozy space- was decked out intricately from left to right. Draped from edge to edge- twinkling round string-lights hung, the glow that emitted from the circular bulbs standing out against the black, industrial wire and the bare night sky. They wrapped around the exposed wooden beams that provided a shaded area in the day-time, and looped back to where she was standing. Starting at her feet, there were milky wax candles of all sizes, placed in careful bundles all around the terrace floor, burning comfortably in temperate night. A few over-sized metal lanterns lay among them, with taller candles inside, the light bouncing back and radiating against the glass. Dozens of healthy sunflowers (her favorite) beamed straight up in ceramic white pitchers, which were spread through out the various surfaces- one on top of the lounge table, another on top of the bar area. 

He staggered his usual potted plants to the outskirts of the terrace, their terra-cotta buckets adding to the rosiness and haziness of the scene- which made just enough room for a fluffy, layered spread of blankets, on top of a heavy, white quilted duvet. A handful of throw pillows were scattered a top, all some shade of creme or white, some with cotton covers, others knitted, some just soft and fuzzy. Two generously sized wine glasses were perched on a wooden stool next to the area, already filled with a deep ruby hue, and she could tell it was her favorite blend that they kept in their mini collection downstairs. A gentle, soft jazz instrumental filtered through the air, nearly undetectable due to the fact that they were nestled in the heart of the city, the buzz from around them undeniable. 

She was in awe of the energy of the space- of his lofty and particular intimate curation. Stunned, she held her breath. 

As if on cue, the giant Swede who was responsible for it all, appeared from around the corner, whistling softly to himself, carrying an extensive charcuterie board with two large hands. He nearly jumped when he saw her standing in the door way, and clutched at the wooden board firmly. 

“Holy shi.. I said around 10...ish, 'baby. Hi, though.” he muttered with a furrowed brow, but a silly smile was spreading across his face just from seeing her frame in the doorway. He walked over to the wooden table that was near their fort of blankets, and placed down his work of art, shifting it into place on the table. 

Still in complete shock, she ignored him and his time request, watching him nonchalantly shift some of the cheeses on the board. 

“Alex...did you do all of this...for me?” she questioned, clearing her throat to catch his attention when he ignored her. “Alex..” she pressed again, softly, and he pried his attention away from the cheese brought his eyes to hers finally. Looking around, he gave her a tiny, innocent shrug and a nod, as if to say, yeah, I did. He pushed himself up, dusting his butt off a little as he did so, and walked over to where she stood expectantly in the door way.

He wrapped a hand around the small of her waist, pulling her into him, and she sighed a breath of relief, from the much needed contact. 

“We haven’t seen much of each other as of late. I figured, we could use some alone time.” he said modestly. “I mean, I know it’s nothing much, or whatever but...something small, you know, just for us.”

She scoffed, wrapping one arm around his waist, pulling his body closer to hers with a gentle jerk. Suddenly her Tiramisu and lingerie felt minuscule, compared to what he did for her. 

“Small? Baby...” she planted a solid kiss on his chin. “This is everything.” she whispered. Music still softly threading along in the background, he blushed a violent shade of light pink, and brought his lips gently onto hers, leaving a lingering, soft kiss that made her want to whine when he broke it. He dropped her waist and went for her hand, interlocking their fingers and pulling her out of the doorway, and down onto the terrace. “C’mere.” He tugged at her arm, prompting her to follow him to the little area he had set up for them.

**

A few glasses of wine in, and she’s sitting pretzel style on top of one of the pillows, giggling at a Skarsgard camping story. This time, he remincised on  camping with G, and Gustaf’s then girlfriend. Bill also tagged along, as well as a young Valter, and the trip was a memorable mess, because Valter, Bill and Alexander were forced to share a tent. Other than Gustaf and his girlfriend making their...sounds, Valter could swear up and down he heard a bear in the middle of the night- which led to him waking them up in the ass crack of night,  to sob a bit and beg them to check it out. Bill volunteered, and instead of coming back into the tent he took an intentionally long smoke break, which caused Valter to freak out even more.

 His shirt rode up as he spoke, animated and enthused as ever, exposing his sculpted, tan torso and gray boxer briefs. This was one of his top five favorite positions to be in, ‘cause he could gaze right up at her with ease, head snuggled in her lap and his long body stretched out to the maximum. If she threw in a little head scratch, ah, that was true bliss. 

“Ah...that little motherfucker, man. I miss him when he was small. Now he’s all...smart and what not.” Alexander commenced his reminiscing with a chuckle, followed with a small sigh. 

She smiled down at him, one hand brushing through his locks, the other, reaching for her wine glass and dragging the rim up to her lips. “Yeah, well, that generally happens, sweets. You have fifty million siblings, you should know this.” she said with a little tug on his hair. He winced, belting out a mumbled ouch, and pinched the side of her thigh.

“Fifty million, yeah? I’m defffintely telling my dad you said that.” he said with a goofy little giggle, raising a hand up to gently trace her cheekbone.

“You wouldn’t fucking dare, Skarsgard. You know that’s my bestie.” she said with a roll of her eyes, cutting her eyes at him playfully.

