#this chapter is possibly a little *unending scream*

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 1.4 - Bad Dreams Are for the Birds

[POV: VLAD]

“You’re really not going to move any of your stuff in or sleep here?” William demands as he storms into the study room. 

“And deprive you of the joy of having a room to yourself?” 

“Don’t try to turn this shit back on me.”

Bemused, Vlad takes a sip of his coffee. He would prefer a mocha, but there’s no way he’s trekking over to the Commons. “You don’t even want to sleep here.”

“Yes, but that’s because graduate housing is…” William glances around the dorm, his disdain clear, "I’ve stayed in nicer hotels.” 

“I see you’ve spent the morning with your family.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

William knows what it means, just like he knows that Vlad prefers living at home and the bliss of not sharing a space with random sims who talk and breathe in ways that annoy him. He only sleeps in the dorm when he’s too drunk to get himself back to Henford-on-Bagley. 

“Maybe I would like a little companionship,” William grumbles, “Maybe I want to spend time with my best friend while we enjoy our last year of freedom.”

“But then where would you bring your non-Christopher boyfriends?” Vlad smiles, “In fact, it's lunchtime. Shouldn’t Vaea be on his way here?” 

“And what about you?” William snaps, ignoring the question. “There isn’t a single speck of free space in that entire compound you call a home, assuming you could find a sim willing to take the train to the countryside for a hook-up.”

Vlad doesn’t do hook-ups. He barely likes to be touched. Most of the time, masturbation suits him just fine. His ex was confused about this. Fuifui took great pride in being his first until he discovered that Vlad didn’t attach any morality to sex; he simply hated most sims so much he could never quiet his mind down.

“William, bringing my delightful brand of friendship to strangers is low on my priority list.” 

“Well, this is our last year of law school, Vladislaus. You are supposed to be meeting strangers, living it up, having fun.” 

Vlad wasn’t a hermit by any stretch of the definition. He let William drag him to any number of social activities. But it wasn’t his preference. He was better when he was alone.

“The Volkovs were wrong,” William continues, reading Vlad’s mind in a way that is only possible when you’ve been friends since the 5th grade. “You are fit for public consumption.”

Actually, Fuifui and his adopted family were far more specific than that. Their exact words were that Vlad lacked a conscience and a heart. The first part was accurate, but the second part? 

The second part filled Vlad with an unending desire to flay open his chest and see if it was true.

“Quit being so difficult and put yourself out there,” William scolds, “You don’t need to study, so you might as well use your time for something.”

“I could plan your wedding,” Vlad quips as he returns the book he was reading to the shelf. Truthfully, he just wants to rile William up so he can secretly check his phone. 

There’s no reason to admit it yet, but he is putting himself “out there.” Judging by the available profiles on Cupid’s Corner, though, it’s a wasted effort. 

The app loves to tout its “secret algorithmic formula”—and yes, Vlad read the entire website. The urge to read every single detail on a topic is one he can’t often subdue. But clearly, the algorithm is broken. Every single sim on this app is insufferable except—

Vlad’s finger hovers over the message button. There are a million things wrong with this profile that should send him screaming—typos, misspellings, terrible grammar. But her username makes it seem like she’s daring him to bring up even one of her faults, and Watcher helps him; he likes it. 

Her real name is Alice, and the title of her bio is “Nothing to see here folks!” Instead of describing her hobbies and university major, she just lists her top ten Tea and Treachery hot takes. 

Vlad fires off a message and grins when he gets an immediate response. 

“Are you even listening?” William cries. “I asked if you had nightmares.”

“I slept fine,” Vlad murmurs, focusing on crafting the perfect reply to Alice’s challenge.

Finally, he looks up from his phone to find William staring at him strangely.

“You know I don’t dream,” Vlad sighs. “Never have. Probably never will.”

(not for nothing but I love this dorm built by @bojanastarcevic and idc if makes my sims pay like $3000 a semester for tuition)

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[beetlesau]

SoulBox

CHAPTER 5, THIS IS IT THE LAST CHAPTER

I'm wrapping this up because I just don't have the steam to make a cohesive story anymore lol. I thought I'd have one more chapter but then I crammed it all into this one, oops.

I'm sorry if you wanted to be tagged still it's just been so long since an update I feel anxious about it.

It's time we meet.

You unwrapped a crisp little note that rattled your Soulbox,

Actually this time. No distractions, nothing getting in the way. I'm starting to feel way in over my head about this lately and I've never felt that way about shit before. You deserve the truth. I don't even know if you'll like me for who I am. It doesn't feel right to not tell you everything. 

You read the note a few times over to yourself. It was so... perplexing. Up until this point, you'd thought he had just been busy, but now you realized he was avoiding you for a reason. The anxiety you felt was enough to call in a personal day at work. You lay on your couch, wads of crinkled papers thrown around the room. You had no idea how to respond. You wanted to meet, but after obsessing over these cryptic words, what did he mean he's not who you think? Who is he? Is he a villain? Is he even in the hero profession at all? 

Why, oh why, did none of those options.... matter, to you?

Your anxiety was centered around why none of this seemed like a big deal to you. But, it was a big deal? And you should be anxious that your soulmate has a deal-breaking secret to tell you, but you aren't. Which is just making you anxious for all the wrong reasons. 

... you felt bad for... not .. feeling bad. 

You were pacing yourself sick when the buzzer to your apartment rang. It startled you enough you nervously approached the speaker by your door. What if it was him? What if he had found you somehow? What if now was the time? What if-- The buzzer rang again, more feverish and unending now. 

"Hello!?" you all but screamed to whoever was ringing your apartment's number. 

"What the hell are you doing? Why the hell aren't you at work dumbass?" a familiar voice growled through to you.

"Oh! Bakugo... I... I'm uh, I'm just not feeling well. I think... I have a cold!"

"... Bullshit. You've never been sick a day in your life, your quirk won't allow it."

How did he... never mind, there were probably plenty of people who could figure that fun fact out about you, not just Midoriya the hero-obsessed wonder.

"Ah, uh, that's not, true. Um, see I think it must be a new strand. Yeah, I can't seem to even use my quirk to get rid of it I'm so sick. *Cough Cough* ah, yeah see? So you'd better just leave, I can't have you coming up and getting si--"

You nearly jumped out of your skin as there was a pounding at your door. You checked the peek hole and saw it was none other than Bakugo, scowling into the lens.

"Son of a. WHO let you in the building!?" you screeched, turning to the mess that was your apartment. You scrambled to pick up loose notes, wadded papers, and an occasional tissue when your thoughts went to the worst possible meaning behind the sudden soul-sent message. 

"Turns out the doorman is a huge fan of Dynamite. What the FUCK are you doing and why have you not opened this door yet, huh?" he grumbled. "I'll break it down, you know I will." You could hear the agitation in his voice.

"NO! ugh, just give me a second would you!? I told the office I was taking a personal day, I didn't know I also had to tell you too!"

You march back to the door and yank it open, "Remind me to look for apartments with better security--what? What are these?" Your eyes caught the tufts of color lowered by his side.

"What the hell do they look like, Smokey, they're flowers." he pushed them to your chest before inviting himself in. 

"I...? Thank you. Why?"

He didn't answer, he just looked at you like you were the crazy one for even asking. 

"Okay. Anyway, I'm sorry, is there something I can help you with? I took the day off for a reason you know?"

"What reason?" he quipped.

"It's just one day, Bakugo. I'm just having a personal crisis I guess. My soulmate wants to try and meet up again."

"So? Isn't that what you wanted?" his face unreadable, he made his way uninvited to your couch. 

"Make yourself at home, I guess?" Shifting into host mode you pulled bottled water from your fridge and offered it up to your new houseguest. "Well yeah, but the way the note was-- wait how do you know where I live?"

"Wow, distracted much? Your dumbass friend from work, Karen or whatever the fuck told Kirishima and I heard so here I am."

"Kirishima asked where I lived. Why? Wait who? Who's Karen? I'm totally lost."

"Jesus, the secretary lady, I don't know her name I thought it was Karen. WHO CARES. You focus on the dumbest shit, I swear."

"It's not dumb, it's completely valid! But, FINE. WHY DID KIRISHIMA, need to get my address from Sahrin, the secretary!?!" you raise your voice to the absolute bafoon sitting in front of you.

"He heard you were sick and wanted to have a card signed by the office and sent over to you, shitty woman!"

"I'M NOT SICK, HOW DID HE EVEN GET THAT IDEA??"

"OBVIOUSLY FROM ME, IDIOT? I JUST KNEW SHE WASN'T GOING TO GIVE ME THE ADDRESS BECAUSE SHE'S AN ASSHOLE!"

"So you're telling me, you got Kiri to think I was sick, planted the idea that I needed a get well card sent over to me, so you hid within earshot while he probably flirted to get my address out of the secretary, "tHe AsSHolE" Sahrin NOT Karen, and then took it upon yourself to come to my apartment and harass me on my day off, right?"

"I didn't fuckin' hide. I could have got it myself if I wanted, I just didn't wanna flirt with some extra." he huffed. 

"Okay, Bakugo. Well?"

"Well what, hag!?"

"... where's my get well soon card!?" You held out your hand, only for it to get harshly swatted away by the blonde. 

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME? GET SERIOUS."

"Oh wait, so that's what the flowers were for! Everyone thinks I'm sick?"

Bakugo's face blanked a moment, his mouth moving without speaking before his words finally caught up.

"Sure. Anyway, how is your dumbass soulmate causing you to take a personal day off work?" his face was heavy with stress, even with him trying to hide it you could see.

"Right. I dunno. I know it's so stupid--"

"I didn't say it was stupid. I just want a real answer."

"I'll get there! I just, he wants to meet again and the things he said in his note just... didn't sit right with me." You slouched into the couch trying to collect all your various free-floating thoughts.

"First he tells me he's been busy lately. So we haven't messaged a lot, which is fine. But, he's been ... acting differently whenever we do."

"Different? How?" Bakugo leaned in close, his expression told you this conversation had his full attention. It made you feel... wrong. This was the kind of thing you should tell a close friend, not some coworker you started having a crush on. It felt like cheating. 

A what-- you turned your eyes away from his burning red one. A bit of a slap to the face that something very obvious had only just now been realized by you. 

"I- I-" you stammered, Your thought process seemed to have come to a halt on the outside but on the inside, you couldn't stop the flow of information that was coming from this new discovery. 

You hesitated to meet your soulmate now, after minimal contact these past weeks. Why? Because you had someone else to occupy your thoughts now? Was that fair? Was that even right?

Did you stay home out of fear?

Fear that your soulmate wanted to reject you, no it would seem not.

Fear that you would go to work and see someone that didn't make you feel all that bad about that possibility, maybe.

And then what? Bakugo has a soulmate, and from what little he's told you about them, the way he's told you, they might as well be the Sun compared to you. 

"I'm sorry. I don't know." You glared hard at nothing in particular. "No, that's not true. It's been me. I've been different." You wrung your hands from the anxiety. Your thoughts and feelings were unfolding before you in real time, not exactly in the way you were used to. 

"You?" Bakugo inched closer to your face, something anyone else wouldn't think twice about being that it was a minuscule distance, but at this moment you were hyperaware of every little thing about him. The way his eyes searched your face for more answers. Answers you didn't want to give. 

"Yeah. What if I don't... what if it turns out I don't want him to... I've spent my life, believing in him as my one true Soulmate. I know that the world has so many possibilities for us, that there's never just One option. One outcome. But he was my first. And as a child, I banked so hard on fairytales and true love. I was so stubborn I didn't think about ever moving on just because he wouldn't speak to me. And that obsession with him being the one grew because of all the hard work I put into loving him and making him love me."

"But now you don't feel the same?"

"I love him. I do. Or I know I'm supposed to. I know that I will. Because he's my soulmate. I just thought..... I thought he would be the only one I loved." you confessed. Suddenly overwhelmed you stood. "I think you should leave." Your heart tremored at what you needed to do. There was no way you could keep going down this path, you could see no light at the end of it. Even if your soulmate had something horrid to tell you there was no use leaning on Bakugo for any of it. You wouldn't dream of chasing something forbidden as another person's soulmate

He stood without argument or snark as he normally would and silently headed towards the door. He seemed to understand what you were going through, having gone through the same quite recently himself. 

"I'm sorry. That I did this. This isn't how I wanted things to go, and I never meant to confuse you. I want you to know that all of this has been very real for me. I'm sorry for not being who I should have been from the start, instead of being an asshole. But I promise you, things can be fixed now." he left quietly, and the air was thick with unspoken words. 

You took your Soulbox and moved to the counter. You couldn't wait or hesitate any longer. There was no reason to stall, no reason to overthink it. You quickly jotted down your reply to your waiting soulmate. 

Then let's meet, Soulmate.

Let's meet at this park outside of this cafe, here.

The letter came shortly after you'd sent yours. It couldn't have been more than thirty minutes after Bakugo had left. It was a park not far from where you'd had lunch with him so many days ago. 

Alright, when?

Now.

Your heart skipped a beat. Now? But you were... well... you weren't busy. But they didn't know that. Maybe you could come up with an excuse... Why were you so nervous? This was what you'd wanted your entire life but the butterflies in your stomach were overwhelming you. 

I know you're free today, don't bother trying to get out of it. 

You read the message that followed, your heart vibrated so hard you were sure it could activate your quirk and leave you. How? How did they know? Oh god. You felt yourself so desperate now. You needed to know. 

I'm on my way. 

Know that I love you. 

You stared at the message, unsure of your feelings. You mindlessly held on to this note as you gathered your purse and locked your apartment door behind you. 

You decided to walk, it wasn't far. You needed time to gather your thoughts and your courage for the meeting. When you arrived, however, you were met with a familiar face unexpectedly. 

"Hey! Kirishima, what are you doing here?" you paused on the idea that he was your soulmate, but it was quickly cast from your mind when he jumped straight to the point. 

"Did you know that Katsuki never had a Soulbox? He still doesn't." he smiled at you like you'd been in the middle of a perfectly normal conversation. 

"What?"

"Yeah, he used to just stuff letters into the front pouch of his backpack in UA." Kirishima's sharp teeth grinned in fondness at his memories. "One day me and some of our friends were curious so we took it when he wasn't looking, and we found a letter form his Soulmate, that was how we found out."

"Oh. That's... funny. Why are you- Why tell me this?"

He ignored you in favor of telling another story. 

"So a few years before you came to UA, you remember on the news that he'd been kidnapped and all that? Then we started staying in dorms on campus. Everyone wanted to know what his room looked like because he wouldn't let us in. Anyway, we told him we wanted to study and we all agreed we should do it in his room. He let us, thinking we were actually going to study. The jokes on him cause we all barely passed our classes either way. But yeah, so Mina saw a keychain hanging on the bed's headrest. It was some AllMight holiday edition I think? I don't remember. But, not the point. So we grilled him and he told us it was the first thing his soulmate ever sent to him, funny right?"

"Funny." Your heart was in your throat now. You could feel tears threatening at the corner of your eyes. You needed to hear more but needed silence all at once. It was so much to take in. There was no reason for him to be telling any of this to you. This strangely similar parallel story that you feel like you lived in some way. 

"And do you know what the first thing he ever sent to his soulmate was?" Kirishima asked you gently.

You instinctually reached for the locket that lay around your neck, realizing you were still holding the note you'd carried with you to the park. 

"What was it?" you whispered so softly you didn't think he'd heard your question. But he didn't need to, it wasn't for him. 

"It was a shitty gum wrapper." a familiar gruff voice spoke behind you. 

You spun so fast on your heels that you'd lost balance enough to fall into this voice. 

"Please." your tears fell freely now. "Please say it's you." you whimpered. 

"I tortured someone for years because I had fallen in love with them. I did everything I could to keep myself from getting close to them because I was scared it would mean I didn't really love my Soulmate." Bakugo steaded you, his grip on you was firm and desperate as if you would try to run away. "Then I found out the truth. That I was pushing away the one person I wanted by my side forever."

"I wanted it to be you." was all you could manage, You held out your hand and the last Soulmate letter rolled in your palm, crinkled and wadded up. He took it from you, fixing it, folding it neatly this time before taking the wrapper from your locket and replacing it. 

"I don't want you to hate me. I pushed you away because I thought you belonged to someone else. That I belonged to someone else. I should have known it was you all along. I could never be with anyone but you." Katsuki wiped the tears from your face, now holding your cheeks in his calloused hands. 

"I wanted it to be you. I'm so happy that it's you, Katsuki."

It was all he'd needed to hear before pressing his lips to yours. 

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 41

AO3 link here

Although it doesn’t exactly happen often, Tony isn’t taken totally by surprise when his uncle Steve calls and says that he’ll be in the city next week and would like to have lunch. Steve makes it up to New York every few months to visit Rose or Bucky and Layla, to spend time with Maria. Sometimes he comes through on his way to visit Her Honor and family in Boston or on the way home again. He and Tony are more likely to see each other at bigger group occasions like holidays and celebrations (or funerals, though Tony puts that out of his mind; his mom still lives on her own, takes elegant care of herself, and is spry and sharp as hell despite being past her eightieth birthday) but Steve’s always been a family man, committed to keeping in touch with everyone. Tony and Pepper just received a hand-illustrated card from him on their anniversary a couple weeks back, and the one he sent Jude, decorated with multicolored trumpeting elephants, still has nightstand pride of place even though most of the actual birthday presents have been relegated back to the toy chest.

He tells Steve this as they sit down to lunch together in the cafe on the ground floor of the Stark Industries building, and it actually brings out a smile. Ruby and Trent from VR are passing by the table and double take seeing it, both automatically smiling back. It’s on the tip of Tony’s tongue to say something about how ol’ Steve’s still got it, but that’s a particular sort of smart remark that belongs to a time before Peggy passed.

(Although it’s been several years now, no one has even suggested that Steve look for some companionship or try one of those senior dating sites. The man talks about filling his days with gardening and book club and volunteering, regularly spending time with Emma and Nate and whichever of the grandkids and great-grandkids live locally, but he doesn’t or maybe can’t hide the crater left without his wife by his side. When Tony pictures Steve in the Maryland house these days, he has to stop because he somehow always imagines a single plate at the kitchen table and a tick-tick-ticking in the background: the hallway grandfather clock that he can’t remember ever actually paying attention to, overwhelmed as it always has been by conversation during family gatherings hosted there. The whole thing makes him sad as hell.)

As they start in on their first course, a butternut squash bisque - yes, there’s a first course; this place is damn classy - Steve asks about Tony’s kids, and he’s only too happy to whip out his phone and show off pictures (and then video, but who’s keeping score?) first of Jude all dressed up as a chef in the When We Grow Up-themed kindergarten end of year play, then of AJ’s science fair display, zooming in on all the aspects including the bright blue second place ribbon. He even shows off Morgan’s latest choice for their two-person book club, which he has in ebook and audio. The whole time, Steve watches him with a strange sort of expression, clearly taking in the information, asking questions, smiling at Tony’s stories, but with some odd barrier up.

“It’s Wednesday,” Tony mentions as they take the first bites from their slices of cake. “If you can stick around until 3:30, I’m sure they’d love to see you.”

He’s continued the tradition from his youth, bringing his own kids into the office at least once a week starting even before they could walk. Those are some of his best childhood memories, sitting on lab stools with his father and brainstorming ways to make interesting explosions, his feet dangling two feet above the floor, having his dad look over at him in meetings and say, “So, what do you think, Tony?” Walking home, lunch bag swinging, his small hand clasped in a larger one to help him safely across the streets, waving to Jarvis as they went upstairs to build block towers together. Sometimes he’d do his homework when there was paperwork to take care of, and it was always a laugh to ask for help with history or French (“Call me when you’re learning about Newton or Tesla,” Dad used to protest. “And don’t even tell your mother that you asked me about anything in French.”) He hopes that he’s passing on the same type of memories.

“I think we should see how today goes,” says Steve. He smiles again and Tony wants to squint at it, hold it beneath the microscope, it’s such a complicated looking thing: that pure, good-hearted happiness, but with pain and nostalgia and something that might be doubt quirking at the edges. Not entirely unusual for him over the last few years, but Tony’s starting to suspect that Uncle Steve has more secrets than just the Captain America thing and that he might be about to find one out.

The Captain America thing: even though it’s put to bed now, if Tony thinks about it, he can still feel the...not even irritation, but hurt, from when he’d found out.

It had been Pepper who started it, after they’d dated for a bit, when he’d suggested starting to bring her to family things. She’d met his parents, the Barnses, Steve and Peggy and their kids, at various functions or at the office over the years, but when it had been time to introduce her as his girlfriend, she’d wanted to prepare. She’d asked questions and gathered information, profiled everyone, and the more she’d delved, the fewer answers he’d realized he had. He remembered that Peggy and Steve got together five years or so after the war, but had also grown up hearing their stories - and Bucky’s, and his dad’s - from working together during the war. He could trace Howard and Peggy between the SSR and forming SHIELD, but Steve and Bucky were completely off the map.

Finally, on the Fourth of July, after he’d had a couple of drinks and watched Peggy kiss Steve’s cheek and hand him a cupcake with a single candle, the way she did each Independence Day Tony had been with them for no reason he could fathom, he’d just asked. His mother had placed a hand on his arm, and Peggy said, “Ah.” But he’d watched Steve, took in the way he’d leaned forward and clasped his hands together before he said, “Listen, Tony.”

When the words were finally in the charcoal-scented air around them, he wasn’t exactly surprised by them, they added up, but he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t been told. It had grown even worse when he’d cornered Drea asking about it and she’d said that her father had sat them down and told them all decades before, while Tony was still in high school, and that Tony hadn’t been a part of that. As if everyone had just decided that they didn’t need to tell him. As if there had been the whole family, knowing this, and then him, alone.

Steve claimed responsibility, apologized right. He always did: “I handled it badly. I should have told you earlier, personally. I know it made you feel excluded.” And Tony had forgiven him, had even forgiven the rest of the Carters after talking more with Drea and then the others. After he’d heard how hurt she’d been, too, finding out that her father with whom she’d shared so much had this part of his life about which she knew nothing, as if she’d barely known him; how she’d burrowed in with the information, trying to puzzle through it, come to grips with the way it changed and didn’t change her whole past. They told him the story of how Rose shattered her wine glass in the middle of the restaurant when Steve had first said it and that every time she spoke to her parents for the next month, she’d interrogate them and wind up yelling. All these years later, Emma still seemed to let the fact of it slide out of her mind. Her life is picket fences and politics, and it is as if she doesn't want it to sink in, this other and simultaneous identity of her father.

(Tony’s actually seen Nate bring it up casually - “Oh, is that the time when you and the Commandos were in France?” or asking about growing up with a host of chronic conditions - but there are plenty of reasons why Nate Carter and Tony are different and that’s just one.)

Even though the splinter of the secret has been removed, healed over, there’s still an odd reminder of it, a feeling of trepidation, as he and Steve take the elevator up. He almost stops at Pepper’s floor to say hello, push off a little longer whatever might be coming, but he knows that she has a meeting, and he’ll have to handle whatever it is anyway.

The lights flip on as they walk in, and Tony absently says, “Thanks, TESLA,” as he gestures Steve over to one of the work benches. He does have an actual desk and the old computer parts he has spread out aren’t repair priorities, aren’t really anything more than something to play around with, but he has the feeling he’s going to want to do something with his hands while they get down to business.

“So,” Tony says as Steve brings over a chair, “what’s going on?”

Steve sits before he speaks. He touches the cool top of the table with the tips of his fingers. He says, very carefully, “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Ten minutes later, Tony has pushed the broken computer away and rested his hands flat on the table. “Time travel,” he says flatly. “You need help with time travel.”

“The time travel I have worked out,” Steve says, infuriatingly calm. “Or, it was worked out for me. It’s the reality hopping part in particular that I thought I’d ask you about. And I might need you to dip into the old lab storage for some Pym particles.”

“Pym—” Tony starts disbelievingly, then shakes his head, adding, “And of course you want to go to Greenland,” like the teacher’s pet giving a reminder about the homework assignment.

Steve actually glances down before he forces his gaze back up. “I don’t have to go - I have the coordinates, and the land is yours - but I’d like to...It feels wrong to just send someone without any ceremony.”

“Course it does,” Tony mutters, almost laughing. It doesn’t even occur to him that Steve’s not telling the truth - Steve’s not a liar, and nowhere close to senile - but the whole thing is ridiculous. He picks up an old Starkbook and a screwdriver again, cracking open the back in rapid twists. “You’re telling me that you’re actually a version of a Steve Rogers from another reality who traveled back in time seventy years ago, that the original Steve Rogers is still frozen in an iceberg while you lived an entire life, fiddled around with the timeline, and now you need to pop back over to where you came from for what? A quick chat? Sunday dinner?”

“To say goodbye.” Steve doesn’t say it as an admonishment. His words are quiet, almost internal. “I have people there who meant a lot to me, who mean a lot to me, and even if I’ve run into versions of them here, accidentally or on purpose, it’s not the same. They deserve to know what happened.” He doesn’t even meet Tony’s eye. Tony somehow feels chastised anyway. He swallows.

“Who knows about this?” he asks, a little more softly this time.

“Bucky knows some of what might have happened.” Tony almost starts to demand what exactly the some of it might be, but then Steve adds, “Your father knew that I’d come back. I’m not sure whether he told your mother.”

