#trust me i tried. there's just a lost edge piece somewhere in the middle-piece pile and i desperately need to find it haha

[kadoodles-on-ao3]

Thought it would be fun to share that for Christmas my bf got me a custom-made Xenoblade-concept-art puzzle and we're working on it together :)

[obwjam]

4 with a clone? Any clone you want!

“What can I do to get you to trust me?”

lol back doing these prompts from forever ago, gonna use rex and the 501st boys for this one because they currently have my heart

from this post

———————————————————————

Rex peered through the rusty metal bars, still in awe of what he was seeing. He could certainly understand the fear they must have been feeling, but he would have figured his face was a much better sight than that of a battle droid. Apparently not.

The 501st had been sent on a rescue mission to help a village that had been under siege and h held hostage by the Separatists, and they had finally destroyed the last of the droid army that was holding the civilians at gunpoint. Rex’s job was to go through all the buildings to make sure everyone was safe and accounted for as the rest of the squad set up relief tents outside.

He didn’t expect to find a three-inch-tall person cowering inside a cage.

The tiny thing had stared at him, paralyzed in fear, until Rex moved his hand to unlock the cage and they gasped and pushed themselves into the back corner. Rex had gently tried asking them who they were, what their name was, why they were locked up, but they wouldn’t give him anything but silence.

“Can you at least let me help you outta there?” he asked with a weak smile. He set his blasters down on the ground and took a knee in front of the cage. The little guy couldn’t have been much older than Anakin or Ahsoka. Their matted hair stuck to their tear-soaked face, and their baggy clothes were torn and caked with dirt. They were hugging their legs to their chest and their head rested down between their knees. They looked like they hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“Kid?” Rex tried. He was beginning to think the poor thing didn’t even speak basic. “Can you... do you understand what I’m saying?”

It was subtle, but the tiny tilted their head up and made the slightest eye contact with him before whipping their gaze back to their shoes.

“I’ll... take that as a yes.” Rex sighed. He wasn’t qualified to handle something like this. He was just here to make sure the villagers were safe.

“Look, kiddo, I don’t know anything about your situation, but we set up a relief tent outside. It’s got food and water and anything you could want.” Rex looked down to his hand and flexed his gloved fingers. “Now, don’t freak out, but I’m just going to—”

“NO!”

The sudden shout startled Rex, and he lost his balance for a moment. His hand was about halfway to the threshold of the cage before the tiny had had enough. He stared at them, eyes wide.

“P-please... just... just leave me alone...”

Rex swallowed. Their voice was impossibly small and shaky. He had to strain his eyes just to get a good look at them as they shifted their position. He could barely see flakes of rust shimmering down as they rubbed against the cage bars.

“Hey, I’m not... I’m not gonna hurt’cha,” Rex assured. He held his hands up in surrender. “I won’t grab ya. Promise.”

At the movement of his hands, the tiny whimpered and eyed him warily. They were shaking badly.

Rex’s heart sank. The hut they were in was dark, damp and clearly damaged from blaster fire. The tiny was situated deep in the shadows, practically unnoticeable to anyone who passed by. They kept blinking away tears. Rex couldn’t help but wonder how long they’d been stuck in that cage.

“G-go away. Please,” the tiny stuttered, clearly summoning an immense amount of strength to say those words. Whether they were fighting through sheer exhaustion or pure fear, Rex wasn’t able to tell.

“Kid, it’s not safe in here! This hut is badly damaged. It could collapse at any moment. Just let me take you outside with everyone else—”

“No!” they cried again, flinching when Rex shimmied a bit to stay balanced. “I—I can’t.”

“Can’t? Why not?”

“Because!” the tiny was becoming increasingly exasperated, and the look of fear present in their eyes every time they defied Rex broke his heart. “I don’t... belong.”

“Is this not your home?” Rex was confused. Sure, they were the only tiny being they had encountered here, but it wasn’t uncommon for tinies to integrate themselves into larger clans. “Didn’t the Seps put you in this thing?”

To Rex’s horror, the tiny shook their head. “I was in here long b-before the-the droids got here.”

Rex blinked in shock. He saved this tiny... from the villagers he had just helped to free.

“It doesn’t matter,” they mumbled, drawing their knees closer to their chest. “I don’t need—”

“What can I do to get you to trust me?”

Surprised, the tiny cocked their head. “I—I—”

“If what you’re saying is true, then... then you don’t deserve to keep living like this. Let me take you back with me, I—I can get you the help you need and we can relocate you.”

“Relocate?” the tiny repeated. What was he going on about?

“I-If you just let me take you outside, we can get you some food and water and I can talk to my General about finding you a new home.”

“You mean... you mean leave Terronia?”

Rex suppressed a smile. That was the most optimistic they sounded thus far. “Yeah, kid. We can getcha far away from this rock. If that’s what you want, of course. Once the mission’s over and we leave, we’re probably never comin’ back.”

The tiny sat in silence, eyes darting around rapidly as they tried to piece together what Rex was saying. If he could really get me out of here...

“You’d... really help me?” they asked, still skeptical.

Rex sniffed a laugh and slowly brought his hand to the front of the cage, laying his palm open. The tiny just stared at it.

“I—I dunno...” They were looking at his hand like it was a ticking time bomb. “I—I’ve never...” they trailed off. Rex was pretty sure he knew what they were trying to say.

“It’s safe, I promise. I’ll go slow.”

After a moment of contemplation, the tiny slowly rose to their feet. Rex tried not to stare as they hobbled their way to the front of the cage. They almost looked like a kaadu that was just learning to walk.

The tiny stopped right at the foot of his palm. Rex’s hand came up just below their waist. With a clenched jaw, the tiny looked up at Rex, finally taking in the giant for the first time. He wore a soft, expectant expression, and his eyes shone as he watched every little movement of theirs.

His muscles involuntarily flinched when the tiny swung their leg up, but he was able to keep still as they situated themself in the middle of his palm. They awkwardly crawled to the center and sat down cross-legged, nervously eyeing the fingers that were as tall as they were.

“Okay, I’m gonna move...” Rex warned, giving them one last look before taking his blasters in his free hand and standing up. The tiny wobbled a bit, but otherwise seemed okay.

“Feeling alright?” Rex asked. The tiny nodded, looking around at their new view. They had never been this high up before. Given the situation, it was terrifying, but there was something exhilarating about it. Almost... fun. Adventurous. They found themself peering over the edges of Rex’s hand, soaking in the scenery that once looked impossibly huge and distant. They hadn’t felt this way in years.

Rex couldn’t help but smirk. Even if it was just for a moment, as he thoroughly killed the mood by starting to walk, the tiny wasn’t scared. They even seemed excited. It was adorable.

Rex pushed past the burnt brown cloth that acted as a door. He kept his hand close to his chest, trying to stay conscious of the featherweight in his hand as he slowly strolled through the camp he had helped set up. Several tents were pitched, with food, water, blankets and other supplied piled up in boxes. The villagers chatted between sips of tea and bites of ration bars. It was almost hard to believe they had treated this poor tiny so harshly.

“Captain!”

Rex’s stomach dropped. He has almost forgot about the rest of his squad. How was he going to explain this?

“Rex! There you are! I thought we’d lost ya— oh.” It didn’t take long for Fives to notice the tiny being sitting in Rex’s palm. They were now clinging onto his thumb for support, staring up at Fives with a renewed sense of fear.

Fives dared to speak. “Captain?”

“I found them in one of the huts. They... aren’t really welcome here, so I’m taking them to the General to see if we can help them relocate.”

“I see...” Try as he might, Fives couldn’t tear his eyes away from the tiny. He crouched down.

“Hey there,” he said softly, immediately taking notice of the way they winced when he got near. “I’m Fives. Part of the 501st. What’s your name?”

The tiny stared back, frozen. Above them, Rex cleared his throat.

“They... aren’t much of a talker.”

“Oh. Well, that’s alright,” Fives smiled, trying to show them he was friendly. “Lucky we found you, huh? Who knows what would’ve happened if Rex here didn’t—”

“Fives.”

“Right. Sorry. You’re in good hands with Rex, kid. Literally.” He cracked another smile. “He’s our best. He’ll take good care of ya until we can get you somewhere safe.”

“I think you should go help Echo get the rest of the rations off the ship,” Rex pressed. He was surprised how well he could feel the tiny’s tremors through his glove.

“Yes, sir,” Fives said, holding his gaze to the tiny for a few more seconds before standing back up to his full height. The tiny’s heart skipped a beat. “See ya later, tiny!”

The tiny blinked as Fives bounded off somewhere. “Bye,” they whispered weakly.

“Sorry ‘bout him,” Rex blushed. “A lot of my men are like that. But don’t mind them. They’re totally harmless. They’re just... curious, is all.”

The tiny nodded as Rex continued along. Luckily, they weren’t bothered by any more clones, but the villagers quickly noticed what Rex was carrying. He gave stern glances at each villager that looked almost disgusted that Rex was helping the tiny.

“That’s just awful,” Rex muttered, almost forgetting the tiny could hear him. He craned his neck down. “How could they treat you like that?”

They just shrugged. “‘Cause I’m tiny.”

Rex humphed. He wasn’t sure how inclined he felt to help out the Terronians anymore.

Suddenly, the unmistakable voice of Anakin pierced the busy air. “Rex! Where have you been? You were supposed to check in at 0500.”

“Sorry, General. I... I got a bit sidetracked.” Sheepishly, Rex held out his hand to reveal the once again terrified tiny to Anakin. The Jedi nearly did a double take.

“Rex? What... who is this?”

“This is... ah, I found them in one of the huts. They were stuck in this cage, so I helped ‘em out.”

“A cage?” Anakin was beside himself. He had seen tinies in his childhood, but none since he left Tattooine. He had almost forgotten how he used to try and befriend every single tiny that hung decoratively in Watto’s shop. “What would droids want with a tiny?”

“They didn’t,” Rex said, and that was all Anakin needed to hear to understand what was going on. Anakin’s expression briefly turned dark before he remembered the tiny’s trembling eyes were on him. He softened as he too crouched down, trying to offer a reassuring smile. The tiny could barely breathe. This was a Jedi!

“Hey, lil guy, I know it’s gotta be scary for you right now, but trust me when I say we’ll take good care of you. No more cages. We’ll keep you safe, alright?”

The tiny nodded almost robotically. Their open mouth only produced whimpers and gasps as Anakin stared right through them.

“We can work on that,” he quipped warmly. He could sense their fear so strongly he almost started to feel it too. The poor thing looked minuscule in Rex’s hand, surrounded by ships and tents and giants. “Are you okay with Rex? Or do you want someone else to help?”

The tiny was surprised. Someone was really asking them what they wanted? And a Jedi no less. Everyone seemed to want to help. Maybe this wasn’t a trick...

“I like Rex,” the tiny whispered, so softly that Anakin could barely pick it up.

“You like Rex?” Anakin said again, grinning up at the now-red-faced captain. The tiny nodded meekly. “Well, then I’ll let him help you get settled.” He stood up slowly. “Why don’t you head back to the ship a bit early? And take some extra rations with you. Something tells me you’ll need it,” Anakin winked, savoring the look of pleasant surprise on Rex’s face.

It took Rex a moment to break out of his daze. “You ever been on a ship before?” he asked, though he already could guess the answer. The tiny shook their head. “It might be a little nauseating, but the feeling goes away quickly. For some more than others,” he added under his breath. At this, the tiny chuckled. They almost couldn’t believe their luck.

“Thank you, Rex.”

Rex looked down, locking eyes with the tiny. They weren’t shaking so much anymore.

“Don’t mention it, kiddo. We’re here to help.”

“Caro.”

“What?”

“Caro. My name’s Caro Kann,” they said, taking a sudden interest in their shoes. “It’s... been a while since anyone’s asked for my name.”

“Oh,” was all Rex could say for a moment. There was a lot more to this tiny than he thought. Whatever questions he had, though, they could wait. “I’m glad you felt like you could finally tell me your name.”

Caro didn’t respond, but they didn’t need to. Instead of hugging themselves tensely, their shoulders had relaxed as Rex made his way to the gunship. Whatever was about to happen was going to be scary, overwhelming, and difficult to deal with. That much Caro knew. But it wasn’t very daunting, really. Not anymore.

“Ready, Caro?” Rex asked, pulling his hand up a bit as the gunship doors slid open. “You’ll need to hold on tight.”

Caro nodded and scooted over to Rex’s thumb, where they clung on tightly. Rex curled his fingers in, giving Caro a sort of roof protecting them from the noise and wind. Rex’s other hand was stretched high above, but he had moved the hand holding Caro close to his chest. Caro lurched forward as the gunship took to the air, but they weren’t worried.

They knew Rex was someone they could trust.

[threecrowsinatrenchcoat]

Paint My Spirit Gold

Dukeceit Week Day 2: Green/Yellow

Fans of the YouTubers "Deceit" and Remus "The Duke" Sanders start to suspect that maybe, just maybe, the two of them are more than simple internet pals.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 2187

Warnings: n/a

@dukeceitweek <3

-

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a watercolor-style painting of a snake. The snake appears to be made of melting chocolate, and there is a large bite taken out of its tail. Cherries and jam are leaking out of the snake at the bite wound. The snake's expression of horror is overly-exaggerated to the point of comedy. The caption reads: "liked your snake boi, @SerpenThyme. thanks for the inspo." /end ID]

- 

A notification ding cut Janus off mid-sentence. 

“Wow, someone left their cell phone on, so professional,” he said, giving the camera a dramatic eye roll. That someone was him, of course, because he was the only one in the apartment- just him and the running livestream- but that was no excuse not to be a drama queen about it. He finished wiping flour off his hands and grabbed his phone to silence it; but the notification made him pause. He flicked his eyes up toward the camera and gave a slight smirk.

“My goodness, I’m famous,” he drawled. “The Duke himself has graced little old me with some fan art.”

Most of the comments in the chat wanted him to show it, so Janus opened up Twitter to see the full post he’d been tagged in. It was a watercolor painting of the coiled-snake chocolate sculpture- lovingly named Jake by his viewers- he’d made for his YouTube video last week; it was wearing an expression of such comedic horror that Janus had to stifle a laugh. He flicked his phone screen toward the close-up camera on his counter so his viewers could see.

“How kind of you, Remus,” he said. “All of you should go scold him for what he’s done to poor Jake here.”

Most of his viewers would know he was joking- after all, they were the ones to nickname him Deceit when he provided neither a real or fake name for his online persona. They knew full well what he was like by now.

The oven timer dinged. Janus silenced his phone and set it aside.

“And our first batch of cookies is done. You know, why don’t we show the Duke some appreciation?”

-

[ID: An Instagram post by user @SerpenThyme. The photo is an artistically-framed shot of a stack of sugar cookies with green, yellow, and pink icing. Propped up against the stack is another cookie, with an intricate icing-drawing of an octopus. The photo appears to have been color corrected to have high contrast, low saturation, and a dark vignette at the edges. The Instagram user @OctoDukie is tagged. No caption. /end ID]

- 

“You know, I have often been accused of actually being a little old lady, what with my fondness for knitted jumpers, rocking chairs, and incredibly fucked up murder mystery books. Today I am doing nothing to dispel this accusation, by making soup.”