“Ooh, and I’m telling mom you said that,” he countered, changing from his index to his rough thumb, bringing his hand down to stroke her jaw-line with his large finger. A full on grin was spread across his face now, fully amused at teasing her, and her mouth dropped dramatically. 

“You’re playing dirty. I thought you missed me, sir.” She gave her best pout and sad eyes, but it only made them both laugh.

“I missed the hell out of you, and those awfully dramatic facial expressions you do. You should be an actress.” he touched the tip of her nose with his index finger, and she shook her head with a small laugh.

“Oh? There’s a joke.” she said with a little snicker, imagining the scenario briefly. She ran her hand down his tummy, tracing small circles on exposed skin. He shuddered under her touch, and he closed his eyes, snuggling his head more into her lap. It was getting later and later, and Alexander became more and more of a baby when it was close to his bed-time.

“Mmmmm.” he mumbled as adjusted, relaxing under her touch. She took a good look at him, laying their with his eyes closed. She could see every line, every tiny little wrinkle that creased up at the side of his eyes- she adored each one. Under his eyes were slightly puffy, like he was restless and needed a good rest tonight. She looked at his faded stubble that was growing back at a rapid rate from his last visit to the barber. 

“What? Does that feel good?” she asked, nibbling on the inside of her bottom lip gently as she peered down at him.

He nodded slowly, and she stopped the circles on his tum for only second, just for his eyes to shoot open and his brows to furrow down. Her eyebrows raised in surprise, and she resumed her circles. He smiled and closed his eyes, once again at ease.

She stifled a laugh, at how simple he was to please, and how lucky they both were to have found each other in a such a messy world. And it was strange...it was very rare that she craved affection, or romance, the whole idea of it made her kind of cringe sometimes- yet she felt so comfortable laying here with him, surrounded by candles and laying in a fort of throw blankets. It was oddly comforting, to know that in this moment she could just be- that there was no real need for a facade of any type of persona right in this moment. She brought her left hand to his hair again, giving him a little head rub while her other hand ran over his stomach and chest under his thin white t-shirt. It hitting her all at once, that if anything could be considered perfection, it would be this moment, with Alexander, right here.

“You could be anywhere in the world, but you’re here with me. Ain’t that about a bitch.” she joked awkwardly with shake of her head, not letting up her movements.

His eyes opened at that- but they were still half closed. Darkened blue orbs half covered by sleepy kids stared up and into her soul for a second and she had to look away.

“Please, kid, where else would I be?” he challenged, with a lazy little yawn.

She shrugged, unable to find the right words, and he chuckled at her silence, and her eyes fell back on him. She paused this time, letting her hand rest on his chest, grazing her hand his right nipple softly.. He smiled a little at the tickling feeling of that. “If I didn’t meet you..what, I’d be...drunk somewhere with Dada? Talking about some new dumb thing he saw online, listening to his stoned ass. Or maybe wandering around a hotel alone? Trying to find somewhere other than my empty room read a script.” He finished his little rant with a chuckle. “Really no where else I’d rather be.” he added softly, with a small shrug.

She was taken aback at his brutal honesty, at how he opened himself up to her- this was a rare occasion indeed. She felt her heart physically softening in her chest for him, and it ached a bit.

“Nah. You’d be out making some new art. Creating. Being dope. You know. It’s what you do. It’s in your genes.” Building up the people she cared about was in her nature, and this earned a blush and a shy smile from him. He paused, those blue orbs scanning her face, from her eyes to her nose, to her lips- then back up again to her eyes. “Oh? Tell me more.” he teased and laughed, pinching his nipple so hard he jumped. “Only teasing. Only teasing. I appreciate you and your words. I appreciate them more than you know, my love.” He gently braced himself, so he could push himself up and out of her lap, adjusting his body so he could face her.

She swung her legs over his, scooting closer into him and his warm core, and he wrapped his hands around the small of her waist, nuzzling his nose on hers with a gentle eskimo kiss. “Don’t think anyone’s ever said anything that nice to me, and for no reason.” he said, leaving a kiss on the tip of her nose.

She closed her eyes, breathing in his familiar scent. The night was winding down, minutes until twelve now. The city was still buzzing- but it was significantly quieter right now. Their soft jazz and candles were still going strong.

She shrugged and he paused, waiting for her to finish her thought, and she took a moment to gather her words. Emotions and hormones were running through her at an all time high, and it was wonderfully painful, beautiful and messy at the same damn time. She knew what she had to get off of her chest, it had been a long time coming.

She took a shaky breath, raising her head so they were both eye level, holding the sides of his face and getting a good grip with her hands before starting. He noticed the moisture from her hands seeping through, a sign of her getting nervous- that he always found extra cute.

“I love you...Alex. I’ve known...for a while. But I’ve been. I’ve been waiting for the right moment.” she said meekly, her throat constricting slightly. Alexander had been the one who said I love you first, and she was anxiously waiting for the perfect moment to reciprocate the energy. This, was it. There was no other time.