Tony twists the screwdriver hard enough that he almost strips the screw. “Seventy years ago, you showed up and told my dad you’d come from another time, but what, you didn’t trust him enough to tell him more than that?” His voice drops, fierce and low, as the next screw is released too quickly and with too much force, pinging off the table and getting lost beneath. “As if the two of you were perfect, as if you could be objective about everything, take care of it all. Saint Steve and Blessed Peggy. It must have been you and her, you would have told her everything so she could have worked it from the inside—”

Steve barks, “Tony,” suddenly on his feet, and it occurs to Tony that Steve might actually be able to beat him up, despite being...God, he can’t even track how old at this point, but certainly old enough for it to be embarrassing.

“Don’t talk about Peggy like that.” Steve’s voice is softer now but bitten to the quick. “I know I’ve just put a lot on you, and you can yell at me all you want for being arrogant or dishonest, whatever you’d like, but just...Not about her, alright?”

Aunt Peg would have given him that quiet, cold, imperious look if she were with them now. Tony pushes back on his heels thinking of it. And if his dad were here...he’d probably say that he trusted Steve and Peggy and didn’t trust himself enough to know these things. There had never been any sign that Howard Stark had been unfaithful in his marriage, and Tony hopes that his mother would have left if there had been, but Tony remembers the unconscious, appreciative way his father’s eyes would follow a pretty woman across the room at a party, his head turning quickly there and back again in the street, a habit he couldn’t seem to break, like his cigars and his whiskey, all those late nights, those flares of temper. If you couldn’t avoid those little weaknesses, you couldn’t let yourself be in charge of knowing the future, much less changing it.

“Wait,” says Tony, something catching up with him, snagging in his throat. “Wait. Why wouldn’t you have warned him about the heart attack? If you knew, if you’d already been changing stuff, why didn’t you tell him to go to a doctor, get imaging, just eat better, shit.”

“There are things,” says Steve, “that even I don’t know. I didn’t know that he would die that way, Tony, I swear. The first...In the other timeline, he died earlier, and differently.” He slides his hands into his pockets, and the quiet strength of him is obvious as he meets Tony’s eyes instead of glancing away. “But I did tell him to eat better anyway.”

Steve had been a statue at the funeral, Tony remembers that. He’d thought that it was because of the suddenness, Howard grappling to host that year’s Thanksgiving dinner one minute and gone the next, or because the guys from the war had started to pass recently and it hurt to see your old friends going, the ones who had been there for so long, who held your youth, shared your memories. Later, he’d even wondered if Steve had held himself so still and silent because Tony was trembling and needed someone to lean on; Steve had certainly let him do that, no matter what else was going on. But now he peers differently at the memory of the tight clutch of Steve and Peggy’s hands, the way Steve had said, “I’m so sorry, Tony,” at the graveside, not only condolence but apology - he sees the guilt in it now, the burden.

Tony hooks a chair with his foot and drops into it. “Okay,” he says, scrubbing both palms over his face. “Okay. Tell me what you can.”

And as Steve begins to speak, he starts to understand not only how deep this one man’s collapse might have been but how deep the world’s too. War and the lightly done destruction of the planet, Bucky taken and tortured, Hydra - Hydra, which was from history textbooks, which was a sidebar in history textbooks - beneath everything, and then...

“Half the universe,” he says, turning over the words in his mouth. A minute ago he didn’t even know for sure that there was more than their little corner to consider (and he definitely has a few more questions for Steve about aliens). Now he tries to picture individual blades of grass on other planets, all the disappeared foxes and ferns and pets and coral, animals he doesn’t know and can’t describe. The people, even if he might not recognize them as such right away. The parents and children.

For just a second he imagines Pepper and their kids, the idea of one or two or three or all of them disappearing, but has to cut off even the conjured thought; the shrapnel gasp of it is too much and he rubs his knuckles over his chest to try to erase the horror of it. He tries to think through just the logistics of it all: what if he’d gone and after three years or four Pep had married someone else? Who was she really married to and who was she expected to divorce? What if someone adopted your kids? Jesus, the therapists would have full schedules if nothing else, because even if it was reversed, it had happened. Somewhere out there, all that had happened.

He shakes his head, twitchy. “Even with what you came back knowing, how could you be sure that the strings you were pulling on were the right ones, the ones that would help things?”

Steve gives a single-beat laugh. “I’ve spent nearly twice your lifetime wondering.” He shifts his body and the light - not the bright lab fixtures but that high, brilliant sun coming through the windows, a reminder that it is still only midafternoon - edges onto his face just so, revealing the sharp cut of time landscaping his cheeks and forehead, running beside his eyes, tied tightly around his mouth.

“Peggy and I talked about it all forever. I think we did what we could, did well enough even if it sometimes didn’t seem like it. But I also think that there’s probably a world out there where we did it all better.”

“Then there’s probably a world out there where you did it worse,” Tony offers, and somehow it makes Steve smile.

“From what I’ve seen, I’d bet that there’s a version for every decision you can imagine. One where I didn’t go back, or one where I went back and only told Peggy where to look in the ice but didn’t stay. One where I never went into the ice at all. One where I died as a kid, or from the serum, or in the war, or during the crash. A whole bunch, probably, where Dr. Erskine decided to give Peggy the serum instead.” His voice grows quiet; he seems to hold the words close. “One where she wore blue to our wedding instead of white, and one where she wore red. One where she became president, and one where she decided she’d finished with meetings and went back to being an agent. One where we decided not to have any kids, and one where she was able to carry them, and one where we adopted some other kids who some other me loves just as much as I do mine.”

They sit in silence for a moment, then: “Have you told them about this?” Tony asks. “Will you?”

A sigh, and Tony remembers with a strange, electric chill that this man - Uncle Steve, Grant Carter, Captain America, Steve Rogers - this man will one day die, lifetime strung against lifetime finally at an end.

“Your life,” Steve says, “turned out in many ways the same. Here or there: smart and wealthy, philanthropist, father. I can’t say for certain that it would be the same for my kids. And I know that they’re strong people, and I hope that I’ve helped them find solid foundations, but I don’t know that I can torture them with the idea of what might have been, of what might be, somewhere out there.”

Tony thinks suddenly of standing with Rose at some family thing, probably three or four years back. He’d asked if she ever considered what might have been if she’d been made a judge. Fairly insensitive, he realized now - it had been pretty soon after they’d found out that Drea had been on the shortlist to replace Justice Ginsburg - but Rose had just cackled gleefully. He remembers turning his head at the sound: her mother was already dying - truly dying, not only the sort that starts the day someone is born - and it had been a while since he’d heard one of the Carters laugh freely like that. Her eyes had a delighted razor’s edge to them, and he’d sort of understood how opposing counsel must feel when Rose Carter showed up for a meeting.

“They’d have to have stopped caring about judges keeping any claim to objectivity,” she had said. “But think of how I’d run my courtroom, all those acidic opinions I could write!” She’d cackled again. “Imagine that sort of alternate universe.”

One part of Tony, a part that sounds quite a lot like Steve himself, considers rigorous honesty, the lies by kind omission that can poison things just as easily as those meant maliciously. But another part, the side of him that sneaks dollar bills beneath the pillow for each lost tooth, that smooths sweaty, rumpled hair and says, “I’m here, don’t worry, I’ll always be here” during storms or after nightmares, the part that hesitated before placing Morgan, not yet two weeks old, into Steve’s arms, even as he felt that he might remember being held securely there himself, the part of him that’s a parent...that part understands.

She’ll turn seventy in a couple of years, Rose Carter. What purpose will it serve to tell her this, to have her wonder not only about worlds where she might have been a judge, but those where she never became a lawyer, never found her career or her family, where she might have been raised by people with different ideas about how to handle an incandescently angry child or a young woman who had no interest in romance, worlds where she was never taken in at all? What need is there to tell her, to tell all the Carters, if it meant turning those thoughts from something coming across the brain for a second, easily brushed aside, to true possibilities, if not for them than for some other version out there?

Finding out that their father had once upon a time gone by another name, that he had been more than the average soldier during the war, those things might require some adjustment, but this life, their life together, their memories, remained largely the same. This could turn the entire universe to quicksand.

Tony clears his throat. “I’m guessing whatever—” He waves a hand. “Your supersuit, or your time machine, the TARDIS...it’s not with you here?”

“No,” says Steve. “I didn’t want it to get misplaced on the train.”

As if it’s just another piece of luggage and he didn’t want to set them up for some sort of hijinks. “Okay, well, I’m coming down to meet with the NSF in a couple of weeks. I’ll swing by to take a look then.”

“Thank you. That sound goo—”

Steve is cut off by TESLA’s voice, bright and warm and synthetic. “Reminder: it is 3:20. Please cease working and prepare to greet the children.”

“I can go before they get here,” Steve offers, standing.

“What, you’re gonna scale the side of the building, old man?” The words arrive without Tony thinking about them. Even as he has a sense of unreality, trying to let himself have both the life he did two hours ago and this new concept of everything, he shrugs into the familiarly smart remark like an old coat that turns out to still fit.

Tony stands too, comes closer, places a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I told you, the kids’ll love to see you.”

“Alright,” and even though it sounds a little shaky and sad, Steve’s smile looks real.

As TESLA reports that the kids are in the elevator on the way up, accompanied by their babysitter, Pepper’s niece Callie, Tony thinks to ask, “How did you know that I’d help you?”

Steve’s smile turns deeper, somehow more amused and more sad at once. “You helped me then, over there,” he says. “And you’d punched me quite a bit more than you have here.”

“Wait,” says Tony, turning toward him. “What?” But the doors open just then, Jude and AJ racing each other in, shrieking in endlessly delighted purposelessness, Mo coming more sedately after them, eyes big and observant behind those new glasses, and Tony just opens his arms to them all.

More chapters here

[stardancerluv]

Blossoming of a Shy Violet

Part Seventeen

Summary: Dustin and the others to the rescue…or are they!

Notes/Warning: Combined some of the actual scenes from the show with my story to make them work. I hope they do. 🫣🤞🏻 And some angst & fluff.

This is a bit of a filler chapter, so that finally the main characters (or a bunch them finally meet Eddie and Y/N) I hope I captured them well! Feedback is welcome! And if you want to be tagged let me know.

“Wake up, Y/N wake up. I don’t like this.” Eddie’s strangled voice filled your ears.

Coughing, blinking Eddie was before you. Or was it Eddie. Scrambling, you leapt back. You rubbed the back of your head after it hit the wall. The nightmare was unending. “Leave me alone!” You screamed, you pushed at him.

He rocked back on his knees as his eyes grew, they were soft. “Y/N?” He mumbled your name.

You squeezed your eyes closed, you even covered them with your hands. Finally, you let out of breath you had not even realized you were holding. Things felt distinctly different, but you couldn’t be sure. And the horrors were still ravaging themselves in your mind. “Eddie?” You croaked.

“Yes, little nymph its me.” The bed beside you gave, making you flinched.

“It’s ok.” Warm rough hands came over yours, “Talk to me, let me see you.” You let the hands peal yours away. “There you are.”Those were certainly Eddie’s eyes, they were soft, there was no edge behind them. He gave you a gentle smile. That was certainly his mouth.

You were not in the world of your nightmares. Everything, felt as they should be. Your gut told you, it was him and not that monster. You almost knocked Eddie over as you leapt into his arms. “Oh Eddie.” You whimpered into his chest.

“It’s me nymph, it’s me.” You held yourself tighter to him, you wrapped your arms around him.

*****

It was horrible to see you in such a state. The noises that had come out of you, the way your eyes were rolled back into your head, he never wanted to see you like that again. Seeing you calming down, he helped you to curl up in his lap. He gently nuzzled your temple.

“Oh Eddie.” You murmured, trembling again.

“You can tell me what happened when you’re ready.” He whispered.

He ran a hand up and down one of arm. As you sat back, looking up at him, it tore at him. Your eyes were red rimmed and wide. “It was horrible.” You sniffled.

He nodded, his stomach churned.

You opened and closed your eyes. “I think the monster,” He watched as you took a strangled breath. When you took one of his hands and began playing with his rings he let you. “that, “you chewed on your bottom lip. “that killed Crissy and the others showed himself to me.” He knew when he was nervous he did the same thing.

He knit his brow together. “But why you?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. Maybe because I know you, he mentioned something about your friends.”

“What could they possibly have to do with any of this?” He asked more himself. It didn’t make sense.

Your eyes moved over him. “He also liked how I looked at him, when I thought I was looking at you.” You pressed your lips together.

“Seriously?” Why had whatever this thing is taken his appearance. He was so confused.

You finally smiled, gently ran your fingers along his cheek. “You are incredibly handsome and he is rather,” You leaned in close, “grotesque.” you whisper the last bit.

He felt himself flush from your touch and words. He had never been one to get compliments, well genuine ones that is. Being the lead in a band he’d get them on occasion. Usually, the person would have one too many drinks. So hearing the compliment from you, he felt.

Meeting your eyes, he smirked. “I’m glad you think so little nymph.” Cupping your chin, he grazed your bottom lip with his thumb. “I know I enjoy how you look at me.”

Eyeing a tear that lingered, he brushed it aside, you had cried enough. As he felt you sigh, he smiled as you leaned into his hand.

“Eddie, what are we going to do?”

“We have to find somewhere safer, after that I don’t know.” He sighed.

Outside the the sound of a car pulling up, made the air between the two of still. The gravel crunched under the tires. This time, they’d really have to run. But to where, right now no place was safe enough. A loud banging on the front door filled the tiny house.

Eddie put a finger to your lips.

His heart slammed heavily against his chest. Didn’t the cops have enough the first time. He was a Munson, he should know better, they didn’t give up till his dad was locked away.

“Eddie!! Eddddie!” Came a screeching hollar.

“Dustin?” He whispered.

You made a questioning look.

He grimaced. “He’s a friend, at least he was still one on Friday.” Friday felt so far away. Banging filled the house once again.

“Eddie…Eddie! Are you here!?!” The voice screeched again.

“Dustin, will you shut up!” Another voice cut across Dustin’s that Eddie couldn’t place. There were other voices that sounded incoherent. Who else could have Dustin had with him, he wondered.

“We don’t need to be screaming that name. He’s probably long gone from here.”

Carefully, Eddie got up. “I better see what’s going on.”

You grabbed his arm. “Eddie.” The unease in your voice, sliced right through him.

He put on a brave face. “It will be ok.” He brought your hand to his mouth and pressed kisses on your knuckles. “Get dressed. So if you have to, you can run like hell out here.” He looked into your eyes, hating the anguish he saw there. “But if that happens, I will find you, I promise.”

He took the chair away from the doorknob and crept down the hall.

“Eddie! Eddie you gotta be in there!” Dustin’s voice made Eddie roll his eyes despite the situation.

“Dustin, what did I say?” The other voice hissed.

Deep down, he felt Dustin was a good kid. But who the hell was that with him. Did the cops grab him and make him look for him.

He grabbed the baseball bat, he had eyed earlier. He would not go down without a fight. And he knew it would also give you a chance to run.

Inhaling, he slowly undid the locks. Turning the knob, he opened the door a crack. Peaking from around it, he gasped and jumped backward. He was brought face to face with Dustin’s crooked, metal smile.

“Eddie! It’s you! I knew you were here.” Dustin exhaled with his squeaky giggle as he pushed the door open. “Guys, he’s not in the boathouse, he’s here.” He waved his arm.

“Dustin, shut up.” Eddie regained his footing, his hands tightened on the bat, he was still clutching.

Dustin, rolled his eyes. “Eddie, calm down. It’s ok.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

“I will once I know who’s with you?” He snapped.

Hearing the door creak behind him; he glanced behind him. That’s when he saw you peaking out from the room. Waving his hand, he was relieved you went back into the bedroom.

“Some of my friends.” Dustin replied.

Eddie raised an eyebrow.

“Who’s with you?” Dustin countered.

“You first.” Eddie countered.

“Guys, hurry up he wants to see you guys.” He gestured for them to hurry over.

Eddie tightened the grip on the bat. Popping up along side Dustin he saw his neighbor, the Mayfield girl, some chick he didn’t recognize and Harrington. The former King of Hawkins High; everything he wasn’t. Confusion filled him when Harrington waved at him.

“We can’t keep standing out here like this.” The chick he didn’t recognize said as she pushed past the others and him, as she is walked into the house. He followed her with his eyes. She looked around before looking back at him. “Hi, I’m Robyn!” A bright smile crossed her face.

“Hi.” He said tightly.

Looking back at Dustin, he backed up as the others poured in after her. He never let go of the bat.

“Eddie, we’re all friends here.”

“Well…” Harrington mumbled.

Dustin just shook his head and rolled his eyes. “He’s my other older male friend, you two will be friends too.”

Eddie, couldn’t help but make a face. “We’ll see about that, Dustin.”

Harrington, smiled and he leaned against the armrest on the sofa. Robyn, Dustin and his neighbor all plopped down on the sofa in front of him. “We can agree on that.” Eddie nodded.

Dustin jumped up as if remembering the door, and went to close it. That made, Eddie finally lowered the bat and let himself relax, somewhat. “Let me do that. The cops banged it up pretty bad earlier.” He leaned the bat against wall next to the door.

“Ok Eddie.” Dustin squeaked. “So who’s down the hall?”

Eddie flinched. He slid the locks back into place, he looked at everyone over his shoulder. “My…my girl.”

“When did you get a girl?” Dustin’s voice rose with excitement, his eyes already twinkled with it.

“Dustin, does it matter?” Harrington, pushing himself off the armrest, he went and put a hand on Dustin’s shoulder. “There are more pressing issues.” Dustin, shrugged it off. Harrington made a face, went back to leaning against the armrest.

“No!” He scrunched up his face as he looked between Steve and Eddie. “He didn’t have a girl the other day.”

Eddie heard him mumble something and the Robyn girl nudged him.

“I’ll get her. But then, you all better tell me why you all came looking for me.” He looked them over.

He wasn’t exactly thrilled but at least it was just Dustin and others; no cops. How, Dustin was friends with Harrington, really made him wonder. All he ever knew about that guy was that he was a bit of a tool.

Opening the bedroom door he found you pacing. You turned to him, holding a hand up he beckoned to you. Within a breath, you did. He sighed as you pressed your soft body against his. It put him at ease.

Pulling back, you looked at him. “Who’s out there?” Your eyes were huge, as you absently chewed on your bottom lip.

“Its my friend Dustin and his friends.”

“Ok. So its safe?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

You suddenly, pressed your lips against his. “I’m not leaving your side.”

He met your kiss, pressing a few of his own against your soft lips. Over these last few days, they continued to make his stomach tighten with excitement. Right now was no exception.

He didn’t want to pull away, but he had to. But when he did, he gave you one of his more winning smiles. “You better not little nymph.”

There was a hush of whispers which silenced when the floor creaked as he grew close. He made a face.

Going over to the lazy-boy, he plopped down then happily he pulled you to sit astride his lap.

“Oh her!” Dustin, squeaked and came over. “Hi. You’re the new girl.”

“Hi.” You nodded, shifting closer to him. , Eddie bit the inside of his cheek. As he resisted the urge to smile as he felt you shift closer to him. He found it so endearing.

Dustin, smirked at him. “Eddie, I told you two would be cute together.”

******

Raising your eyebrows, you glanced back at Eddie. “I’ll tell you later.” He told you in a hushed, as he squeezed your hip.

“You better.” You gave him a quick look.

Looking back at you, Dustin’s metal smile twinkled. “I wish you had not fluttered off.”

You grimaced.

These past two years, with all the moving you and your dad did you had been strong. And now, you felt like you could crumble. Especially after what you saw, what that thing did.

“What do you expect Henderson? Who wouldn’t run away from you.” Eddie cracked a smile. His voice bringing you out of thoughts; exactly what you needed.

Dustin, shot him a look. Eddie couldn’t hold the bark of laughter that bubbled to the service. He had to admit right now, this little banter made him feel worlds better.

Henderson shrugged as he glanced over at the two of you. “I eventually just got tired of running.”

“Hey!” Dustin squeaked. “Not nice.”

“Sorry buddy, couldn’t resist.”

“It’s alright.” Dustin, made a face before smiling cheerily again.

“I’m just constantly the new girl.” You finally spoke up. “Didn’t want to bother making new friends.”

“But you got a boyfriend.” The girl who introduced herself as Robyn remarked more to herself then anyone else.

Harrington, nudged her. “Be nice.”

“Well, its true.” She shrugged.

Harrington, rolled his eyes. “Hi.” He waved. “I’m Steve. And this is Robyn, she will always say what’s she’s thinking, regardless if its nice or not, and next to her is Max,” The red haired girl, gave a wave. “She’s a great member of our gang.”

“Hello.” You grimaced. “I’m just a girl who’s been at more schools in the last year then I can count.”

You glanced at Eddie before continuing. “And as for Eddie, he wooed me by making me fall off a picnic table in a forest and after seeing him perform with a very metal performance at the Hideout. I was smitten.”

You were growing to rather like how pink would dust Eddie’s cheek whenever you spoke a kind word to him. He felt himself flushing at your compliment.

You felt Eddie inhale. “So, why are you,” He looked at the group and pressed his lips together. “And the others here?”

“So there is some good news and some bad news.

“How do you prefer it?” Dustin asked, finally sitting back on the sofa as seriousness splashed across his face.

******

He met your eyes before replying. “Bad news first, always.”

“Alright, bad news first. We tapped into the Hawkins PD Dispatch with our Cerebro, and they’re definitely looking for you. For you, too.”

You stiffened in his lap.

“They are pretty convinced the two of you killed Chrissy in some kind of ritual.”

He exhaled. “Any other bad news?”

“That’s pretty bad.” Steve added.

“When they came here, we heard snippets of the cops talking. So we already knew.” He pressed his lips together.

“Oh.” Dustin opened and closed his mouth. “So why do they even suspect the two of you?”

He scowled. “She came to performance at The Hideout to score something to help her sleep, she had been suffering from horrible nightmares and needed something to take them away.”

You sighed then added. “She stayed and jammed out with me to Eddie’s performance.”

“And the good news?”

“Your names have not been released yet.” The Mayfield girl, finally popped up.

Steve made a face. “It’s only a matter of time before people begin to suspect. Since it sounds like the two of were the last to see her alive.”

Bile rose in his throat. He felt completely powerless. “Hunt the freak and his mistress.” He spat out.

“Look together we can work on this and get your names cleared.” Robyn leaned forward, her eyes were warm.

“What…” You cut him quietly off by meeting his eyes. He knew you’d have to share that nightmare.

“Eddie.” You whispered, giving him a look. He could barely return your gaze. “Should I tell them?”

He closed his eyes and nodded.

“Tell us what?” Dustin got off the sofa again, taking a few steps closer once again towards the two of you.

Taking one of his hands, you began nervously turn and twist his rings. “I’m here.” He whispered.

He pulled you tighter against him. “The most awful creature showed himself in my dream. This monster disguised himself before he revealed himself. He has plans for Hawkins, horrible things will happen.” You trembled. “The ground was opening up in places.” You squeezed your eyes for a moment.

“Sweetheart.” He drew close to you to whisper. “It’s alright, you’re here.”

******

Sirens from far away grew closer, your eyes met. Instinctively, you turned to his chest, his arms tightened around you. He held you close.

He watched as the others clamored to the window and all peaked out. Harrington he noticed did grab his bat before doing so.

He would not close his eyes, he watched from just above your head. If they were going to come busting through the door, he would not turn away. Several vehicles raced by the window in a blur, and the shrill sound of the sirens faded once again into the distance.

“They’re not stopping. We’re safe.” Robyn looked over her shoulder and smiled.

His heart didn’t relax as it thudded hard against his chest. He hoped that you didn’t feel his worry.

******

*He told me he enjoyed killing the others.” You continued and twisted one of the rings.

“Wait, wait others?” Steve came forward and put a hand on Dustin’s shoulder.

“Molly and her brother; we found out their dad is investigating the case. Well, umm…”You trembled hard in his lap, your voice trailed off.

He made a soft reassuring sound. “I’ll continue.”

“Ok.” You swallowed, he saw the pain in your eyes. It continued to rip at him.

“Last night, before he showed himself in her nightmare, we saw…” He swallowed the bile the memory brought up from his stomach. A ghost of Chrissy’s ponytail swishing as she spoke to him ran across his mind’s eye. It hurt knowing, she was killed by that monster. “We saw what he did to them. So we can only imagine what he did to Chrissy. He’s truly monster.”

Harrington made a face. “We got to get you out of here.”

“But where Steve?” Dustin squeaked.

He shifted on his feet. Eddie couldn’t remember ever seeing Steve think. He always seemed to react. Perhaps, Dustin was good for him.

Harrington never been known to have a poker face, Eddie could practically see the lightbulb shining above his head. “I know the perfect place.”

Eddie rose an eyebrow.

“My parents place on the lake.”

“Oh that’s genius Harrington, your parents will love seeing me and her having taken up residence there.”

Harrington, rolled his eyes. “They closed it for the season. We’ll just have to get you guys some food,” He looked the two of you over. “‘maybe some clothes. And you’ll be set.”

“There we would be mo surprise visits?”

“Nah.”

“It’s comfy and Eddie and Y/N you’ll have entire place to stretch out.” Dustin beamed.

“Except my room or my parent’s room.” Harrington said flatly.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure neither of those will hold any interest to us.” Eddie glanced at him. He didn’t particularly want to owe Harrington but it was the only chance hum and you had at the moment.

“I suppose so.”

“And,” Dustin continued extravagantly. “Its way more comfortable then Rick’s guest room. Always felt he had some grandma stored away there in one of the closets.” He rolled his eyes. “And the squeaking bed was the worst.”