The studio was dark and empty aside from Remus' workspace. Everyone else had left long ago, even his own brother, which meant that it was officially ass-o'clock in the morning (or, as most people called it, somewhere between 1 and 2 a.m.) But Remus was stuck in hyperfocus, honed in on putting the last touches on a commission that he'd been putting off for weeks. It's not that it was a tough painting- once he'd gotten started, it was actually a very creatively satisfying piece- but man, executive dysfunction could go suck a dick

“French onion soup, specifically. Because while I do like to pretend I am a classy bitch, I am also, regrettably, a lazy bitch with a distaste for anything that takes longer than one bottle of wine to make.”

Remus hated working in silence. It was stifling, almost suffocating. His brain needed noise like his lungs needed air. So when the studio had grown still and silent, Remus had flipped open his laptop and queued up some YouTube videos. 

“So we have here three pounds of onions that we need to slice up, pole to pole. You’re going to cry no matter what, so if you have any memories you’ve been repressing since middle school, now is an excellent time to dredge those up.” 

And if it happened to be 90% SerpenThyme videos, well. Sue him. 

“Now the first rule of caramelizing onions: fast and sloppy is always better than slow and thorough… at least, that’s what every man I’ve ever slept with tells me.”

Remus choked and glanced over to his laptop screen just in time to catch Deceit's trademark smirk directed at the audience just for a moment. It was the deadpan delivery that always got him. Remus could barely hold onto a joke long enough to get through it without cackling mid-punchline, but this fucker could say the funniest shit like an off-hand comment. 

He wiped his hands off on his jeans (what use were clothes if you couldn't use them as paint rags?) and pulled his laptop across the table.  He typed out a quick comment, citing the timestamp of the joke, and after it was posted, he shut his laptop. 

'Cause ass-o'clock was short for "get-your-ass-home-or-I’ll-kick-it" o'clock. 

-

[ID: A screenshot of a YouTube comments section. The first comment is by user TheDuke, and reads: "10:42 wow, rude." The second comment is a reply by user SerpenThyme, and simply reads ";)" /end ID]

-

Janus plopped down on the couch with a slight groan. He didn’t need to stream today, but he really hated missing days. Besides… he was fine. Really. 

He adjusted the camera until he was happy with the framing, and then checked the settings on his streaming software. Satisfied, he started the stream, and watched as his usual viewers rolled in. 

“What do you mean I’m not in my kitchen?” Janus drawled, addressing the chat. He glanced around with an expression of faux-shock on his face. “My goodness, when did that happen?”

He chuckled, and then gestured to his surroundings. “Yes, we are in my living room today. If you must know, my closest and most trusted friend tried to murder me today- yes, Virgil, it was attempted murder and nothing less- and I survived with nary a scratch… and a broken foot, but that is beside the point. Anyway, I’m not allowed to stand for long periods of time, and I may or may not be somewhat inebriated by pain pills and couldn’t stand even if I wanted to. So we are cooking from my couch today.”

Janus paused for a few moments to read the chat messages as they popped up. A few get well soon’s, a few theories about the “attempted murder,” Virgil- who moderated his chat for him- vehemently denying the “attempted murder” but otherwise refusing to clarify the event, and a large volume of wtf why are you streaming today, take care of yourself comments, which made him smile. But one particular comment caught his eye, almost lost amid the torrent of an active chat: wait this kinda looks like the Duke’s living room?

“Oh, VampSuga,” he said, addressing that commenter in particular with a slight smirk. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Anyway, since I can’t reach my oven from here, I thought some no-bake cookies were in order. For these you will need-”

-

[ID: A screenshot of a Discord conversation. The text reads:

“VampSuga: Ok ok hear me out. Dukeceit. 

Starstruck96: who?

IneffableSnek: lmao

FeralBeauYasha: lol

VampSuga: Deceit and Remus Sanders! They’re totally dating. I will die on this hill. 

FeralBeauYasha: Isn’t the duke w/ PatPat?

IneffableSnek: no thats his brothers bf

FeralBeauYasha: ohh

VampSuga: Did anyone see Deceit’s stream today? I swear that’s the Duke’s livingroom. 

StarStruck96: idk that seems like a stretch

IneffableSnek: no wait i kno what u mean

IneffableSnek: im watching the duke’s old videos and that one where he shows off all his old weapons he’s in a living room kinda like deceit’s 

FeralBeauYasha: They were acting all cute on twitter too

VampSuga: DUKECEIT”  /end ID]

-

"Hey guys, been a while since you've seen my face and not just whatever my hands are busy with, when it's within YouTube's terms and conditions I mean. They used to be way more lenient…" Remus trailed off for a moment, then shook his head sharply and plastered on a grin. 

"Anyway! In June me and a few other creators did a fundraiser for the Trevor Project, and y'all smashed the goal, so I let you decide what video I'd make this month." He paused, and gestured to the mountain of clothes piled behind him on the bed. "And you had so many juicy ideas to choose from, but you decided to dress me up like a Barbie instead."

Remus paused to scroll through his phone for a few moments. "Ah, ok, here we go. Twitter user YoonIsMyCat- oh, BTS, nice- sent in this first outfit. Uh… future Remus, put up the post here somewhere." He gestured vaguely to his right. "Y'all went with either a fuckton more clothes or a fuckton less clothes, which I respect. Apparently this outfit is called…” He squinted at his phone. “Amish chic? I take it back, no respect at all.”

Remus cycled through the outfits his viewers sent in, which ranged from the aforementioned “Amish chic” to “2008 rave attire” to “ok now you guys are just fucking with me” (which consisted of one of those big puffy snow coats, lime green in color; booty shorts with the shrug text emoji across the ass; fuzzy pink boots; and a yellow cowboy hat to top off the whole thing. It was awful. Remus loved it.) The mountain of clothes on the bed gradually became a mess of clothes spread across the floor instead, until there was just one outfit left. 

“Ok so Twitter user VampSuga sent me this outfit that I’m gonna call ‘sexy librarian.’ I couldn’t find this exact sweater online, but-” he paused for dramatic effect, before brandishing a sweater toward the camera like a bullfighter. “My boyfriend had something that was close enough.”

Remus hopped up from the bed and switched off the camera so he could change.

“They’re going to lose their minds,” a voice drawled from the doorway. Remus threw his shirt at him.

“Shoo, I’m getting naked.”

-

[ID: A Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a selfie of YouTuber Remus “The Duke” Sanders, a Hispanic man with his hair dyed green and styled into a spiked mohawk. He is wearing a yellow knitted cardigan over a black button-up shirt. He is grinning widely at the camera. The caption reads: “my viewers pick my outfits! now live on youtube. go see what i look like as a sexy librarian!” /end ID]

-

DukeceitStan

first and only dukeceit shipper ig

DukeceitStan

wow there’s so many of you now! Hi!!

DukeceitStan

i want this to be canon so bad omg

DukeceitStan

i mean just look

[image]

how 

[image]

cute

[image]

[ID: A series of three gifs featuring Youtubers SerpenThyme, aka Deceit, and TheDuke, aka Remus Sanders. Deceit is a black man with long, dreadlocked hair, and vitiligo patches along the left side of his face. Remus is a Hispanic man with green-dyed hair styled into a mohawk, many ear and facial piercings, and tattoos covering both arms. Each gif is edited so that the highlights are tinged yellow when Deceit is seen, and tinged green when Remus is seen.

The first gif depicts a close-up shot of Deceit’s hands as he carefully decorates a cookie with green and yellow icing. The cookie art he is working on appears to be a half-finished octopus. The gif then fades into a mid-shot of Remus, with his back to the camera, facing a canvas. The canvas is blank, and Remus appears to be laying out paints on a table to his left. 

The second gif depicts Deceit seated at his couch, facing the camera. He has many ingredients spread across his coffee table (including oats, cocoa powder, and butter) and appears to be in the process of laying out several more. The gif fades to show Remus seated at a similar couch with a similar coffee table in front of him. The camera is angled slightly downward to better show the myriad of knives spread out across the table. Remus is gesturing wildly with a morning star held in his hand. 

The third gif depicts Deceit in his kitchen. He is pulling on a bright, yellow knitted cardigan, and smirking toward the camera. The gif fades to show Remus in his bedroom, seated on his bed. He is holding up a similar-looking cardigan toward the camera and grinning. /end ID]

- 

“Remus, it’s almost two in the morning. Come to bed.”

“I’m coming, sorry. Twitter distracted me.”

“Mm. I can’t believe the bird app is more distracting than I am.”

“You should try harder.”

“Come to bed and maybe I will.”

“Ok, ok, I’m coming. Hang on though, is it cool if I post this?”

“Sure. They figured it out anyway.”

“Sweet. Ok, Jannie, I’m coming.”

-

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It reads: “Dukeceit is canon.” /end ID] 

[phantom-curve]

find the strength, find the melody pt. 9

SURPRISE SHAWTY! I literally made a post yesterday about how this wouldn’t update until the weekend but then I drank some wine at noon and now HERE WE ARE. I love this chapter and I haven’t felt that about my writing in WEEKS. man, these middle of the night chapters are just absolutely my favorite thing. hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. (and yes, I did cry while writing Julie’s lil rant about Rose. what else is new?)

taglist: @blue-hat-girl, @lwhoscribbles, @bluefyoto94, @5sosmukefan, @moonlightxnder, @leahthewonder​, @kat-maybe-not​, @lukewearingbeanies, @imastrugglingartist​​

Julie should have expected this.

When the boys had left earlier, she had seen the telling glances between Alex and Reggie going back and forth from Luke to the studio and occasionally skipping over Julie herself when they thought she wasn’t looking. She had waved to them from the steps leading up to the house from the studio as they made their way to the van. She knew the moment she had been blocked from their view by the way they started playfully shoving Luke around, hooking thumbs behind them to point at the spot they didn’t know she was still lingering in. She watched Luke duck away from their teasing, opting to climb in the back of the van where the instruments would usually be stored. No one chose that spot in a band van willingly. It was clear he was trying to hide from Alex and Reggie. She caught a quick glimpse of that damn hand rising to the back of his neck before he was lost in the darkness of the van’s interior. The other boys exchanged a knowing look, twin grins stretched across their faces, before they piled in the van as well and took off down her street.

So, the boys knew he had spent the night before sleeping in her mom’s studio. Whatever. She trusted them not to spread it around the school or make it into a bigger deal than it was. Whether or not they cared about her reputation, they would want to protect Luke. Julie firmly believed they would keep that knowledge to themselves, unless they decided she was fair game for teasing as much as Luke was. The fact that they hadn’t brought it up during rehearsal or in front of her made her believe the worst of the ribbing would be reserved for Luke. She figured that would be the end of it. Luke would have some explanation to give them, and Julie had gotten pretty good at dodging conversations she didn’t want to have, so on the off chance they tried to talk to her about it she would simply deflect. No biggie.

What she had not expected was for Luke to reappear several hours later, caught red handed sneaking back into the studio. She probably should have expected it, but she had spent a few hours away from his overwhelming presence, and the quiet time had been enough for her to convince herself that all of those fluttery feelings passing between them earlier were simply in her imagination. So, when she climbed out of bed at midnight to jot some lyrics down and tuck them into her dream box, she had been surprised to see a small light on outside. Her first reaction was panic. That studio held every important memory Julie had of her mom. If someone had broken in or caused any damage to the space, she might not be able to survive the emotional fallout. Not to mention, she had promised the boys she would keep their instruments safe, and she wasn’t about to break that vow. Which was how she found herself standing in the open doorway in her fuzzy monster slippers and mismatched pajamas, the heavy cross from the dining room wall held in front of her like a weapon, jaw on the floor.

“Luke, what the hell?!”

Julie couldn’t stop the exclamation, even as she cringed away from the defensive look in his eyes. She dropped her arms immediately, the cross dangling limply at her side.

“Julie! I...uh...forgot my pick?”

His voice was rough, rising to a squeak on the last word, and Julie couldn’t help the way her eyebrow rose questioningly. He wasn’t even holding a pick. A fact he seemed to realize as he dropped his gaze to quickly scan the area they had left the instruments set up in. She didn’t even have to guess that his next move would be to reach for his neck. Without thinking about it, she took three quick steps forward to grasp his wrist with her free hand as it started to rise. He startled slightly, turning back to meet her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat at the raw vulnerability swimming in the stormy ocean depths of his eyes. There was a tinge of red around his irises, and she could just make out the sheen of drying tears on his cheeks in the low light.

“Are you...” She swallowed hard against the butterflies swirling in her gut. “Do you need a place to stay tonight?”

Julie kept her eyes locked on his, even as they flickered with some kind of internal conflict. She didn’t push farther than that, leaving him the space to decide for himself what it was he wanted out of this interaction. He had come here for a reason, even if he had originally intended to keep that reason a secret. She fought against the desire to pull him close for a hug. They hadn’t breached that barrier just yet. She did allow her fingers to slip from their hold on his wrist and travel down to entangle with his. That kind of comfort was safe, still tiptoeing the line of being just friends. His eyes searched her face for a moment before he squeezed her hand, pulling just enough that she had to step closer to him. Just like earlier, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up. I can go...”

Julie tightened her hold before he could pull his hand away. Queen of deflection that she was, she saw right through what he was doing. He might want to give into her on a subconscious level, but there was a part of him that he was holding back. She thought back to the whole dinner debacle and his fears over disappointing her family. His fears over disappointing her. He was trying to reject himself before she got the chance to, not realizing that ship had long since sailed for her. She was firmly a passenger on the SS Luke now, having jumped ship mere hours ago in this very same garage. To reject him in this moment would be like rejecting a part of herself.

“Luke, no, please don’t leave. It’s okay. You can stay here.”

She made sure to keep her voice soft. Luke’s conflicted gaze flitted across her face, like he didn’t fully believe it would just be that easy. She gave a tug of her own, stepping backwards so he didn’t topple her as he moved forward. She placed the cross on the floor, moving around it with Luke’s hand still glued to hers until they were in front of the couch. He didn’t fight her, following her lead willingly even as he avoided the concerned look on her face. She dropped onto the couch, curling her legs underneath her and reaching out with her empty hand to wrap around the one that still held his. It wasn’t the hug she wanted to give him, but it was as close as she was willing to get at the moment. He glanced at their hands, a slight smile playing at the edges of his lips before letting out a bone deep sigh and sinking down into the space next to her.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Julie murmured, her fingers stroking over the bumps of his knuckles and the rough calluses on his fingertips, “but my mom always used to say that the studio was the one place where I didn’t have to hide. You don’t have to hide here either. It can be your safe space, too.”

She didn’t look up from where she was drawing patterns on the back of his hand. It still hurt, to think about her mom, to talk about her knowing that she would only exist in memories from now on. But something about Luke made it a little bit easier. Her mom would have liked him, she realized somewhat ruefully. It was a shame they wouldn’t ever get to meet, but maybe that was part of what made him that much more important to Julie. He helped her remember those bits and pieces of her mom that she would have otherwise locked away. They sat in silence for a long moment, but it was more comforting than awkward. Julie tried not to jump when she felt Luke’s head fall to rest on her shoulder. His breath ghosted along her collarbone, sending goosebumps rippling across her skin.

“What was she like?”

It wasn’t a question she had expected him to ask. She could tell by the way he said it, whispered into the chilled air on a soft exhale, that he wouldn’t ask again if she chose to pretend she hadn’t heard him. All at once, she wanted nothing more than to tell him everything.

“She was...she was everything.”

The pain that was always under the surface when it came to talking about Rose Molina threatened to choke her, but a stronger feeling of needing to share this with Luke overpowered it. Julie cleared the emotion from her throat and pushed on.