Eyes softened, he smiled, his heart quickening a few beats, before tilting his head into hers, closing the small distance in between their faces with a rough, eager kiss. She dropped his hands hurriedly from his face, wrapping them around his neck and bringing herself closer to him. He pulled her in, and she crawled into his lap, straddling him. A hand in the back of her hair he gently tugged, pulling her face back. “Fuck. I love you, kid.” Was all he could manage to get out, before she was gripping at the bottom of his tee, and putting her lips back on his, desperate for more of him, for all of him- in this moment. Little did he know, she hadn’t even revealed her secret weapons- the lingerie and his chilled Tiramisu that she was sure he would get all excited about once he realized he had an post-sex snack waiting for him.

[cutieodonoghue]

dark gray (7/?)

summary: Killian Jones operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.

read it on: ao3, ff.net

and also catch up on tumblr!

///

Seven

“I… uh… might be in need of a haircut.” Killian says with the tiniest blush blooming in his cheeks. 

Emma holds onto his arm as they make their way slowly toward the bathroom. She peeks up at the man, studying the lengthy strands of hair that fall past and over his ears. He has bangs that he always has to sweep away because he can’t see otherwise, too. 

“I’m not very good at it. Usually hold out too long, too. It’s why it’s... like this.”

She hums in agreement, stopping as they stand in the bathroom. She has another look at the curls at the base of his neck under the light from the bulb in the ceiling.

"Have any scissors? I'm not a professional, but I can do my best."

In a flash, he digs through a drawer in the cabinet nearby and pulls a pair out with a triumphant smile.

She chuckles. “Okay.” Emma reaches up to tug at his hair playfully, only making him blush all the more. It’s adorable, that a man who had once been so cold could be so adolescent at the same time. “I'll cut those long, luscious Fabio locks for you."

Killian offers her a smile in thanks, then steps out of the tiny space so she can use the toilet. 

A few minutes later, when she hobbles out into the kitchen again, she finds him sitting at the kitchen table with the scissors in front of him. He's not paying any attention to her, instead seeming more interested in the cracked crown molding on the wall in front of him.

She's never cut anyone's hair before, but she supposes it can't be terribly difficult. She's seen her mother cut her father's hair plenty of times. Albeit, she had a razor and his unfailing love and devotion were anything to go wrong.

Emma takes the scissors from the table and pulls her lip into her mouth. She weighs the cool object in her palm and nervous butterflies cause her to stall.

Looking at him from behind, he seems so much younger than he is. His hair could probably be pulled into a small ponytail if he wanted to.

"Do you usually do this yourself?"

"Aye."

Of course he does. There's no one else here.

Emma sucks in a deep breath as she makes her decision. She grips the scissors firmly and lifts her eyebrows at Killian, who now stares at her thoughtfully. "How short do you want it?"

He shrugs. "Just don't make me bald, love. It's cold and I quite like having a head of hair."

Emma rolls her eyes. "I think you can trust that I won't shave it all off, Killian."

He smiles, filling his cheeks, and it makes her grin as she aligns herself with the back of him.

He's wearing a dark sweater today and jeans, items she thinks she washed a few days ago, and they make him seem somewhat softer than usual. 

Emma combs through his hair with her fingers, trying to get a feel and a vision for what she's going to do, and then she straightens out his head as she starts cutting.

It's an oddly intimate thing. He's trusting her to not make a mess of his head and she's so close to him that she can feel how warm he is without having to touch.

His hair is soft and smooth between her fingers and she wonders how on Earth it could ever possibly be this way. He doesn't bathe daily and his diet consists of coffee and soup or something of that equivalent. 

Sometimes, he skips meals, something that really frustrates her to no end.

She probably spends too long dwelling on the fact that his hair is soft, because he clears his throat and shifts in his chair, causing her to jolt back into reality.

Emma takes her time. She keeps her eyes focused and her tongue between her teeth as she makes each decision of where his hair needs to be trimmed.

By the time she comes around to get his bangs back to where they should be, she's fairly proud of her work.

His hair is cut in a way she's seen her mother give her father, with the exception of the leeway she's given him to style with on the top and at the front. It’s close enough to his head that it won’t be in the way, but gives some freedom to mess with it. 

Emma smiles, feeling accomplished, as she steps back from him. She clasps her hands together. "Okay. All done. Looking handsome."

He smiles at her, a little pink flush of embarrassment in his ears and cheeks. He stands, runs his hand through his hair, and then nods once.

"I might have to keep you around. Cut my hair every few months."

He's obviously teasing, and she laughs because seeing him feel comfortable around her makes things just a little bit easier.

Emma watches him as he goes to look at her work in the nearby bathroom mirror. His eyes are bright and he appears to have lost some of the weight he typically carries around in his shoulders.

"I feel like a new man!"

She chuckles. "You had a lot of shag going on."

He plays with the moldable hair atop his head and then drops his hand. "Well, I should say thanks are in order, then."

He smiles at her, all teeth and bright eyes, and her heart squeezes tight within her chest, because God he looks so much better with his hair cut. It's not fair, really, that one man could look this good. And she was the one that did it to him.

Emma straightens out, her eyes wide and head shaking as she tries to stop thinking of what he might look like under those jeans and that damn attractive tight sweater.