“The squeaking was the worst.” You chuckled. “I was worried it actually had been his grandmother’s room by the look of it.”

“Oh really?” Eddie raised his eyebrows as he looked at you. He chuckled softy as you blushed.

You shrugged. “Look at that bedding, a hundred perfect grandma.”

“Wait a second Dustin, how would you know?” Harrington gave Dustin a look.

Dustin grimaced. “Eddie and I had along with some of the others crashed here after a long DND sesh.”

“Really?”

Dustin, nodded.

Harrington made a face.

Robyn jumped up, “Look the sooner we get them situated the faster we can start finding weaknesses with this Vecna creature.”

“I just wish El was here.” Harrington sighed.

Eddie pressed his lips together. “We can’t always have a girl with super powers helping us out.”

“I know.” His brow furrowed. “But it would make things so much easier.”

“Right now.” Eddie admitted. “You’re the one coming to rescue.”

Harrington scratched the back of his neck and smiled. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I know I am. Thanks.” He smiled at him.

Harrington replied with one of his own. “Its the least I can do with this damn monster running around.”

@eddieswifu @twentysomethingwereyote @gabriella-gvf @apocalypticwafflekitten @blackberries45 @buckymydarlingangel @mouthfulloftoothpasterry @readers-posts @grunge-grrrl @ofherscarlettwitchways @making-the-most-0f-it @chaos-incorp @dandycandy75 @poltergeistsblog @alyssinwunderland-blog-blog @helpimspiraling @thegirlwhohides

[tomtenadia]

Thicker than blood - 5

Here we go with another chapter.

Rowan ran out of the mansion, collected his car and drove back into town. He had to go and clear his mind. Mate. Aelin Galathynius was his mate. That was not possible. It was a mistake. He knew that fate had a dark sense of humour but that verged on cruel.

Not only she was the heir of the oldest families in Orynth. She had a dark problem. One that was his job to get rid of. His job would be to bring her to a rehab facility and leave her there. But now, he was not sure. He should have done it the first night. Now… how could he even think about pushing his mate in such a horrible place.

Mate.

The world still alien on his lips, together with the taste of her. Damn what happened in that closet had destroyed him. She was stunning and intoxicating. He was drawn to her and now he knew why.

Fuck.

Shit. He was in deep unending shit.

He slammed hard a hand on the steering wheel and kept driving. How was he going to sort out that mess? Lorcan had managed to get Orynth police to pass the case to his unit and now he was in charge of the murders, which possibly meant work with her again. He wasn’t sure he could do that.

His job was to have her in cuffs and out of the streets. How could he let her go through rehab, though? Maybe… he thought about Aedion’s new drug. Maybe that would help.

What if she didn’t want help? His brain reminded him. She had made that clear. He had no intention of arresting her for murder. 

He parked the car in his familiar spot and slowly started to walk to the roof where he had met her, hoping to see her and maybe talk. He had disappeared like a scared man. Truth was, he was scared and conflicted.

He climbed the emergency stairwell and reached the top of the roof and was disappointed when he found it empty.

*

Aelin escaped the mansion without anyone realising. No one would notice her absence anyway. She was never at the centre of the attention at those events. She was just there to look pretty and give the impression of the perfect family for the media. People wanted to talk to Aedion and her parents. 

And that was okay by her. She enjoyed not being in the spotlight. It made her life easier. She would not mind to be Celaena forever. At the hospital, only Dorian knew who she was but he was a good friend who understood what living anonymously meant. He had fled Rifthold and his family and now worked at the blood bank. Strange job for a vampire, but he was her friend and he was the one giving her freebies once a week.

She hit the clubs and started having fun. Taking a deep breath she followed the scents until she found her victim. A man. She pulled him in the middle of the dance floor. The lights and the heavy crowd where the perfect hiding spot. She hugged the man tight and pretended to lean her face against the crook of his neck. The perfect disguise to attack. Aelin fed on him. The taste of alcohol and blood on her lips. Aelin took her fill until she smelled a better prey. This man had some sort of drug in him. Even better.

She went from club to club, victim to victim, until she was so high that her mind started slipping.

Slowly walked to the pier and leaned against the rail and stared at the water. She had gone too far that night. Her mind was so foggy that when a human stopped at her side she turned abruptly and saw a little girl. Her instincts were screaming for the young tasty blood but Aelin fought them. No kids. No. The girl walked away and Aelin collapsed on her knees and started sobbing silently. Her hand shaking terribly. All around her there were humans, and she was going crazy. She could not take it anymore. Aelin stood and grabbed a man and dragged him in an alley and drank until a set of powerful hands pulled her away. The scent of pine and snow and a set of beautiful green eyes locked on her.

“That’s enough for tonight.”

She growled at him and almost attacked Rowan. 

“Aelin…” his voice harsh “you are slipping.”

“Leave me alone,” a snarl came out of her “I am in control.”

Her shaking intensified and Rowan lifted in his arms and Aelin fell unconscious.

When she came to, Aelin found herself in a room that was definitely not hers and the smell was definitely off. Pine and snow. She groaned as the memory of Rowan interrupting her last meal coming back all of a sudden.

Why did he stop her? She was on the verge of the blissful oblivion she desperately sought and he took  that from her. A groan left her and turned in bed, her head heavy and her mouth had a strange taste. She turned and saw a glass of blood on the nightstand. With trembling hands Aelin tried to grab it but failed. A moment later the mattress dipped and saw Rowan, in nothing but a t-shirt and shorts, sitting at her side. He grabbed the glass and slowly helped her to stand. She took the glass avidly but as soon as the blood touched her lips she pulled away “did…” her eyes locked on him “did you feed me this shit against my will?”

“Yes.”

Aelin pushed her hands against his chest and crawled to the end of the bed and landed on the ground but when she tried to stand she collapsed, her legs failing her.

Rowan went to help her.

“Stay away from me,” she started shaking once more “do not touch me…”

“Aelin… you are coming down from your high. You almost slipped last night.”

She pushed him back and started sobbing “I don’t need your help.”

“Please… I can help you. I know how you feel right now.”

Aelin tried to escape but her body failed “when you are minutes from slipping and then stop, your body goes into a kinda shock and you start coming down very quickly. It hurts like hell. You stop healing automatically for a few hours. You trashed in pain all night. It only got better when I forced synthetic blood down your throat.

“Keep that shit away.”

“Please, Aelin.”

“Stop calling me like that.”

“That is your name.”

Aelin’s gaze lifted and met his “that woman died a long time ago,” she confessed through gritted teeth. And that’s when the cramps started. She folded in two and vomited blood on his expensive wooden floor.

“It hurts…” she sobbed in his arms.

“I know,” Rowan went to the bathroom to grab a towel and cleaned her face then gently lifted her and deposited back in bed. She was still wearing the expensive green dress.

He ran to his closet and took out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts “I am just changing your clothes, okay?”

Aelin nodded. He covered her with the duvet and started rummaging under the covers to dress her again. It did not matter what happened at the party. He was not having her naked against her will. Even if it was only to change her clothes. It took him a while but he did manage to sort her clothing situation, then he pulled the duvet up to her chin and tucked her in nicely. He then sat at her side and started caressing her head gently. 

In her slumber, her face was relaxed and Rowan thought that she was the most stunning woman he ever saw. At the party, her blue eyes had not been covered by lenses and he got a chance to see them properly. They had a ring of gold. He closed his eyes and thought about her stare while in the closet. There was fierceness in all she did. 

His hand slowly brushed her hair once more “why are you doing this to yourself? What are you punishing yourself for?”

He chuckled “we are mates, fate has a weird sense of humour, eh?”

He lay down at her side and grabbed her hand that he placed on his chest and covered it with his “I will not let anything happen to you.”

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep a bit.

**

It was late at night by the time Lysandra and Aedion finally made it back home after the party.

Aedion being the golden boy he had been constantly needed by someone for photos or interviews or any sort of questions on his projects. Lysandra hated those events. Most of the times she was relegated to just a figurehead at his side. Her job only to smile. She would disappear and Aedion would find her straight away and sneak in a few kisses and apologising. If he could, he’d leave all the socialising to the Galathynius, but sometimes it was not possible.

They entered the house and switched on the lights and removing the tie was the first thing he did “Finally, I have been thinking about removing this trap since the moment I put it on.”

Lysandra walked to him and kissed him “maybe we can find a better use for it.”

“I like where your mind is going.”

She dragged him in the bedroom and he started to change in house clothes “did Aelin looked okay to you?”

Lysandra looked at him suspiciously “why? She seemed fine.”

He sat on the bed and removed his trousers “I am worried. She was distant and disappeared quickly. I know she doesn’t like that kind of party, but usually she hangs on a bit longer.”

Lysandra had been preoccupied too since she last saw her friend. Lysandra knew her secret but never had the guts to tell Aedion. It would break his heart. They were like brother and sister. She had been horrified when she had confessed him that she had indulged a couple of times but that she had stopped as soon as thing between them got serious. She had been terrified he’d leave her but Aedion had been understanding.

“Lys, is Aelin a junkie?’

Lysandra froze. The t-shirt halfway on. Fuck. Fuck and super fuck. There was no way she could lie to him. Not with something like this.

“I had this feeling for a while. I scented it on her once and since that day it’s just a feeling that never left me.”

Lysandra was silent.

“I want to help her.”

“She doesn’t want help. Don’t you think I tried?”

Aedion’s eyes snapped open. She had just given him the answer.

“How long?’

“I honestly don’t know. I found out one night when we went out and she showed me.

Aedion started pacing like a madman “this stays between us. I am not having Aelin locked up in a government facility.”

Lysandra wrapped her arms around his waist and Aedion pulled her closer “I have been suspecting for a while. Some of the new research is all in the hope she lets me help her before it’s too late.”

“I know, my love.” His head nested in her neck.

“I need to find a way to talk to her.” Lysandra brushed his long blonde hair “maybe I can talk to her.  She might allow me in the house at least.”

Aedion sighed deeply “I love her and her parents do too.”

Lysandra sat on the bed and dragged him down “I know. But you know her relationship with Rhoe and Evalin is more complicated.” His head leaned on her lap “Aelin has always been independent. They tried to force her in a role she did not want. Rhoe told she was a disappointment when she became an ME. Aelin loves that job. It hurts her, Aedion,” Lys brushed his hair “then all of a sudden you became the golden boy and I think it made things worse.”

Aedion sat down again “I had no intention of having her parents push her aside for me, Lys.”

Lysandra brushed his face “I know and Aelin loves you, but you need to see how it looks from her point of view. Rhoe barely talks to her.”

Aedion looked up at his fiancee and kissed her deeply “Talk to Aelin, I beg you.”

Lysandra chuckled “I will, now… fancy begging in another way?”

Aedion wrapped his arms around Lysandra and pulled her down at his side on the bed “I love you.”

*

In the main government building in central Orynth, mayor Arobynn Hamel was flipping through some papers when a man entered his office.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Morning, do you bring me the new reports?”

“Yes,” the assistant passed him the folder in his hands “ten more junkies have been sent to the deviation centre.” He explained.

“Good. That is good news. Give them one month and then dispose of them as usual.”

The other man nodded and left the office.

Hamel grinned wickedly and then went back to his job. 

He would get rid of all the vampires in Terrasen. That would be his legacy as mayor.

TAGS:

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[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Second Generation Hero Pt. 2

Warnings: ***Major Trigger Warnings*** for discussion of self-harm and the feelings surrounding self-harm. Angst. Sadness. Grief. Brief show level violence

Series Summary: It’s hard to be the daughter of a hero, will Dean notice Y/N needs help?

Chapter Summary: Y/N is lost, in more ways than one.

Pairings: No romantic pairing. Dean Winchester x teen!daughter

Word Count: 2,199

A/N: @agirlwithanpureheart sent an ask for this request and this is Part 2 of 3 of this mini-series that sees Dean with a teenage daughter who is self-harming. Please heed trigger warnings above.

I have a history with mental health struggles, but never self-harm, so my understanding of it is limited to what I can learn from outside sources. I hope I have done an adequate job in representing the experience and I apologize sincerely if you feel that it is not. This is obviously a purely fictional representation.

Mental Health Help can be found on the following websites:

United States Canada: UK: International:

*The beautiful divider at the bottom was created by @talesmaniac89 💓

I realized something interesting today. Let me share it with you.

So, this morning was bad. I left school at lunch, it was just not possible to stay. The name calling, the tricks, the teasing, the cruel whispers, it was unending all day yesterday and again today. At noon, I finally couldn't take anymore and I fled.

There's a spot at the edge of town I go to a lot. It's kind of in the middle of the forest and no one really knows it exists, but there's an old abandoned car there and the woods have started growing in around it, taking back their space. There are no front doors at all in the car, and plants have started to crawl up into the floor of the front seat.

I try not to disturb them when I climb in. It's probably chalk full of germs and other disgusting things, but I think it's beautiful. The car is black and it reminds me just a tiny bit of the Impala. It's older though, mid-fifties. My dad has taught me a lot about cars, I wish he had time to teach me more.

I like cars, I understand them, classic cars anyway; I'm not tech savvy enough for the new ones. But old cars, they fit together in a specific way, one piece leads to another, for one thing to work, this other thing has to work first. They're logical, they fit together like a puzzle, and I've loved the few times Dad and I have had the chance to work on Baby together.

So, I come to sit in the car when I feel particularly done. When I can't take one more second of the fear and the dark, I come to this place of dappled light.

Today, the watery sunlight fell gentle through the canopy of leaves, and everything was washed over with watercolor green. It was beautiful and soothing, and the ground was still a little damp from the rain the night before, so the earth smelled wet and pungent and just breathtakingly alive.

I climbed into the front seat and cried. I cried for so many reasons. I cried because I was so tired, so tired of ignoring the taunts, of pretending I was okay, of making myself smile when I just wanted to scream.

I cried because I lost again today, because I ran away, I was weak and couldn't face them anymore, so I left. I cried because I should be stronger than that.

I cried because I could, because no one would hear me, because I was alone with only dirt and trees and silent living things.

I cried because I didn't know my next step. I didn't know where I could go from here. I didn't know how to go from here.

I thought about cutting again. But I didn't have a knife with me. I'd left school so quickly, my backpack, with my silver knife, salt and holy water (all stashed away in a hidden panel inside my bag) was still sitting in my locker.

There was a sharp piece of metal on the floor of the car, and I thought about using it.

But then I thought of what could happen to me from cutting into my flesh with a rusty, filthy, piece of metal covered in endless bacteria and grossness and I stopped.

I don't want to die. I don't. Not really.

I just want out, I want to feel better, even for a while.

I cried for so long that when I finished, I was exhausted. The leather seat was comfortable, the air was warm and a little heavy, like more rain would be coming, and I just closed my eyes for one second and woke up in the dark.

There was kind of an instant panic that overtook me. I didn't feel too bad about being scared this time. I think anyone who woke up in the complete dark, with only the noises of insects and screeching owls around them would be a little freaked.

I grabbed my phone out of my pocket, and groaned when I remembered I had forgotten to charge it last night and it was now very dead.

I sat still for probably ten or fifteen minutes, too afraid to leave the car, but increasingly stressed about what might be crawling around inside it that I couldn't see.

Just as I started to think that I should probably take my chances with finding the trail out of here in the dark, I heard movements in the trees around me. I froze and I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. I shook my head at my own stupidity.

God, this was dumb! I knew about all the things that hunted in the night and I had absolutely nothing to protect myself with, no salt, no holy water, no knife...

I remembered the jagged piece of metal on the floor and fished around for it in the dark. Maybe I'd even luck out and it would be made of iron.

I found it and grabbed it, pulling it close to me, as I tucked my legs up close to my chest and tried to make myself as small a target as possible.

I heard the sounds of rustling and movement get closer. Whatever it was moved and shifted like an animal, quick movements followed by a couple of seconds of stillness, as though it was following a scent.

It was getting closer. Suddenly out the right side of the car, I could see a tall, looming figure of a man step out of the edge of the woods right next to me and lean in through the open side of the car.

I screamed and slashed outward with my piece of metal, while also kicking out with all the strength I could. I felt my foot connect with the man's knee and heard the man's curse.

"Son of a biscuit! Y/N! It's me!"

The distinct twang of the man's voice landed on my ear and I froze before leaning out of the car and looking down at the werewolf sitting on the ground.

"Uncle Garth?!" I asked, never so happy to see his long nose and doleful eyes before in my life.

He was rubbing his knee. "Good thing I heal quick, I think you kicked my knee out of joint."

I jumped out of the car and hugged him. He hugged me back with one arm, and used his other to bring a walkie talkie to his mouth.

"This is Wolf One to Hunter One. Come in Hunter One."

I felt my heart speed up again as I could hear my dad's angry voice over the speaker.

"For fuck's sake, Garth, what?!"

"I've found her. Repeat, I've found her and will be returning her to the bunker ASAP."

"Where is she? What happened?" My dad's voice was hard and harsh and I was actually scared of him for the first time in my life. He was gonna be so mad.

I did all the stuff he always told me not to do:

Don't wander off without letting people know where you are. Keep your phone charged, always. Keep the basic monster fighting tools with you at all times.

I just ignored years of training and for what, cause I was a sad little girl who had to go cry alone. Pathetic.

Garth squeezed down the talk button. "She's in an opening in the Mill Creek Forest. About four miles north of Decatur Rd."

Before he could even completely click off, I heard tramping through the bushes and Dad and Cas just popped out of some trees. Cas and Garth turned on the flashlights they carried, lighting up the clearing.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but before I could my dad was hauling me into a bone breaking hug and squeezing the breath out of me. His arms wrapped around me completely, tucking me tightly against him. His right hand came up and cupped the back of my head.

The gesture was so warm and familiar, it made me feel so protected and safe, that I buried my face in his chest and wept some more, big wailing sobs, like when I was a little girl, and I realized something as I blubbered in his arms.

I had missed this. Not the blubbering part, the hugging part. Dad and I used to be so close, I would crawl into his lap all the time and he'd squeeze me close and tell me a funny story from his hunting life, or he'd share his headphones with me and we'd listen to all of AC/DC's greatest hits, with Dad commentating the entire album.

But since I'd gotten older that kind of closeness had started to slow down, and in the last year or so it had pretty much stopped all together. I was always worried that I was wasting my dad's time if I showed up just wanting to talk or even more pathetic, wanting a hug.

So many times I'd want to go see him and maybe even sit on his lap like when I was little and get a cuddle. But then I'd tell myself, don't be stupid, he's busy literally trying to save people's lives, or you know, the world. I think your need for Daddy/Daughter cuddle time can just wait.

But as my sobs turned to hiccups I started to think that maybe it couldn't wait, maybe I really needed to talk to him, right now.

He pulled back a bit and cupped my cheeks in his massive hands and I felt extra little again. When I finally looked up at him, my jaw dropped.

There were tears falling down his cheeks.

I have never seen my dad cry. The odd time I've seen him blink away what could have been tears, but I've never seen him actually cry until today.

"What were you thinking, baby?" He asked me in a hoarse whisper.

He thumbed away the tracks of my tears. "I couldn't find you, couldn't get a hold of you. You just disappeared from school. Nobody had any idea where you'd gone. I thought..."

He trailed off and then pulled me against his chest again and kissed the top of my head.

Garth spoke up then. "Well, if it's any consolation at all, this little girl slashed me good, near broke my knee too." He smiled his warm, sweet smile. "She's a fighter, Dean. No mistaking that."

Cas came up to us and cupped his hand over the side of my head. "I'm so glad you're okay, Y/N. You scared us all a lot."

He looked at my dad. "I'll go let everyone else know she's safe and well and that they can stop looking. They heard Garth on the radio, but they'll no doubt want reassurances."

I had the feeling he was just trying to give us space and I appreciated it. He sure had changed from the way he was when I first met him as a little girl. Then he'd been stiff and awkward; these days it was sometimes hard to remember he was an angel. He was just Cas, just family and I loved him.

"Do you want me to get you both back to the bunker first?" He asked.

Dad shook his head. "No, Baby's close, we'll walk down to her." Cas went to leave and Dad called him back. "Cas! We might be a little while."

Cas nodded. Garth came up and hugged me and Dad together.

"I'll head back to the bunker and say goodbye to everyone, before, I get Cas to pop me back home."

Dad let go of me for a second to wrap Garth in an incredibly tight hug. I thought it was probably a good thing Garth was a werewolf or his skinny frame might have snapped under the pressure.

"Thank you, Garth. So much, man."

Garth beamed and patted Dad's shoulder. "Anytime, Amigo."

Cas walked forward and laid his hand on Garth's arm and they both poofed out of sight.

Now that there was only darkness and silence again, I could feel trepidation and anxiousness returning.

But Dad wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side again before he started us forward, away from the abandoned car and toward the road where Baby was sitting.

"I think we gotta talk, kiddo." He looked down at me, and I nodded.

"I'd really like that, Dad." I dropped my gaze to the ground. "I...I have a lot to tell you."

He paused for a minute and leaned down to kiss my forehead.

"And I wanna hear everything."

I was still scared to tell him, but so unbelievably happy he was listening.

As we came out of the tree line and I could see Baby off in the distance I realized something. In order for my dad to hear me, I had to talk. He might be a hero, but mind reading isn't one of his super powers.

What I learned to today was my voice is a powerful weapon and only I can wield it.

Part 3

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[lilxberry]

I Watched You Die} 6 - Natasha Romanoff

Synopsis;

Someone from Natashas’ past makes the most of unsuspected arrivals and begins to cause issues, not only for her, just everyone they come into contact with. HYDRA uses them as a simple puppet and Natasha believes that maybe, just maybe, she could get them back to her in the way she remembers.

Warnings: Language. Fighting. Terrible writing (this chapter was terrible.)

Words: 3,123

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader (female reader) (super soldier reader) (HYDRA reader)

(A/N: There’s some time jumps that aren’t stated but it’s still relatively easy to follow in that sense. Also, this chapter is more so a filler but nonetheless is related to the story.)

(A/N 2: Strucker and interactions with him are in German and a small interaction with Wanda is in Slovak as a substitute for Sokovian. There is some Russian in this but it’s quite easy to distinguish between the languages’ used.)

< Chapter 5    Chapter 7 >

_______________

Her head throbbed and her neck was stiff and pained from its lolled position it had been in hours on end. Even with her head tilted forward and down towards the hard floor beneath her, the light felt harsh against her eyes, a stinging, burning sensation appearing each time she cracks an eye open.

“Ah, I hope you slept well, Miss Romanoff.”

The familiarity in the voice caused Natasha to tense and she willed her eyes to open and remain as such. Raising her head, her eyes automatically lock on to the figure before her in which everyone believed was dead.

“How are you here?”

The man chuckled and began to take steps towards the tied up red head, his hands folded together behind his back, a smug look etched into his features. “It is quite incredible the technology we have within this day and age, yes?”

Her features twisted up into a sneer, glaring at the one of the few notorious HYDRA leaders they, the Avengers, had come to face. “Why can’t people just stay dead?”

Strucker rounded her body leaving her to look at the room they held her within; bland in colour but crowded with technology. “I believe you’re also not referring to only me now, are you?” He clicks his tongue. “Yes, Y/N. Our best asset yet. The twins were exceptional, yes and the winter soldier was successful until recent years, but Y/N is our best creation.”

His German accent is thick as the words pass into her ears and registers his words, but his next sentence as he leans down to whisper right beside her head makes her blood run cold. “Finding her on the brink of death was undoubtfully wonderful, on our part at least.”

The man chuckled as he straightened himself back out, standing to his full height before rounding her seated position once more to stand before her. “How are our previous assets, anyways? The updates Ghost gives are quite minimal in unnecessary data.”

Silence. Strucker tsked at her lack of response and spun on heel, taking one, two, three steps forward before coming to a standstill. “I suppose you’d like to know why we have you hear,” he called over his shoulder to her. When he was met with silence once more, he continued.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers have certainly been a right ganz schlimmer, a large spanner in our works. We run smoothly when you and your little friends keep out of our business. Perfectly running machinery. So, we’re simply removing the issue with our operation. You.” (Fucking pain.)

Slow and intimidating were his steps as he little by little made his way over towards a board of panels which, much like every other piece of technology was surrounded by people in off-white lab coats. His fingers danced over the multiple of buttons that littered the deck of the panel.

“You may not think so yourself but, we believe you are the strongest of your little band of heroes. No, not physically. Mentally? Yes. We also believe, if we break you, the rest of the team will surely follow in crumbling down.”

His eyes linger on one spot in particular on the panel, his finger hovering over it. “Now you’re also wondering why I’m electing to tell you all this. The answer is simple, really.” He pushes down on a button, resulting in the chair that Natasha is strapped to, to recline backwards, much like a chair in a barbers’, before laying her flat.

“You’re stuck here.”

Natashas’ head looks from left to right in a frantic manner as Strucker steps away from the lengthy panel of buttons and stalks towards her, his boots quietly squeaking against the cold, smooth floor of the room.

Above her is some form of machinery she could best describe as terrifying in appearance, harsh glinting metal and a mass of wires. Movement to both her left and right signify to her that people are beginning to close in on her and surround her. Panic rises in her body further as someone steps closer to her head holding what she believed was a mouth guard; something she’ll be biting down on.

She shakes her head in a desperate attempt to avoid the object but with no such luck. Someone had violently grasped her jaw in a bruising grip and forced the guard into her mouth. Strucker leans over her laying form and the evil grin on his face is purely sickening.