“She was like the sun and the moon and the stars all rolled into one. An entire universe in one single person. No one loved like she did. It was all-encompassing. My dad told me once that he knew from the first moment he saw her that she would change his life. I thought that was just for us for a long time, just for our family. But I was wrong. She was like that with everyone. I remember one time I asked him why we couldn’t ever go somewhere without Mom making a new friend and he looked at me with so much happiness and whispered like he was sharing the secret to life itself: ‘Everyone falls a little bit in love with your mom when they meet her, mija. She’s magic like that.’ And she was. She was absolute magic. She had the biggest heart and the sweetest smile, and she always knew exactly what to say. When we lost her, it felt like my world collapsed in on itself. It still feels like that sometimes. Like, how can I exist somewhere that she doesn’t? Sometimes it feels like it has to be a dream because a world without my mom? A world without the very light that created existence itself? That shouldn’t be possible.”

Julie didn’t realize she was crying until one of Luke’s rough fingers was brushing the tears from her cheeks. She finally looked up from where their hands were still clasped together. His eyes drilled into hers, silently communicating that he understood, and she couldn’t fight against the need to be close to him any longer. She launched herself into his lap, face curled into the pocket of warmth where his neck met his shoulder, hands twisting into the fabric of his cut up tank-top like he was the only thing anchoring her to the world right then. He caught her without question, strong arms locking around her waist and one hand rising to rest on the back of her head. Julie let the sob that had been building in her chest explode.

“I miss her so much. She was the best mom, and it’s not fucking fair that she isn’t here anymore.”

The words were muffled against Luke’s skin, but she knew by the way he tightened his hold that he had heard them just the same. Julie didn’t know how long they sat like that. Being with Luke made time feel meaningless. He didn’t say anything, just tangled his fingers into her curls and nuzzled his nose against her temple until the tears finally subsided. She could feel the wet stain she had left along his collar against her cheek. That same smell that had drifted off of his towel earlier tickled her nose, foreign and yet comfortingly familiar all at the same time. She inhaled deeply, letting it seep into her bones until she knew she would recognize it anywhere. He swallowed and she felt the way his neck flexed, but she didn’t move from the cocoon of his arms.

“You’re like that too, ya know.”

Luke’s voice was so gentle she thought she might start crying again. The hand that was wrapped low around her hip traced feather light swirls against the thin strip of skin exposed there. Julie released a shuddery breath, pulling away just enough that she could look at his face, their noses almost brushing at the movement.

“The sun and the moon and the stars? That’s you, too. You’re just as magical, just as all-encompassing. All the best parts of your mom live on in you, Julie.”

His voice dipped, eyes blazing as they lowered to her lips for a brief second before rising to meet hers again. Julie felt her mouth fall open slightly, allowed herself to drown in the clear blue-green sea of his gaze. She gulped and watched him track the movement before he spoke again.

“I think I know exactly how your dad felt. I think I’ve been a little bit in love with you for years.”

His cheeks blazed bright red on that final quiet declaration, Julie’s warming to match. Neither one of them broke their stare down, and Julie thought she could feel the physical shift in the universe that was the two of them snapping into place together. The final piece of her soul being righted after a year of feeling lost and alone. Luke shifted impossibly closer, closing the last few millimeters of space between them so every part of their bodies pressed against each other.

“I wish you could have met her.”

The confession was wrenched from the softest part of her heart, meant only for Luke’s ears in this quiet moment that felt both infinite and precious.

“I do, too. But I’d like to think that a part of me did get to meet her. When I used to listen to you two play together, sometimes I would pretend I was right there with you, practicing scales and vocal warm-ups. You mom loved you so much, and I could hear it every time you guys were out here. I read that song so many times that even though I knew it was yours, it felt a little bit like mine, too. She might not be here physically, but her spirit is. I know you can feel it out here, and I can too. Nowhere else has ever felt as safe and loving as being here does.”

Luke’s voice had trailed off until it was nothing more than a breathy whisper on the last few lines. Julie felt her chest squeeze and burn, a fire lit within her soul for Luke and Luke alone. He was so right, and it was almost scary that he seemed to understand her so deeply after just a few days. And yet, at the same time, nothing else had ever felt so right.

Julie had never really believed in signs from the beyond before. She had begged for even a scrap of something to prove that her mom was still around for a year and had never received anything. But that had changed since the day Luke quite literally knocked her off of her feet. Now it was like everywhere she looked she could see the little parts of her mom that still lingered all around. Here, in the middle of the night, surrounded by the same four walls that her mom had infused with so much love, Julie felt like Luke was the ultimate sign. He had been the catalyst that led to her finding herself again, and all of that came down to her mom’s song. The song that Luke had rescued and protected for a year. The song that was the last love letter from her mom was also the first love letter from Luke. Everything had fallen back into place when he entered her life, and Julie couldn’t help but think that was her mom’s doing.

“Will you stay? The whole night? I meant it when I said this can be your safe space. She would have liked that.”

It wasn’t quite the same as Luke almost declaration of love, but Julie knew that he saw it for the serious gesture that it was. The way his pupils dilated and his hand flexed against her waist told her that he was reading in between her words, seeing everything she was leaving unsaid because it felt a little too big just then. He felt it just as strongly as she did, this thing between them that seemed to grow stronger with every passing second.

“I’ll stay.”

Two simple words, one simple statement. But Julie heard what he really meant. This promise wasn’t just for the night, it was eternal. The weight of it pressed against her like the baby blanket she still sometimes curled up with at night, strong and secure and never ending in its comfort. Two words that were a stand in for the three he couldn’t say just yet. Fire burned low in her belly, licking a path up to her heart and searing across her chest. Their eyes locked, a million emotions they weren’t ready to express flowing back and forth between them like a river. Overwhelmed, Julie pulled his head close and pressed her lips against his for the briefest moment before leaping from the couch. Stunned by her own boldness, she raised her fingertips to her lips and caught Luke doing the same. Like they could each feel the lingering phantom of the other.

“Okay, so, uh...I’ll see you in the morning?” 

Julie’s voice cracked and she fought hard to steady it before continuing. 

“My dad will leave at the same time so just, uh, wait until you hear him go and then come up to the house? Okay, yeah, okay...goodnight!”

She made a beeline for the studio doors, taking full advantage of Luke’s shocked silence to escape before she could embarrass herself even more by kissing him again. The sound of his melodic voice stopped her before she could make it outside.

“Hey, Julie?”

She turned, cheeks burning red hot and heart on fire. He was looking at her like she hung the moon, eyes bright and face shining with unbridled joy. Some of the jittery nervousness leeched from her limbs at the sight of him looking so at her so softly. Not trusting herself to speak, she tilted her head and waited a beat for him to continue. A smile broke across his face like the dawning of a new day and Julie found herself momentarily blinded by his shine.

“Sweet dreams.”

It was a gentle hum, his way of sending her off to bed with the sweetest lullaby imaginable playing in her head. It took everything she had to resist the urge to fling herself into his arms again. Instead, she bit her lip with a smile, turned on her heel, and fled back inside to the relative safety of her room. It was an hour and an entire ballad composed later that she was finally able to close her eyes and sleep, the memory of the way Luke’s lips felt against hers playing out in every single dream she had that night.

[fbfh]

hey, sailor - leo x daughter of poseidon

genre: a little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff, a lot of mermaids lol

word count: 2.4k

au: none really, you have mermaid powers as a daughter of poseidon if that counts lmao

pairing: Leo x Daughter of Poseidon

requested: yeeyee !! hope u enjoy xoxo

warnings: uh brief mention of your step dad leaving when you were younger, an interaction with your best friend doesn’t go as planned, percy’s grappling with rlly complicated feelings towards his dad and new sister 

summary: Percy, Annabeth, and Leo all get a little more than they bargained for when they bring Percy’s half sister back to camp Halfblood, and Leo remembers why he had such a huge crush on Ariel growing up. 

reccomended songs: hurricane drunk - florence + the machine, sinkin’ in - cody simpson, deep sea ambiance

a/n: as soon as i got this request my dormant mermaid phase woke up from a sound sleep 

requests r open uwu

"...And you know what he said to me? He says, 'kid, I think it's time you met your sister'. I have a freaking sister, and that two timing piece harpy sh-"

"Okay, Percy, why don't you cool off a little before we leave. Come on, we'll grab a drink or something while Leo finishes getting ready." 

Annabeth takes her boyfriend's hand, and leads him to the nearest drink cooler. Leo turns back to the car they're going to take, and continues loading in the rest of the supplies. He, for one, is excited to meet Percy’s sister. His first thought was ‘hope she’s hot’, which he blurted out before he could stop himself, and was met with a killer glare from both of them. He’s not trying to be insensitive, finding out you have siblings you didn’t know about is kind of traumatic. I mean, hey, Leo’s family went from zero to sixty in one day - literally. Okay, not quite sixty, but only child to one of eight is still a pretty big jump. 

A little while later, they’re ready to go. Leo offers to drive, so Percy and Annabeth can sit in back and try to sort out Percy’s feelings. After a couple hours of driving and emotional conversations, most of which Leo just listened to - Annabeth seemed to have a good hold on this, and Leo didn’t want to overstep his bounds again - they arrived in Cape Cod. At this point, the gist seems to be that Percy knows if he should be mad at anyone, it’s his dad. They park in the driveway of the address Chiron gave them. They get out of the car, and look up at the house. It’s gray with white trimming, two or three stories, with a balcony porch on the upper floor - a normal, small town New England house, as far as they could tell. They seemed to take a collective breath, and approached the door. 

You’re breathing fast, trying to hold back the floodgates of emotion, when your bare feet hit the sand. You drop your bag, taking in the familiar, secluded stretch of the Cape. A big wall of jagged rocks to your left separates this part of the beach from the others. The old wooden stairs and their faded white paint that connected the low cliff to the sand below are hidden by plant life, so most people don’t even know this area existes. You’ve been coming here regularly since you were nine or ten. So many important parts of your life happened on these shores. You could just tell your mom ‘I’m going to my beach’, and she’d know right where you are. You finish pulling off your shorts and rush towards the water in your swimsuit. You’re met with immediate relief as soon as the water touches your skin. If it was possible to have an emotional support location, you did. 

You feel it happen as soon as you’re waist deep. Bubbles and sea foam collect around you from the hips down and your legs get tingly and numb. A moment later, it dissipates, leaving behind a life sized mermaid tail. It changes slightly with most transformations, usually based on your mood and desired appearance, and you’ve noticed over the years you can change how it looks more easily. You don’t care today, you just need to be in the water. This time it’s a big tropical fish tail, its purple, blue, and shimmery gray tones reflecting both your mood and the impending storm clouds rolling in. You dip below the surface, and let the tide carry you a little ways. You don’t worry about getting lost, you somehow always know where you are at sea. You don’t have gills that you can find, but you can definitely breathe underwater. 

You finally sink to the bottom, and stare up at the surface of the water. The patterns of light remind you of the night light you had as a child. 

Your mom had ensured you were comfortable with water and ocean life for as long as you could remember. She must know other people like you, because sometimes she would have long phone conversations with someone called the Director. You were pretty sure he had a weird name that started with a K or C, but you could never remember. He’s apparently sending someone to bring you to a ‘safe place’ today. It sounds like bullshit to you, but you trust your mom, and your mom trusts the Director. Since you might not be back for a while, she said you could finally tell your best friend Wes the truth. 

‘Oh god,’ you think, wishing the salt water would erase your memories of what happened today, but you can’t stop the onslaught of memories. Wes has been your best friend for years. You helped him when he realized he’s bi, he helped you when your step dad left, you could trust him with anything. Or so you thought. ‘It’s not his fault,’ you remind yourself, trying futilely to stop reliving what happened hours earlier. 

You brought him to your part of the beach to go swimming so you could show him. You can still hear his voice, asking if you’re sure you want to go in the ocean, you’ve always been afraid of water. Once you’d worked up the nerves to get in the water and transform, you showed him your tail. Your heart broke again every time you remembered what he had said. 

“That is... incredible,” your heart had soared, there was hope, “I can’t believe you got one of those silicone swimming tails just to prank me!” Ah, there it was. The other shoe. You tried to tell him it was real, but he said he could see the mold lines, and there the scales don’t quite line up, and there’s the edge of the zipper. You wanted to cry. 

“I’m not gonna lie, you almost had me for a second. I can’t believe you learned to swim just to prank me, but whatever works, dude,” he laughed like you were having a good time together. It was too much.

You let out a huge underwater scream, and thunder rumbles in the distance. You sink further down, wishing once again that the salt and algae would erode your memories from today. 

Annabeth knocks on the door for the third time. Thankfully, it opens to a middle aged woman in a shirt that said Brooklyn Nine Nine.

“Hello, what can I help you with?” she asks. She has a strong presence, and none of them want to be on her bad side. Percy is still too nervous, and Leo seems to be analyzing wires poking out of the doorbell, so Annabeth introduces themselves, and asks where you are. 

“Who wants to know?” she asks. 

“We’re her internet friends, we’re surprising her by visiting a day early.” Annabeth replies. The woman doesn’t seem convinced. She smiles, seeming to see right through them. 

“Are you from camp?” The shock on their faces gives her all the answer she needs. She smiles, and continues, “She’s down at the Cape, the quiet part past the rocks.” They thank her, but before they can leave she says, “Hey.” She looks at each of them intensely. 

“Make sure she gets there safely. Take care of her.” They agree solemnly, and head down the sidewalk. 

“And tell Chiron I say hi.” she says with a smile. They smile back, agreeing again. 

They get to the Cape, and it’s full of people. 

“Shouldn’t be any harder than a Where’s Waldo,” Leo says. Percy’s head snaps to the right, and thunder rumbles. 

“Did you hear that?” he asks. 

“The thunder? Yeah,” Annabeth says.

“No, no.. someone screaming.” 

“I don’t-” 

“This way,” he takes off towards a pile of jagged rocks. They manage to get over with only a few scrapes and Percy surveys the empty beach. 

“She’s here… She’s here somewhere,” he mutters to himself. The dark clouds part for a moment, and Annabeth points out to the water. Someone was there, pretty far out to sea. She could just make out their shoulders and head above the water. 

“Gods, Percy, can you get her to shore?” 

“Ah ah ah, uncle Leo’s got this one,” Leo pulls something out of his backpack. It’s bronze, and the size and shape of a deflated soccer ball. He throws it into the water. It starts to sink, then expands into a small bronze and wood speed boat. Percy and Annabeth’s jaws drop. He hops in, revving the engine to life.  They sail out over the water, Percy directing them around currents and waves. They can see the figure clearly now, and they’re sure it’s you. You’re looking away from them, out towards the darkening sky. The boat starts to slow down, and makes a whining noise. Their eyes dart to Leo.

“It’s probably just a sticky piston,” white smoke leaks from the engine, “... and I should check the coolant, too.” He opens up a panel, and starts to tweak a couple things. He sits on the edge of the boat to get a better angle, and reaches into his tool belt. He pulls out a wrench, and almost in slow motion, feels it slip between his finger tips, and into the water with a light plip.

“Shit!” He covers his mouth, worried he scared you off. Three heads turn to where you were a moment ago. Gone. He feels that familiar shameful heat creep into his stomach and cheeks. 

“Sorry guys, I-” 

“You dropped this,” He looks into the water, and you’re right next to the boat, handing him the wrench. 