"Someone had to do it. Otherwise you'd be pulling a Robin Williams in Jumanji, and we can't have that, now, can we?"

He chuckles. "I suppose you're right."

Emma finds herself breathless all of a sudden and she realizes that they're standing awkwardly close to each other. She holds her breath for a second and releases it when Henry starts crying in the other room.

She glances over her shoulder at the sudden disturbance and sighs- relieved that at least in the midst of all of the tension there is a constantly needy baby to anchor her down.

"I'll prepare the bottle. Can you manage to walk?"

She nods in the affirmative and starts for the living room where they left the kid. She picks him up as soon as she can and he stares up at her with tears in his sad eyes.

"You're okay, Henry," Emma soothes, smoothing over his fingers. "I've got you."

Killian comes to her side a few minutes later and his breath is basically in her ear as he leans in to hand her the bottle. 

She forces a smile, tries to ignore the amount of body heat he's burning into her. It's impossible to breathe like this and it is the worst feeling ever. She hasn't had eyes for anyone in a long time and-

God damn it. She has three weeks left with him.

He walks away from her and she releases a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Emma sits on the couch with Henry as she feeds him, steadying herself with the thought of going home and seeing her parents again. It isn't like she would stay here with him anyway.

She has a life in Maine. She has a job. She has family, friends. She has an apartment and bills and responsibilities. She can't stay here and he has an unhealthy desire to. So even the bold half-thought of maybe getting to try a relationship with Killian is stupid because it would never work.

"Emma, I'm going to go check on the leak above the bathroom. Shouldn't be long."

He comes into the room and she nods, though she's barely keeping it together, because the man is wearing his coat and a scarf and it's nearly too much for her to handle.

"Okay," she chirps, wincing immediately at the unnatural noise she’d made.

He quirks a little curious brow, but then nods and turns around, a smile on his lips.

She sighs and looks down at Henry after the front door clatters shut. 

"Don't tell anyone I told you this, Henry, but I think I've created a monster." Henry suckles at the milk and kicks his feet in her lap, making her smile. "You're too good, kid."

Once Henry is fed and changed, she rocks him to sleep and tucks him into the cradle.

As she stares protectively after the sleeping boy, she finds initials on the wood, on the back, hidden from sight. They've since been crossed out with a harsh chisel, but she can make out part of the last letter, definitely a 'J'.

Emma frowns and runs her fingers along the letters. She wants to know who this belonged to more than anything, but maybe it would be best if she didn’t find out.

She finds herself lingering by the bookshelf as she listens to Killian hammering something on the other side of the house. She runs her fingers over the bindings of the books, reading titles and smiling to herself as she plucks some off.

He's a meticulous reader, it appears, because as she goes through his bookshelf, she finds that most of the books have been dog-eared and highlighted, words scribbled in the margins. 

Killian is apparently a lit-freak and she can't help but love it.

There's nothing on these bookshelves that seems to come from anywhere in his painful past, however. No clues about who the cradle belonged to. No photographs of Killian as a small boy. 

She wonders if he keeps the memories locked up somewhere. Surely he wouldn't strand himself to this place and not keep at least one memento from his younger years.

She hums, fascinated, when she finds herself stumbling upon his romance novels. Emma bites on her lip as she opens the pages to find them very clean and probably never read.

She has to laugh, because obviously the person giving him entertainment had taken the time and money into getting it to him and he never touched it, but kept it. 

Maybe one day he would read it.

Or, she might.

She gnaws on her lip in the middle of making her decision, thinking that maybe it would put an end to these insane urges she has toward Killian and instead thrust them upon this half-naked cover model's character.

She's interrupted before she can take the book with her to the couch and start reading.

The door opens and closes with a loud clatter and she hears him noisily re-adjusting to the warmth of the little home. He comes into the room with everything but his boots on and smiles wide at her.

"Great news, love. Fixed the roof."

Emma widens her eyes and smiles in appreciation, hiding the book behind her back. "Thanks. That leak has been getting on my nerves."

He tilts his head, stepping closer to her with a curious look on his face, edging on teasing. "What's that you've got there?"

Emma shakes her head, trying to maintain innocence with a cool composure. "Nothing."

She steps back, toward the bookshelf, and he grins, clicking his tongue in his cheek at her, pointing his index finger at her.

"That's not... are you reading a romance novel, Emma?"

She scoffs, trying to deny him, ending up dancing away from him when he gets too close.

"No! I was just looking at your bookshelf."

He hums, narrowing his eyes at her before he makes his move, lunging for her, causing her to yelp as she holds the book above her head. He laughs triumphantly and she squeezes her eyes shut, horror filling the pit of her stomach.

"It's not like that! I didn't even open it."

He plucks the book from her and she watches him examine the cover before raising an eyebrow at her, a hum escaping his throat. Those damn eyebrows have a life of their own, don't they?

"I didn't read any of it." Emma tilts her head defiantly and he sways closer to her.

His eyes are bright blue, shining and happy, something she hasn't really seen before. She's seen glimpses of it, maybe, but never in a full dose like this.

"I never said you did."

"Just wanted to make it clear that I wasn't going to." Emma shrugs, making a clear note in her mind of how close he is to her.