“Have you ever felt 450 volts of electricity surged through your body before? No? Oh, don’t worry. IT should be over before you know it.” He pulls back, making Natasha follow his with her eyes. Her protests are muffled by the guard in her mouth. “But, please, be mindful when it comes to the convulsions that follow. You wouldn’t like to break a bone, surely.”

Strucker walks towards yet another panel, this time with AMP and voltage gages along with other gages she couldn’t quite make out from her position. He places his hand atop a dial and nods his head once to one of the many people scuttling around the room. She feels something be attached to each temple and it reminds her strongly of the old school, brutal electroshock therapy that doctors used to dole out.

“Shall we move this along and see how long it takes until you break?”

Natasha spots your body stood stiff and squared near the door at the foot of the room, features lacking any show of emotion. Her eyes widened, and she desperately hoped that her eyes asked what she couldn’t.

‘Help me.’

Your being, unmoving and unchanged, is the last thing she sees before searing hot pain shots through her body. She bites down on the guard and releases and ear-piercing scream around it as her whole-body tenses and her back arches up, fists clenched tightly, and toes curled.

Her body falls limp for a short moment before the process repeats, over and over. Like an unending, destructive cycle.

_______________

The team had tirelessly put in every effort to find the missing ex-assassin. When Natasha had taken too long to return to the others, Clint did what was asked of him. He waited until the end of the following day when she had left before telling the others.

With no sightings and no communication from the Avenger, they were at a lost.

4 days had passed, coming close to 5, with no such luck in finding Natasha. Every member of the close-knit team had put in hours and hours on end into locating her; everything had been fruitless. The team had chewed out the archer for not mentioning anything sooner than he had but he had argued that he valued his word and believed Natsha would be fine, that she could look after herself.

They couldn’t argue with him on that.

“I’ve got nothing. We haven’t found shit and it’s been what? 4 days since anyone had last seen her?”

Their hopes in finding her were dwindling quickly, its rate in decrease sped up after the three-day mark. Stark groaned and leant back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly between his pointer finger and thumb.

“Honestly, I blame Fury for making us use phones that I can’t hack. We’d find her a lot fucking faster if I could just get into it.”

“Language,” Steve muttered before releasing a lengthy sigh. As he went to open his mouth to respond, Tony perked up, this time looking extremely more optimistic than previous.

“HOLY SHIT!” He spun his chair to face the computer on the desk and began to rapid begin typing. The others watched him with scepticism before slowly moving to crowd the billionaire.

“You wanna explain to the class, Stark?”

“You know how I never listen to Fury?” He heard a collective of hums in agreement before continuing. “Well, when I was encrypting the phones we all use, I may have purposefully left out my location cloaking software.”

“So, you’re saying you can ping her location and you failed to mention this?!” Wanda exclaimed.

“One, ouch. Don’t scream in my ear like a damn banshee, Matilda. Two, I forgot. It’s not like we actually use it.”

The team watched in anticipation as Tonys’ fingers continued to rapidly tap at the keyboard. Moments pass by with bated breaths before a small red dot appears on a map that pops up. They stare at the bright red dot in a prolonged silence before Steve straightens out with a hardened face.

“Let’s move.”

_______________

“I don’t understand. Why San Fransico?”

The statement from Sam was what each of them wanted to voice but none did. Each step through the city was following that damn pinged location. The day before it had been in Washington, the day before that was Oklahoma.

They could be tracking a ghost trail for all they knew, certainly with how quickly the location seemed to switch between states so quickly.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. Update.”

“Location has remained the same. The Railway Museum is just one block away, sir.”

Tony rolls his shoulders before turning to look towards those who walk with him. He and Steve share a look, already knowing that this is more than likely a trap or mislead.

“Only a few of us will enter. Everyone else is going to surround the building, cover each possible exit. Buck, I want you with me, Sam and Wanda. Clint, you think you can take to a nearby building keep an eye on the roof and the main entrance?”

Clint nodded as Steve doled out orders for the group to follow. With the archers’ non-verbal confirmation, the captain continued.

“Thor, I want you to take the West side of the building with Banner. Pietro, you take East. Stark, I want you to take the back with Vision.” Everyone nods followed by them splitting off in the direction of the respective positions.

Dressed as civilians was helpful with entering the museum; they turned no heads when entering the building. The four inside had separated themselves, hoping to search the interior in record time rather than they be grouped up together.

The comms the team had donned before splitting ways crackled before Tony’s voice sounded through into each team members’ ear. “I’ve had F.R.I.D.A.Y. put the location on each of your phones, make it easier for you guys to know if you’re closing in.”

Simultaneously, Steve, Sam, Wanda and Bucky pull out their smartphones and allow the screen to open up correctly, a simple map of the interior showing a blinking red dot in the centre of the building.

The small team inside opposed to those outside slowly close in to the centre of the museum, covering all sides.

Adrenaline begins to heighten as they inch their way closer and closer. Emotions are running high and minds are swirling with possibilities and before they knew it, they surround the exhibit at the very middle of the building.

A large group being led by some guide moves on with their tour and reveals a lone person still stood there; hood up and phone in hand. Steve glances down at the phone in his own hand and sure enough, the dot hasn’t moved.

This is what they’ve been chasing.

With their head down, both Sam and Bucky who face their front can’t identify who holds the phone, Natashas’ phone.

Between the four, a look was shared and with a nod of their head in the figure’s direction, they begin to slowly close in once more. Wanda, Sam and Bucky slow to a stop, only a short distance away as Steve continues to stalk closer and with a few more steps, he’s stood behind the figure.

He reaches an arm out and clamps his hand down on their shoulder which begins to shake slightly as the person laughs quietly. The person slowly raises their head with a shit eating grin on their face and both Sam and Bucky tense, their jaws clenching, teeth grinding.

Wanda freezes up along with them as the figure slowly turns to face Steve; easily catching a glimpse herself.

“At ease, солдат,” your voice rasps. (Soldier.)

You hand moves quickly to clamp on to the blondes’ wrist and before he could react, you bring your head forward in a quick, whip-like motion, slamming it into his nose; a satisfying crunch is heard and blood already beginning to trickle out.

Twisting his arm, you land a hard kick to his ribs and send him back, him falling to the floor with quite the thud, even sliding across the floor a good foot or two. The others had quickly reacted, Sam and Bucky charging over towards you.

You alternate between the two as they dole out a choreographed offensive; punches, kicks, full body hits. The two had been going a solid minute and had done zero damage, even with Steve standing himself back up on to his feet and charging at you himself.

Wanda had dealt with the screaming and panicked public from the first sign of retaliation, giving firm orders to leave the building and to get a safe distance.

The second the first of the civilians exited the building in a rushed and yelling fashion, the team was on high alert.

“Someone talk to us,” Clint crackled through the comms, his sights down the length of the arrow he already has notched and ready to release.

“It’s Y/N.” Just that simple statement made the whole team know exactly what was currently going down. “They had Natashas’ phone. HYDRA put us on a wild goose chase.”

The grunts from Steve, Sam and Bucky brought Wanda’s head back into the fight at hand. The three were being easily overpowered by just yourself and she’s unsure how to proceed. With quick thinking, she uses her powers to push her teammates aside and away from you, the swirl of red like mist dancing around her fingers.

Your attention snaps from the three that had been thrown away from you to the little witch who stood off to the side. You roll your shoulders and smirk before stomping your way over to her aggressively.

You feel your movements slowly become restricted and it’s harder and harder to move forward. Wanda, with a struggle, brings to down to your knees before you could reach her and all you could do it look up at her with a devious smirk.

Tongue peeking out between your lips, you wet them and trail your eyes up and down the length of her body and the action makes her sick to your stomach. “Som ohromená, princezná.” (I’m impressed, princess.)

She takes step towards you, slow, precise, and what she hoped was menacing. “Where’s Natasha?” she spat between her teeth.

You chuckle darkly and shake her head, noticing how she lacked to remember to keep her distance. “You’re in no position to ask questions, little witch.” With perseverance, your left arm shoots forward, grasping her wrist much like you had done with the caps. Shocked, the moment forces Wanda to lose concertation and drops her magical hold on you.

You swipe at the opportunity and raise to your full height, towering over the Sokovian and delivering a hard right hook to the girl, knocking her unconscious the moment your fist made contact with her jaw.

Turning, you look at the trio of men who look at an unconscious Wanda by your feet with wide and worried eyes. You smirk once more as you pull Natasha’s phone from your pocket and wave it slightly before tossing it in their direction. “Keep it. I’m done with it.”

You take small steps backwards away from the four before turning tail and running, closer and closer to the back entrance.

“She’s heading to you guys at the back,” Steve rushes out, struggling to come to a stand and give chase.

“Understood, capsicle.” Tony and Vison both prepare themselves for your arrival, to burst through the doors and go into combat just like the four inside had done. But they waited and waited and waited. Nothing. “Uh, no sign of her. Anyone got eyes on the slippery bastard?” Stark reaches out to the others.

Sam and Bucky left Americas’ sweetheart and Scarlet Witch with the intentions of cheeking the inside of the building, running around the whole of the museum as the team converse.

“Nothing here.”

“Nope.”

“No clue.”

“Nada.”

“Zilch.”

The team’s response came in like clockwork and the entire team felt baffled. Where did you disappear to?

“So, she just evaporated? What the fuck? Are you sure no one has eyes on her?”

“Look,” Steve started. “As much as I want to find them and get some answers, we gotta focus on Wanda. She’s down.” He was kneeling beside her unconscious form and like a lightbulb being lit from a switch, Pietro was right beside his sister on the opposite side of Steve, absolute panic and concern shifting through his eyes.

Steve hears a sigh through the comms followed by Banners’ voice. “Let’s get back. It’s clear they’ve disappeared somehow, and we should focus on Maximoff right now.”

Steve shakes his head and moves to stand, Pietro already holding his twin in his arms. “Let’s go, team.”

_______________

“Wie ich sehe, können wir ihr Telefon nicht länger als Ablenkung für sie benutzen,” Strucker spoke as his back was turned to you, hands folded behind his back, looking at the painting hung on the wall with disinterest. (I see we can no longer use her phone as a distraction for them.)

“Sie werden sie nicht finden können, auch wenn wir sie nicht mehr auf Gänsejagd führen, Sir,” you respond, you own hands folded behind your back. Your eyes are trained on his form as he slowly turns to face you, casually rounded the desk to stand before you. (They won't be able to find her even if we no longer lead them on such wild goose chases', sir.)

“Hoffentlich nicht, Soldat. Es liegt an Ihnen, wenn sie sie finden.” His eyes look you up and down subtly, scrutinising you before turning away from you and striding over towards his desk. “Es ist jetzt zu heiß für dich, Ghost. Zu viele Leute werden dich nach deinem kleinen öffentlichen Stunt erkennen. Du sollst in der Einrichtung bleiben. Sie bewachen Romanoff und begleiten sie zum und vom Labor. Verstanden?” (They better not, soldier. It will be on your head if they are to find her.) (There's too much heat on you now, Ghost. Too many people will recognise you after your little public stunt. You are to stay within the facility. You will guard Romanoff and escort her to and from the lab. Understood?)

“Verstanden.” (Understood.)

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THIS WAS SO BAD LMAO

I just needed a filler honestly so, this will do for the time being

If you want to be added to the taglist lemme know

Anywho, I hope you enjoy

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

_______________

Marvel taglist:

@thanossexual​ @iwazoomingouttahere​ @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​ 

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‘I Watched You Die’ taglist:

@diaryoflife @username23345 @drpepperobsessed @fayhar @d14n4ol @srtamercurio @gabbygabbie @lostandsearching @afuckingshituniverse @thea13sworld @nelouath8 @navs-bhat @pistachiomilk3 @peggycarter-steverogers @b-5by5 @trikruismybitch @anxiousgoldengirl @when-wolves-howl @whitelotus00 @anxiousgoldengirl @daniescady @unexpected-character @lgtftchan @mitch-cabello1097 @wlwfanfictionss @gottacamz​

(Those whose @ is in bold, I could not tag unfortunately.)

[everythingsinred]

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt. 13)

Oh no... 13 is an unlucky number! Oh, well.

Up to this point we've seen Natsume fall in love with Mikan. This next arc is all about discovering Natsume, however, and we've pretty much already talked about that so maybe my analysis for his perspective will leave some things to be desired, which is fine, because Mikan's will come in due time! That being said, there's plenty of stuff in this arc, especially at the start of it, to analyze for Natsume as well.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Takahashi-san has dressed all the Elementary children in their New Year’s kimonos and they are now ready to celebrate the holiday together. They eat a New Year’s feast in the dorms lounge, a rare day where the children don’t have to eat according to their star rank.

It just so happens that New Year’s Day is also Mikan’s birthday. Everyone pretends like they don’t know, because Hotaru told them to leave it a surprise. Mikan is trying to let everyone know about the special day, but the New Year’s cards come in and everyone gets immediately and understandably distracted.

Of particular interest to everyone is Ruka’s card from his mother, who references Natsume and Aoi in her letter. Now everyone is in Ruka’s business and teasing him, so Natsume steps in to help, taking the card from Mikan, returning it to Ruka, and making a very good point that she shouldn’t go looking at other people’s cards without their permission. Mikan is uncomfortable, so she decides to change the subject by asking Natsume how many cards he got this year.

With that, Natsume goes cold and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

He didn't want to sit around watching them all gush about their dumb cards anyway!

The truth is Natsume has never gotten any letters or cards, no matter what time of year or holiday it is, and he never will. We can think back to when he told Mikan that the academy would never send her letters to her grandpa. He’d said that the school would never, under any circumstances, allow them to contact the outside. Turns out, the only person who can 100% count on that is Natsume. Sure, he and Mikan are similarly targeted in strange and unfair ways, but he will always be just a little more targeted, because he’s strictly not allowed to have fun or be happy. It would make him happy to hear from his father, to know that he’s safe. The school can’t have anything like that, so they have Natsume sit in the same room as all the other kids, watching them excitedly gush about how many cards they get, while he knows very well he will receive zero each year without fail.

Natsume wants some time to himself, understandably upset about his situation. He’s thinking about Aoi and probably beating himself up because he tends to do that when it comes to his sister and his past. He genuinely has no idea where Aoi is, or if she’s safe, and the school likes to keep it that way, so they can hold it over his head. Aoi is always one of the people they threaten, somebody he works tirelessly to protect despite the fact that he hasn’t seen her in years, doesn’t know where she is, and probably won’t ever see her again.

Natsume looks out the window, sitting on his own, and sees Mikan crying to Narumi because of her guilt and because nobody remembered her birthday. We can see pretty immediately that he isn’t actually upset with Mikan, just with his own situation. He watches her, always lovelorn. Then we see him put his hand on a little bag with a holly decoration. Because of the holly, there’s an instant relation to Christmas. We can’t know what’s in the bag yet, but eventually we will discover that it’s an alice stone.

He's just been carrying this around since Christmas at the latest. How embarrassing.

Natsume made this stone at some point. I would assume it was after his birthday party, before Christmas. Because of the bag, my guess is that he had wrapped it to be a Christmas present but had never given it. That’s understandable. He’s not supposed to woo her, after all, and giving a girl an alice stone would be pretty romantic, even if she has no idea what it means. We will see this stone time and time again, because he likes carrying it around in his pocket. Perhaps he likes imagining that he could give it to her, but never actually goes through with it. Just like today, on her birthday, he will not give the stone, but he’s still carrying it because he’d like to.

The alice stone is proof of at least one thing: Natsume is very much in love with Mikan and he knows it.

Chapter Fifty-Four

Mikan is happily celebrating her birthday. Natsume has returned to the lounge, but he hasn’t said anything, so she’s still feeling awkward about what happened.

The class decides to make mochi once Tsubasa and Misaki arrive. Tsubasa tries to greet Natsume but Natsume responds coldly, with a thumbs down. Now properly irritated, Tsubasa has decided to pull a prank.

Natsume does not make mochi. He sits on his own, napping with manga over his face like always. Once the class is finished, Permy quickly offers her mochi to him, but his attention is immediately on Mikan, who is giving her mochi for him to eat. She tries to apologize, but can’t get the words out, so she leaves the bowl on the table. Natsume can tell that she’s still feeling guilty, even though he isn’t really mad at her. She was thinking of him, so it’s no surprise that he ends up eating the soup, even if it is disgusting.

It doesn't matter if it's disgusting. He's gonna eat it anyway. Because she made it. Zoe and I joke that Natsume would eat all her food (out of his unending love, of course) and eventually get used to the bizarre combinations she puts together. He might even start liking them, who can say.

Hotaru has been invited to the Hana Hime den to be a flower princess, a girl hand-picked by the middle school principal and who carries a heavy amount of prestige and status. Misaki mentions some rumors about the MSP, namely that she locks up her favorite girls in a dungeon, and that immediately gets Natsume’s attention. He’s struck, and to a first-time reader, this might seem odd. He’s strangely intrigued by a girly flower party where guys aren’t even allowed. But he’s not interested for himself. Natsume can guess based on this new information that if Aoi is anywhere on the Alice Academy campus, it’s in the Hana Hime den dungeon.

There’s always an extra invitation ball that is given to a random girl each year, so she can also attend the prestigious party, but the chances that it would land in the hands of an Elementary student are very low.

The Class B girls look for one anyway, but their search doesn’t get too far because suddenly the kids are flying across the room, sticking to each other, like Hotaru and Youichi to Ruka, Anna to Nonoko, Koko to Kitsu, and even Natsume to Mikan.

Turns out Tsubasa’s payback scheme for Natsume giving him the cold shoulder was to put sticky mochi flour into their mochi as a prank, which will keep all the children stuck to the people who ate the same mochi for a full hour.

He was counting on her never finding out he ate it, but alas.

Mikan then realizes that since she’s stuck to Natsume, that he must have eaten her mochi. He can’t argue that he didn’t, but he turns quickly to insults to distract from how sweet of a moment that could potentially be. He says he choked it down, which might very well be true, but it leaves the question of why he’d put himself through the trouble of choking it down if it didn’t mean anything to him. Hmm. Check mate, Natsume.

Then, Mikan finds out that she’s the recipient of the prize jewel, and has thus been invited to the Hana Hime party. There’s something quite fishy about Mikan being the recipient. It’s too much of a coincidence, and it isn’t one. This is all an elaborate trick to trap Natsume in the dungeon forever, and it’s not by the MSP.

Most of the groups have become unstuck, except for Hotaru, Youichi, and Ruka. Tsubasa reads the packet and discovers that some people may be stuck for two or three days as a possible side effect. Mikan and Natsume can become unstuck, but Natsume grabs her hand and keeps her still.

He's not going to miss this opportunity, even if it puts him on the spot and is kind of embarrassing. To be honest, this could possibly unravel all the work he's been doing to downplay how much he likes Mikan. What if she starts thinking he has feelings for her? It's all so risky, but he's willing to do anything for Aoi.

He’s going to do everything he can to go to that party and possibly find his sister. Getting stuck to Mikan and then her being invited to the Hana Hime den is all just too good of a chance to miss. If she can somehow still go while attached to him, it gives him an in to check out the palace and try to find the dungeon.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Natsume is adamant about keeping up the charade that he and Mikan are still stuck. It’s important to him and he’s desperate. He would do anything to save his sister, so if it means threatening Mikan a little, he’s willing to do it. It doesn’t matter that Mikan has no idea what’s going on, what matters is even the chance of going.

Narumi returns to say there’s not a good probability that Hotaru and Mikan would still be allowed to attend the party, because boys aren’t allowed and they are firmly attached to three of them. Mikan has more and more reason to not want to be stuck when she realizes that going to the bathroom and sleeping will be tricky business. Natsume is obviously not a huge fan of it either. He’s usually cold and snippy, even when bickering with Mikan, but this time he’s yelling just like she is. He’s uncomfortable too, but it’s something he’s willing to sacrifice for Aoi.

Mikan only gets more and more upset, screaming about how much she hates Natsume. He doesn’t seem to take it very seriously until Koko, who is reading her mind, asks Mikan if she likes Ruka better than Natsume, and she responds that she does.

Natsume is hurt, but sadly it’s not anything he can’t eventually come to terms with, like every other disappointment in his ceaselessly disappointing life. For now, he’s bitter, but this is great news for Ruka, isn’t it?

It’s time for sleep, and they’re standing in Natsume’s fancy special star room. At her discomfort, he offers that they can sleep in her tiny room if she’d prefer it, but the venue isn’t exactly her problem. He proceeds to be unpleasant, saying that he’s not interested in sleeping with her either, since she probably kicks a lot and talks in her sleep. But then he’s serious, still bitter when he tells her “Sorry for not being Ruka,” and promises that the whole charade would be over tomorrow.

It's on rare occasions like this that Natsume can express even the tiniest fraction of what he's really feeling, in this case jealousy and hurt.

He really never would have done this to himself if Aoi’s safety wasn’t potentially at stake. Having Mikan be so angry at him, hearing her say she much prefers Ruka to him, having to share his bed with her--it’s all stuff he doesn’t want to do! Further, he’ll probably be in serious trouble tomorrow if he does manage to find and rescue Aoi. There’s nothing fun going on in Natsume’s brain, just worry and the skeleton of a desperately laid-out plan to save his sister.

Sleeping with Mikan is something he doesn’t want to do, no doubt, but not because she probably talks and kicks in her sleep. That wouldn’t actually bother him so much. Natsume usually waits until he’s alone in his room at night to let himself be sick. According to the chapter where Tsubasa found out about his condition, Natsume sometimes wakes up in a coughing fit until he coughs up blood. He suffers and struggles and is in pain when he sleeps, and Mikan will be there this time, up close to possibly see it.

How soft his eyes get, just looking at her. It's interesting whenever he drops his facade, like now in a state of half-awakeness, and we can see just how affectionate he'd be if he wasn't always sacrificing his happiness.

But Natsume falls asleep first anyway, and pretty quickly starts having a nightmare. He’s breathing heavily and struggling, having a PTSD flashback nightmare about Aoi. But Mikan wakes him up, sitting up, concerned for him. Natsume is barely awake, but his eyes turn soft. She saves him from his nightmares in more ways than one, like walking-talking serotonin. He reaches for her, in a state of half-consciousness, because his nights are usually awful but the time he spends with Mikan usually isn’t. Maybe combining them is the way to sleep peacefully for a change. So he snuggles her. She starts freaking out, embarrassed, but Natsume tries to reason with her, and maybe with himself too, half-asleep as he is. No, no, it’s just for tonight, just for now. It’ll be like it never happened tomorrow, it’s fine. She can go right back to Ruka tomorrow, since she prefers him anyway, and it won’t be a big deal. He just wants this for now, just for a little bit. Just while he can.

It’s sad that Natsume always thinks of these moments with Mikan as aberrations. They’re little moments that he borrows or steals just to have them for now, thinking they’re meaningless to her, but carrying them like they’re precious to him. He doesn’t think they belong to him, or that he has the right to want anything from her. He holds her during the SA class’s RPG as a joke. He tells her he likes her hair down after fighting with her. He dances with her, knowing that she’s danced with lots of other people and it won’t matter as much to add him to the list. He kisses her after he assumes Ruka already has, just so he can have keep it in his memories. And he cuddles with her now, even though she’s freaking out, because he needs some comfort, even though it isn’t his place to be hugging her. He always has to reason himself into these situations, like he’s convincing himself that he’s allowed to do this one selfish thing, just as long as she doesn’t understand how much it means to him, just as long as it won’t mean anything to her, just as long as he can get away with it.

And because he’s borrowing, the next morning he acts as though her holding him is some kind of bother. He acts all irritated and pretends like nothing happened, because he was borrowing the moment to begin with. It wasn’t his right to take it, and she can’t know it meant something. It also could be that he genuinely can’t remember the last night that clearly. People do all sorts of crazy things in between sleep that they can’t remember. Maybe his lack of sense and restraint helped him get the courage to hug her in the first place, and now that he’s fully awake he can hardly remember. If this is the case, then he's probably scolding his sleepy self for being so ridiculous.

It's up to you to decide if he really can't remember or if he's pretending. Both are possible and neither would really surprise me tbh.

It’s possible, but knowing Natsume, it’s also possible he’s pretending like he doesn’t remember. Either way, he has to do damage control, because she absolutely cannot get the wrong right idea and think that he has affection for her.

The morning brings good news as well, because Natsume, Ruka, and Youichi are allowed to accompany Mikan and Hotaru, as long as they’re dressed as girls.

It’s all working out a bit too conveniently. This is Persona’s scheme to trap Natsume, so of course it would all work out in order that he could make his way to the dungeon. Natsume might be relieved that his plan is working, but it won’t go so smoothly once they’re actually in the Hana Hime den.

Conclusion

The most interesting scenes to analyze from Natsume's perspective are the ones where he chooses to be selfish just once in a while. They're such silly things to call selfish, but they are to him. Being sweet or affectionate to the girl you love should be second-nature, not something to deny yourself, but it's what he's trying to accustom himself to. We also see just how desperate he can be in trying to protect people important to him, like Aoi. The lengths he goes to in order to find her are impressive and show just how determined he is. Going forward, we'll only see more of this kind of determination.

My sister (Zoe) and I made three playlists for NatsuMikan, just like I'm making three essays. One playlist for Natsume's POV, one for Mikan's, and one general playlist for their relationship. I've been listening to the Natsume one while writing these and it's been a lot of fun! This is my long-winded way of plugging Love Song Requiem. Good bye.

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[btsinwonderland]

A Drop of Poison - Ch. 12: Detention

A Loki fanfiction!