“...Thanks,” he says, his heart speeding up. Your hair is wet and beads of water glisten on your skin. Your red bikini top sure isn’t doing anything to slow his racing pulse, either. Your hands brush as he takes the tool from you. You smile, and the clouds part - literally. A beam of golden sun shines behind you, making you glow. His heart is in his throat, and he knows he’s probably grinning and blushing like an idiot. 

Percy stares at your head, poking up over the side of the boat. Your hair is dyed shades of blue and teal and seafoam that blend right in with the water, but your roots are dark. He takes in your freckles, your tan lines, and your eyes… they look like part of the sea - shells, or waves, or something. He watches as Leo takes the tool, and a smile appears at the side of your mouth - the same smile he’s seen in the mirror, the same smile he’s seen on his dad. He sees all these familiar traits and knows it’s true, you’re his sister. The realization hits him like a truck, and he’s suddenly choked up. Annabeth sees this, and places a hand on his shoulder. She looks between Percy and an infatuated Leo, and takes the reins for the whole ‘the gods are real’ speech. 

“Hi,” she says, giving Percy’s hand a squeeze, “I’m Annabeth, this is Percy, and Leo. We were sent here to take you to a safe place for kids like us-”

“Ohmygod, finally,” the tension leaves your shoulders and you sigh in relief, “you have no idea how hard it’s been keeping all of this a secret, trying to be normal…” You push yourself up the side of the boat Ariel style, and pull yourself in, the edge of your tail draped slightly off the boat as you continue, “I seriously thought I was losing it for a while…” you trail off, watching them stare at your tail. 

“You’re not… you’re not merfolk, are you?” The confusion on their faces says it all. Panic rises in your chest as you start to dive off the boat. Before you can, Leo grabs your hand.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. We all have weird powers, it’s part of being a demigod.” He shows you his free hand, and flames suddenly dance across his palm. Part of your fear is replaced with confusion. 

“A what?” you ask. 

“A demigod.” you look over at Percy, who’s speaking since the first time since you’ve met him, “Our dad is Poseidon, god of the sea.” You scrunch your eyebrows, processing what he said. Annabeth smiles at the gesture, having seen her boyfriend do it a thousand times. 

“Wait… our?” He takes in a breath.

“I’m Percy, your brother.” 

The ride back to shore is a little awkward, to say the least. They had finished explaining about camp and the gods and monsters a few minutes ago, and it’s been pretty much silent since. Annabeth sits next to you, and hands you a water bottle. 

“He just needs some time,” she tells you quietly, “Poseidon’s not really supposed to have children, and Percy got a hard time for it when he was younger. He also… he thought his dad was really in love with his mom, so finding out he has a sister so close in age…” You nod in understanding. She pats you on the shoulder, and sits next to Percy at the back of the boat. You scooch up a little closer to Leo as gracefully as you can, which isn’t much, considering you have to drag along an almost 60 pound fish tail. Leo looks over at you from the controls. 

“Weird day, huh?” he asks. 

“Yeah…” 

“So how long does it take to, uh,” he nods down and you flick your tail, “de-fishify?”

You laugh. 

“Once I’m dry,” you look up at the summer sun reemerging, a little surprised that it hadn’t stormed. Then again, if children of Poseidon really could make sea storms, it made sense that it had died down now that you and Percy were feeling better. 

“which shouldn’t take long.” you finish. You look over at Percy, who’s having a quiet intense conversation with Annabeth. 

“He knows I didn’t ask for this, right?” Leo looks back at them.

“He does,” he replies. 

“It’s so surreal finding out I have a sibling I knew nothing about,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“Try finding out you have seven,” he laughs, shaking his head at the memory.

“Seven?!” your head snaps up to him. 

“Oh yeah,” he tells you the story of when he first came to camp, and you feel so much better already. Leo has such a comforting presence, the pain from all your problems softens a little just hearing him talk. You have a feeling you’re going to get a lot closer.

Little did you know, the feeling was mutual - and correct.

[libermachinae]

Fault Lines Under the Living Room

Part I: Listen - Chapter 1: A Commotion, Eager and Anxious (Previous)

Also available on AO3! Summary:  Arcee arrives on the Lost Light just as someone else is getting ready to leave. Chapter Word Count: 3010

---

“Hey, you’ve reached Captain Rodimus’ personal hailing frequency. If you’re calling to complain again about mandatory hab sweeps, please refer to recent events involving briefcases and the hereafter outlawed opening of. If you have news involving foolish, ridiculous, or nonsensical obstacles in our quest, input 1 to be transferred directly to Megatron’s personal comm line. If you have a complaint regarding sign placement, grammatically incorrect maintenance manuals, or that weird temperature difference between floors 7 and 8, input 2 for Ultra Magnus. If you’re lonely and want someone to talk to, input 3 for automatic directions to Swerve’s. Input 4 to be connected with me, provided I’m—”

Beep.

“Rodimus?”

“Blaster! Great timing, we just got back from Fortuna. Don’t talk too long, though, Magnus just handed me my prep for the hearing and these datapads are engraved with his personal insignia.”

“Sure, Rodimus. I’ve got incoming transmission from an unknown caller, not laying down any codes I’m familiar with. Tried pressing for details, but all they’re letting slip is they want to talk to you. Want me to patch them through?”

“Hm. On the one hand, unknown caller with mysterious intentions almost always means trouble, right?”

“We’ve ended up in some axel grease for it in the past, yeah.”

“And the reason we set down on Scarvix was to avoid creating more problems while we deal with the fallout from the last batch.”

“I thought it was to give the crew a day off?”

“And that’s why you’re our morale guy. Ratchet would probably tell me to ignore it, right?”

“I guess.”

“You don’t think he would?”

“Not really sure how the CMO’s opinion is relevant.”

Because Ratchet’s vote was the only one he knew.

“Yeah, never mind,” Rodimus said with a shrug, almost losing his balance in the process. “Ultra Magnus would say the same thing, anyway, and he’s counting on me to get to the hearing on time. He cares so much , he ‘summarized’ Brainstorm’s alleged code infringements himself.” He shifted the armload of datapads. The topmost pad was hanging off the edge, preparing for freefall, but trying to tilt it back to safety risked upsetting the rest of the pile.

“Nice of him,” Blaster said.

“Yep, super nice. He went to so much trouble. Really dug into the details, researched historical precedents, looked at the case from every angle. He probably buried his essay on the origins of Decepticon as an adjective somewhere in here.” The datapad tilted and dropped. Rodimus shifted his weight to one leg and kicked with the other, bouncing the pad off his knee and catching it with his teeth. “You know ‘at? Hure, ‘ut the comm hrough. ‘robably just a co’arketer, anyay.”

“Yes, sir.”

The familiar click and beat of a line being transferred. Rodimus deposited the datapad on top of his stack and started walking again, forgoing his office in favor of a detour to the middle decks. The view there was more impressive, the angle revealing the organic landscape that stretched between the Lost Light and Fortuna, a popular interstellar rest stop with enough mechanical business to make it worth the daytrip. Chomskians were their patrons of choice, but a hand over the faction insignia and most folks would let it slide. Walking the length of the Lost Light revealed a subtly changing view as the gleam of the mechanoid hub altered the silhouette of the city, and Rodimus busied himself tracking the shuttles, jets, and personal aircraft traveling in and out, letting it distract him until his comm came back.

“Am I speaking to Captain Rodimus?” an unfamiliar voice asked. Cybertronian, definitely, but otherwise unknown.

Cool .

“Yep, captain of the Lost Light and quester for the Knights of Cybertron,” he said. “What’s up?”

“This is Autobot Arcee, requesting permission to dock in the Lost Light’s shuttle bay.”

“Arcee?” Rodimus went through the list of all the Autobots he knew, ignoring the space where Arcee’s origin should have been. Some folks, MTOs especially, didn’t like to broadcast that information, and it wasn’t strictly necessary for a personal database search. Regardless, “Sorry, Arcee, I’m not remembering you. Who did you serve under?”

“New recruit. Was working with Prowl for a bit, now Optimus Prime. We’ve met.”

He had to hold himself back from shutting down the call. The datapads wobbled and he quickly righted himself.

“We have?” People who worked for Prowl were strategic about when they released that information. If she really was a new recruit, it was possible no one had explained to her yet that, ultimately, everything led back to him. It was the only justification he could find for staying on the line and not telling Ultra Magnus to initiate an immediate sweep for unauthorized listening devices.

“Well, no. But I crashed a shuttle for you. Into Galvatron.”

“You did?” And just like that he had forgotten Prowl entirely.

“I did. Me and a few others. It didn’t do much, but you and Optimus managed to take care of Vector Sigma anyway, so, bygones.”

Why couldn’t he remember this? It sounded awesome .

“Totally,” Rodimus said, feeling a swell of pride as he remembered the moment Optimus had set aside his doubts and trusted Rodimus’ word on the Matrix. Up until that point, his chosen name had felt ill-fitting, like the myriad of function tests that preceded a new harvest’s official classification. Or, in his darker moments, like the Primes of old, who claimed the Matrix’s blessing despite no legitimate connection to it. Optimus had put his faith in Rodimus, though, in his connection to the Matrix, and that faith had been rewarded , not punished . For once, his destiny hadn’t been priced in spilled energon.

Not that they hadn’t seen any.

“So you decided to get the brand and make it permanent?” he asked, pulling himself back to the present.

“Yes.”

“Then yeah, come aboard. ‘The more the merrier,’ as Megatron would never say. When do you estimate your arrival?”

“I’ve just breached atmosphere, should be there in an hour.”

“Perfect. I’ll send instructions along to open the shuttle bay doors and will be there to meet you.” He passed the news to Megatron and Ultra Magnus and was unsurprised when only the latter acknowledged the alert, as well as a bunch of forms that seemed incredibly tedious and not worth the bandwidth. Maybe once the hearing was over, he could sit down with his co-captain and remind him of the responsibilities he had agreed to as part of his deal. That would be a proper, leader-like thing to do.

Or he could let Megatron continue to wallow in whatever new misery he had concocted for himself. It certainly made his shifts easier.

He and Arcee exchanged farewells and his comm powered down, leaving Rodimus to strategize. Arcee’s arrival meant he did not have enough time to get back to his office, read through all of Magnus’ files, and make it to the shuttle bay, especially with all the effort it would take to even work himself up to unlocking the datapads. Better to make a good impression on their new guest and bump out the least pressing task. He could do his reading once Arcee was settled.

Walking around weighed down by the burden of knowledge was a drag, though, so he stuck to the part of the plan that involved getting rid of the datapads. He spent the remaining walk to his office (longer now after he had inadvertently walked in the opposite direction while on the comm) thinking about what he could do with the surprise free time. Maybe take a quick lap around the lower decks or make his first official visit to “Visages”. Something fun, carefree, and just barely skirting regulations; something normal , to start the work of convincing everyone, again, that things were going to be fine.

~*~

Ratchet was not stalling.

There was a chance he was overpreparing, but better that than the opposite. The galaxy was a big place, and if he was even slightly accurate in his guess of how far Drift would wander in his search for redemption, he would be touching corners of it even the war had never brought him to. So, an abundance of fuel was necessary, at least enough to last two bots a month plus about half that for the journey outward. Then medical supplies: wiremesh bandages, nanite gel, intravenous lines, sparkstarters, sorted boxes of nuts and screws, antiviral uploads, rust repellant, strut stabilizers, soldering wires… The shuttle was turning out better equipped than some of the mobile surgeries he had worked from during the war; even some hospitals had been dangerously low on materials he now found in abundance. For the first time, he had the resources to make sure nothing and no one would be lost to shortage, and he intended to take advantage of that new luxury.

Following that, the next logical step had been to make the rest of the shuttle comfortable as well. Two Morphy berths with recharge docks. A media library of music and movies to pass the time (the former Cyclonus’ recommendations, the latter, Swerve’s). A few selections from his private engex stash. A box of data blockers he had buried deep among the medical supplies and would claim were standard for any med kit if interrogated.

He nudged the box of Hex pieces against the wall with his foot. Was it alright there was nowhere to sit beside the naviconsole and the berths? He had though Drift would appreciate the economy of a smaller shuttle, but with the cargo loaded the atmosphere was shifting from cozy to cramped. Would Drift feel claustrophobic, reminded of squatters’ dens and Decepticon outposts? Drift was also a high-energy bot, who would probably itch for a chance to spin his wheels from time to time. Were the fuel reserves large enough to accommodate multiple planet stops?

Ratchet’s knuckle had worked its way between his teeth before he realized what he was doing. Dropping his hand, he forced himself to turn around and exit the small spacecraft. He was committed. Out of anyone on board, Drift had done the most to earn this home. If no one else was going to step up and do the right thing by returning it to him, Ratchet would resign to do it himself.

He heard a commotion, eager and anxious, as he stepped out into the shuttle bay. The hangar doors were opening, sunlight slipping through the growing crack, and several parked crafts were being taxied out of the way. Not wanting to get cut off by wandering shuttles, he hurried to the pedestrian entrance, where most of the voices were coming from: a small crowd, loiterers looking for the new source of intrigue. Whirl and Tailgate were among them, providing running commentary as the unwieldly ships skirted just shy of scraping each other’s paint off, so it was no surprise to find Cyclonus standing further off.

Perfect. Though Ratchet and Cyclonus were not on bad terms, neither had ever tried to expand their relationship past the occasional long-suffering glance. If it had been one of the bots who had his spark twisting every time he bumped into them in the hallways, Ratchet would have worried about giving his plan away, but he doubted Cyclonus cared whether the something-like-guilt was visible.

“Cyclonus,” he greeted.

“Ratchet.” The older of the two offered a polite nod, though his gaze returned to the door.

“What’s going on? Somebody forget something in Fortuna?” Ratchet kept his voice light, curiosity without investment. A change in routine could mean nothing, but by now everyone knew it could also be the start of something weird, dangerous, or a combination of the two. Either way, it would end up among Swerve’s stand-up material.

“New arrival,” Cyclonus said. “Arcee of the Darklands: a tested warrior with a spark that rivaled Galvatron’s.”

Might as well have called herself Foreboding of Doom and saved his declarative archives the search. Ratchet wondered if he should move his departure up.

“Is she here? Did I miss it?”

Rodimus’ panicked shouts preceded his stumble into the hangar. Ratchet greeted him with a pointed look, which he shouldered by simply not noticing it while his gaze darted around the room.

“Not yet, Rodimus,” Hoist announced over the loudspeaker. “We’re just getting the last shuttles cleared for landing.”

“Oh, thank Primus,” Rodimus said, tilting his head back as his fans released a cloud of warm air. “Fantastic.”

“You look like you gunned it to get here,” Ratchet said, waving away the smell of an overheated engine.

“No, that would be speeding, which is definitely against spacetime law,” Rodimus said, straightening to flash Ratchet a deeply unappreciated grin. “I ran. I told Arcee I would be here to meet her, and it would make for a pretty bad impression of the ship if the captain failed to live up to his promise.”

“Don’t you have a hearing to be getting ready for?” Ratchet asked, the question slipping past his censors. Slag. That was not the note he wanted to leave on. The stress of his impending departure was getting to him more than he had realized.

Rodimus shrugged, unaffected.

“Magnus gave me all the materials, just need to read them. Won’t take long.”

That stirred something in Ratchet’s spark.

“Good to know our justice system is under such attentive care.”