He is close enough to touch, but not close enough to smell, and the way he's moving, he'll be that way very soon.

He nods. "Ah. But you weren't… you weren't even curious to read it, were you?"

Emma senses a tone of teasing and flirting and she's suddenly aware of the fact that they're both finding each other equally as interesting and attractive.

Is that something she even wants?

Kind of.

Probably.

Maybe.

"No.” Emma gives him an annoyed look. “Of course not."

Killian searches her eyes, that smirk still ever-present on his lips.

"Searching for a little relief, love?" He's still teasing, though his voice is gruff and quieter as his eyes become just a hue darker. "Perhaps an itch needs scratching?"

She swallows and breathes him in. He's all ocean and that stupid soap they use in the bathroom with a hint of coffee. She isn't sure if it's from his breath or his sweater where he'd spilt some, or maybe he just naturally smells that way- but she's smelling it. She's smelling it all. It's overwhelming.

"I'm not sure what you mean.”

"Aye," he mutters, laughing quietly as he tilts his head down a little. He sets the book down and straightens up, eyes trailing over her face.

They just stare at one another, desire burning between them like a bonfire in the winter, a trend that’s happened more and more lately. 

He seems to realize what's happening faster than he usually does. He steps away and closes his eyes on a sharp intake of breath. "I…"

Emma lowers her gaze to the floor for a moment before she meets his eyes. He reaches up to rub the back of his head and pivots on his heel toward the doorway leading into the kitchen.

"I should, um, go check on things outside." Killian finishes. He lowers his hand to his side and starts to go. He turns back toward her when he reaches the doorway. "Thank you again for the haircut."

Emma nods her head and manages a smile. "Yeah, no problem."

/

Killian enters the house well past suppertime, fully expecting Emma and Henry to be asleep.

However, to his surprise, there's music playing in the living room, and when he steps into the space after discarding his coat and boots, he discovers Emma sitting on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, lit by flickering candlelight as she flips through the pages of an old, thick leather bound book.

His eyes go wider than hers do when she looks up at him.

"Bloody hell," he curses under his breath. "Where did you find that?"

Emma shakes her head. "It was in your bedroom." She leans away from the book and her fingers draw it closed. "Sorry. I should’ve asked first if it was okay."

Killian sighs and takes his hand through his hair. It's a weird feeling, now that it's short. He drops to his knees on the floor beside her and shakes his head.

"No, it's not… it's fine," he tells her. "I just thought I lost it."

Emma frowns at that. "Really? It wasn't hard to find. It was just in a box under your bed."

Killian looks at the book. Emma slides it toward him and he lifts the cover, pushing it to the side. 

On the first page, there's a photo of him and Liam as children, Liam holding a baby Killian in his lap while their father sat beside them on the green and white striped sofa.

He traces his fingers over the photo and looks beneath it, at the one photograph he still has of his mother.

She's not lying in bed, as he remembers she mostly did as a small child, instead she's sitting on his father's lap in the living room by the fireplace. She's smiling and gazing at her husband, her fingers pressed to his cheek as she spoke to him.

"She's beautiful.” Emma says.

Killian clears his throat and turns his gaze up to her. "Aye." He flips the page. "She passed when I was very young. I hardly remember her."

Emma smiles softly. "I know how that feels."

He takes a breath and finds a pair of photos of Killian going into kindergarten. He wore hand-me-downs from Liam while his older brother snapped the photos.

Oddly enough, he remembers that day quite vividly- how when he returned from his first day of class, excited to share with his father how things had gone, his father was nowhere to be found.

Taking another steadying breath, he runs a finger against the edge of the page. “My mum kept a journal during her last year. She wrote in it everyday and left it to us to remember her with. Took pictures everyday, too. ‘S why this book is so big.”

He and Liam hated it. She’d force them to pose against the plain white wall near her bed, snap the picture, and then send them off. On occasion, she let him choose something to take a picture of instead.

Her locket, sitting on her nightstand. A pair of worn socks kicked aside on the floor beside the door. Liam’s face, zoomed in close so it filled the blurry frame.

Killian flips the pages toward the end and his heart skips a beat at the sight of the woman staring back at him. He’d forgotten that he’d put her picture in this book.

He must stare at it for too long, because it prompts Emma to say, "Who was she?"

Killian looks up at Emma and sighs. "She was… my whole world."

She's waiting for an explanation, he knows she is, and he shakes his head because of it.

"Why do you want to know, Emma? Why did you go looking for this?"

She stares back at him and seems to withdraw. "I just… I don't know. You're secretive and I have to live with you and I don't know if you're going to hurt me or-"

The assertion makes him angry. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Emma’s eyes grow wide. "Well, how was I supposed to know that? I mean, you helped us, but… it's a month on an island with two people you never wanted here. I guess we kind of owe an explanation to each other, don't we?"

He considers her for a moment. She does have a point, as loathe as he is to admit it.

"I suppose." Killian drops his gaze to the book and clears his throat. "Her name was Milah. She and I were seeing each other just before I joined the navy and she stuck with me after Liam passed. Could've been a hell of a lot worse if she hadn't been there."