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“That is not where the garlands go!”

You jumped when Professor Sif’s shrill voice came from right behind you. Your hand faltered and the thirty foot long flower garland you had been levitating towards the wall fell. A few petals came off during impact and you could feel the frigid cold of Sif’s stare on the back of your neck.

Two weeks had passed painfully slowly and quite uneventfully as you spent all your spare time assisting Professor Sif. You had expected it only to be one week, but the damn woman had specifically requested your help and even had you run her errands. You picked up her clothes from the service floor, got her mail, and even on one occasion, had to deliver food from the Great Hall to her office since she was working late! Overall, it was not the worst you had been treated, though Professor Sif always seemed perpetually annoyed at everyone and everything. At least it was not personal...you hoped.

Headmistress Frigga had announced that the Halloween Ball would move forward in full swing to celebrate the return of Ken and provide some levity prior to midterm examinations. The true horror was in fact right after Halloween, you thought, dreading your exams.

Your classes had been quite peaceful. Finally, you could get some studying done. It was a strange adjustment after everything that happened. Though...had it upset you that Professor Laufeyson had not bothered to speak with you much. You found there was no reason to go see him, now that he apparently had been committed to assigning the most complicated potions during classes. A part of you wondered if it was a ruse to fool you, but you had no time to concentrate on what he could possibly have planned, since you were nearly one wrong ingredient away from blowing up your cauldron.

The memory of kissing him remained in the back of your mind. It made you tense all over again. His lips were unbearably soft and you could not but imagine how soft they would feel elsewhere on your skin. You had fallen asleep with unreserved thoughts of your professor, though your dreams never lingered there.

Since your encounter with Fenris, all your dreams were of blood, teeth, and death. Not even the fondest memory of Professor Laufeyson could change that. You yawned and the banner you were adjusting inched down along the wall.

“Eves, if you can’t straighten that banner, then what am I using you for?” Professor Sif said.

“Free labour,” you mumbled under your breath.

Professor Sif glared at you and returned to her task. She was decorating with several balloon garlands of black and silver. The balloons were the gag for this year and were meant to explode at the end of the ball, setting free tiny little pumpkins to run around nip at everyone’s ankles.

From the doors out of the Great Hall, you glimpsed a window which was completely black. You had not realized that your entire evening had dissolved away and it was already much past sunset. In fact, you barely remembered having dinner or what you did the entire day. Upon settling the banner, you sighed and wondered how busy you had been to completely forget the contents of your days. You could not even remember the last time you and Valkyrie were able to have a fun night.

A brown owl flew into the room and dropped a note on Professor Sif’s head, to which she nearly growled. The owl quickly flapped away with a screech. She opened and read the note, casting you a stern look. “You are free to leave your duties early, Eves,” she said in a light voice. It was the kind of voice that made it seem like you were receiving some big break, when in fact, today was the last day of helping Professor Sif, and you only had a couple of hours left.

“Are you sure?” You said, trying to suppress the annoyance in your tone.

“Oh yes, you are free from my keep. However, your detention begins now.” Professor Sif smiled at you. “You are to go to the Potions classroom promptly, and begin assisting Professor Laufeyson.”

Your stomach immediately clenched. Professor Sif saw the panic on your face and smiled wider. The woman truly loved punishing students. Though what she did not know was why you truly feared your detention with Professor Laufeyson.

As you thanked Professor Sif and headed out of the Great Hall, she said, “you may want to bring earmuffs, as I believe he is borrowing some of Professor Hogun’s mandrakes.” She laughed and returned to her decorating. You rolled your eyes and continued on your way.

***

Your heart thudded loudly in your chest as you walked through the dimly lit halls, earmuffs in your bag. The path to the tower was becoming dangerously familiar to you and you found yourself being pulled towards it as if something - or someone - beckoned you.

Regardless, as it was your first night of detention, fear coated every one of your steps. Your stomach tightened in knots as you wondered what sort of punishments Professor Laufeyson would dole out.

The more troublesome parts of your mind played out some very…interesting scenarios which made heat rush to your cheeks. Cannot think those thoughts! He’ll know. He always knew what was on your mind, somehow. Though, you felt you had started to develop an idea of his expressions and what he felt sometimes. He had a tendency to smile when he was upset, which differed from his cruel smile, which was even different from his taunting smile. It made you appreciate the sight of his content smile, which he had thrown your way a few times.

Your thoughts poofed away as the familiar wooden doors of the potions classroom opened for you and you hesitantly approached. The room was lit with candles and torchlights on the walls, and Professor Laufeyson stood at his desk, shirt rolled up to his elbows and an unreadable expression on his face.

“Good evening Miss Eves.”

You gulped and walked towards him. A part of you wondered if he could hear your heartbeat. It felt like it thudded so loudly that the room would vibrate. “G-good evening, professor.”

He raked a gaze over you, seemingly uninterested. “I trust Sif kept you busy these last couple of weeks?”

You nodded, unable to find your voice again.

He smiled at you. It was a mixture of his foreboding and taunting smile. “Well, now you may look forward to assisting me. And be sure, Miss Eves, I have very high expectations.” He moved towards you until you had to crane your neck to look up at him. “You can never be late, I expect the utmost punctuality.”

You nodded as the scent of his clothes invaded your space.

“You shall do exactly as I say, no questions asked.”

You continued to nod as he moved closer and placed his hands on the desk behind you. His lips were so close to your face that you could not help but glance at them.

He smirked slightly and leaned back, giving you space to breathe. “And, you will call me Master when we are alone.”

You looked up at him, impossibly confused. “What?”

“Miss Eves, I am going to give you a choice.” He stepped away from you and raised his hands in the air. “There are two possibilities for detention with me. Number one, you do everything I say and call me master. With this option, I do warn you that things may get very...amusing,” he paused and grinned at you mischievously. “Number two, you will come to receive your detention alone, and I will leave my notes on that desk for your duties. You may leave once they are done and that will be that.” He gazed down at you, eyes glinting.

The man was giving you a choice. You realized that this was your opportunity to do what was right and maintain some level of propriety in your student life. A part of you wondered if he knew that you were turning eighteen in the coming months. There was a part of you that knew this was wrong. You were so young and he was your professor. But the heat in his gaze pointed you in one direction, where option two felt faraway and lukewarm.

“Choose wisely, Miss Eves,” Professor Laufeyson said, crossing his arms. “There is no going back.”

You stepped towards him. “I was told to stay away from you,” you said, taking another step. “I was told that you’re dangerous.”

He seemed to glow at your words and smile grew wider. You felt dizzy, but you stopped inches away from him in some surprisingly stupid bravado.

“Option one.”

He raised a brow, as if impressed by your courage. Then said, “option one, what?”

Your breath hitched as you realized what he wanted. “Option one, master.”

His lips twitched at the word ‘master’ and he almost swayed towards you, but stopped himself. Professor Laufeyson stepped around his desk with a sigh and pushed his hair back, chuckling to himself. “Come, Miss Eves, we have a potion to brew. Did you bring earmuffs?”

The heat of being around him certainly was put on the back burner when you were brought into a room, sealed off by sound from the outside, and for good reason. As soon as he opened the door, you heard the screeching sound of baby mandrakes. Despite your earmuffs, the creatures screamed unbearably loud, and you helped Professor Laufeyson gather pieces of their roots. He held the root up for you as you snipped the ends. At one point, your hands touched, and you felt a jolt run through your skin. He met your eyes, and the mandrake screamed louder.

Your ears were ringing after Professor Laufeyson shut the door. He brought you to a backroom, where he created his own potions, you realized. It was filled with unending shelves of ingredients, trunks, boxes, and vials of liquids that glowed or were strangely powdery. In the middle, there was a medium-sized cauldron with a single bench that was long enough for perhaps one and a half person.

“You will help me assemble this potion. Though it is way beyond your curriculum, I am sure this will take you quite ahead for your N.E.W.T. examinations.” He rotated the bench so that the long part was perpendicular to the cauldron. He sat on the end, away from the cauldron, straddling the bench, and gestured for you to sit in front of him.

You swallowed and put your leg over the bench and sat down, straddling it just like him. His chest brushed against your back as the pleats of your skirt splayed over the wood. You adjusted for a moment and heard his breath catch when your bottom moved against his pelvis. Heat rushed to your cheeks...and other areas, as you felt the mass of his body so close to you.

Professor Laufeyson cleared his throat. “Now, Miss Eves, this potion requires careful concentration,” he said, as his arms moved around you and emitted that green glow. A vial of purple liquid floated over and emptied itself into the cauldron, and a wooden spoon levitated towards you.

You caught it and began mixing the contents of the cauldron as he put more ingredients in. “You’re doing wonderfully well,” he whispered in your ear. His lips brushed against your skin and you felt your core tighten.

“Master,” you said with a blush, “how do you do magic without a wand?”

He ran his fingers over your arms and you let go of the spoon. Your skin felt electric everywhere he touched you. He raised your hands and inched closer to you. His entire body was pressed against yours and he placed his hands in yours, palms out. You intertwined your fingers in his. As he moved his hands, the green aura emanated from them, and you felt the vibration of his magic between you. You gasped in wonder and he laughed.

“It is quite fantastic, isn’t it?” He said as his magic lifted a box of newt eyes and plopped them into the potion one by one. It returned on to the shelf and he moved the spoon to stir the brew with a thread of green magic. “It’s something I got from my father,” he said, his tone lowering.

He untwined his fingers from yours and put his hands to his sides, and you felt colder. There was an awkward silence as you turned back to look at him.

“This magic is yours entirely. We all receive our power from somewhere, but how we use it is the real magic. Yours is beautiful,” you said. The words slipped out of your mouth naturally.

His eyes widened in a surprisingly soft way, and you received a new smile. It was tender and soft. Though it disappeared quickly and he raised a brow at you. “Are you this forward with all your teachers, Miss Eves?”

You scoffed and turned back to the cauldron. “Absolutely not!” You tried thinking about the other professors in the way you saw Professor Laufeyson and gagged.

His tone darkened. “Good, because I was never one for sharing,” he said in a low voice. A pulse went through you at his words.

You felt like an elastic stretched to its limit. You could not take any more. “The ball is next week,” you said.

He let out a breath through his nose, a short laugh. “Yes, and?”

“Well...are you going?” You said, careful not to sound too interested.

Hands gripped your waist and spun you around so that you were now straddling the bench, but facing Professor Laufeyson. He was remarkably strong for someone so lean. Your knees touched, and he gripped your hands in front of you with a taunting smile. “Would you like me to ask you?”

You flushed and slipped away from his grip. “Of course not! Th-that would be highly inappropriate.”

He laughed at your reaction and then recovered when you glared at him. “All the professors are required to go, and I don’t mind the odd festivity. And what about you, Miss Eves? Are your spirits raised with the idea of getting dressed in expensive clothes and tiaras, dancing the night away with a handsome boy, and perhaps getting into a bit of trouble?” His tone was teasing and condescending, which made you frown.

“Hmph, not all of us can afford expensive gowns, Master. But I will enjoy getting ready with my friends and dancing the night away. And I’ve never turned down a bit of trouble, have I?” You said, with a raised brow.

He matched your expression, seemingly impressed. He smiled and licked his lips. Heat flashed through your body and all you wanted was to jump on him then and there. What was happening to you?

He got up from the bench and handed the wooden spoon to you from the cauldron; chunky green liquid dripped from the end. “Now, I want you to keep stirring this for another twenty minutes while I return the mandrakes to Hogun,” he said.

“Twenty minutes? Of hand stirring?” you said.

“Nothing beats mixing by hand, not even magic,” he said with a wink. “Though, if you’re a good girl, then perhaps you will be rewarded.”

“What happens if I’m a bad girl?” You blurted out and cursed yourself for the slip.

He raised his brows and then put a finger under your chin, grinning in challenge. “Then you’ll see my wrath.”

Your lips parted, and he looked at them, almost longingly, but moved away and out the door.

[7-wonders]

Circling the Drain

Summary: It's a race against time...wait, why do people say that? It's not a race against some outside force, it's a race against a crazed back-from-the-dead mafioso with a vengeance.

Word Count: 3454

A/N: I tried something a little different for this chapter in terms of formatting, mainly because there was so much I wanted to fit in different POVS. Uhhhhh let me know your thoughts and like, comments and reblogs make my world go round. ALSO that second gif is exactly how I imagine a certain scene (you'll know it when you read it).

Warnings: Very torture heavy chapter. Blood, torture methods, guns, knives, kidnappings, talk of death. You should probably go pet some puppies or kittens after you read this.

Previous chapters of Memento Mori: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

Duncan

It’s difficult to know how much time has passed since Duncan was last outside of this small concrete room. There’s no windows to let light in, no clocks to denote the hour, and no sort of schedule that he can catch on to. Although, even if there were a schedule, he would be too delirious from sleep deprivation to realize that there was one. The only thing that Duncan can count on is the unending torture at the hands of his uncle.

All of the crisis training in the world wouldn’t have prepared him for the physical and mental torture that he’s been put through. Though he doesn’t know it, it’s been almost seventy-two hours of this absolute hell, of Bill beating him black and blue, taunting him, slowly ripping out fingernails one by one (somehow, he still has six, though one of the six is just barely hanging on), refusing to let him sleep, and tasing him back to consciousness whenever he tries to close his eyes. This most recent time, the throbbing of his head had begged him enough to where he finally closed his eyes, only to be jolted up with a rush of electricity running through his body and seizing his muscles.

“You still think you’re getting out of it that easy, huh? That you can fall asleep and bide your time until you’re ‘rescued?’” Bill chuckles. “No, it’s not that easy.”

“Just kill me already, if that’s what you’re planning on,” Duncan says through clenched teeth, glaring up at Bill through the one eye that’s not completely swollen shut.

“Is that what you want? You want me to kill you?” His obviously-fake concern would enough to make bile rise in Duncan’s throat, if he had actually had anything left in his stomach.

“You want me to beg for it, don’t you?”

“I guess I underestimated you. Turns out you do have some sort of critical thinking skills.”

Duncan defiantly turns his head, refusing to give Bill what he wants. Realizing this, Bill begins to walk towards the door. As he does, going to flick off the single light bulb in this place, Duncan’s chest tightens in anticipation of the claustrophobia he’ll surely begin to feel (most likely a side-effect of what he’s gone through, considering he’s never been scared of dark spaces before) and he scrambles to stall him. “So why are you keeping me alive?”

Bill stops for a moment before slowly turning around. “I already told you.”

“No, I know that you want revenge. But what’s your plan? Why waste your time? Surely you’ll at least give me the honor of knowing what I’m dying for?”

His jaw clenches, not pleased with that last question, but he doesn’t hit Duncan. Yet. “I’m taking back what’s mine, and then some.”

“And you think Mom’s going to be okay with that?”

“Your poor mother is going to be more than okay with that when she finds out that the Coven killed her only child.”

Slowly, it dawns on Duncan. “You’re the one that’s been killing people in the Coven’s style and leaving them in our territory?”

“Of course I am!” Bill holds his arms out as if to say ‘tah-dah!’ “Cordelia Goode would never be so bold as to do that! But after I kill you, drain you of your blood, cut your tongue out, dump you in the Potomac, and reappear into society, people won’t care about that little fact. Especially after I reveal that it was the Coven that prompted me to fake my own death and go into hiding for years.”

“How long were you planning this?”

“About a year before you stabbed me, when I realized that you were far too…” he grits his teeth, “charismatic to not end up with the family business eventually. That’s why I always made sure that the police and paramedics were well-paid, just in case the day ever came that I needed them to lie on my behalf.”

“You have it all planned then, so why not just do it and kill me now?”

“Well, there are a couple of minor issues I still need to work out.” Bill glances at Duncan slyly. “Such as what to do with that girlfriend of yours.”

In a flash, Duncan sees red. He lunges, forgetting the fact that he’s chained to the radiator and can only go so far until his ankle is jerked violently and he falls back to the ground. “You leave her alone, she’s done nothing wrong!”

“You’re right, she hasn’t, but (Y/N) knows too much.”

Duncan’s heart skips a beat when he realizes that Bill (predictably) knows more than he should.

“I’m thinking a suicide? It’s very believable, what with the grieving girlfriend and all.” Bill steps forward and, ever so slowly, places his foot on one of Duncan’s hands. “Maybe she slits her wrists in the bath? It’s very easy to overpower someone when they’re vulnerable. Or perhaps she overdoses? That’s not my preferred method, though, far too much room for someone to survive an overdose. Tell me, Duncan, how would you prefer that she die?” With each possible method, Bill continues to lay more pressure on Duncan’s hand until Duncan is moaning in pain.

“Don’t...hurt her,” Duncan pants.

Bill finally removes his foot, giving Duncan a moment to breathe before he stomps on his hand, digging the toe of his shoe in until Duncan is screaming and Bill is sure his hand is broken. “I think she’ll jump into the Potomac with a weight tied around her ankle. The poeticism--her drowning in the same river that your body will be found in--is something that’s just too good to pass up.”

“I’ll kill you. I swear to God, I’ll kill you again and make sure that it sticks this time.” Tears are streaming down Duncan’s face, though whether that’s from the physical or emotional agony he’s in, he can’t be sure.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Bill smiles, walking to the light switch and flicking it off. “I’ll be back in a bit, and then our final act can finally begin.”

This time, Duncan doesn’t stop him before he leaves, barely letting the door close before his willpower crumbles and he begins to sob. Cradling his injured hand, he has to force himself to look at the now-mangled fingers. He gasps, attempting to straighten them out, but they refuse to even twitch in response. It’s now that Duncan realizes that the true torture is waiting. His mind and body shattered, he now has to be at the mercy of Bill Shepherd before he can finally die. He’s never wished for death before, but now, he feels a pang in his heart for every one of his victims that have had to wait, broken and bruised, for Duncan to kill them.

You

“Does this location have any significance to you?” Cordelia asks Annette, pointing to an address hastily written down on a scrap of paper. The address corresponds to a building, fairly nondescript, but obviously holding some sort of significance.

“No, it doesn’t.” Annette shakes her head.

“That’s because this is the location of the first school that I opened here in D.C. Bastard’s really going all in on trying to frame me for everything he’s done.”

(Y/N), who had previously been dozing off on Langdon’s lap (Langdon had already made her swear not to tell anybody or else he would kill her in her dreams like Freddy Kreuger), sits straight up at this moment. “What makes you think he’s there?” she asks.

“This car.” Cordelia pulls another paper out from the folder she had brought with her, this one a picture of a Mercedes E-Class. “It’s been back and forth from Umbra to the old school numerous times in the past two days. License plates are registered back to Umbra.”

“So it’s definitely Bill, then.”

“I’m not typically a betting woman, but I would put money on this. Surveillance indicates that this car has been parked in front of the Goode Academy for six straight hours now.”

(Y/N) doesn’t know much about hostage situations, but she has to assume that Bill being where Duncan is held captive for an extended amount of time means nothing good.

“We need to move now, then,” Annette says. There’s no question behind her voice; she’s going to get her son.

“Yes. Your team?”

“Myself, Langdon, and (Y/N).”

Cordelia glances warily at (Y/N). “Do you have combat experience?”

“Duncan trained me to fight, and also did some weapons training with me,” (Y/N) says.

“That’s good enough.” (Y/N) tries not to be offended. “I have myself, Madison, Misty, and Mallory.”

“We’re going?” Mallory, a brunette wearing a gold headband, says.

“I need my best girls, and you three have proven yourselves.”

“Alright then, let’s go.” Annette grabs a key from around her neck and unlocks what you thought to be a closet door, opening it to reveal a weapons cache large enough to rival a small government’s. “Stock up.”

“Which gun are you most comfortable with?” Langdon asks (Y/N), the two standing side-by-side after everybody else has had their turn.

“Uh, I don’t really know the names. It’s a handgun, and it’s black.”

“Probably a Springfield, then.” Langdon hands (Y/N) a gun that looks similar to ones that she’s handled before. “It’s already loaded.”

“Thanks.” She glances at Langdon after holstering her own weapon, watching as he selects numerous guns of different sizes. “What if we’re too late?”

“We won’t be.”

“But you heard what Cordelia said. Bill’s been there for six straight hours now. He could have--”

“You’re right, he could have,” Langdon interrupts. “But we can’t go in there assuming that the worst outcome has come true. We have to have hope. If nothing else, there’s always hope.”

“I have hope.”

“Good, because I do, too.” Langdon grabs a knife from the weapons closet, twirling the tip of the blade on his index finger. “Now let’s go get Duncan back.”

Duncan

Bill stands before Duncan, twirling the tip of a knife on his index finger. “I’ve held onto this for six years now. Do you recognize it?”

Of course Duncan recognizes the knife that he stabbed his uncle with. In his dreams, he can still feel the cool leather handle gripped tightly in his palm.

“It’s something of a treasure to me, although it certainly didn’t seem like it at first. I’ve come to recognize the significance of holding the thing that almost killed me, and I like to keep it as a reminder.” Bill holds the knife out to Duncan, knowing he’s too weak to fight him for it. “See that on the blade? Why don’t you read it for me?”

Cursive lettering is engraved on the blade, though it was not there when the knife had been in Duncan’s possession. “Memento mori,” Duncan mutters, trying to remember his Latin lessons from high school.

“It was an extremely popular phrase during the medieval period, specifically when it came to funerals. ‘Remember you must die.’ It’s a warning, a reminder. That’s what this knife has become to me, a reminder of the inevitability of death. It also reminds me that I’ve survived death before, and I’ll surely survive it again.”

“Quite the sense of humor,” Duncan remarks dryly.

Bill shrugs, bending down to Duncan’s level. “A little gauche, perhaps, but I enjoy the significance of the phrase.”

Duncan’s about to ask him what the point of this is when Bill shows him by shoving the knife into his abdomen. Duncan grunts in pain, gritting his teeth and glaring at him. “Of course you’re going to stab me just like I stabbed you.”

“Do you know how I managed to survive?” Bill asks.

“I’ve tried not to think about it much.”

“I survived,” Bill continues, “because you were too stupid to realize that you needed to pull the knife out. What do all of the medical professionals say when training civilians on dealing with stabbings? ‘Don’t remove the weapon.’ That’s the only thing keeping them from bleeding out, and it’s what kept me from bleeding out.”

“I had assumed I severed your abdominal aorta, what with all the blood.”

“Exactly, ‘assumed.’” Bill digs the knife around to watch the way that Duncan tries not to scream before pulling it out and watching as blood begins to pour out of the wound. For every beat of Duncan’s frantic heart, trying to pump blood to the source of the injury in an attempt to clot it, more blood pulses out. “Never assume things, my boy.”

Though his head is starting to spin, Duncan finds just enough rage to spit at Bill. “Go to hell.”

“From the looks of it, you’ll be there long before me,” he says almost gleefully before pulling out a gun and shooting him in the thigh. This time, Duncan openly screams. “Just wanted to make sure you actually die, if the stabbing wasn’t enough.” Bill’s extremely nonchalant, as if he’s discussing the nuances of the Nationals rather than talking about murder.

Bill grabs a key and unlocks the chain from around Duncan’s leg, knowing that he won’t have the strength to escape. “I’ll be back in half an hour to check on you.”

“Fuck you,” Duncan responds, but Bill’s already gone.

Duncan moans in pain as he stares at his wounds, feeling the stickiness of blood beginning to pool under him. Lifting a shaky hand, he presses it to his abdomen to try and slow the bleeding. As he swallows deeply, realizing that he very likely is going to die shortly, he thinks about a number of things, mainly regrets.

He wishes that he had realized earlier that his mom was just as much Bill’s victim as he was.

He wishes that he appreciated Michael more for the brother he had been to him.

He wishes that he had told (Y/N) that he loved her more often.

But most especially, Duncan wishes that he had just put a bullet in Bill’s head that night instead of stabbing him. Then, he wouldn’t be feeling this intense cold begin to settle in his bones as he’s forced to slowly die on the concrete floor of a basement. Facing the Grim Reaper head-on is not nearly as dramatic as he thought it would be.

You

Watching the Coven, Langdon, and Annette taking out the defectors is not nearly as dramatic as (Y/N) thought it would be. Wisely, they had requested that she stay behind until the perimeter was secured. It’s much quieter, and a lot less bloody; as it turns out, members of organized crime do have consciences, and chose to subdue those not directly a threat. After Langdon finishes tying those who had remained loyal to Bill together, Cordelia motions for (Y/N) to follow the group into the old school.

The proud sign that once declared this building the Goode Academy now lies in the dirt of the overgrown lawn. The doors are open, solely because the rusted hinges make it impossible for them to remain closed against a gentle breeze. The further that they make it inside, the more frantic (Y/N) is. She knows that they’re close to Duncan, she just doesn’t know what state they’ll find Duncan in. Before they can make it too far with Cordelia as their guide, Bill appears. Instead of holding a machine gun, which is kind of what (Y/N) had expected, he has a concerned look on his face.

“Annette, thank god you’re here! I know this must be confusing to you, but when I heard that Duncan was missing, I knew that I needed to save him from the bitches that had sent me into hiding years ago.”

Confusion blankets (Y/N)’s mind as she tries to figure out what’s going on, but Annette doesn’t feel the same. “Cut the shit, Bill. I know what you’ve been doing.”

Bill laughs. “You’re going to let Cordelia Goode manipulate you into believing her, after she tried to kill me?”

“You’re an idiot. You think I don’t smell the blood in the air?” Annette laughs viciously, a verbal slap in the face. “Where’s my son?”