“Perhaps this is a conversation that would be better saved for when we are not moments from new introductions,” Cyclonus interjected, his deep bass distracting enough to halt those emotional processes of Ratchet’s that started to loop out of control whenever Rodimus opened his mouth. He set his vocalizer to standby, not trusting it to wait for his command, and wondered whether it would be better to get out sooner. Before his own smart mouth made his worries a reality.

The appearance of the approaching shuttle did not ease his concerns. Starting as a speck above the horizon, all optics were on it as it approached, a little blob of a spacecraft dangling over the city of Fortuna. Big, for a single occupant. Ratchet hoped he was wrong, but he noticed something further odd as it came nearer.

Whirl took care of that loose thread of optimism.

“It’s purple,” he said, with a coy look at Cyclonus, who ignored it with enviable steadiness.

“It’s a Decepticon vessel.” Ratchet had seen enough in his time. After the fall of Tyger Pax, Autobot regulations had outlawed all colors between navy and magenta for ships, and he could think of no other species brazen enough to steer a spacecraft directly into civilian airspace. “Rodimus?”

“Blaster confirmed Arcee’s ident after our call,” Rodimus said. “Bit of a garish choice for a ride, but it’s her.” He had maneuvered himself to the front of the group, standing at the front like he was putting himself on display for an honored guest.

“That is rich, coming from you.”

“Thanks, Ratch,” Rodimus said, casting over his shoulder a wink and a grin before he turned back to face the oncoming ship. Ratchet’s frown deepened and he ignored the way the gesture reminded him of Drift.

He never knew what the bot had seen in Rodimus. Short-sighted, selfish, and with an ego that could have powered the ship if he could have been bothered to contribute that much, Rodimus’ ability to perform feats no one else would attempt meant he was also prone to making mistakes they neither could have imagined. For all the time Ratchet had spent on the Lost Light , he still had no idea the limits of chaos Rodimus was capable of summoning to it, so he let triage and combat protocols idle in the background while they waited.

It was not a nice landing. The thrusters were still burning several hundred feet out, so they all heard the roar of wind buffeting ailerons as the shuttle struggled to slow itself down. It was only by the combined effects of the Lost Light ’s buffeting shield and the shuttle’s reverse engines that they did not suffer a catastrophic collision, and even then, the shuttle bounced as it finally touched down, coming within feet of kissing Huffer’s personal speeder. Ratchet still did not remember to vent as it struggled through taxiing, twice having to reattempt a maneuver as the combined efforts of Hoist, Rodimus, and a group of volunteers guided it to its designated space. Only when the engines finally shut down did Ratchet hear the collective sigh of multiple hydraulics systems releasing their tension.

“Guess Darkland warriors don’t need to know how to drive,” Ratchet muttered. He thought he heard Cyclonus huff, which was enough to get a chuckle out of him.

That was it, though, because in the next moment Rodimus was rushing to the lowering hatch, his spoiler flicking behind him like an insect wing. Ratchet caught a glimpse of a labyrinthine cargo hold before Arcee stepped forward, filling the space, and descended rapidly. He tensed, ready for something else to come charging out from behind her, but besides a look passed between her and Cyclonus nothing immediately hostile revealed itself.

“Welcome to the Lost Light,” Rodimus said, standing aside to let Arcee descend. The hatch raised as soon as she was standing on the Lost Light’s floor, blocking Ratchet’s view again.

“Yes, thank you.” Her tone was clipped, not the melodic veil of sophistication Ratchet had come to associate with Cyclonus, and she scanned the assembled bots with a look of blatant suspicion. Ratchet could relate to that, if nothing else.

He glanced at the purple ship once more while Rodimus led Arcee in the direction of the rec rooms while the rest of the crowd dispersed. Ratchet himself would never believe in anything as a sign or omen, but the sight of the purple plating made old welds ache, and he found his resolve. He would go get a drink. He would attend the hearing. And then, goodbyes or no, he was leaving that night.

[grim-faux]

07_A Small Echo

First

  The air was heavy and muffled, every step he took echoed. The reverberations strummed through the back of his thoughts, weighing on his senses. It was wading through deep water, the resistance heavy and he needed to be somewhere right now but no matter how much effort he put into each reaching step, the air itself restrained him. Confined his body in a tight coil, choking air from his lungs. His stride became heavier, he wasn’t sure how much further he could go, or if the next step would be the last he could endure.

 At the end of the gnarled corridor a door loomed tall, watching him. A lone and massive eye judged his progress, as if daring his resolve to reach the handle and trip the lock. Something awaited him. Answers, possibly. All the answers he could ever want.

 But the closer he came to the door, the harder his heart throbbed, the more intense the pressure of the everything around him. The colors became intense and their flavor palpable, tart and thin. If he reached the door though, it would be better. He was certain. It would be okay. Somehow, it would solve everything.

 A methodical chime crooned, tallying down the moments that he had left. Warning him that what is set in motion cannot be undone. A trick.

 __

 His eyes snapped open, and he had to confront the delightful truth that he was not dead. Wonderful.

 Out there somewhere, the rain drummed against the boards of a window. He was so tired of the rain, so weary of gasping on the mist and only being slightly damp, but never fully dried; of his clothing being an outer skin, rather a barrier against the vicious onslaught.

 He dragged an arm beneath the stiff cloth and smacked himself in the face. Mask still there. He didn’t normally take it off for rest, it was strange his first impulse was check for it, though he felt it crumpled around his face. He tried breathing calmly, but his sides buzzed. It could have been so much worse, he was sure, but being thankful for anything wouldn’t improve his mood.

 Should sleep? He had to find Her. The Six. Tower. She was there, he didn’t know if she was all right let alone alive, but he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t do anything until he found her. The thought stung his eyes, and he emitted a faint crooning. He wanted to be there, he so badly wanted to. But he was so lost, so hurt, and afraid they were both going to die. And he didn’t want to lose his friend. He let her down too many times. He let them all down.

 Drawing on some pathetic refuse of energy, he pushed himself up from the weighted fabric and edged forward. It was unbearable now, but this wasn’t unusual. Once he got moving and warmed up, he wouldn’t notice the tears or breaks. It didn’t stop the tremors in his arms. Slow first. Be careful.

 He was badly tangled up, and it took more effort than it was worth to just get his legs free. Where was he? He adjusted his mask and gave the area a look over.

 A room.

 Window. He heard that. Too high.

 Some furniture. Good. Not a lot of shadows, no visible spaces or notches, but furniture was good. At least it could be moved, with some force and a slice of lunacy. Furniture made noises.

 He was on a busted sofa, not his first choice. Absolute worst. A novice, idiot, suicidal choice. The sofa was not in the middle of the room, but it might as well have been. Across the room, a doorway. He took a deep breath and looked over to his side on the cushion. And tilted his head.

 Foods. Bits of what looked like meat and some wafer things, piled onto a napkin. Reflexively he cowered, but his lesser sense of self-preservation won out. Injuries forgotten, he tore into the foods. Half gobbling and choking as he sought to breathe and eat altogether. The whole choreography never worked well, since food was a rarity and having the chance to eat the food you did secure was rarest of all. It did enter his mind that this wasn’t quite right, and so kept his eyes cast off, barely paying mind to what he was shoving into his mouth.

 Until a creaking board sent him scuttling to the arm of the couch. He shoved the bag over his face and continued to gnaw, as he cast his eyes toward that doorway.

 The tall thin man in the hat entered, with a deep bow. Mono swallowed and swayed on the chair arm, already letting his eyes dip to the floor. It wouldn’t take long to tear the place apart searching for him, though he did already connect up who brought him here, who left the food.

 This was the worst situation. Horrible. He set another glare on the figure, as it positioned itself by the wall. Not near enough to warrant anxiety, but not far enough to be safe. Everything moved normally – the tall man was not alarmingly swift, and Mono was not crawling through the air. A plus there. Not likely to last, so he tensed up and watched.

 The Thin Man shifted closer, and Mono climbed to the back of the sofa. He strafed along the wall, rooting for a gap between furniture and plaster where he could get down. There was none—

 A harsh screech splint the room; intense and more punishing than thunder screams. He tumbled to the chair arm and clutched at his bag, the electrical pop whittled at his ears like a cold spike. No amount of huddling or defense was enough, he didn’t think he could stand much more….

 “C̸̖̟̖͖̻̼͆͋̋̕͝ạ̷̢͎̖̬͇̗̃̽n̴̦̝͔̲̎̿̆̀̍͑͜ ̴̬́̌̈̔̔̈́͋́̈́ý̸̙̜͕̯̟͓͉͇͚͇̈́́́́̒͐̍̒̉͝ơ̵̝͈̝̼̜͓̥̩̺͙̲͔̮̅̆̾͑̀͋͂̔̒͒̌̕͠ͅu̸͓̗̯̮̹͔͎͈͍̥̪̻̐͑͗͆̉͋̓́̽͌̊͗̚͝͝ understand me?”

 Mono perked and tilted his head. Yes he… could. The ideal that he could put connection to the speek, given that it was his speek, was most worrisome of all. It was altogether, and with the way the adult always seemed to know where he would appear, and set a trap. This was wrong and concerning, and told him how little his chance for escape was.

 He tumbled over the sofa arm to the nightstand and dropped to the floor, then, set himself beneath the piece of furniture. Now on the floor, he cast his eyes around searching for something more promising. If he could slip out of view for a few seconds….

 “You want help to your… ‘friend’. Yes?”

 Mono hissed in his throat but kept silent, instead opting to shake his head. The floorboards creaked with that terrible familiarity, and he poked his head up. No place to run. No place to hide. The man in the hat was thoroughly focused on him. Bad.

 “You could resist, but chose didn’t. No fight.” The child glanced his way, and then back to the floor, rooting for fresh cover. “You should be dead, do think?”

 Mono couldn’t stop his lips from twitching. Think he didn’t know that. Of course! This wasn’t fair. He pressed his head against the leg of the nightstand and crouched down. Should run? Floor open. No cover. Flee.

 “Twice over,” the Thin Man posed. As reply, the child scooted further around the table leg. “It’s not like you to give up. It’s not what you’re made of.”

 Mono tucked his head down. The Thin Man leaned over, peering under the table and trying to find the tell-tale mask.

 “What is it then? You’re running out of chances.” The child muttered a sound. “Come again?”

 “Want back,” he wheezed. “Want back her.” He coughed, more from shock than the discomfort of trying so hard to make words when it was not safe.

 “Well, that won’t do. She belongs to the tower now. As do I.” And an unspoken, as do you. “You forfeited your time for negotiations.”

 Mono poked his head up. “For-feet?”

 “Gave up.” He reached to the napkin on the sofa and picked out a piece of wafer, and held it out for the child. Mono skittered behind the table legs, pressing into the walls surface. His gaze darted up, inspecting the hand and the figure beyond it. “You will need your—”

 Faster than a whip, Mono snatched the bread and inhaled it. The Thin Man wondered if he was lucky to have kept his arm.

 “Why take? Why is her stole?” Mono continued to dip and paw at the wall beneath the furniture, distressed and unable to keep still. His flight instincts on overdrive, but he hadn’t the opening to safeguard his exit.

 “I’m not keeping you here,” the Thin Man offered. “But I won’t let you enter the tower.” He moved back from the table and gestured the room. “This place is on the outskirts of the city. You are miles and miles away from your goal.”

 Mono crept out from behind the nightstand, checking the tall thin man and then dropped his eyes to the floor level. There was only the one doorway. “Then have start again. So what?”

 This child…. “I said miles. Miles. Do you know how far a lone mile is? How much abuse and setbacks did you suffer, to come within a city block?”

 “Don’t care.” Mono shrugged. While the adult was turned away, he clambered up the sofa side and bounded across the cushions.  “She trapped. I’m not leave, especially friends.”

 This idiot child. “You single-minded, stubborn, relentless fool. You are going to destroy yourself.”

 Mono stood there and actually bristled, fists clutched by his hips. “So. WHAT? Hurt more in to leave! That desT-Roy me! S’not right!”

 But he did have a point. As their twisting paradox was uncontestable, so was this urge to… do something. Anything. Even if it was self-destructive. Children didn’t know any better.

 “I have an obligation to remove you,” the Thin Man cautioned as he wound back, the air vibrating with the sinister static. “If you insist on being a nuisance about it.”

 Mono climbed back over to the nightstand, the piece of furniture swayed under his weight. As if the floor might’ve shifted during his absence, he once more skimmed below. “You won’t though.”

 This tiresome child. “And what makes you so… assured?” In response, the child held up three fingers.

 “Caught, woke up.” He set down the third finger. “Gave foods.” He leaned backwards over the armchair, looking down at the scraps.

 The Thin Man tipped his head. “Is that really all it takes to gain your trust?”

 “No….” Mono plucked at the callouses on his finger with his teeth, removing splinters. “I get friend mine back, and you won’t work stop me.” He turned the bag, so that it lowered and the eye holes peered at the Thin Man. “You for-feit?”

 The Thin Man frowned. “No. I expected more from you. I anticipa— was prepared for the different outcome.” Mono’s response was lift his shoulders.

 “Let me go the tower.”

 Sighing, he tried once more. “It will destroy you. There will be nothing left of you, of who you are, strange child. You cease to exist, once you enter.”

 Mono looked away, and he could almost picture the concerned twitch of his eyebrows as the strange child examined the room over. “I think… would okay to that.”

 “ Wͪͩ̍̋Hͤ͛Y̆̊͆̊̈́͛͒!̵ͬͬ̌̆͂̍҉  ” His shout made the boy dive off the couch and flatten himself into the nearest corner of the room, where he huddled, his paper mask gawking. But given a moment and no action, the child calmed by a small amount. He continued to fidget and inch back. It took a minute longer for a response.

 “I don’t believe. You are lie. And I to have do myself.” He shoved his hand up under the bag and rubbed at his cheeks. “Have nothing… else. I, um….” He curled down into the corner, hugging scrawny knees to his chest and trying not to look at the Thin Man. There was probably more he could say, but he didn’t know how to convey it.

 It was painful. He didn’t do enough. It was his fault. He had to fix this. Was it fixable? She probably hated him, he was taking so long. She could be dead. He might never see her again. He did this. He should be dead. He could fix this. It should’ve been him, not her. This wasn’t fair.

 The Thin Man sighed through the static and brought a hand to his face. The action caused Mono to recoil a bit, though there was no longer space for him to creep into. “Very well. I admit, I am curious to witness how you go about this. If you so desire, I will escort you.”

 Quietly, Mono inquired, “You think can I stole back?”

 “No.” He spun away, moving to the doorway. “As stated, your life will end there, and that is the sum of it. But I am exhausted of this fantasy.” He turned back when Mono remained rooted. “Are you coming?”

 Mono tugged at his coat, gaping at the tall man in the hat, but unresponsive. At last he did uncoil, and bounded right over to the sofa cushion where the food was abandoned. He kept his shoulder to the Thin Man as he chewed on the remnants, then plucked up as many of the crumbs as possible until there was hardly any dust left. Cautiously, he climbed off the sofa, and gave his coat a shake off.

 “Any time now.”

 Mono finished checking his coat for snags or loose bits, then tentatively walked over to the Thin Man. Not getting too close, but near enough he could peer up and announce his preparedness with an unreadable expression. The Thin Man stooped and entered into the corridor. He was certain Mono was right behind him, though he couldn’t hear the footfalls at all. Children had ways of vanishing once a gaze was dropped. But he knew without a doubt the child would find his way to the Signal Tower, as he was initially instructed.