He feels sick to his stomach, but he soldiers on.

"I guess it was about five years ago now. We were living in London and she wanted to come out to see the lighthouse and I agreed to take her." He smiles slightly. "She was pregnant. Only about two months along, but we were both excited anyway. Being on a boat didn't help in the slightest, though. She was bedridden for almost the whole trip." Killian bites on his lip. He shakes his head. "We fought. We fought a lot, actually. We were both incredibly hot headed."

Killian sucks in a breath. "I got an offer from the coastguard to operate the lighthouse as a job, because ships were crashing here and-" Killian pauses. "I agreed. Milah didn't think she could stay. I took her back home and it was the biggest mistake of my life. There was a huge storm that night and I couldn't see-"

It flashes in his mind, the moment he lost her, and he can't bring himself to explain it.

"I tried to save her, but-" Killian stops himself short, tears burning in his eyes. He draws his left arm up, glaring at the monstrosity hanging from his limb. "This bloody-"

Emma reaches over and touches his arm. "Hey, it's okay. You don’t have to..."

They stare at one another for a few lingering moments while he calms himself down with deep breaths through his nose.

"Well, you wanted to know who I am. That's who I am," he says. "I've lost more than my fair share, so I'm here on this island to protect myself from hurting myself and anyone who knows me."

Emma shakes her head. She stares down at the photograph for a few moments before a slow, soft smile spreads on her face.

"One day, when my dad was really young, he found a dying blue bird outside on their porch and he brought it inside to try to heal it, but hours passed and the bird didn't get any better. It died. He said his mom told him that dying is the easy part. It takes a will to live." 

Emma pauses. "I guess what I'm saying is you're still here. Living. That counts for something."

Perhaps it's foolish to think that maybe he could start new, but as he stares at Emma he can practically see himself happy again.

"Help me to bed?" she asks softly.

"Aye."

Killian and Emma move in silence as he helps her hobble into the bedroom. He hoists her up into the bed and she pulls the covers over her, still sitting up.

He stares at her, suddenly feeling as if he has one more thing to say.

"I was bitter when you first arrived. I didn't want you interrupting my little world," he tells her. "I realized my fault when I got to thinking about all that you'd done on that busted leg when you didn't have to." He tosses his hand, a smile filling his lips at the memory. "It's been a long time since I've had to live with anyone, much less a headstrong lass as yourself."

Emma smiles at the complement. She picks at the blanket over her lap, averting her gaze briefly. "When we leave, are you going to stay here?"

He frowns, upset that she’d think he could do such a thing. "It's my life here, Emma. It's my work and my home. I built this place with my brother. I'm not about to leave it."

[awaywithwords03]

The Looking Lake

A Fragment from the Tales of the Evelyn Bones

 “Do you skate sir?” I asked Dr Prest as we both enjoyed a cigar and looked out at the falling snow. He took a few slow puffs, adding to the noxious blue atmosphere that shrouded us both like the white curtain outside. “I’m sorry to say I don’t Bartley. I didn’t see you as the skating type?” I watched the end of my cigar smolder for a moment before tapping the grey ash into the ornate tray that sat atop the beautiful, low, walnut table between our two wingback chairs. “I’m full of surprises,” I replied, “As are you Doctor. I was surprised to learn from the manager that you are not here, as you said, to vacation but you are here on call to see a local patient.”

 Dr Prest’s eyes didn’t move from the window and, other than a raised eyebrow that sent creases all the way across his completely shaved head, he gave no reaction to what I’d said before. “You’ve been inquiring after me?” I shrugged, maintaining my composure and, ignoring the knot in my stomach as I smoked next to one of the most dangerous cultists that had ever lived. “You are the only other person of interest in this hotel, and the only gentlemen who I can converse with. People of our intellect are becoming scarcer and scarcer these days.”

 My companion re-lit his cigar with a match from out his breast pocket and, exhaling a thick cloud let out a tiny “Ha,” sound by way of a forced laugh and also, I thought, acknowledgement. “I dare say I know what you mean. Well, I suppose there’s no sense in pretending to you is there sir? You being so astute. After all you were schooled at… Oh where did you say?”

 He was testing my cover story, but I was practiced and prepared for his probes.

 “Eaton, by a former colonel no-less.”

“What was his name.”

“Colonel Franks of the 83rd. You must have heard?” He nodded; his sharp eyes now fixed on my own. I wore my jovial expression like an iron mask. “Colonel Franks; the man who took an entire chateau with a team of just three men armed with pistols as just a corporal. A marvellous strategist and a famously keen critical thinker, it must have been a privilege to be his pupil.” I concurred with a nod and stubbed out my cigar. I was getting nervous and had smoked too quickly. “Another?” I asked, beckoning a waiter.

“I have plenty of cheroot left but you go ahead.” A young well-dressed man approached quietly and opened a silver case. I selected a brown cigar with a gold collar before tipping him and igniting it with my eagle-head lighter.

 “So, tell me. It’s just us here now, who is this patient you’ve come to see? What’s their ailment? Why the secrecy?” Smiling and twitching his head he tapped his ash lose into the tray.