Like a switch was flipped, the worry on Bill’s face falls into contempt. “You’ve always been too emotional for your own good, Annette.”

“‘Family over everything,’” Annette quotes. “Remember that? What happened to that?”

“That died the day that that--that mistake came back from boarding school and decided that our business, the empire we built from the ground up, was his birthright.”

“You never were good at sharing, were you?”

The siblings stare at each other for a moment before Bill sighs. “You could have just been complicit, but no. Guess I’ll have to think on the fly, then.” He pulls out a gun and cocks the hammer back.

Before he can fire, Madison and Mallory appear from behind him, having snuck into the back. Madison knocks the gun out of his hand, the weapon firing into the ceiling, as Mallory socks him in the face and drives him to his knees. Both women force his hands behind him, holding him still as Cordelia walks up to him.

“The door to the basement is in the kitchen, hidden behind the left wall of the pantry,” Cordelia says to the group.

(Y/N)’s off, moving as fast as she can while maneuvering through the unfamiliar house. “Wait, you can’t do this. Annette, you aren’t really going to let the Coven, of all people, do this to me?” Bill pleads.

“I can actually, and I will. After all,” Annette turns to Cordelia, “we have a deal.”

In the kitchen, (Y/N) throws open the pantry door, pushing and shoving and pulling at the left wall before it finally opens to reveal a set of stairs.

“Girls?” Annette calls just before she reaches the door. “Make it painful.”

(Y/N) runs down the stairs, hands scrambling along the wall until she comes across a light switch. Flicking it on, her eyes look around the room until she sees a lifeless figure on the floor that’s surrounded by a pool of blood. A cry is ripped from her chest as she falls to her knees beside Duncan, hands hovering above him as she tries to figure out what to do first.

He’s pale, scarily so, and he’s breathing so shallowly that she can’t tell he’s breathing at first. Somehow, with all the blood, he’s still breathing. All (Y/N) can focus on is the fact that he’s still alive (later, she’ll wonder how she didn’t even flinch at all of the injuries and the blood, oh, the blood) as she rips her shirt off and presses it firmly against the wound on his stomach, calling his name over and over again in increasing levels of desperation.

From behind her, she can hear Annette scream and yell for Langdon to call an ambulance. She can feel the presence of somebody next to her as they catalogue where Duncan’s hurt, but she can’t bring herself to look away from Duncan’s face. His perfect face, that she’s kissed over and over a thousand times and has taken immense pleasure in watching a blush rise to the surface. His perfect face that she’s now slapping to try and get him to at least show some sort of response.

“You don’t get to die like this,” she tells him, hoping that he’ll somehow manage to hear her. “You said that you didn’t want to be the reason I suffered, but look at you now, making me suffer. Don’t keep me suffering like this!”

Slowly, and just barely, his eyes crack open just enough that (Y/N) can see a hint of blue. His lips move, saying something without audible sound, and she brings her head down to his to try and catch what he’s saying.

“An angel.” She finally makes out what his reverent whisper is over the wail of the incoming ambulances, and laughs brokenly as her head falls onto his chest in relief.

//

@sammythankyou @girlycakepops @ultragibbycentralworld @ajokeformur-ray @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @everything-is-awesomesauce @michaellangdon @jimmlangdon @omgsuperstarg @queenie435 @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @kahhlo @storminmytwistedmind @1-800-bitchcraft @langdonslove @born-on-stgeorges-day @xavierplympton @michaelsapostle @venusxxlangdon @wroteclassicaly @idespac @tcc-gizmachine @dyns33 @hexqueensupreme @hecatemacbeth7 @youngandfleeting @lambofcairo @myluciferiscody @anacerta @ladyren33 @ladyrindt @dark-mei-rose @sojournmichael @blakewaterxx @9layerdevilfoodcake @angelicmichael @takingback-thecrown @etherealsxnder

[captaincravatthecapricious]

I Thought I Could Trust You- Prompt Fill

 CWs: panic attacks, mental health issues, suicidal thoughts kind of? (Jon wishing that if someone is going to kill him that they would just get it over with), paranoia, insomnia, season 2 Jon and all his issues. Yes basically same as last chapter.  Oh and Food and asthma.  

This is basically a follow up for It Was My Job to Protect You

For Someone on Ao3 whose name escapes me because I haven’t slept well or recently and I am so sorry.  If it’s you please let me know!

LAST BINGO! FINALLY.  I am taking "things you said" prompts, come drop me one of those prompts for Jon, Martin, or Tim!  I am very tired and can't remember if I proofread, so sorry in advance, or in past tense I don't know anymore time is fake and so is the order in which we perceive events.  Have a lovely stretch in your existence.  Card by the wonderful @celosiaa​!  Also very much inspired by @janekfan​

Jon can hardly keep his eyes open.   The stairs were almost too much for him.   Wavering before his eyes and pulling on his heavy limbs, aching and shaky from his earlier panic attack.   

It’s not like he can ask for help.  And even if he could, Martin is just as badly off.  And Tim... Tim scares him.  

Tim is loud.  Tim is angry.  Which is Jon’s own fault.  If he hasn’t been following Tim, Tim would be boisterous, not shouting.  Jon wouldn’t have learned to flinch when he talks.  To flinch when he moves.  

And he wants to trust him but he’s afraid.  And if Martin didn’t kill Gertrude, that makes it all the more likely that Tim did.  

But no.  No.  Tim is his friend, right?  Was his friend.  

But all worry of letting him into his flat vanishes when the climb steals his hard-earned air from his lungs.  Leaving him swaying and gasping on the landing.  

Tim’s speaking and Jon flinches away.  Almost teetering down the stairs, before he’s caught.  By Tim.  

“Oi, steady on, boss!”

Almost drown out by his breathing.  Narrow chest heaving with effort and none of it reaching his brain.  

“Hey Jon, could you maybe hold off on passing out on me until you give me your keys?”  

Is that what Tim had been talking about?  

Keyes, he can do that.  Right?  

But enervated fingers fumble with them in his pocket and he can’t grasp them.  To his unending shame, he feels tears on his cheeks.  

At least Martin is too out of it from his own panic attack earlier to notice.  Much as the comfort would be welcome.  It would also be stifling and even more embarrassing.   

“Jon?”   Still too loud.  Tim’s too loud too close still steadying him physically which is still sending him further off balance.  “Never mind, I’ll use mine.”  

Because right.  Tim had a key.  Which Jon has been regretting because too loud too angry Tim could slit his throat while he sleeps but he doesn’t have it in him to change the locks so he’s been putting wedges under all of his doors.  Ugly old wooden things that scuff the floor but that’s fine if it keeps him alive a little longer.  Warns him early enough to arm himself.  Although.  Dying quickly without any fuss sounds... like a luxury.  

Tim guides an overly pliant Martin to Jon’s understuffed and threadbare sofa.  He tries to guide Jon to the bedroom before Jon’s knees buckle but Jon doesn’t want to be put to bed.  He doesn’t want Tim in attended.  He wants to trust Tim.  But he can’t.  

Much as Jon wants to sink into his bed and make up for all the sleep he’s missed over... well over the course of his whole life, he can’t leave Tim alone.  Unsupervised.  

Can’t let Tim kill him.  Or poor, exhausted Martin on the couch.  Or risk some other person breaking in and killing them all.  

Jon isn’t sure if it would be better to be killed by someone he knows and once called a friend.  

He isn’t sure.  

But when Tim goes to the kitchen to make them all some food which Jon’s lackluster supplies, Jon follows. 

Jon can’t keep his eyes open.  Hyper vigilant to the sounds of the kitchen.  But he can’t keep his eyes open.  And… it might be welcome if Tim’s curry ends up killing him.  So long as the poison does its work quickly.  

He doesn’t want to die, not really.  He’d very much like to survive, but surviving is exhausting, and maybe he wouldn’t mind too much if he just… wasn’t.  He doesn’t want to be a mystery, but he doesn’t want to be afraid anymore… to Hurt anymore.  And he is so exhausted that he does Hurt.  Endlessly.  Not to mention the ragged holes in his skin, still inching ever closer to being ugly scars… or they would be if he could stop worrying them… making them bleed.  

But as tired as he is, it doesn’t stop him from being afraid.  Afraid of dying?  Or maybe just the fear of not knowing When the end is coming.  If he only knew, then he could relax until it was actually imminent.  Not just remaining alert every moment.  

Christ he wants to sleep.  

And… he does… in a way.  He dozes while Tim cooks.  

But he’s afraid that it’s poisoned.  He is afraid Tim will be angry if he can’t make himself eat it for fear… then again it probably won’t be dangerous because Tim and Martin will presumably also be eating…

He wakes up to a clatter of something.  He wakes up with numbed arms and a pounding pulse.  He wakes up with Tim too close holding a knife.  

And later he can parse out, Tim is only too close because he is picking up the cutting board that fell off Jon’s cluttered and diminutive counter, but all he sees is Tim with a knife, Tim cursing loudly.  And he can’t even scream because his chest is too tight.  

This is it.  This is the end of Jonathan Sims.  

He’s going to die.  He is certain he is.  

He shrieks.  And aborted, choked off sound.  Pathetic.  

And he almost thought he could trust Tim.  He almost thought he could trust him.  Almost.  

When Tim drops the knife and makes his posture as non-threatening as possible, Jon hates himself.  Still unable to draw a full breath, and he Hates himself.  

He’s broken Tim’s trust again by not trusting him.  Again.  Not even the first time today.  He wants to tear himself up from the inside out, flacking little bits of old and poorly preserved parchment.  Wants to make those lines appear and send tiny flakes of paper and dust flying and have no more of himself.  Nothing left.  Just this gaping chasm.  Which is all he deserves really.  Leaving nothing but a mess, just like always.  Horrible… wretched… selfish… guilty… pathetic…  What is WRONG with him.  This is Tim.  Tim.  His first friend at the institute.  Tim who has always been there for him.  Until Jon went and Fucked it up.  Properly fucked it up, with no way back.  And.. And… FUCK.  

He’s crying again.  Making a proper fool of himself.  

“Jon?”  

He can’t look at Tim.  Can’t catch his breath.  Catching and wheezing in a way that is pitting the asthma against the panic and making them both all the worse.  

Tim isn’t as gentle as he can be when he shoves the inhaler at Jon for the second time today.  But Jon’s been sitting at the edge of a panic attack for weeks, and this time, it had been his fault.  Not his fault that Jon’s been a jumpy paranoid wreck, but his fault for being loud and angry and threatening and waving a knife around in front of the nervous wreck that used to be his friend.  

“Jon, you’ve got to use the inhaler.  If you don’t breath, I’m gonna wake Martin from his nap.  And he’s gonna be pissed at me, and if he gets pissed at me, I’m gonna get pissed at you, and you don’t want that.”  

Probably a mistake to threaten the person afraid of you, but he can’t fix his anger in one day.  Not until Jon puts in the work too.  

Okay he gets it.  Jon can’t exactly help being paranoid.  He isn’t gonna shame Jon for having shit mental health.  That would make him a bloody hypocrite.  But… Jon did not handle it well.  You’re supposed to reach out if you’re having a breakdown!  (Yes he knows… he’s still a bloody hypocrite but Less of one).  So… Jon’s gonna have to make an effort, and Tim… will try to be less …threatening?  Loud?  Big?  

Jon stops stalking him, Tim takes a good snoop around his flat, they take turns keeping watch for monsters so maybe they can get some goddamned sleep.  Simple enough!  

If Jon can stop having a panic attack while he’s trying to cook!

No… No.  Not gonna be angry at Jon for having another panic attack.  Hardly even came down from the last one.  Still too paranoid to leave Tim alone in the kitchen, stubborn bastard.  And what kind of an idiot only has a few withered vegetables in his fridge?  

(The kind who is too paranoid to eat non-packaged food, Tim does NOT think to himself).  

Still.  Jon should have reached out.  should have said something before it got this bad!  This isn’t Tim’s Fault.  He didn’t help, sure, but it isn’t his Fault!  And he isn’t going to apologize and he isn’t going to forgive Jon.  (At least for now).  

Jon has to be better.  Try to be better.  Tim will meet him halfway, but Jon has to make the first step, and use the goddamn inhaler.  But the threatening just made it worse.  

Jon looking frail and skinny and tired, hands over his head again, bracing for an attack.  Just like in his office, just like on the stairs.  Crumped up in such a way that even if he weren’t having an asthma attack and a panic attack, it would probably still be hard to breathe.  

“Boss, you’ve got to breathe.  We did this earlier, I didn’t kill you then.  Not gonna kill you now.”  Tim moves slowly so Jon isn’t surprised, and guides him a little straighter in his chair, holding the inhaler for him, as Jon’s finger tips (and lips) are going blue.  

And Jon’s still fighting him, although quickly losing what little strength he had to begin with.  

It takes some soothing before Jon lets him near enough to get the inhaler in his mouth.  “That’s good, boss.  That’s it, bud.  Now breathe with me.”  

He has a hand on Jon’s narrow chest now.  Sticky with cold sweat, heaving unevenly.  And Tim can’t believe how fragile his friend(?) has become.  

But as soon as Jon has breath in his body, the apologies start flowing out.  

“Hey, now.  None of that now.  You can apologize until you’re blue in the face once you’re not, ya know… literally blue in the face.  I do want those, but not until you’ve gotten some sleep and you eat some of this damn fine curry that I am somehow making from your truly pathetic supplies.  I’ll take the first watch, then we can talk about it, and you can actually start doing better.  Because that’s what I want.  I want you to stop hiding from us.  I get it, you can’t trust right now.  Fine.  But what you’ve been doing isn’t okay.  You don’t trust me.  That’s …well not fine, but I get it.  I do.  But stalking us, and yelling at Martin, and hiding from us isn’t how to deal with that.  You don’t trust us, so tell us how to help.  How can we prove to you that we aren’t gonna hurt you?  So you can’t help being a paranoid wreck, that’s understandable, but you can’t take that out on us.  That isn’t okay.  So first curry, then sleep.  Then we’ll talk.  Okay?”  

And Jon nods.  Allowing himself to be helped to the couch while Tim finishes dinner.  

[nehemia-deserved-better]

Elorcan deserved about 500 more chapters all to themselves, so I decided to write one of them. I intended this story to be as canon-compliant as possible, so that it could plausibly be considered an extra Elorcan chapter in Empire of Storms. It would be set a day after their fight over Lorcan killing the ship owner in chapter 43, and before the next time we see them where Elide claims to have not spoken to him for 3 days. 

So without further ado: How The Light Gets In

The nightmare began at the top of a stone stair. Elide’s heavy, uneven footfalls echoed ominously in the tight space as she descended, spiraling down into the fetid air of the dungeons. The chains snaking around her ankles rattled and slithered with each step. Yet it was not that sound which frightened Elide; it was the cacophony of despair emanating from below. Women’s voices: moaning, screaming, and—worst of all— pleading. She tried to flee back up the stair, but a phantom hand seized her chains and sent her pitching headlong into the unforgiving stone. Her fingernails splintered and bled as she scrabbled for purchase, fighting to crawl away from that horrible noise. But the pull on her chains was relentless. Elide was dragged downwards into that ocean of misery, each voice crashing over her until she was drowning in sound, unable to distinguish her own screams.

—————

Lorcan stood at the prow of the ship, illuminated by the light of the stars, and cursed his keen fae hearing. He couldn’t block out the soft whimpers coming from within the ship’s cabin, or the rustling of a small form tossing under the blankets. He didn’t want to know that Elide was having a nightmare, didn’t want to care. After all, why should he? Pathetic she had called him, nearly spitting the words in disgust. Jealous, lonely, pathetic, unhappy—each insult flung from her with greater conviction than the last. And when she had finally finished, face mottled red in rage and chest heaving, he couldn’t even muster a convincing facade of anger. Instead, as he looked down on that tiny, furious woman, he felt only admiration and a surprising amount of desire. When was the last time someone had dared speak to him with such candor? He had killed males for lesser offenses, and she knew it. And yet, she remained stubbornly unafraid. 

But when she had followed that outburst with a demand to leave the ship, to leave him... Lorcan realized belatedly that the gut-wrenching sensation he'd felt then had been fear. He tilted his head up to look at the stars, admonishing himself for that weakness. This human should not have such power over him. Still, he knew he would not allow this fierce creature out of his sight. He wanted more of her. He wanted to feel her thick, dark hair between his fingers, and to do more with that red mouth than just gaze at it. But mostly, he wanted more of her passion, honesty, and bravery— her ability to see right through to the core of him with those cunning eyes. Lorcan found himself striding for the cabin door before he could think better of it.             

—————

It is a peculiarity of nightmares to seamlessly blend one horror into the next, forgoing transitions in exchange for an unending montage of terror. And so, Elide suddenly found herself standing at the base of the stair. She pressed her palms over her ears to no avail; nothing could block out that endless, many-voiced wailing. A long hall lined with torches and iron doors stretched out before her. She knew what lay beyond those doors, though her mind recoiled from the thought of witches and alters and demons. In the flickering light of the fires stood a ghostly woman draped in black. Kaltain raised a finger to her lips and, as though by her command, a curtain of silence fell over the hall. Elide didn't spare a moment to be relieved. She stepped toward Kaltain, trying to tell her that they must run, that they weren’t safe here. No words passed her lips— they never did, in her dreams. The Lady merely stared at her. “You can’t save them. Only I can do that now.” Elide furrowed her brow in confusion, prompting a breathy laugh from Kaltain. “Don’t you remember? Or did you forget about my sacrifice so easily?” Her lips split wide in a mockery of a smile, her mouth opening and opening until the flesh peeled away completely. Beneath, shrugging off Kaltain’s skin like an oversized coat, was a pale woman with blood red lips. “And what of my sacrifice, my darling girl? What became of me?” Elide reached for her mother, but she crumbled to ash between her fingers.  

—————

Lorcan’s breath caught as he laid eyes on Elide sleeping fretfully in the narrow cabin bed. The blankets were twisted around her legs, becoming thoroughly tangled as she continued to shift in agitation. A sheen of sweat glimmered at the base of her throat. Distress was clear in her expression, despite her face being partially obscured by her disheveled hair. Lorcan had no idea what to do. He wanted to soothe her and provide comfort, but he had no experience with such things. Besides, if Elide’s resolute silence of the previous day was any indication, she would likely not welcome his presence. And yet, he found himself unable to walk away, as though some gravity beyond his control were pulling them together. 

Gently, Lorcan reached down and brushed the loose strands of hair from her face, smoothing them behind her ear. His hand lingered for a moment, brushing against her cheek. He marveled at how small she seemed under his broad palms. She stirred, and he quickly retracted his fingers, scolding himself for his stupidity. How incensed would she be to wake and find him standing over her? He began to turn away. 

“Stay.” The word was a single breath, so quiet that Lorcan was fairly certain it was a hallucination brought on by wishful thinking. But then it came again, soft as a prayer, “stay.” He simply stared at her. Elide didn’t even seem to be awake. It was very possible that she was speaking to someone in her dream, utterly unaware of his presence. Just as he was convincing himself of this, a hand lightly grasped his own. Her fingers were so little in his, delicate like the bones of a bird. But he knew the strength that lay there, knew she had calluses and scars to mirror his own. Lorcan softly lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, Elide's hand still in his. He wasn’t used to holding something with such care, not with these hands that had wrought so much death. He found that he liked the change. 

“Elide?” he whispered. No response. “Are you awake?” Her eyes remained closed but she spoke slowly in reply.

“Lorcan...You’re not usually here.”

“In the cabin?”

“In my dreams.”

 He took a moment to absorb that blow to his male ego. Before he could think of a suitable response, Elide was tugging on his hand, trying to pull him closer. Lorcan was conflicted. She was clearly not fully awake, hovering in the limbo of her dreams. As much as he wanted nothing more than to lay down and pull her close, to see just how well the curves of her body fit with his own, it didn’t seem right to take advantage of her hazy consciousness. And in addition, there was no way his massive frame would fit on that bed with her unless she was nearly on top of him. He struggled to divert his imagination away from that particular path of thought.

When he looked back at her face, he was startled to find her eyes wide open. The gaze that met his own was clear, apparently awake. “Stay,” she repeated, and the last of his reservations disappeared. She scooted up against the wall, occupying the narrowest strip of bed possible. After some adjusting of bodies and untangling of blankets, Lorcan wound up on his back. His shoulders took up the entire width of the bed, and still he was precariously close to the edge. Elide was pressed between his body and the wall, her limbs sprawled out across him: an arm resting on his chest, a leg bent up over his own, her foot pressed between his calves. Gingerly, he slid his arm underneath her head, providing his bicep as a pillow. 

“I thought you were still angry with me,” he grumbled.

“I am. I don’t think I’ll ever speak to you again, because you are a cruel bastard,” she responded sleepily, snuggling closer. Lorcan had gone past the point of confusion and was now hovering somewhere in the realm of utter bewilderment.

“I’ll find a way to manage without you.” Why could he never find the right thing to say to her? 

“No, you won’t, because you promised.” She paused there for a yawn. “As mysterious as you think you are, I know that promise matters to you... that I matter to you. Why else would I dream of you after a nightmare?” She yawned, more pronounced than the first time. When she began speaking again her voice was thick with exhaustion. “I know I’m safe with you. I know that you will protect me.” And with that, she was fully asleep once more. Not a trace of the nightmare remained on her face, and her breathing was deep and untroubled.  

Lorcan could only stare at the top of her head, stunned. Despite how lucid she seemed, she had clearly still been half in the grip of her dreams. But her words, her absolute confidence in him, the comfort she had found in his arms...He had never experienced this before. Receiving affection without sex or motive, soothing fear instead of creating it— this was all uncharted territory. Something in him fractured with astounding force. It was as though every place their bodies touched was cracking open and she was the light pouring in, pushing back all that darkness he had gathered throughout the centuries. He had no word to name this feeling coursing through his blood, but he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so unburdened. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and whispered “I will always keep you safe”. Then, he laid his cheek atop her hair and listened to her breathe for a long while before he fell asleep.      

—————

Elide woke to the smell of cooking trout, and the soft sound of water lapping against the boat. Even through her closed lids she could see that daylight was pouring through the windows of the cabin, meaning she must have slept very late into the morning. She rolled over with a groan and reached out a hand for...for whom? Was she expecting to find someone in her bed? Sitting fully upright now, she looked around in confusion. She’d had a very strange dream. Lady Kaltain had been there, in the dungeons of Morath… she shuddered at the memory, both of the dream and its real-life inspiration. She’d vomited for days after she saw behind those iron doors, and had no desire to recollect the specifics either awake or asleep. 

But then she’d left the dungeon and arrived in the ship’s cabin, where her fear-addled brain had conjured an image of the only true safety she had known for the last decade: Lorcan. A soft smile graced her face at the thought, quickly replaced by a grimace as she remembered him killing that man, and their resulting fight. He provided safety for her, perhaps, but he brought only death to those who got in his way. Her thoughts lingered on the barge owner who had once slept in this bed, dutifully cleaned the cabin windows, adorned the small table with an embroidered cloth— she bolted out of the bed and through the door, suddenly needing to be anywhere else.

Fingers gripping the ship’s railing so tight that her knuckles threatened to pop out, Elide leaned into the wind off the river water. Lorcan may well have saved both their lives by ending that man’s. An innocent bystander he may have seemed, but one likely to jump at the chance to profit from their capture. Lorcan had done it, as he seemed to do everything these days, to protect her. 

That thought brought her back to her dream. It had been so real. She could recall the way his breath had stirred her hair, the feeling of his muscular chest under her fingers and his considerable bicep cushioning her head, how she had confidently declared how much he cared for her— she stopped as though her thoughts had crashed into a stone wall. She felt the blood drain from her face. She never, never spoke in her dreams. 

A gentle tap on her shoulder had her shouting in surprise; Lorcan couldn’t normally sneak up on her, to his eternal annoyance, but she had been too deep in thought to notice his approach. Wordlessly, he held out a plate of trout. He betrayed no expression beyond a slight quirk of the eyebrows, likely in reaction to having a small woman scream at him in a pitch only bats and immortal demi-fae could hear. Elide studied the harsh planes of his face as she accepted the food in silence. She found nothing there to suggest she had spent the night curled in his arms. He seemed to be examining her expression as well. His lips parted, as though there was something he wanted to say, but something in her face seemed to convince him to remain quiet. With a soft shake of the head and a furrow in his brow, he turned away.     

As he walked back toward the prow, she let out a sigh of relief. It had just been a dream. She felt an unexpected disappointment at the thought. It was harmless to admire his power and strength from a distance, or to feel sparks of desire as his gaze slid to her lips every damn time they spoke, but to spend the night in his arms? She watched him tirelessly propelling the boat  with a long pole, his dark hair sticking to his neck in the hot midday sun. No, it had been a dream, and that’s all it would ever be...right?            

Thanks for sticking around all the way till the end! It would mean a lot if you would comment and let me know what you think of my first ever fanfiction :)                      

[olligreen]

No Bad Student | 6 -- You're Alright, LaRusso

{x}

Pairing: Lawrusso (Daniel x Johnny) Genre: Angst Warnings: None Word count: 2287 Summary: KK2 AU in which Johnny ends up living with Miyagi and Daniel for the summer. Inspired by nadianecromancer’s comic, but I’ll try to avoid making any scenes similar to the ones they already did! Notes: This was originally posted on Ao3 here.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (coming soon)

They both shared a sigh of relief, though Daniel’s was perhaps more desperate. Silence filled the room again and both were just as unwilling to venture a glance toward the other. The pause seemed endless. It was like they’d be stuck in this awkward limbo for the rest of their lives. Then, as if things couldn’t get worse, Johnny started laughing. At first a little stifled chuckle, then, as the bedframe came down gently on its new legs, it turned to an all-out fit.