 If not for Mono’s retaliation in the first place, and in his inability to destroy his youth, that all along was the primary goal. That was all that mattered. Deliver him, replace himself. Either way, the events twisted in a manner the Tower demanded. But he was curious now to see how this hitch in the pathways worked, and what its finality would mean. It would be interesting nonetheless.

 Might as well bend the paradox further.

Next

[hermannsthumb]

oooo.....8+11 combo? 👀

dug in my inbox to find the leftover spring prompts from last year, this one seems a little too relevant rn 😩 have some (eventual!) steamy makeouts

8. Cabin Fever/Winter Madness + 11. “You have a really low cold tolerance.”

from spring fic prompts meme here

————–

“If you think this is cold,” Newt says, “you should try Boston in the winter. That’s cold, man. One year–”

“Shut up,” Hermann says.

“One year I, like, lost my keys in a fucking foot of snow, right, outside my apartment, and it was super late and my landlord wasn’t answering the fucking phone so I had to dig around for an hour before–”

“Shut up,” Hermann says.

“It could be worse, is what I’m saying,” Newt says. “That’s all. Much worse.”

Hermann levels him with a fierce, soul-withering scowl, visible even through the layers of scarves and hats he’s wrapped around himself under his usual puffy parka. He looks like some sort of knitwear mummy. Fucking drama queen as usual–they get stationed somewhere moderately colder than Hong Kong for one winter, and Hermann acts like they’ve been kicked out and left to starve in the middle of the Arctic tundra. Newt’s been treated to a week of appropriate dramatics, of shivering, and sniffling, and mittens in the lab (and he’ll admit it’s pretty funny to see Hermann try to scrawl on his chalkboard like that), and the latest, Hermann’s crusade to acquire every single heat lamp and space heater on base. He has a pretty sizable collection already, and they’re angled around his half of the lab in a little semi-circle of glowing orange warmth.

It feels like a sauna. Hermann hasn’t shed a single layer. 

“Y’know, dude, I don’t think the problem is the weather,” Newt says. “I think the problem is that you have a crazy low cold tolerance.”

“I don’t require your speculations about my biology, thank you very much,” Hermann snaps. He squeaks out another few numbers before his chalk drops from his mitten and to the floor, where it snaps in two; he swears, and bats it angrily with the end of his cane. Newt watches it fly under his desk to settle with three other similarly fated pieces.

“I’m not speculating,” he says. “I’m observing. Is it poor circulation? Or maybe it’s ‘cause you’re too goddamned skinny--you need more insulation, dude.” He drums on his stomach, unintentionally smearing kaiju guts across himself. “Like me. Padding.”

But Hermann ignores him. Newt shrugs it off and begins to divest himself of his work gear–first headlamp, then newly-soiled apron, then disposable gloves. The gloves go right in the garbage. The apron over the back of his desk chair. When he finishes, he struts across the lab makes himself at home on the stiff little metal stool Hermann keeps by his chalkboard. “Well,” Newt says. “Is that why?”

Hermann’s forehead hits the chalkboard with a wool-softened thump. “Please leave me alone,” he pleads, voice muffled, and Newt hops off the stool with a grin.

Hermann was absolutely overreacting, but as January stretches into February, and the snow begins to pile up and up, Newt kinda thinks he may have been onto something after all. Shatterdomes seem to have been designed to be excessively damp and drafty; while the chill was often welcome in humid Hong Kong, here it just leaves Newt permanently shivering in his leather jacket and sleeping with two layers of quilts at night. Hermann upgrades to an industrial-sized heat lamp that’s large enough to keep a kaiju toasty and lights up the lab like the sun.

Their routines change, too: Hermann doesn’t sneak off to the roof for cigarettes anymore, and Newt doesn’t take the bus into the city to get them takeout or fancy coffee anymore. They just...stay in the lab. All day. Every day.

But, still. “Still not as bad as Boston,” Newt says one morning, teeth chattering.

“I filed a ticket with maintenance weeks ago about fixing the bloody heating,” Hermann snarls. “And yet–” This time, when his chalk lands on the other half of the room, it’s because he’s thrown it. Hermann only ever throws his chalk for two reasons: one, with a decidedly Newt-focused vector, as a result of Newt being very, very annoying, and two, when he’s so frustrated he can’t even bring himself to think. “I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this, Newton.”

“The cold?” Newt says.

“The cold,” Hermann says. “Being–” He waves his hand around, encompassing the whole of their tiny lab, which is somehow even smaller than their lab–their beautiful, warm lab–in Hong Kong. Newt misses it more than anything in the entire world. Except for, like, comic cons. “Shut away down here. It’s maddening.”

“It’s only two more months,” Newt says, and then–once the gravity of that information hits him, “oh, God, it’s two more months.”

“I’m retiring to my quarters,” Hermann says, wearily, “for a drink.”

Twenty minutes later, stowed away safely in Hermann’s space heater-warmed bunk, Hermann fixes two even servings of instant coffee in two badly-chipped blue mugs, and Newt picks one of them up with a frown. “When you said drink,” he says, “I kinda thought…”

“Yes,” Hermann says, “and I thought I hadn’t invited you. Very strange how these things turn out.” 

He pulls a small bottle of whiskey from nowhere and tips some into his mug.

“Dude,” Newt says, and quickly makes grabby-hands towards it before Hermann can spirit it away again. Hermann acquiesces with a sigh, and Newt tips slightly less than Hermann into his own mug. He might have more meat on his bones than Hermann, but that doesn’t mean he can hold his booze anywhere near as well as the guy. He’s ended far too many drinking contests needing to be walked home by an exasperated Hermann.

They sip their coffee in silence, Hermann sitting on the edge of his bed, Newt in Hermann’s desk chair, their knees bumping together with every breath. The drink burns Newt’s throat going down. Not in the good, warming-him-up way, either. “This is kinda gross,” he admits, making a face.

“It is,” Hermann agrees, mirroring Newt’s expression exactly. He sets his mug down on his bedside table and pushes it as far away from himself as possible. “I suppose I understand now why it was so inexpensive.”

“The coffee or the booze?” Newt says.

“Both,” Hermann says, and gives Newt an awkward little smile.

Newt’s been in Hermann’s quarters plenty of times back in Hong Kong, where their rooms are adjacent to, and quite literally extensions of, the lab, but here–in these cramped, cold, unfamiliar confines, with Hermann smiling at him, and Hermann’s knees rubbing against him, and Hermann’s coffee breath ghosting warm over his face–it feels shockingly intimate. Like Newt’s intruding on some sort of private inner sanctum of Hermann’s. He kinda...likes it.

He settles his hand on Hermann’s knee. “Hey,” he says, “you wanna fool around a little?”

Hermann’s eyebrows fly up to his bangs, and he jerks back sharply. It’s not really the reaction Newt was hoping for, but he can’t say it’s surprising. At least Hermann hasn’t pushed his hand away. “You’re not serious,” he says.

“I’m just saying,” Newt says. “It’s not like we have anything else to do. It could be fun. And, you know, sharing body heat would warm us up and all.” When Hermann’s skeptical expression doesn’t waver, he tries for a different tactic. “Look–you can’t say you haven’t thought about it.”

“Can’t I?” Hermann says.

“I have,” Newt says. Hermann’s eyebrows inch higher. “Plenty of times. I know you’ve gotta be curious, too.”

How can Newt not be curious? They’re basically glued to each other’s sides, basically each other’s only contact with the outside world outside of maintenance workers and the odd deliveryman. Newt’s alone-time-fantasies basically have to star Hermann if he wants them to be realistic. Besides, he’d be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t get some sort of strange thrill out of their endless, magnificently-matched arguments. It really gets his blood pumping, y’know? He’s sure they’d be just as much of a match elsewhere.

Besides. Hermann stares way too much at his ass for someone who’s not curious.

Hermann chews on his lower lip.

“If you don’t like it, we could always stop,” Newt says.

Hermann chews on his lower lip some more. Then he begins to unzip his parka. “Hurry up before I change my mind,” he says, and Newt scrambles onto the bed.

Neither of them are very good kissers, but Newt strongly maintains it’s the thought that counts when it comes to these sort of things. Hermann more than makes up for it with his hands, anyway: his hands in Newt’s hair, his hands on Newt’s shoulders, his hands wrapping around Newt’s love handles, his hands inching and inching up Newt’s chest and shoving off his leather jacket. Newt tries to make up for things on his end by focusing the bulk of his attention to moving his lips up and down Hermann’s neck.

Hermann has plenty to say about this, apparently. “There,” he says. “No, no, down a little. Down.”

Newt drags his lips as directed, adding a little teeth just for kicks, and settles them in at the juncture of Hermann’s pretty, slender throat and one of Hermann’s pretty, elegant collarbones. Hermann let him undo a whole button of his shirt. The tart. “Here?” he mumbles.

“Up more,” Hermann says.

“Dude,” Newt says.

“Fine, there,” Hermann says. He tugs on Newt’s hair again. “Use your teeth a little more. No, that’s too much. Gently. Gently. Are you even listening to me?”

Trust Hermann to micro-manage everything, even a fucking hickey. Newt pulls away and pouts. “You’re killing the mood, Hermann.”

“Shut it,” Hermann says. “Lie back. I’ll show you how it’s done.” They swap positions, Newt pushed against Hermann’s unfairly soft pillows and mattress, Hermann hefting his weight--with a grunt--to his good knee and straddling Newt’s thighs. “It’s very simple,” he says. Newt’s top three buttons are swiftly undone, and Hermann’s mouth grazes across previously uncovered skin. Then he bites down.

It’s like getting two jolts of electricity down his spine. “Shit,” Newt yelps. He shoves Hermann away and begins to whine, more out of reflex than anything, because--if he’s being honest with himself--it felt kinda awesome. “Get your goddamn vampire fangs off me! That wasn’t gentle at all.”

Hermann hmphs; his ears go red. “Perhaps I was a bit over-zealous.”

“No shit,” Newt says. He touches Hermann’s teeth marks with a wince, then again, this time with a slightly smaller wince. “Okay,” he says, “okay, I think I’m good. Do it again.”

“Again?” Hermann echoes.

Newt shrugs, a move made difficult by the fact that Hermann’s body is pinning him pretty steadfastly to the bed. “What else is there to do?”

Hermann needs less convincing this time. “Mm,” he says. “Would you like to go back on top? It’s more comfortable for me that way.” His awkward little smile returns; his eyelashes flutter adorably. “And--you’re very warm.”

“Sure,” Newt says, heart swelling. “C’mon, help me with the blankets, no use being on them--”

[marvinswriting]

Girl are mean, let's play Jenga. 

G/T game night!!! (even though i post during the afternoon) Fandom: mean girls G: Damian, Cady, Gretchen, Karen; T: Janis, Aaron, Regina Game: JENGA!!!

"This is stupidly dangerous. I want that in the book as a quote from me if I die." Regina complained. Her, Janis, and Aaron sat on the 'game table' aka a coffee table in the Hubbard's basement. After many Janis-getting-pushed-off-table incidents, they opted to play on shorter furniture. 

"Nah this it's gonna be so fun." Janis watched as her giant friends started setting up a game of Jenga. 

"No, I agree with Regina. This is incredibly stupid." Damian says not even looking away from the tower.

Janis huffs. "We won't get hurt."

"And you're so sure of yourself- how?" Cady asks with a teasing tone.

"Because I'm the boss at Jenga. Just stay out of my way and no one gets hurt."

"I'm gonna fuck with her." Regina mumbled.

"Okay!" Gretchen scoops up Regina. "Who goes first?"

"I'll go." Cady says, pushing out a piece shes obviously been eyeing with ease. 

They go counter-clockwise, Aaron and Regina both pushing out ones towards the bottom. 

"You guys gotta take from the top and leave the foundation sturdy," Gretchen says, slipping out a middle peace from halfway up.

"Oh yeah, sorry let me just get on my tippy toes." Janis remarked, grabbing a corner piece and gently pulling it out. She passed it to Damian who was glad to put it on the top for her before he began his own turn. 

As usual with Jenga, as the game got longer the stakes grew taller with the building. Janis was sitting as far away from the structure as possible, leaning against Damian's arm.

Even the tiny with no fear didn't like the look of this building. 

"I bet you I could climb it." She said despite herself, watching Cady delicately pace a piece of wood on top. 

"I bet you could too. Hell am I gonna let you try though." Damian shot back from above her.

Janis laughed, patting his arm. Each time a heavy truck drove past the house the entire table shook a bit, including the game. It might not be any of the players who make the building fall, it could just be traffic. 

"It's insane how we're still playing," Aaron remarked. The building was balancing on one center piece at the bottom. If you tried to take any pieces running parallel to it, the building would fall, meaning for a tiny to take a block they had to stand directly in the danger zone. If it were to fall, it would tumble right on them. 

"Why don't we just, start again? Stalemate?" Gretchen asked.

"Hell no," Regina said.  "I'm gonna kick Janis's ass."

"Okay, no stalemate," Gretchen said softly.

Regina marched up to the structure and pulled out a piece with ease. 

It was one of the very last good blocks and this made Janis nervous. All the other easy ones were up high, Regina knew this. 

"Your go, Janis." She teased.

Janis approached the unsound structure. "Jesus Christ." She mumbled. Was it tipping or was that her imagination?

Now, what's about to happen is totally Cady's fault. Janis will blame Cady till the day she dies. Cady lost her a fucking Jenga game. 

As Janis reached for one of the safest option bricks, Cady's phone started buzzing.

The phone that was on the table.

Sending vibrations though the same table with the structure ready to crumble. 

The structure leaning over Janis.

"Fuck!" She covered her head the second Jani's brain caught up with what was going on. There were- understandably- gasps from all around the table. 

She felt a hand instantly wrap around her and Janis had never in her life been more grateful for Damian's reflexes. 

"Holy shit." He said softly, his fingers curled around Janis protectively as he retreated his had away from the falling bricks.

"Janis lost the game!" Regina sang.

"Hey- no! No, I didn't!" Janis pusher herself up and ran to the edge of Damian's hand who used his thumb to pin Janis down so she didn't try and jump off or be stupid. "It was Cady's phone!" Janis tried to pry Damian's thumb off her but he wouldn't move.

"It was my phone." Cady agreed. "Sorry, Janis."

Janis glances at the pile of blocks. "I totally would have won."

Regina rolled her eyes. "Sure."

Damian placed Janis on his shoulder. "My mom said there was pizza for whenever we're ready, Jan and I will go grab it, can you guys clean up this?" 

"Sure!" Karen said giving a thumbs up. 

Damian made his way up the stairs and into the kitchen. Ms. Hubbard was nowhere to be found, but on the counter sat a normal box of pizza with a tiny one on top. Damian carefully picked up the smaller one and handed it to Janis before grabbing the big one and turning to go downstairs.

"That could have been bad." He said.

"Yeah." Janis agreed. In the moment, she was more worried about losing the game, but- what if Damian hadn't been so quick to respond-

She shook her head. No. Damian was quick to respond and that's all that matters. If she gets caught up in the what if, it will ruin her day. 

"Pizza!" Damian sings as he reenters the basement, mood totally changed. He probably came to the same inner conclusion.

The coffee table was cleaned off and Damian lowered the pizza box, sitting next to Gretchen. Janis passed the tiny pizza box over to Regina who sat across a small gap between shoulders. 