“It is a… Delicate matter. I shan’t like to divulge my patient’s secrets, and I have signed an oath to prevent me from doing so. You should know this.” I had been too eager, and he must surely be seeing through me. Dr Prest seemed relaxed however, watching me carefully but maintaining a friendly, jovial expression throughout our discussion. “Of course, of course. It was wrong of me to pry, forgive me. Well, you can at least tell me, are they doing well? Can you see them recovering under your care?”

 He was quiet for a long while, watching the snow fall past the window, gathering in small drifts against the frosting glass. “It’s complicated. There have been signs of improvement, but it is too early to tell.” I nodded sagely, hoping he would say more. “Her therapy is… Unique. A trial if you will. I daresay it should be successful but the lifelong effects for her may not be worth the treatment.”

Of course, my initial reaction was revulsion, that anyone calling themselves a doctor would risk a treatment that was worse than the disease they were trying to cure. Fighting poison with poison. But I swallowed my morality and replied, “Sounds like you are taking a huge medical leap.”

 He grinned in a way I found chilling then stubbed out his cigar out in the ash tray. “It’s much bigger than her. Much bigger than all of us.”

“Whereabouts does she live?” His grin didn’t falter but his eyes narrowed for a second, and I knew that I was testing him. “Just beyond the lake and over the fell.” I met his gaze.

“Strange. I happen to know the family farm just over the fell. They’ve never mentioned…”

“She is not a farmer.” His reply was sharp, and he rose stretching his neck from side to side and rolling his shoulders to loosen them before turning back to me. His face was grim.

“I must turn in. Goodnight Bartley.” Then he added. “I hope you enjoy the ice.” Before stalking out of the room.

 I stayed in my seat, watching my cigar burn down to a stump till the lamps were turned low and the snow had stopped falling. Abandoning by cheroot I stood and looked out on the view below. The drawing room looked out onto lake Metherside, surrounded by beach trees now weighed down with a heavy burden of white snow that shone blue in the moonlight. The frozen lake caught the ethereal light like a mirror and balefully stared back at the sky. Turning away, I traced my steps under the wooden architraves and over the thick red carpet that snaked through the entire hotel up to my room. Entering as stealthily as I could, I walked over to my Portmanteau and scribbled down every word I could remember from my brief interview.

 Much bigger than her. Much bigger than us all.

 He was clearly conducting an experiment and it was on someone. But who? And Why? I then began to wonder where this woman was. I genuinely knew the family over the fell, from a previous investigation and their knowledge of the area was second to none. There were no other properties apart from this remote hotel in the region. To cap it off, I had never seen the Dr go anywhere. The few times he had left the hotel I had followed him only to find he was taking a walk around the lake. All the evidence so far pointed toward one location, one that I was loathe to explore but knew now it was necessary.

 His room.

 There was a strong likelihood that his “Patient” was in this very Hotel. I shrugged off my smoking jacket and turned to look at my gun case resting on the Chesterton. No more theorizing. Time to act.

 Secreting my revolver into its shoulder holster, I slipped into my all-weather coat and slipped out on to the landing. The hotel was of the old kind, with elaborate Victorian swirls carved in plaster and edged in gold, with wallpaper thick with flowers and heavy colors. In the dark, with the gas lamps out the décor seemed to absorb even more of the light as I softly trod step-by-step toward room 4B.

 I had been this way several times to go and listen at Prest’s door, and although he said that he was staying alone, I was sure I had heard him talking to someone in a low voice. Stealing round the corner to where his room was, I noticed a tremendously bright light coming from beneath the door sill. White as a dove and yet giving me an uncomfortable dirty impression. I knelt and examined closely. There was no way this light was coming from any of the dim lamps in the hotel. It reminded me of the dazzling electric lights I had seen at fairs, or in science experiments and modern laboratories.

 I listened at the door, as I had before, and cut here a faint buzzing sound, presumably from the bulbs and… I wanted to say. A rustle? I tried the handle, but it was locked so I pulled out a multi-tool I kept handy and after some fumbling around, I found a lockpick and started work. It didn’t take long till I felt the tumblers slide into place and with a metallic snapping sound, the lock opened. I tried the handle, and to my amazement it opened. I pushed the door away with one hand, and in a smooth motion slipped my multi-tool away and pulled gun from its holster.

 The room inside was, as I’d expected devilishly bright and I squinted in the doorway till my eyes adjusted, my revolver sweeping side to side scanning the room. Inside the room, everything was different to my own. The carpets were stripped away to the bare floorboards beneath which were etched in runes that hurt to look at. Atop those were cables laid in thick, heavy coils that wormed their way from the floor up to a great number of large bulbs mounted on metal stands that were the source of the light. They all shone down on the centre of the room where a mass of ivory and canvas lay in a contorted sculpture on a wooden frame bed.

 I entered carefully, checking behind the door and every dark corner. The room hummed, but it wasn’t just coming from the filament lights. I could feel it coming through the floor, a static sensation as I crossed the circles of runes and went deeper into the room. My curiosity was only deepening when suddenly, the sculpture stirred.