The sound brought up sharp, sudden rage in Daniel, who looked on with a scowl. “What?! What’s so funny, huh?”

“I--... Sorry, I just--...” He stifled the last remaining mirth, catching his breath. “That was just so fucking weird, man.”

“What was weird about it?” Daniel said before he thought.

“Are you kidding me? That was weird as fuck. Like… I never thought I’d be that close to you without like… kicking your ass right after.”

“Right, like you could.” Daniel got away with the first word-vomit, but, from the way the mood shifted in that instant, he was sure he wouldn’t get away with this one.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, LaRusso?”

He decided to think a bit before he spoke this time. “Look, man, I just--”

“Don’t go backpedaling now, man. You think you could take me in a real fight, you’re dead wrong.” And just as quickly as they separated, Johnny stepped within a foot of Daniel, glaring down at him with deadly ire.

They weren't quite as close, but Daniel’s restless heart couldn’t tell the difference. He kept his gaze downward, avoiding Johnny; though, despite his efforts, Johnny's imposing figure took up much of his vision.

“You think you’re hot shit now that you won one fight? Nah, man. Just cause you have Ali doesn’t mean you can--”

“I don’t ‘have’ Ali.” He interrupted, some new rage burning in his words.

Johnny’s intimidation blunted, sending him back a few steps. “What?”

“We broke up a month ago.” His words were pointed but his expression was blank, as it was before. It was like he was confusing him on purpose.

“What’d you do?” Johnny responded without time for thought.

Daniel looked up with a scowl. “What the hell do you mean, ‘what did I do?’ Why’s it gotta be my fault?” Anger was a fine emotion to show him, apparently.

“‘Cause I know Ali, asshole. Now, what’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! She ran off with some football player from UCLA!”

There it was again, that laugh of his, like a cup of gasoline on an open flame.

“What?! What could possibly be funny about that!?”

Johnny replied firstly with a cruel grin, though there was something off about it. “Now you know what it’s like.” He said, softer than he should have.

Daniel turned away, his face flushing. “No! No, that’s not the same thing.”

“Oh yeah? How is it any different?”

“You hadn’t talked to her for weeks, man! You were done!”

“Two weeks.”

“She wanted nothing to do with--... What’d you say?”

Johnny’s words were spoken underneath Daniel’s -- quiet, solemn, same as before. “We were split up for two weeks, then you showed up.”

Daniel stopped at once, brown eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

“Y’know how long we were together?” He smirked, reveling in Daniel’s pain, but in his eyes, it was clear he wasn’t the only one hurting. “Two years.”

He was still too close. Anywhere in the room was too close. He stepped back, but couldn’t escape the horrible feeling bubbling up in his chest. He searched desperately for something he could throw back in his face, but how do you even respond to that? Eventually, he settled on the least volatile. “Oh,” he breathed out, eyes trained on the ground.

“Yeah, ‘oh.’” Johnny wandered over to take another defeated seat on his bedroll, though it felt more like a pyrrhic victory than a pure loss.

“Well, but--... But that doesn’t--”

“It doesn’t excuse what I did, I know.” He mumbled, absentmindedly twisting the cloth between his fingers. “But don’t you wanna go find that UCLA douche and kick the shit out of him?”

Daniel breathed a quiet laugh before he could stop it, erasing his smile as soon as he could manage. “Well, sure, but I’m not gonna. That’s not what Miyagi taught me.” He sat across from Johnny, legs crossed on the wooden floor.

Johnny’s eyes moved to the door momentarily. “What’d he teach you?”

“Karate’s for defense only.”

“Well, there ya go. I wasn’t taught that pussy shit.”

“It’s not ‘pussy shit,’ it’s real karate. Not like that garbage Kreese was teaching you.” Just as the words left his mouth, he thought back to the first time he brought up this same topic. He braced for impact.

But the impact never came. Johnny just sat on that bedroll, staring at the floorboards, solemn and silent.

Something about that hit Daniel harder than an angry outburst ever could. There was that image of him -- sitting on the curb, broken glass sparkling on the ground around him. It matched up perfectly. It wouldn’t leave his mind. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, just loud enough to break the silence.

Johnny’s eyes met his, puzzled. “For what?”

“I saw what happened with your sensei, I shouldn’t have mentioned him,” Daniel explained.

But the confusion didn’t cease. “Why do you care?” The words were spat out but were meant genuinely.

“Well ‘cause--...” Daniel started, then took a moment to consider his words carefully. “Mr. Miyagi says there’s no such thing as a bad student, just a bad teacher, right? So--... So I mean, you gettin’ all aggressive and acting like an--... Well, acting the way you did, that’s on him for how he taught you. Y’know what I mean?”

Johnny’s stare was unending as he tried to pick his words apart, his expression hopeful, then fearful, then ultimately clouded by rage. “And what about what you did, huh?”

“What? What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, not leaving well-enough alone? I was gonna call my guys off before you pulled that shit at the Halloween party."

“Oh, come on, Johnny, you and your stupid biker gang were kicking my ass every other day. You weren’t gonna stop. What am I gonna do, just sit and take it?”

“Well yeah, maybe! I mean, you were asking for it. If you would’ve just left Ali alone--”

“What, and nobody’s supposed to date her ever again?”

“Two weeks, man!”

“Yeah, and you had to be the one to tell me that!”

“Did you even ask?”

“Of course I asked! She said ‘weeks,’ that’s it. If she had any intention of getting back together with you, she would’ve said so, Johnny, but she didn’t. She said ‘weeks.’”

The tension in the air only heightened as Johnny considered his words. His lip curled up in disgust, but his glare faltered, and he was left staring at the floorboards again.

“I tried, man. I tried to just talk to you. I tried to tell you that guy was bad news, but you wouldn’t have any of it.”

“You don’t understand, man. You don’t get how much you took from me.” Johnny growled, desperate to shut him up.

“Goddammit, Johnny, I didn’t take anything from you! You lost!” Daniel half-screamed, the energy of the phrase lifting him from his seat.

Johnny followed. “I lost one fight and now, what, I deserve to be miserable? Maybe you’re a lot more like my sensei than you think you are.”

“I’m not talking about the fight, Johnny, for fuck’s sake, can you consider something other than fighting for once?”

“And what else am I supposed to consider, huh?”

“You lost Ali! You did! I didn’t ‘steal’ her from you, she stopped talking to you because you stopped being a person she wanted to talk to.”

“You got no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“What, you think her snobby Encino friends ever stopped talking about how ‘great of a boyfriend’ you were? Do you know how many times I had to hear your name after that tournament was over? I probably know more about that breakup than you do!”

“Fuck you, man.”

“Fantastic argument there, Johnny, good one.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?! That I’m sorry?!”

“That’d be a start!”

“Well then, I’m sorry, alright?! God, of course I’m sorry! You think I feel good about beating the shit out of a person half my size? About lying to my mom about why my clothes were covered in your blood? You think I don’t hate myself just as much as you do?”

The room deafened. The adrenaline in each rival’s mind dissipated, giving way to fear, regret, and sadness. Then, as Daniel’s breaths became heavy, he noticed a glint in Johnny’s eyes that brought him both serenity and pain.

“I just--... I saw you with her. I saw how happy you were and--... and how happy you made her. And--…” His eyes widened to keep in the tears, focused forward, but still, they fell. “And I just thought… ‘I need to make him feel pain...’ God, that sounds awful when I say it out loud like that.”

His words still frightened Daniel, but not enough to prevent him from taking a few steps closer.

“What if--… LaRusso, what if your Sensei was wrong?” The rage was long dead. His eyes were wide, desperate, terrified. There was no less fear hidden in his icy blue gaze than there was in Daniel’s not a few hours before.

“About what?” Daniel said cautiously.

“What if it’s not Cobra Kai? What if it’s just me? What if I’m just a bad person? I mean, what if there’s something wrong with me?”

Daniel shook his head immediately, refusing such a thing without a second thought. Was it that he didn’t think Miyagi could be wrong, or that he saw hope in Johnny’s fearful expression? Maybe it was both. Or maybe it was that feeling, the one he couldn’t explain, pushing his breaths out faster, pulling his arm out to touch Johnny’s shoulder.

He looked at the hand, fear fading to confusion. “I--...” He started, but his mouth fell closed.

“It’s alright, Johnny,” Daniel said softly, then pulled him into a hug.

The warmth shocked him. It took a few seconds before his body relaxed, then his arms climbed across Daniel’s back, holding him the same way he was held.

“You’re not a bad person. Miyagi can help you, alright?” Daniel’s voice was muffled into Johnny’s chest.

“I’m--... I’m sorry.” Johnny repeated.

Finally, Daniel pulled away, keeping that same hand rested on his shoulder, maintaining all the warmth and comfort he could provide in a smile. “I got that part.”

Johnny laughed through his tears, a welcome sound, now.

“Now, you’re not planning on kicking my ass while I’m sleepin’, are ya?” Daniel said as his hand dropped, warm smile falling to a grin.

The grin was matched. “Depends,” he started, his voice still strained, “are you as much of a cocky little shit asleep as you are awake?”

Daniel laughed, audibly. Imagine that. Daniel LaRusso and Johnny Lawrence, smiling and laughing at the same time for once.

“I’m not gonna fuck with you anymore, man. I shouldn’t even be here. I won’t push my luck like that.”

“Why do you need to stay here tonight anyway?”

Johnny’s shoulders tightened, his fatigued smile falling, but not gone. “Got kicked out.” He regained his seat on the bedroll.

“Why? You do something?” Not a moment passed before Daniel plopped himself down in front of Johnny, leaning his back against the bedframe.

“Nah, my stepdad just wanted to get rid of me.” He said casually as if it were a joke. “Now you gotta deal with me instead.”

“So it’s not just gonna be tonight, huh?”

His smile dropped.

“Oh! Well, it’s not--... I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I get it. I’ll try to keep it as quick as possible.”

“Johnny, no, really, it’s fine. I’m not gonna--”

“Dude, you fucking hate me. I understand. You don’t need to pretend not to just ‘cause I cried like a bitch in front of you.”

“I’m not pretending. I really think Mr. Miyagi can help you.”

Slowly, that smirk of his returned. “You’re alright, LaRusso.”

Fear washed over Daniel for just a moment but was gone as soon as it came. He gave a warm smile back to him. “You said that before.”

“Oh yeah.” Johnny looked off, recollecting. “It was a fun fight, I’ll give you that.”

He hummed a laugh. “Glad to hear my terrified flailing was entertaining to you.”

“Nah man, that wasn’t flailing. You’re a good fighter.” Johnny fell back on the bedroll, blonde hair puffing up as he did. “Not as good as me, but pretty good.”

“Oho! Somebody need a reminder of who won that fight?” Daniel grinned.

Johnny chuckled lowly, his eyes fluttering closed. “Nah, man, I wasn’t prepared for your shit then. Rematch.”

“Oh, what, you think that’ll change anything?”

“Mhm.”

Daniel let a quiet laugh fill the lapse in conversation, then stood and began to pace. It was getting dark out, the last red-orange glow of the sun the only light in the room. It felt strange. It was like he was in a liminal space, or a dream: quiet, calm, but somewhat offputting. Still, a determination filled his spirit that wasn’t present before, at least not with a source like this. Finally, he decided. “Y’know what, you’re on.”

But by the time the challenge was accepted Johnny was taken by the coming night, curled up on the bedroll, silent and serene.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (coming soon)

[shadowsfiguresfigments-blog]

A good place to die Chapter 26 (smut)

Warning: Harsh language, violence, smut

He was all over me, literally. Whilst he kept my lips and tongue busy with his, his hands roamed across my body, gently caressing every square inch of it. The last tattered remains of my clothes fell off, but his silken gloves kept me warm against the cold air. I sucked on his lower lip to encourage him further, and in response he leaned into me. The sensation of his touch multiplied, and during a breath pause to draw breath I opened my eyes. Penny had sprouted another two pairs of arms, giving him a slightly spider-like appearance.

Whilst he played with my hair, he simultaneously worjed my erect nipples, kneading them; pinching them just enough to illicit a sweet stinging pain. And all the while his hands wandered down further, along my hips, in between my thighs. I pressed harder against him, the familiar desperate yearning overcoming any sense of self-control I had left. There needn’t be any more barriers between us, nothing to separate us – I had been inside him, literally, for fuck’s sake – and I tore at his clothes, fighting against the last veil of silk that stood between us.

His chuckle was barely audible, more of a deep rumble that went through his body right into mine. The hands in my hair disappeared and the pressure against me lessened, but before I could protest his fingers slipped inside me. My insides clamped down on him in an unconscious effort to pull him further along, and their effort was rewarded; Penny’s finger went deeper and deeper into me, as if they were growing in length. The weirdest sensation filled my stomach – his gloves, he must have popped his gloves – and a heartbeat later he touched that sweet, sweet spot.

I screamed as the orgasm hit me like a sledge hammer, but Penny was nowhere near done. His body pressed back against mine, finally rid of clothes and all decency, and he held me so tight I was no longer able to breathe properly. He was still mercilessly working my pussy, but another hand made its way between my ass cheeks. I briefly and very feebly thought about protesting, but in response he pressed against my G-spot again. Whether it was because I was dripping wet or by some transformation of his, his fingers quickly spread some hot liquid around my asshole. Then he inserted one.

One moment, there was the sensation of having soiled myself; then he pushed through the barrier and there was some pain. It didn’t last long, though, as having him inside both front and back quickly overwhelmed me. Still, it wasn’t enough for him. His tongue swelled up, almost forcing my jaws apart, and picked up the rhythm of his fingers as it thrust deeper and deeper into me. As he had swallowed me whole, enveloping me completely, he now filled my up with himself in every way possible. I no longer could feel any ending to my body, nor the beginning of his; all of my senses were filled with him alone.

Again, there was a brief pause as he withdrew his fingers from my pussy, then he shoved his dick into me. I came immediately, and this time it lasted. Wave after wave hit me, eroding my sense of self further and further. Something was different from all the times we had had sex before – something inside me had changed. It resonated with Penny in a way that was difficult to understand – like two sound waves with just the right frequency to suddenly amplify each other.

That resonance almost tore me apart, and I screamed on the top of my lungs as Penny shuddered and came.

The following week was entirely governed by the last minute preparations for both Bee’s return as well as the store opening, which would coincide. With Auntie’s help I fought my way through the rooms and seemingly unending layers of garbage and dirt. Thankfully Bee had already declared her intentions to renovate the whole apartment by herself, and she had spent countless hours picking colors and some new furniture from catalogs. The little insurance money she got wouldn’t allow for much more, but her DIY-attitude had significantly improved over the last days. We just made sure the dirt was gone and that the facilities worked; which they did. Still, by the time I was done every evening I did little more than hit the shower and fall into bed.

Penny found his own way to keep me company – he usually waited in my room, made good use of the phone I had gotten him, and occasionally accompanied me on my ways in the form of a big orange tabby. At night he would cradle me in his arms, making our fight seem like nothing more than a bad dream.

I didn’t have the energy to discuss it any further, either; nor could I bring myself to tell him I still felt rather overwhelmed by the sex we had had. It was a weird, uncomfortable balance that I just couldn’t deal with.

He had carried me home that night, wrapped into silk-like sheets he had miraculously produced, and he had washed me in our tiny shower. I was still entirely beside myself – I didn’t even spend a thought on auntie – and just stood there as he rinsed away his cum that poured out of my body.

He even tucked me into bed.

When the big day finally arrived, I was too tired to feel the least bit excited. I almost fell asleep twice during school, but fortunately no one noticed. It was Friday, and I was excused for the last lesson (P.E.), so I got to leave early. That also meant there was no chance of any potential bully waiting for me, and I didn’t bother checking my bike for any manipulations, as there hadn’t been any for quite a while. Of course, that didn’t turn out too well – somebody had opened the valves of my tires, and by the time I got to the shop, there was no air left in them. I didn’t care, though, as I had to prepare the little buffet auntie had organized for me (nothing major, just some tea and coffee, and some cupcakes she had surprised me with in the morning). After I finished that, I went through the registry and my documents for the last time, in a desperate attempt to not think about Penny and focus on the task at hand.

A quick glance at my watch told me that I had about fifteen minutes left before the official opening hours started. I briefly wondered whether anyone would show up at all – Auntie and I had invested in some flyers, and we had distributed them both at her working place as well as my school. I had also thrown the remaining ones into random mail boxes on my various ways. Despite that, my reputation might very well end up keeping any potential customer from actually seeking the store – my store, I reminded myself – out.

For the first time in a long while I thought back to Yaneesha, Shot and the other idiots that despised me so much. The reason for their unwavering hate was still very much of a mystery to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to wish them harm. After all, they had ultimately suffered bigger losses than I did, and ever since Yaneesha had left school, I hadn’t been physically attacked anymore.

At least not by humans.

I sighed and unlocked the doors.

To my big surprise a couple of people entered while I was putting out the huge board I had painted. They roamed around the shelves, and a tiny silver-hair lady even told me how happy she was that the store was open again. I vaguely remembered her face and came to the conclusion that she was one of the very few somewhat regular visitors. Didn’t she have a fondness for novels? I directed her towards some new arrivals, which prompted my first successful sale.

It was somewhat difficult to believe, and the whole situation felt unreal. Something about the ordinariness was quite at odds with the crazy circus my life had become. I answered questions, recommended books, and made a couple of other sales. It wasn’t much, but still a whole lot more than what I’d expected – nothing.

Auntie joined me after I had been open for ninety minutes, and I could tell how tired she was. We both forced smiles, and despite my best efforts, she insisted on staying with me, though her face grew paler by the minute. Just when I had convinced her to sit down and stop fussing, her face lit up with recognition.

“Oh, you didn’t tell me he was coming. How nice!”

I whirled around just to see Benny-Penny standing outside the store, a red balloon on a string in his hands. For some reason that really touched me – I was just glad auntie sat behind me, so she couldn’t see the stupid smile spreading across my face. I rushed out and grasped his hands.

“I’m so glad you’re here”, I gushed. “I can’t believe you’re willing to go through this… Are you okay?”

He nodded, a familiar twinkle in his eyes, and handed me the balloon. It even read “Congratulations” on it. After quickly wiping my eyes I ushered him inside, ignoring the weird vibrations that built up in my stomach.

Penny looked utterly out of place, a wonderful mixture of awkwardness and otherworldly beauty that was just a tick off – probably not enough for anyone to realize but enough to cause the other visitors to show signs of unease. It was almost comical – a guy in a rather fancy suit started fiddling with his tie, a young girl put her jacket back on, and a group of teens moved closer together. Despite the fact that it wasn’t a good thing unnerve the people who I was supposed to sell to, it was still entertaining to observe. And I couldn’t help myself but marvel at his human form; the way his muscles visibly moved beneath the thin, tight sweater he was wearing; the way that ass looked in that pair of jeans; the way his movements were still the same as in his clown form.

I quickly went into the back room and tied the balloon to my backpack, not wanting to leave Penny alone for too long; but by the time I had returned he sat beside auntie and they chatted away merrily. He laughed – that wonderful, over-the-top crazy laugh of his, and shook his head. Auntie smiled, said something and started chuckling. For a moment she looked much younger, the stress lines fading, and my heart started hurting again.

How I wished I could see her like that every day.

I joined them, but I admittedly didn’t pay much attention, nor contribute much to the conversation – I was just content to see auntie and Benny-Penny happy. My odd behavior wasn’t noticed, though; Benny told one joke after another, and soon, my costumers had circled around us, joining in on the laughs. From time to time I could have sworn I saw a glint of something in Benny’s eyes, but it always disappeared so quickly I couldn’t be sure.

It was a rather pleasant experience to have him around. Time flew by quickly, and making sales felt like something I did on the side whilst I was mainly focusing on Benny. Finally the last pulk of people left the store, and I waved after them. Auntie stood up and started cleaning the buffet table; throwing away crumbled napkins and stacking plates. I offered to help, but she refused me; so I started counting the money I had made. When she left to bring the plates upstairs to the apartment, I dropped all pretence and threw myself into Benny’s arms.

“Thank you for coming”, I whispered, somewhat at a loss at how to convey the deep gratitude I felt.

He just patted my head, but I could feel how exhausted he was. I understood all too well – being around other humans and having to act normally was difficult enough for me, and I was part of their race. I reached up and cradled his cheek in my hand.

“I will make this up to you, I promise.”

Benny’s head shot up so fast I didn’t realize he had moved for a second.

Something was wrong.

His face had become devoid of emotion, the smile that had just been there completely gone, and there was an orange hue in his eyes. He stood utterly still.

“What’s the matter?”

“One of them is coming closer.”

“Who?”

“One of them.”

It took me a second to put his words and his behavior together.

“You mean… the ones that hurt you?”

He nodded, his eyes turning ever more orange. I took his hands and pulled him around to face me.

“Listen, if you need to get out of here, go. But I don’t think you’re in danger – you look like a human, you’re in a fucking bookstore, and besides, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, okay?” That had absolutely no effect whatsoever. He was still as tense as before. “Penny, I promise, you’re safe.”

He slowly lowered his eyes, exhaling loudly. Not even a second later, he tensed up again. This time, he was watching someone outside. I turned around and saw two young men walking down the street. They held brown paper bags and yelled loudly, pushing each other constantly. My somewhat rusty instinct for bad situations told me they were trouble.

“They want to trash your shop.”

I didn’t even question him; I was too focused on the fact that they had changed direction and were now clearly walking up to us.

“I won’t allow that.” I reached into my pocket for my phone, with every intention to call the cops, but this time, Penny grabbed my hands. He had the weirdest little smile, and his left eye started drifting to the side. For some reason, I got goosebumps. I could only watch as he left me and stood in front of the duo. They shouted something, he replied, and the three of them walked away.

What was I supposed to do? I still had my phone in my hand, and I contemplated dialing 911. But what should I say? That I had possibly evaded big trouble? That my killer clown boyfriend had just left with the troublemakers and they’d better start searching for the leftovers, if there would be any? And that Pennywise might be in danger? Hello officer, you know, there’s this creature that kills and feeds on humans, and I love him very much, and he got spooked, so could you please start an investigation, and by the way, clean up after him?

“Where’d he go?”

Auntie had come back to me and looked out the door. I shook my head, gathering my jumbled thoughts.

“Oh, his mom called, he’s supposed to help her with something.”

“It was nice of him to stop by.”

“Yeah, very nice.” I still stared at the corner around which they had disappeared, as if I could make my gaze bend around it to follow them and make sure everything was okay.

“Is everything alright? Did you quarrel?”

“Oh no, I guess I’m just… a little overwhelmed with everything.” My attempt at a reassuring smile was bad at best, but somehow auntie bought it.

“Oh well, it’s been some hectic weeks for both of us.”

I nodded. A quick glance at my phone told me it was time to close down. That, thankfully, wouldn’t take long. However, there was still-

“Look who’s come!”

For the second time that day, a very welcome visitor approached the store. This time it wasn’t my favorite alien killer clown, it was Bee; with a large suitcase in hand and a warm smile on her face.

[victimeyez]

Quiet Time

Alexander and Luka time

The synopsis for them is very simple: Alexander saw a man and thought “he’s going to be my new plaything,” and he made it so. “Luka” now lives an unfortunate life as Alexander’s torture pet chained up in his basement. 

This is a particularly brutal chapter where Luka really starts to break. Content warnings include: forced starvation/dehydration, sensory deprivation, gagging, shock collars/threat of electrocution, psychological torture via isolation, suspension, stress positions, bondage but not in a kink way just a really crappy way, chaining, handcuffs, blindfolds, gags, stockholm syndrome, duct tape bondage that I also sometimes spell as duck tape, gags and muzzles, beatings, so many blood, behavioral conditioning

Also it’s hella long but I’m not breaking it up so, end joy

Special thanks to @knivestothroats for being my muse for Alexander and helping me on these pieces, you’re an absolute fucking lad, everybody go read their shit 

tagging @whumpupthejam who requested a trope in here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wake up.”

Alexander pushes a boot between Luka’s ribs, jostling him in his sleep. He opens his eyes blearily, blinking slowly.

“Good morning.” His voice is raspy with sleep.

“Good morning. Time to get up.”

Luka’s eyes dart nervously to the hook. 

“Do I - do I have to get strung up right away?”

“Why, did you have other plans?”

Luka licks his dry lips.

“Well, I could - I could make you breakfast.”

“You’re not going upstairs, you know you’re not allowed in the kitchen.”

Luka looked pained but nodded and stood shakily from his place on the floor. He had to balance in order to accommodate the short chains between his ankles and wrists while he stood, and almost tipped over when they caught, stumbling towards Alexander for a moment. Xander caught his shoulders, stopping him, and Luka looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I - I’m sorry-“

“Clumsy thing. What did you ever do without me?”

Luka flushed pink with shame, eyes cast down.

“Yes, right...thank you...”

“You’re very welcome.”

Alexander led him with a firm hand between his shoulders over to the hook in the corner. Luka walked as slowly as he could, eyeing the object of his ire with great disdain.

“Could I - could I stretch a bit first? Please?”

Alexander sighed impatiently.

“You’ll be stretched out plenty.”