"Oh!" Damian sat up straight suddenly causing the pizza (and Janis, but the pizza is more important) to almost fall. "Plates. We need plates and napkins."

"I'll get 'em." Cady said. "I know where they are."

"Don't forget the tiny ones!" Damian called.

Because Janis was at the Hubbards so often, they were just always stocked up on tiny amenities. Which, hey- you didn't see Janis complaining. It was thoughtful and it truly showed that Damian got his caring manner from his mother. 

The group talked idly as they all ate pizza. It was a nice Friday with an amazing ending. When she was done eating, Janis slid down Damian's arm and to the table, ignoring his motherly speech about the danger in favor of walking towards Regina and Aaron. 

"So, game night?" She asked, standing with them.

Regina grinned. "It's no half bad at the Hubbards. I still think sorry is more fun." 

Aaron shook his head. "You just like an excuse to shove Janis."

"I don't need an excuse, look!"

Regina walked past Janis, knocking her over in the process. 

No matter how many times you fall off a table it never gets any less unnerving. Janis let out a shriek before landing on a pillow.

Oh right, their giant friends surrounded the bottom of the coffee table in pillows because they didn't trust Regina.

For valid reasons.

"Regina," Cady said from somewhere above Janis. She sounded like a disappointed mother. A hand-scooped Janis up as Cady placed her gently on the table. "We weren't even playing a game this time!"

Regina shrugged. "She's fine."

Janis threw up jazz hands with a grin. "I've fallen further."

"So," Gretchen said, a twinkle in her eye. "Another round of Jenga?"

happy friday!!! drink water bbys tags! @realmisspolarbear @musicallygt @smallsoysauce @sourishlemons

[zomblequeen]

Eidolon [1/3]

Virek Shattervale’s death is an afterthought. He is easy enough to beguile, eager at earning coin without putting in the effort, and in poor enough physical health that a single hard shove to his back sends him crumpling to the ground without so much as a panicked gurgle. He’s wheezing when the other sin’dorei gathers his hair in a bunch and wrenches his head back. He stops when her dagger drags across his jugular. 

“Jeez, Ananke,” her dark-haired companion says behind her, purposely out of splashing distance, his back bowed and his fingers digging into his elbows. “You make it look so damn personal.”

Ananke looks back at him. Her eyes reflect the ambient light of the moons above, glittering gold like the eyes of mice in the dark. “Since it’s going to be your new face,” she says, dropping the corpse to the dirt and turning, twirling her dagger in his direction, “it is, sort of.”

“You take academic rivalries to new heights,” he says, shuffling forward now that he’s sure he’s not going to get hit with an arterial spray. For an elf, he’s fairly nondescript - black hair, green eyes, a face easily lost in a crowd. There’s nothing particularly remarkable about him, and if it weren’t for the strange obsidian manacles clamped around his wrists and his ankles, he’d be just another sin’dorei out wandering the woods in the evening. Every step he makes is followed by the clattering of chains. 

Staring down at the twitching man Ananke dispatched, he huffs gently and holds out his manacled arms.

“No,” she tells him, sourly. She wipes the back of her blade against her breeches.

“Oh, c’mon.”

“No, Tempo. You’ll fuck off the moment you’ve finished. I’ve no desire to chase you.”

His voice takes on a particularly grating whine, “I’ll be quicker if you let me move my hands in a space that’s wider than three inches.”

“You can write just fine with your hands tied together.”

“I can write better if you let me have full godsdamned dexterity,” Tempo counters, instantly nasty - but when a flash of anger crawls onto Ananke’s face in the form of bared teeth he tries a different tactic, “Listen. I’m trying to make it so we’re both out of each other’s scales as fast as possible. Keep the ankle cuffs on, I don’t care.”

He punctuates his words by jangling the obsidian chains, “I just need. Both. Hands. Please.”

Ananke watches him. She keeps her dagger gripped in her palm and rolls her wrist as though she’s judging how hard it would be to lob it at him. It takes her five seconds, but she must decide the clean-up isn’t worth it, because she slides it back into its sheath and takes three long strides toward Tempo, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him down while slamming the sole of her boot against his shins. He buckles, predictably, and she purposefully slams his head against the blood-soaked dirt, half a smile glinting on her face when he makes an undignified squeak.

Ananke straightens up, leaving Tempo a dazed heap in the mess she’s made. She fishes around in a pouch strapped to her belt and tosses two pieces of spell-chalk at him, which thump and roll until they’re settled nice and neat against the side of his head. The enchanter’s dust added to the sediment in order to make it spell-ready glitters, like hidden holographic gems. The light arches along his grimacing face. 

“You’ll be plenty dexterous in irons,” she tells him, crouching down into a squat with her arms balanced on her knees. “I saw what you did to Janus, and that was in chains. Don’t try and get cute with me.”

Tempo’s groan turns into an ugly, rasping laugh. “Gods, you’re such a bitch,” he tells the dirt, wreathed in the smell of hot iron and split flesh. 

“Quite so.”

“This is why they took you off Weaver duty,” he tells her, planting both manacled hands against the ground and pushing himself up onto his knees. His twitchy fingers wrap around one of the sticks of chalk and, with no preamble, he shakily starts scribbling spellscript against the ground, not bothering to clean the combination of wet dirt and drying blood from his face. He sniffs several times, like he’s trying to stop a nosebleed. 

For a moment, Ananke is content in observing - enjoying his hunkered posture and his jittery eyes. The best thing the Chorus ever did was decide to break Tempo like a wild horse. He’s never been more honest than when at the receiving end of a whip. Everyone knows it. It’s why violence is the first solution instead of the last. 

“They let me leave my sponsorship because I asked for it,” she says to him, after a time.

Tempo glances up at her. His gaze doesn’t really focus - he’s staring off into the middle distance, regarding her somewhere within it, too frightened to make eye contact. Left shoulder rolling, he resumes what looks like a nonsense scribble to Ananke. He uses a shorthand she doesn’t think any other magically-inclined being could ever read.

“Yeah, well.  More’s the pity,” he says.

“Hm?”

“I think you’re a waste of space and a bully,” Tempo carefully skirts the edge of the blood trailing from the elf’s carcass, watching it to make sure it doesn’t disrupt the semi-circle he’s carved into the dirt, “but you’re one of the few Fateweavers I trust to know a whipstitch from a back tack. If you want to be on the front lines, that’s your business.”

“Why, Tempo, that was nearly a compliment.”

“I’m aware,” he says, punctuating it with a large, loud sniff. He watches her with the body between them, cagey, before shaking his head and swapping the stick of chalk to his left hand, continuing onward. “Why this guy, anyway?”

“The Choirmaster wanted you to be a noble. I picked out a noble.”

“Yeah, but -- why this one? In specific.”

Ananke sneers at him as he scoots around in the dirt on his knees like an animal, and it makes her feel more inclined to answer his questions. “There’s no reason. He wanted to sleep with me two weeks ago and I strung him along.”

“Ha,” Tempo tells his runework, “Gross.”

“He was pleasant company, if not entirely pathetic when it came to finances,” she continues, ignoring him, “I know you have a head for numbers, so when you solve his House’s great ills, it will put you in good with his debtors. A shining star.”

“Handing me a gift-wrapped life,” Tempo replies cheerfully, tipping back and examining the nearly completed circle of slithering script. “Remind me to never get on the bad side of the Passerines, yeesh.” 

“You’re always on everyone’s bad side.”

“Yeah, but like. Personally.”

“I personally hate you very much.”

“Oh, you don’t count. I beat you in chrono-embroidery and you never let me live it down.”

“True,” Ananke says, and despite herself there’s a note of amusement in it. “But you’re the one in irons, not me.”

Fiddling with the nub of spell chalk in his hands, Tempo snorts. “Fair enough,” he says, not looking at her. “So this chump wasn’t picked from on high?”

“No,” she replies. “Why would he be?”

“Dunno. Casual interest?”

“They’re footnotes. As are you,” she says, smiling as though she’s still got the scaly snout. “So finish your work so I may get back to mine.” 

Chuckling, Tempo shrugs and connects the last rune to the first with a single line. The moment he does so, the chalk flickers to life, glowing with an ethereal light. It starts as golden - blinding, somewhat, to Ananke - before the whole spell seems to shudder into its black-light opposite, crackling with the strange energy that fills both their veins. It’s electric and off-blue, like heat lightning.

Tempo claps his hands together. He likely means for it to be a louder noise, but he can’t get enough distance between his palms. “Easy peasy,” he calls over the threatening whum of the spellwork. 

Ananke tips back on her heels and pretends she hasn’t heard. His prideful expression falls just a fraction, and with a callous eye roll he slaps his splayed hands against the side of the spell. There’s a flash, a hiss of ozone, and the carcass within the circle twitches and arches like an electrocuted bird’s leg. With an electric sigh, the corpse shudders into flaking ash. 

The spell dissipates when the body does, having expended its fuel. Tempo, wreathed in the guise of Virek Shattervale, grins over at Ananke. The convection from the spell burnt into the ground makes his expression warp and pull as though she’s watching him through a funhouse mirror.

“Ta-da,” he sings over to her in Virek’s voice. 

“You didn’t require the theatrics.”

“Oh, no doubt,” he says, pushing himself to his feet, “but I relish the opportunity. How’s it look?”

“Gangly.” She stands when he does, not out of wariness but to keep an eye on him as he peers down at himself, shifting his weight from one leg to the other - getting used to the costume, maybe.

“You know this guy’s metabolism was out of control, huh? I feel like a skeleton.”

Ananke wrinkles her nose and sidesteps the spell circle and the pile of ash within, placing her hands on her hips as she stops up short in front of Tempo. He smiles at her, pleased as punch with himself, and she hopes that the delight he finds in his own ego will keep him quiet on the journey back to Clepsydra. “I wish you were.” 

He beams at her, all sweetness and light. “Yeah, well—“

With unreal speed, he swings his arms up and clubs her in the jaw with his balled up fists. 

The manacles clang into the side of Ananke’s face and send her spinning into the pile of corpse ash. She slams into the ground, hard, completely unprepared for her prisoner to make a break for it - and he is, awkwardly, the ankle cuffs allowing for movement just above a buzzard’s shuffle. She catches a flash of the ostentatious red robe Virek had been wearing through the dusty haze before his execution before Tempo stumbles into the woods, cursing. Digging her fingers into the ground, she snarls after him, slurring from her dislocated jaw, “You did NOT—”

Twenty seconds later, all mortal pretense dropped, she slithers after him — quick and quiet in her draconic form, which leans heavily on the notion of serpentine. She keeps her tapered muzzle pressed to the ground, sniffing along the incredibly obvious scent trail Tempo’s left, stuck in his mortal guise due to the manacles repressing his ability to shift. He’s zigging and zagging all over the place, and at some point his tracks become a bizarre gallop - desperate enough to get distance on her that he’s dropped to his hands and knees and taken off at an ungainly lope. 

When she’s certain she has Tempo cornered - having followed his trail to the Eversong seaside - she stops and gazes around the beach, waiting for her innate magic to knit the ill he’s caused. His footfalls end just before the waterline at a person-shaped circle of wildly disturbed sand. He’s likely doubled back and is hiding along the treeline after rolling around in the dirt, disguising both the smell of fear and his footsteps. The waves break along the shore, whispering behind her as she begins to hiss.

“Do you think I won’t burn this forest down to get you back?” she calls over to the treeline once her jaw has settled back into its socket. She’s expectedly greeted with silence so she continues, trotting to where the grass meets the sand, digging her talons in, ready to pounce, “Grandmother wants you returned alive. She didn’t say anything about injuries. I know what you can live through, Tempo. You’ve still got another wing to lose.”

Nothing.

Ananke tracks along the tree trunks with her slit pupils blown wide, the desire to blow the entire operation billowing in her chest like acid reflux. Tempo’s picked a hell of a time to learn the prudence of silence and a part of her not busy with being absolutely goddamned furious with being brained by him might be impressed. Lowering her snakelike head, she snorts, weaving it to and fro. 

Something flickers in her periphery. 

Ananke’s brain screams a warning - it can’t be Tempo, it’s too far away, too glittering -- too bright. Instinct makes her turn on a dime, just in time to see the Bronze drake as it bursts from a golden tear in reality, timethread dangling from its claws like the warning tendrils of a jellyfish. She twists out of the way just before the Bronze connects, so close that she feels the whisper of scale against scale. The timethread catches against her spines, sticky like spider’s silk.

The Bronze pivots behind her when their talons touch the ground, hind legs kicking up sand in a gritty wave, yanking downward on the timethread.  Shrieking, Ananke nearly loses her footing, managing to keep herself standing even as the threads burrow into the beach, wriggling like worms.

“Where’s the mortal?” the drake spits at her.

Something about her voice sparks a memory Ananke can’t quite grasp - and she’s too distracted to give it genuine thought. Jerking her caught foreleg upward only serves to make the timethread slither further into the ground, like a particularly inventive fingertrap. Indignity in her chest sparks like flint and, instinctually, she feels the fire gather at the back of her throat. 

The drake pushes off as Ananke’s spaded tail swipes downward, clapping her on the shoulder. It knocks her out of the air and she lands in a stumble, turning sharply to Ananke’s right. The Bronze is too close to hit with magic without enduring considerable flack, but she tries anyway, letting loose a gout of fire as the drake swoops underneath her neck. 

This time, when the timethread wraps around Ananke’s throat, it is cloying - and it burns, hissing as it slides underneath her scales. She lets out a scream as she’s dragged to the ground, her front claws scrabbling frantically to stop the magic as it acidically eats at her hide.

“I won’t ask again,” the Bronze tells Ananke, standing in front of her with the stance of a panther ready to pounce, “The mortal. Where is he?”

Ananke speaks through a sneer, lips pulled back to expose all of her glittering teeth. “Suck on sand, conformist—”

The drake places her foreleg on the rippled top of Ananke’s snout. Then, she pushes, increasing the pressure until she hears the drag of fang against fang.

“Wrong answer,” the Bronze says, and like grave worms escaping a sinking corpse the timethread snakes out from between her scales. Though she tries to jerk away, Ananke is held fast. Everywhere the thread touches burns, sensing the dreadful anathema inscribed into her once golden scales, and as they begin to cocoon her like a writhing caterpillar, she begins to wail. 

The Bronze leaves her there on the beach, wrapped as if in a golden funeral shroud. The Infinite isn’t dead - she’s not a killer of kin - but perhaps something worse awaits them when they’re brought back to the Scale of the Sands. After trotting closer to the tree line, the drake glances back at her quarry. Ananke lies stationary, silent and golden, like a fallen effigy. 

Sighing through her nose - disappointed, as per usual, by the lack of compliance - Cashidormi, Warden of the Scale of the Sands, turns and slips into the forest. 

Tempo’s easy enough to find for Cashi, because she’s always been looking for him - so she knows each and every one of his tells. Pressed up against a tree, he’s found a rock the size of his head and is studiously bashing the manacles around his wrists against it. Even though she’s several feet away, she can see that the links connecting both cuffs together have been warped by liberal application of fire. The chain’s held fast, though, and as she pads closer she’s greeted with the tell-tale reek of the hair he’s burnt off his arms in a desperate attempt to get himself free.

She clears her throat. He looks up at her, eyes wide, and unsurprisingly his first reaction is to grab the rock and whiff it at her. It’s far too big for him to lob, so it sails about a fourth of the way toward her and lands, rolling sadly to a stop in the middle of the clearing. It gives him enough time to snake around the tree with a hobbling, vulture-like step.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she calls after him as he disappears behind the tree trunk. 