 It let out a slow, long, guttural gasp, as if it had been holding its breath and then sucked air back in staccato, agonizing, inhales. I realized what I had though was canvas, was in fact skin as it undulated arrhythmically in time with the breathing. Taught, and shot through with red veins, the shadow of twisted bones pushing the skin outward to way beyond its natural limit. An arm flopped free from beneath the veined mass and a human hand smacked to the floor, the fingers worming and pushing it toward me before elevating to a quivering reach. It grasped at the air between me and it, as I recognised more and more human features beneath the deformed mass I saw before me.

 “Huuuu…..Huuuuu….Huuuuuuu….” It tried to form its aching exhales into words. “Huuuuu… Huuuuu. Huuuuuelp.” The sounds came out as retching squarks from a throat badly deformed. I was too stunned to notice as the cold barrel of another gun was pressed into my neck. “Let’s have that revolver now, there’s a good chap.” Dr Prest’s voice was as calm, and smiling as it had been in every discussion I’d had with him, even as he jabbed the weapon into my neck. “Now please. It’s taken a long time to get to this point, it’d be a shame to make a mess.” I did as I was told and handed my revolver to him and he pocketed it. “Let’s take a turn about the lake.”

 He grabbed me in a vice like grip and without shoving guided me toward the door. “What is that?” I managed to ask in a hushed voice as he slipped his gun under his jacket and pressed it into my ribs like a dagger. “Never you mind Mr Stone. Let’s keep moving.” For just a second the breath caught in my throat like a sour taste as he mentioned my real name. He knew who I was. “If anyone asks, you are feeling unwell after too much tobacco and I am taking you out for some clean air. Am I clear?” I said nothing, setting my face into its iron mask. He took my silence for acknowledgement as we continued down the unlit stairs. I contemplated attempting a reversal on him, but I felt as though his reflexes were sharp and he’d blow my heart and lungs clear out of my chest at the slightest motion.

 “How are you concealing all this from the staff?” I asked, “Surely questions are asked? You are using electrics and bright light.” He smiled at me as one might at a naive child.

“You assume that I am acting alone. Hunch over a little more, look unwell. We are passing reception.” I did as I was told, a festering ember of repugnance in my chest at the act as we passed the desk. My captor turned to the bellboy on duty. “Mr Bartley is feeling unwell. I believe he smoked too much this evening; would it be well if I took him out for some clear air?” I met the bell-boy’s eyes for but a second before the gun scraped against my bone and I winced and turned away. “Very good sir take as long as you need I’ll be here till midnight. Will he be alright?”

“Nothing a bit of cold air can’t sort.” My eyes were fixed on the carpet at our feet, thinned and coarse by many years of boots treading over it in and out.

 The two doors to the hotel swung open, letting a breath of frozen air into the lobby and Dr Prest escorted me out the door and down the stone steps toward the lake. The moment we were out of sight and the doors had closed behind us, he shoved me in front and angled the gun at the back of my head. “Hands up and keep moving my good man. We’re almost there now.” I raised my hands and walked slowly down the slope, following the moonlit path between the trees that loomed and swayed over us in the wind like waving hands. Like the hand that had reached out to me. I shuddered and not just from the cold. “Do you really think you can get away with this? They will here the gun shot and come running.”

 I glanced over my shoulder. Even in the dark he was still smiling. “What gunshot? I will watch your mind suddenly deteriorate and in a mad delirium you will run out into the middle of the frozen lake where the ice will shatter and swallow you with an almighty crash. I will explain how the delirium must have been brought on by the massive dose of opium you took, evidence of which they will find in your room.” I couldn’t help but sigh a laugh. “Ha… You were following me. You even planted evidence for your cover story and there’s me thinking that I was stalking you. How long did you know?”

“Within a day of your arrival. Me and my consorts make it our business to background check any, unexpected, visitors.”

 The lake was coming into view now, grey, cold and frozen still. “Can you at least tell me what that thing was. That thing in your room. Is it alive?” He sighed as if I had asked something obvious or inanely stupid.

“In a manner of speaking. I told you. It’s a trial.”

“To do with the bones?” I asked.

“Of course.” He replied condescendingly. “Don’t think you’ll catch me off guard with your knowledge Mr Stone. I know who I’m dealing with almost as well as you do.”

“Do I?” I laughed. “I know you’re not a Doctor. I know your true residence is at the Burnes College and you are operating under the direction of a figure called Penbrooke.”

“And that is all you will know.”

 We had arrived at the edge of the lake now and I came to a stop. The cold barrel rested against my neck. “Did I ask you to stop?” I kept my hands up but, from where he stood, he could not see me smiling.

“Do you want me to walk out onto the ice?”

“You said it yourself, you like to skate. Off you go. One last jaunt. I’ll stay here and watch you.” I lifted my foot but just before I put it down, I said. “There is one thing I don’t think you realized about me you know?” I turned to look over my shoulder and stared along the black barrel into the eyes of my would-be killer, who had raised his eyebrows in encouragement. “Go-on.”

 “That you were not the only one, who didn’t come alone.”

 I took a tentative step onto the ice, as the bell-boy, who had made his way to the top of the hotel and now stared at Prest down the sights of his Lee Enfield Long distance rifle, took the shot.