Luka swallowed his dread but didn’t object. Alexander gestured to the hook, an expectant look on their face. Luka hesitantly raised his hands, laying the length of the chains between his wrists in the bend of the hook. Alexander stepped to the side and pressed a switch on the wall, a grinding sound echoing through the basement as the hook was raised again. It pulled taut, dragging Luka up until he could barely touch the concrete floor with the tips of his toes. He gasped in pain and danced in place, scrambling to get his feet under him enough to relieve the agonizing strain in his shoulders, but he was raised just an inch too high to make it possible.

On a good day, he might be able to balance on the balls of his feet, but Alexander didn’t seem to be in such a generous mood. 

Alexander watched him impassively, but Luka knew the satisfaction he would see in their eyes if he looked too closely.

Luka’s eyes drifted to Alexander’s side, where they recognized the black strap hanging from a loop on their belt. Alexander drew it out slowly, watching his eyes widen, knowing what was coming.

“I’ll- I’ll be quiet, I promise, I promise I don’t need it -“

“Hush.” Xander ordered, stepping behind his victim to slip the black collar around his throat.

“Headache today?” Luka murmured quietly, grimacing as the metal bit of the shock collar dug into his throat.

Alexander didn’t answer, fastening the collar with practiced ease and buckling it tight around his neck. Luka couldn’t help the whine he let out when Alexander finished, stepping back to admire their work. 

Luka was still exhausted, hungry, and in considerable pain from the familiar wrenching on his sore shoulders, and he knew it would only get worse with anything Alexander might have planned for him. Given the collar and the merciless height he was set at, he was guessing it was going to be a very unpleasant day.

Alexander quickly proved him right. 

“Open.”

Luka recognized the mess of straps in his hands and started to sweat. Alexander didn’t often gag him, usually if he really wanted him quiet the collar was decided sufficient enough. 

The bit that actually went into his mouth was metal, and Luka shuddered at the thought of getting shocked with that in. The look Alexander was giving him made it very clear there was no negotiating this, and he cracked his jaw open with chagrin, gagging when the metal bit was shoved into his mouth over his tongue.The muzzle was fastened around his head, and the cold metal made him swallow uncomfortably every few seconds.

He frowned when Alexander returned again with a heavy pair of headphones. As soon as they were secured over his ears, all the normal background sound of the basement was silenced.

Alexander watched Luka’s face closely as he slipped the headphones on him. Luka’s brow pinched in confusion and he made a wordless, questioning noise. Alexander held up a thick black blindfold and Luka started to squirm weakly, turning his head to the side to refuse the blindfold. 

Alex slapped him across the face so hard it knocked the headphones from him and they clattered to the ground. Luka groaned, flexing his already aching jaw, but didn’t try struggling again when the heavy fabric was drawn over his eyes and fastened. He heard some clicking sounds as Alex picked the headphones back up and gave them a glance over. They were slipped back over his head and Alex pinched the cheek he had slapped before his touch disappeared.

Luka was left hanging there blind, deaf, and muted. Alex walked slowly around him in a circle. He snapped his fingers by his ears, but Luka didn’t flinch. Luka flinched at everything

so it definitely confirmed he couldn’t hear. He shone a small penlight around the blindfold, but he still didn’t flinch. Satisfied, he left him there to wait.

It was hard to judge time passing in the basement on a good day, but with all his new accoutrements Luka found it impossible. When he didn’t feel any surprise hits or cuts for a while, he figured Alexander had probably left him there. He tried counting for a while, but he had a hard time remembering which hundred he was on. Without the ability to see or hear, his mind automatically focused on the ache in his jaw, the burn in his shoulders, the discomfort of swallowing around the metal gag. Even with his difficulty, he counted up to ten thousand and still was just left there, hanging untouched. His cheek had started to swell a bit where Alexander had hit him and his face there felt warm. 

He started over counting.

One hundred. Five hundred. A thousand. Two thousand. Five thousand. 9 thousand… ten thousand again. How long was that? If he counted maybe two numbers a second, then ten thousand divided by two is five thousand, divided by sixty was… ugh. He was never good with math. More than an hour though, right? So it’s at least been a few hours.

He let his mind wander a bit. Remember what it felt like to walk barefoot in the cool sand along the shore. He imagined the waves coming in, lapping at his steps and covering his footprints behind him on an unending beach. Trying to remember feelings and sights that were strong enough to recall and try to dwindle on a while. The bitter taste of biting into a coffee bean - bitter, crunchy. Good dipped in chocolate though. The taste of raspberries, tart  and sweet. No, no more foods, it made his stomach start to ache again with hunger. 

Swimming? The smell of chlorine. His highschool pool, which had way too much chlorine in it because that shit could bleach your hair. Standing...standing at the edge of the field behind Pippin’s house. Watching the sun set over the forest. Walking through the sand again, but he’s not to the shore yet, it’s dry and hot, it hurts his feet…

He shifted uncomfortably in his bonds, flexing his numb hands. The pain was getting to him again. Back to counting for a bit, maybe. One thousand...ten thousand. More than an hour, right? One thousand, five thousand, ten thousand… How many times had he counted that already? Most of the day had to have gone by. Eight hours, maybe? Alexander usually didn’t leave him alone much longer than that. 

Picking apples in the orchard on a bad date one fall. They didn’t have the money for the apples, so they’d snuck into an abandoned part of the orchard and stole the apples there. Showing his date how to get the good apples and twist them to break off the stem the right way. His date had driven like an asshole, he didn’t want to see him again after that. 

He’d made his first ever apple pie after that, and it had turned out perfect. He wondered idly if Alexander liked pie. 

Alexander, this morning. He’d been so short with him. Had he done something wrong? Sometimes he would do something that got himself in trouble without realizing it. Sometimes Alexander just felt like punishing for fun. But...he’d never done this level of sensory deprivation before. And usually Alexander let him have a little bit of coffee in the morning, some food if he felt like cooking. But he couldn’t think of anything he had done, and if Alexander just felt like hurting him, he would usually leave his mouth free to beg him not to. 

Even though it was hard to gauge like this, Luka was certain now that time had passed long since when Alexander would usually come see him again. 

Maybe Alexander was just...done with him. Maybe he wasn't interested in keeping him anymore. And it’s not like Alexander would trust him not to go to the police, so he couldn’t just let him go. 

Alexander had just left him here. Unable to see or hear or see or scream for help. If he just left him down here, he would die in silence and dark. Alone. His corpse strung daintily on the hook for whenever Alexander could be bothered to dispose of his body.

You could only survive a few days without water, he could be half dead already. His mouth was dry, when had it gone dry? Was it warm in here? Was Alexander turning up the heat so he’d sweat the last of his life out quicker?

He didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until he was already feeling light headed. Had he felt this weak before? If he died, what were his last words, something he had said to Alexander, about coffee or - no, headaches, but -

He had to get out. He had to get out now.

He scrambled to get his best balance on the tips of his toes and tried to push himself up, tried to pull himself up, if he could get up just a little bit then maybe he could get off the hook - fuck, his shoulders hurt so much, his stomach ached and his legs were so shaky and tired from trying to keep as much of his weight up as he could alleviate from his arms. He barely raised himself more than a couple of inches before his muscles gave out and he dropped back down.

He thrashed madly, grinding his teeth on the metal bit, he needed to see, he needed -

The headphones slipped off and clattered to the ground with a plastic crunch.

Luka froze. No. No, they dropped earlier and they were fine, they’d be fine, right? But they hadn’t sounded like that before. Could they be broken? No, no there’s - no, he needed - 

Whenever Alex came to see him he would see the headphones on the ground and know he had been bad. No, Luka had been very bad. Alexander probably already knew, he was probably watching the cameras, he’d probably be down there to punish him in only moments.

His aching shoulders shook as he sobbed. He could hear now, and he strained his ears to listen for the unmistakable sound of Alexander’s boots on the stairs. He would be in so much trouble, if Alexander wasn’t going to kill him before he would now for sure. Or worse. 

Alexander had an imagination, after all.

He was breathing too fast, panicking now for entirely different reasons. He felt weaker, his hands and his feet were so cold and numb.

For a while Luka wasn’t sure how conscious he was, but some time passed and Alexander didn’t come.

He counted. He remembered. He waited in dread. 

He thought after all this time he’d be ready once he heard Alexander coming down again, but the sound filled his heart with ice. Tears he didn’t know he had welled in his eyes as he heard him reach the bottom of the stairs, heard him draw nearer.

He wished so badly that he could see, see how bad the headphones looked, see the look on Alexander’s face to gauge how bad he would suffer for his indiscretion. Instead he trembled, sniffling pathetically while he waited for Alexander to make a move.

He heard him pick up the headphones, heard a click as he turned it from side to side. Walking away? No. Right back. Right-

He whimpered, urgently trying to explain himself, or apologize or beg for forgiveness, but the only sound he could make was a pathetic whine around his gag.

He flinched hard when he was touched, the cool leather of the headphone pads pressing again to his ears. 

The sound didn’t all go away though, the pads didn’t sit properly again and there was a quiet electronic whine coming from the left pad.

He could still hear the sound, if still muffled, when Alexander ripped a long strip of duck tape open, and wrapped a loop around his head.

The headphones were duck taped securely to his skull, wrapped around over his eyes over the blindfold, over the arch of his nose, over his mouth over the muzzle, again and again until his head was half mummified in tape to keep the headphones on. 

The tape end was ripped off and smoothed over the left of his face. The headphones were now trapped on so tight his head throbbed around the earmuffs. 

There was nothing for a long moment, just his suspense, and the whining sound in the phones. Alex still hadn’t spoken a word.

A fist connected with his stomach and knocked the wind from him. He wheezed for breath between the tape and his gag, but another fist planted squarely in his face, and his nose started to bleed immediately. Then again, and again, and his face felt smashed in. Another fist caught him in the ribs and he twisted in his bindings, desperately trying to wriggle some way out of the line of fire. Another blow in his stomach, two more up his diaphragm, a surprise one back in the face.

Luka wiggled and squirmed, desperate to hide his face in his shoulder, then the other one, trying to pull himself up enough to curl over his stomach. He failed at every turn. A sturdy combat boot came down on his foot, and then again, and Lukas couldn’t feel his toes before they started to tingle and hurt. Anything in his foot left unbroken was quickly righted with another stomp, and then a firm knee to the groin.

Luka couldn’t anticipate the strikes or shield himself as he was beaten without mercy. He couldn’t draw in enough of a breath to scream, which might be fortunate given the sound-activated shock collar still wrapped around his neck. 

His struggles slowed and weakened as the last of his energy was taken from him, wrung from him, driven from him with well-placed strike after strike. Alexander worked him over like a punching bag, so hard Luka idly started to wonder when he would start to tire, too.

Alexander was energized by Luka’s broken cries and pants. They weakened with every blow and his struggles grew weaker in tandem, until he was hanging completely limply from his bindings. He still worked him over, painting him with bruises with a broad brush and an eye for detail. He beat him until he was barely hanging to a shred of consciousness - and then allowed himself to start actually striking in anger. 

When he finally finished, Luka was more meat than man, hanging from the hook without an ounce of strength to lift his own pathetic head. Alexander gripped his chin, raising his blind face to look up at him. Luka was breathing hard, huffing in pained little gasps whatever air he could get through his broken nose. Blood dripped down over the duct tape over his muzzle, soaked into the fabric, which bore too much blood and continued to drip down his neck. 

With his free hand, Alexander grabbed his bloodied nose and set it into place with a wet click.

Luka didn’t have the air to scream, only a weak choked whimper quickly cut off with a new gush of blood.

Luka’s chest was rising and falling shallowly, Alex knew at this point he should be checked for internal bleeding, but he couldn’t care to bother. Maybe in the morning.

He left him strung there, his dead weight burdened across his shoulders and wrists, his broken feet curled unnaturally where they dragged on the ground beneath him. 

Faintly Luka registered that the beating had stopped. His whole body ached and throbbed and burned with agony, and he struggled to sniffle in little gasps of air through his broken nose, his mouth still sealed off.

Sometimes, when Alex left him on the hook overnight, he could start to drift off to a restless doze. He was in so much pain now though, and the taste of blood down his throat made him nauseous.

It was going to be a very, very long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alexander walked down the stairs, a light buzz of excitement in the back of his head.

Luka was where he left him, hanging from the hook. He’d managed to get one foot under him a bit, but his other foot looked broken and blue. It was hard to see any of his face under the tape and leather, but there was a substantial amount of blood dried down his face from his nose and a few other places where Alex’s hits had split skin. 

He watched him for a moment. He was still breathing, shallowly but consistently. He doubted he was able to sleep like this, and his body was too tense to be resting.

Luka startled when Alexander touched his face, raising his blind head unsteadily. Alexander tugged the end of the duct tape off with a fingernail and pulled it, slowly unraveling it from his head. Blue and purple bruises with angry red edges emerged as he unwrapped him like a gift. At the end of it the headphones fell off and Alexander didn’t move to stop them, they were busted anyways, but Luka flinched hard when they clattered to the ground.

Luka was otherwise keeping very still and waiting patiently without expectation. He was coming along in his training for certain, but he needed occasional reminders of his place, and he had disappointed Alexander with his tantrum. 

He pulled the blindfold off, and Luka’s tired red eyes squinted against the dim basement light from their place deep in two black eyes. 

“Are you going to behave yourself now?”

Luka nodded solemnly, head still hanging low.

“Okay then.”

Alex pressed the latch on the wall and the pulley buzzed to life, lowering Luka to the floor. He crouched awkwardly on bent knees and lowered his arms slower than the hook let them down, holding them up long enough to generate some slack. He closed his eyes tight and lowered his arms stiffly in small segments, easing the tension a little more gradually to spare himself the additional pain. He settled with his hands before him, still resting in the metal hook now laid in his lap, and flexed his numb fingers weakly, empty eyes looking past them to the floor. 

Alexander circled him, stepping behind him to rest a hand on his head. Some of Luka’s hair had been ripped out with the duct tape, all the rest was matted with sweat and blood. Some was caught in the buckles of his muzzle, and Alexander tugged the frizzy locks free as he unlatched them. When they fell free around his face, Luka still didn’t move, even to remove the gag. Alexander nodded to himself and circled back around.

Luka was sitting there with the straps dangling uselessly around the sides of his face, looking ridiculous and pathetic. Alexander stifled a laugh and grabbed it, pulling the muzzle off. Luka released the metal gag with a wet popping sound, to keep from drooling out around it. He looked to tired to be ashamed. Blood caked the lower half of his face like he’d savaged someone with his teeth, the dried rivulets running down to his chest. Alexander sighed, cradling the side of his face in his hand.

“What did we learn from this?”

Luka swallowed dryly and sniffed, eyes casting down.

“I’m helpless without you, and I should be grateful for all you do for me.”

His voice was dry and weak.

“Very good.” Alex patted his cheek.

“And is there anything you want to say to me?”

Luka nodded, eyes still downcast.

“I’m sorry I broke the headphones.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry I - I behaved very badly and wasn’t good for you and my bad actions broke your nice headphones. I shouldn’t have done that and I deserved to be punished and I am sorry.”

Alexander nodded.

“Am I forgiven?” Luka’s low voice dropped to a whisper, but his eyes flashed up to Alex hopefully.

“You think you’re forgiven because you threw a tantrum and broke something? No, no you are not.”

Luka nodded. His face was unreadable and numb.

“Do you think you deserve to be forgiven?”

Alex barely registered he had been pacing, but he stopped now and stood solidly in front of his kneeling captive. Luka seemed to be nervously considering the question.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted.

“I’d like to be. I’d like to earn it.”

Suddenly Luka lunged forwards, faster than Alexander could react. He drew a fist back to strike him, but before he could he realized Luka was hugging his legs, curling around him and pressing his face into his leg.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ll be better, I swear!” Luka sobbed dryly. 

Alexander paused, unclenching his fist and placing it gently on his head, stroking his hair.

“I know, I know you’ll work hard to be good for me from now on, won’t you?”

Luka nodded fiercely, nuzzling against his leg with his mangled face for another moment before he seemed to realize he was doing it. His arms loosened and then slid back down to the ground.

“S-sorry,” he hiccupped. “I’ll be good, I’ll be - I’m gonna be good, for you.”

“Then you won’t make me punish you, and we won’t have to do this again, hmm?”

Luka looked up at him with wide, doting eyes and nodded.

“Thank you, Alexander.”

“You are very welcome.”

[riseofnightwing]

Days Gone; Dick Grayson| Ch2

summary: After Dick’s death, you faced the worst feeling during months: Grief. Day by day the pain grew inside your life and you had no expectations of being able to pass through that until someone appeared again bringing all of this down but still, a lot of things changed and even though you looked for answers, the turnaround that life brought you was gently welcomed.

pairing: Dick Grayson x y/n

warnings: angst.

prologue

previous chapter

wanna be tagged?

Living without Dick during these months has been the closest I got to hell itself. September, October, November, December and the last image of him saying goodbye still makes me wonder if it’s true the saying that god doesn’t give us more than we can take, because honestly, I’m not sure if I can take this any longer. 

I don’t know how much of myself have died in this time, but I surely can say that a little bit dies everyday, I get alright when the guys are around, Rachel, Jason, Donna, they tried to fix me and I feel a little less broken until I’m alone and lately..that’s all the time.

People often say that when someone dies, their image will fade away, bit by bit, from your mind, but it’s clearly an utterly lie, because Dick’s face only gets more and more real in my head, his voice and the gap in my heart everyday when I wake up and his side on the bed is still empty, yes..it is so  cruelly real to me. 

It was still morning, around 8 AM, when I got up. I took a shower and left to the closest coffee shop. I needed these caffeine doses to start my day, San Francisco was amazingly cold these days and coffee was more than necessary. 

Rachel loves it here, she was still asleep when I left and I couldn’t wake her up since she trained a lot yesterday, so I came alone. 

I ordered my doppio coffee and waited to receive it in the next county. 

“Y/n Grayson” the clerk called my name pointing that my order was ready. I’ve been using Dick’s nickname ever since we got married when we were younger, but hearing it would always remind me of him first. Because I always loved calling him like this when I was mad, or just pretending to be, I smiled to myself hearing my own thoughts. I was going to take a sip of my drink when I felt a hand on my shoulder and I instantly turned around to see who it was.

And for a minute, I wished I could have turned around slowly, because the image I saw in front of me made me dizzy, almost like I would fall on the ground. My hands shaked and the grip on the cup of coffee got loose.

I only realized that it hit the ground when the person in front of me looked down and so did I, following his look.

He had shaved hair and a scar on the side of his head which looked like a wing. And a look..this look that I would never forget, the same tiny and tight brown eyes that he had. I could only be crazy, maybe I’m seeing things, because this man looks exactly like.. Dick. 

He looked at me again, locking our looks and my legs trembled again.

 “Dick is dead Y/n, I’m sorry” 

“He got shot in the head, Y/n. I’m truly sorry. He’s gone” 

Bruce’s voice telling me he had died echoed in my head..it couldn’t be him, Dick died.

“Y/n—” the man spoke and hearing his voice was excruciating. Why does it sound exactly like my husband’s voice? “It’s me, Richard.”

No. Absolutely no. No fucking way.

“How's it even possible?” I spoke, almost inaudibly, shaking my head slowly, in disbelief.

“Can we talk?” he tried to reach my hand and in instinct I moved it away from him but maybe touching him was the only way to find out it wasn’t my mind playing tricks on me, so I did. I touched his hand and he was there, physically, in person, not less than that and for my relief: I wasn't crazy. 

My other hand covered my mouth and a lonely tear streamed down on my cheek, what was going on? I asked myself.

“Can we please talk? I— I need to talk to you.” he asked again and I nodded, still scared.

“Not here, please— I can’t” I snapped. I couldn’t do this here. He nodded.

“I have a place, can we?”

“Yes.” I said quickly, I needed to get out of there, I wasn’t ready for this.

--

Dick took us to a loft. It wasn’t far from where we were and took us almost 5 minutes to get here, it seemed so new, like he had just got here.

We got in the place in silence, no words were spoken since we left the coffee shop and I was still trying to breath and digest everything.

I entered what seemed to be the living room and he was right behind me.

“Y/n—” he said and I stopped. His voice calling me broke me in uncountable pieces, what did life expect from me? 

I turned around to face him and the tears took my vision again. 

“Richard.” I said his name.

“I’m here— I'm here, Y/n” he said and came closer. Dick took me into his arms and I cried my heart out.

He was back. 

I don’t know how many minutes I spent like this, crying on his chest, but he kept his chin on the top of my head.

“Look at me—” Dick asked “Please.”

I lifted my head and looked at him. He wiped my tears with his fingers.

“I’m afraid I’m truly crazy and hallucinating and—” I said.

“I’m not a hallucination, Y/n. You touched me, I’m real.” Dick said firmly but still soft, looking into my watered eyes.

“It’s too much for me to understand.” 

“Well, I’m not capable of explaining you a lot now, except for the things I remember, but I’ll try my best to make you understand, I promise.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Let’s sit here.” He led me to sit on the sofa in front of a fireplace, which made the place warmer.

I stood there looking at him, waiting to hear what he had to say, anxiously looking for an answer.

He half smiled looking at me, in his usual position, resting his elbows on his thigh, crossing hands.

“What’s so funny, Grayson?” 

“I thought that through all these months you’d have forgotten me.”

“Are you kidding me—You can only be kidding me.” I told him in disbelief 

“Alright, alright, I’m kidding. But the truth is..I don’t remember everything, to be honest, I don’t remember anything..But you.”

He looked at me and I couldn’t say anything, confusion took my look, I was perplexed, he didn’t remember anything.

“What happened in the night you died?” 

“I didn’t..they told me I got shot in an attempt to kill commissioner Gordon, the bullet that hit me was actually trying to hit him. They told me I lost a lot of brain tissue and my memory was compromised. So now I can’t remember anything and the only thing that’s alive enough in my mind for me to remember, it’s you.” He looked down.

“Oh my god, Dick..” 

“They call me Ric, Y/n..” they? Ric? what the hell.

“They?” I asked 

“The people who were treating me. The ones I ran off, my doctor..she was from the Court of Owls, she was trying to keep me there and my memory only got worse so I needed to leave,I— I couldn’t forget the only thing that remained.” 

“This is too much. I can’t imagine how you could deal with all of this.” 

“I couldn’t, I am not dealing, I’m running, I’m struggling because I can’t face it. But finding you is a sight of hope.” he said 

I got closer to Dick, Ric, It didn’t matter because my Richard was back. I hugged him and I couldn’t contain my emotion. He hugged me back, even stronger.

“I’m so sorry that you had to go through this all alone, It must have been terrifying.” I told him with one of my hands on his cheek.

“Would you believe if I told you that it feels a little better now?”

“Maybe, yeah” I smiled at him and he opened his bright smile. God, how I missed this, how missed him. “

“Sorry if I went into shock when I found out that you didn't die. I deserve some credit— You should be grateful that I didn't scream or run” I completed. 

Dick smiled. All the sensations that Dick used to cause me were still there, perhaps even more intense. The chill in the belly didn't seem to want to go away.

“Stop smiling, it's not funny at all”  That's what I said, he nodded and broke the smile, but the damn gleam in his eyes didn't go away. 

“Forgive me” Dick said, his intense, emotion-filled tone immediately caught my attention. His gaze held mine, in that familiar way of seeing the depths of his soul. Pure and intense. Sincere and...Passionate. 

I did not dare to interrupt him. Silently, I gave him the authorization to continue. 

“If I could have done everything differently, I would have found you before, just so I wouldn't see you suffer that way. It breaks my heart to see you like this and— to know that I am responsible. You are the last person in the world I would hurt, you know that. I would trade places with you without a second thought, if it were humanly possible.”

I pressed my lips together in a thin line and held a stubborn tear that wanted to escape from the corner of my eyes.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Richard, you got shot, you lost your memory and gratefully you still remember me.”

“Maybe now you see that all the times I told you you were unforgettable it was true.”

I smiled and looked down slightly shy.

“So cheesy, Grayson.”

“I didn’t come sooner because they were watching you.”

“They who?” 

“The court of owls”

“What— Why would they?” I was completely unable to understand this situation.

“That’s what I was trying to figure out before I left the clinic.” he sighed “Especially why they stopped watching you for three days. That's why I approached. I couldn't miss a chance. I've been trying to communicate with you for the past few months, but they just didn't give up. And I couldn't put you in risk, even if I had no idea what they wanted with you.”

I smiled at the end of his sentence.

“You have the incredible power of thinking about me even in the worst scenarios.” 

“Yeah, that’s your fault.”

“What?” I pretended to be mad 

“You heard me, that’s your fault that I can’t stop this, this unending feeling that no matter what’s going on, protecting you with my life will always be my duty. Your fault that I love you like this. Deal with this.” He had a sassy smile on his face and his sincerity made me melt.

I felt Dick's hands gently take my face, so I surrendered to the moment, because there was no reason not to. 

I let my touch feel his lips touching mine, and thanked the heavens for having another chance to kiss him. Because my flawed and ridiculous memory had almost forgotten how splendid it was to be in his arms, having his lips molded to mine, caressing every possible inch of her mouth. 

I had forgotten how wonderful it was to have Dick's strong hands caressing my cheeks, then reaching down to my neck and plunging into my hair, pulling it with the strength necessary to dictate the rhythm of the kiss and transform my desire into the purest essence of lust. 

I had forgotten the intoxicating sensation that it was to have Dick so close, that his perfume tame my nostrils, that his rigid and strong body made me feel protected from whatever harm the world might cause me. 

Because with Dick everything was complete. 

With Dick everything was just fine.