His voice cracks. “Yeah, okay, forgive me if I don’t believe a word of that.”

“You don’t recognize me, do you?”

“Nope!” Tempo says, cheerfully. The whisper of the wind through the treetops is punctuated by several swift thunks as he continues to try and bash his way out of his manacles. “Don’t really keep a tab on Bronzes!”

Cashi can’t help it - her expression falls, and the words are a strange dagger that slots neatly between her fourth and fifth rib. She sucks in air as though she’s actually been injured, trying again. “Tempoz. Please come out.” 

He doesn’t -- but the banging stops, which is a start. 

“I’ve been looking for so long,” she says, hoarsely. “I’ve searched and searched. It’s been centuries of nothing and then... Your spell lit up the Tapestry like a lighthouse beacon. Tempoz, please.”

He peers around the side of the tree. He’s gone a particularly hideous shade of green, pupils within the fel green glow of his eyes dilated to tiny points. 

“How long has it been?” Tempo asks.

Cashi lets out a shuddery breath she hadn’t realized she’s been holding. “Around two hundred years.”

He slides back around the tree, keeping his distance. “You know the actual amount.”

The ghost of a smile dances on her muzzle and she settles onto her haunches, trying to make herself smaller, less intimidating. “So do you, I bet.” Her words are as watery as her eyes are.

They watch each other as if there’s a pane of glass between them. Tempo keeps rolling his left shoulder and she wonders if the other Infinite injured it before she came onto the scene. He’s covered in sand and dirt and looks as though he might vomit - probably from shock. He clinks the manacles together as his hands drop and the tips of his long ears flick - he holds them out to her. 

“Can you get these?”

Of course she can. Cashi’s up and trundling over to him in a blink, pulling up short when he starts to lean backwards. She’s seen hunting hounds do that before, afraid of the leash, because it often leads to the bear they’re doomed to bait. “It’s alright,” she assures him, though she’s never had to do so before. The thought of harming him makes her ill. 

Lifting her right foreleg, she drags her index claw along the runes carved into the side. They glitter briefly with electric blue energy before the clean, clinical light of Bronze magic asserts itself, tricking the lock. With a hiss and a snap, they unclamp themselves from his wrists, falling to the ground in a clatter. Tempo sets about massaging his wrists as she handles the ankle cuffs. 

“I really don’t know,” he says when he’s free, “I don’t know how long it’s been.”

“What do you mean?”

“No stars in the special clubhouse. You know that.”

“But-- but surely you leave it. Sometimes.”

Tempo’s eyebrows quirk and he thumbs down at the manacles. She doesn’t follow, and when he knows he’s got to lead the way he sighs, voice warping and dragging as he sheds the form of Virek Shattervale like a raincoat, “They keep me in the staging grounds when they bother to let me out of my cage.”

Cashi wants to ask about that horribly ominous statement, too, but she’s struck mute by her brother now that she sees him, actually sees him -- scales and all. 

Their bloodline tends to run thin, not unlike sighthounds favored by fox hunters, but Tempo’s taken the notion to lankier levels. He looks starved, large and as long as two draft horses but with none of the bulk. His blacklight scales glitter and crackle with the corrupted energy common of most Infinites, curved claws digging into the ground as he arches his bony haunches upwards, stretching like a cat dragged out of a pleasant snooze. While his large right wing flares upward, the left remains tucked to his side, extending and retracting like the awning of a wagon. The sharpened tip is pressed to the ground and creates a nonsense scribble as he stands up straight on spindly, tapered legs. 

“Much better!” he says, grinning at her with rows of serrated teeth. It lessens by half an inch when he meets her eyes. “What?”

“What’s happened to you?” she whispers, horrified. 

He tilts his head. One of his left horns is snapped at the base and the remaining jagged piece sparks every few seconds like a live wire. “I’m fine,” he says, blinking several times and turning his jittery stare off over her shoulder. “Where’s Ananke?”

That must be the other Infinite. “I-- I left them on the beach,” she replies, instantly distracted. 

“Did you kill her?” 

She isn’t sure how to compartmentalize the strange edge his voice takes. He’s speaking through razor blades. “No,” she says, half affronted, half confused. “Gods. Why would I?”

His hackles lower by a fraction. He huffs, the smile crawling back on his scaly muzzle, lifting his right foreleg to itch along his sternum. “Dunno! I don’t know how you’re all operating these days.”

“I don’t kill anyone.” Her eyes widen and she glares at his back, “But someone has. Why were you wearing Virek’s face?”

His head dips slightly, like the words have bonked him on his sharp nose. “Shit. Did everyone know this guy? Why do you know him?”

“Oh, Tempoz, you didn’t.”

“I didn’t!” he tells her spitefully, like she’s accused him of eating the last cookie out of the jar. When she stares at him mournfully, his eyes dart away and he clears his throat, “I, uh. I may have been in the vicinity when Ananke killed him. But I didn’t kill this one!”

“Gods. Did you bury him?”

“Nnnno,” Tempo swallows and finds the distant shoreline very interesting. 

Cashi’s response is flat, “You burned him.” 

He shuts his cobalt eyes, lifting his chin and plopping his haunches down on the ground, tucking his tail close to his legs for comfort. “Spells need kindling, Cashi.”

“And mortals need corpses to mourn! What am I supposed to tell his family?”

“You didn’t answer me. Why do you know him?”

“I don’t think I should tell you,” she replies, in the exact sort of tone which means she’ll do so regardless, “but he and his sister were in the running to be Watchers. We’ve had them picked for years. They were ideal candidates, because...” she trails off, brow furrowing, “because… the sister said she’d made a deal with a Bronze as a child.”

Tempo swallows. He cracks one eye open and looks over his shoulder, his good wing shooting up when he’s met with the full force of his sister’s glower. “Listen.”

“I can’t believe you!”

“Cashi--”

“--That was the night you left, wasn’t it? That was it. You’ve never wanted to tell me, and all the Scale tells me is that the problem drake took care of themselves.”

Perking up, he turns, trotting gingerly over to her with a natural delicate cringe to his frame, “This works out, don’t it? I can lay low there until we sort this out. I don’t want to go back to Clepsydra,” he says, ignoring his sister’s full-body flinch at the name, “you don’t want me to be there, this is good. This is great! Brilliant, really. Fate’s an absolute fucker until it works for us.”

He tosses his head like a show horse, refusing to give Cashi a moment to offer a rebuttal. “I can play some mortal games for a little while, we’ll ward the Estate. They won’t be able to find me unless I’m slithery and I don’t mind having thumbs.”

“What does that mean?”

Tempo winds a little nonsense half-circle in front of her, adjusting his busted wing. “It’s one of the parameters in the spell I wrote. Essence illusion, you know, typical sneakery.”

He’s practically strutting, and Cashi snorts, scowling at his shoulder blades. Her eyes travel up to the base of his head -- and stop, riveted. 

Covering the back of his neck is a twisting, curling symbol Cashi doesn’t recognize. 

It’s burned into Tempo’s scales like a brand, shiny and taut. Thin as a wire, it stands out like color at a funeral - inscribed as if in the liquid that gives fireflies their bioluminescence. It makes no physical sense- a scar shouldn’t be visible - and when she lifts her claws to touch it, Tempo hisses a warning and ducks out of her grip.

“What is that?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, quickly. Like a dog shaking off water he shivers back into the mortal guise of Virek Shattervale, and his left hand raises to rub at the back of his neck. There’s nothing there, physically, but he winces, eyes jittering toward anything that isn’t her.

“When you say that, it’s going to make me worry.”

“It’s just Chorus bullshit,” he replies. His fingers dig into his skin and she watches them drag a couple times. His nails leave thin, red lines. “It’s like marking cattle. Can we go?” 

“Not until you tell me--”

“You don’t need to know everything, okay?” he snaps at her, suddenly vicious. His teeth are bared like he’s ready to bite, “You don’t have to dissect every little thing, gods, this is why I left in the first place. I’m not a science project.”

It’s an attack, and a successful one - it wounds, as Virek’s always done a remarkable job at reading a room. While he used to use the skill for kindness, he’s sharpened it into a needle that jabs into the side of her torso. Cashi’s wince turns into a sneer - she doesn’t have time for this. She never has. “Why do you always have to throw a fit? What do you expect from me? You never explain anything. You consistently look worse whenever our paths cross, what am I supposed to do, Tempoz?”

“Stop calling me that, for one,” he spits back at her, taut like a bowstring, pacing like an animal in a too-small exhibit, just out of her reach.

“It’s your name!”

Tempo’s arms are crossed. His fingers are clutching his elbows as if he’s his own lifeline. “Can we go?” he repeats. 

It’s the only form of backing down she’s going to get from him. She knows that. “Let me-- Let me go handle Ananke,” she says. “Then we can. Okay?”

He nods.

Huffing, Cashi shakes her head. She stands, turning back towards the beach, and she cannot help but continuously glance over her shoulder to make sure her brother’s still there. A part of her imagines he’s too tired to run. With his wing the way it is, he can’t dart out of the situation like she’s used to him doing. The further she gets from him, the closer he is to the ground, until he’s curled up with all the grace and charm of a stepped-on spider - his arms slung around his knees which are drawn up tightly to his chest.

Only when she’s satisfied he won’t go darting into the woods does she sigh and pick up her pace - to go clean up yet another one of Tempo’s inadvertent messes. 

[vaguely-ash-esque]

Safe and Sound (Bakugo x Reader)

Hi there. So,  I haven’t written fan fiction in literal years, but I needed a break from OCs and am currently pretty much buried in the BNHA fandom. I had a lot of fun with this and getting back into the swing of fan fiction. I hope you like it!

Description: During a fight with a villain, Katsuki Bakugo takes a side step away from combat and stumbles across someone in need of saving. (Slight fluff?) Warning: Curses Word Count: 2630

 For the first time in his life, Katsuki Bakugo couldn’t move. He had fought without a shred of fear up until this moment, but suddenly his feet were glued to the spot, and his hands wouldn’t move an inch. Only his crimson eyes were in motion, flickering constantly around at the chaos around him. In the process of defeating yet another pathetic henchman, he lost his rhythm. His focus had vanished.

The others were fighting hard. In the middle of it all, Deku was facing the villain himself. Because of course, he was, and it only made Bakugo angrier. From here, he could just barely see an occasional flash of green light, One for All manifested in All Might’s successor, around the corner of a toppled building. He should have been over there fighting with the damn nerd, taking on the big bad himself and bringing this whole thing to an end. The sooner the better so the clean-up team could do their work without having to worry about an ongoing fight. But Deku was taking forever to finish the job, and no matter how much Bakugo willed his feet to move, nothing happened.

He was getting overwhelmed. The panic of the moment amplified the distraction of the commotion going on around him, and though he was never frantic in a fight, he was suddenly struck with fear. Not at how it would end – he knew good and well the villain would be defeated one way or another – but at his own paralyzed body and inability to shake it away.

What was happening? He was always fearless and brave, the first to rush onto the scene and take action. And now, in the middle of a real situation that desperately needed heroes, he couldn’t so much as flinch a muscle. It wasn’t right. With everything going on, he just wanted to bolt into the mess again and light the place up. Every single villain here was going to die just as soon as he wasn’t frozen. Just as soon as he. Could. Move.

“Somebody, please help me!”

His entire body jolted. Strength returned in a flood that swept through his limbs and pushed him a step forward. Mind still off-kilter, he stumbled. Rescue wasn’t his objective, there were others who came to do it themselves. Bakugo was a fighter, and that would always be his preference, but more than that, he was a hero. And he was going to be number one someday. No good hero, no decent person, could just ignore a cry for help.

Instead of racing straight into the fight, his boots rushed to answer the call. It was difficult to pinpoint an exact location for the source, but he knew the direction it came from, and that was good enough. Closer to the fight, but not directly towards it. His eyes searched. The building. It had to have come from the ruins of the building knocked over in the fight. As far as he was aware, no one had been inside at the time of it falling, but maybe someone had been underneath when it collapsed.

The closer he ran, the more his gaze could pick out. Smoke and dust still billowing from the wreckage, wires and iron bars, crushed paneling and shattered glass. If someone was trapped under it all, he had no idea how they had survived. Maybe the voice hadn’t come from beneath it but around it. Regardless, he wouldn’t be able to do anything if he couldn’t find the person who needed help. He skimmed the debris as he ran into it. Beams, rubble, disfigured remnants of a broken structure.

There.

As Bakugo neared the base of the fallen edifice, his vision peered over the edge of a ditch that had opened deeper under the weight of the building halfway under a broken wall. Torn electrical wiring dangled from the building and hanging from them was… you. His breath hitched. There were tears drenching your face, and your arms were shaking as they clung to the black, sparking wires. Who knew how long you had been hanging here, helplessly clutching to a handful of cords to stay alive? You could have been waiting here the whole time, crying out for someone to help you. It was a miracle you had held on this long.

The moment your eyes found him, they lit up with a fire of hope that kept him in motion.

“Hey!” he shouted, voice no gentler than normal. He should have put more effort into seeming less harsh, but that wasn’t his concern right now. He just needed to get you to safety. He calculated his options; there weren’t many that would work.

He could blast himself to the wires and grab you, but your lifelines were already precarious, and any additional weight might break them completely. He could rush past and snatch you on the way, but then it was a matter of timing. If you didn’t let go at the right time, you might pull the cords and bring more debris raining down. If he told you to let go first and trust he would grab you, the timing would be fixed, but the angle he would need to move at wasn’t really possible from here, and moving into a better position might endanger you even more. There was only one option left: lean over the edge and reach out to you. And hope you weren’t too far.

His knees dug into the dirt. The soil was freshly torn up and unstable, but he nestled his legs into it as securely as he could. He met your eyes again, and without a word, his expression somehow conveyed comfort – he was going to save you – and he could see that you trusted his promise.

“Don’t swing,” he ordered, testing the ledge of dirt with some of his weight. It shifted slightly, but once it compacted, it was sturdy. “Just try to reach me.”

There was a slight nod. Carefully, you moved yourself to free one arm. The other immediately began to tremble more wildly, but you gripped it tighter than seemed possible and stretched one arm towards Bakugo. His shoulder ached with the effort of trying to reach farther than his body would let him. You were centimeters away, fingers nearly brushing his own, but still just beyond his reach. He tried again, just barely touched your knuckles, and drew back before his balance could send him tumbling over the edge.

“Damn…” he grumbled, readjusting his grip on the ground. This wasn’t fair. First, he got distracted and got thrown out of the fight just because his mind wasn’t centered, and now he couldn’t save one person because they were just too far out of reach. No. No. He was going to save you, and nothing could stop him, much less a tiny gap. “I’ll get you.”

This time. He would reach you this time. He braced himself and moved his hand out again. Further. Go further. Even more. He was so close. So close…

Crrreeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaakkkkkkk

For a split second, he watched as fear overtook your face, and then you were gone, plunged over the edge and buried beneath a billowing cloud of dust. A shout jumped from his throat but was cut off just as quickly by the rush of floating filth that shoved him away. Although his mask protected his eyes, his right arm crossed in front of his face in hopes of shielding it from being caked with dirt. A fit of coughs bubbled out of his chest, scratching and clawing as it escaped.

By the time the dust finally began to settle, he was lightheaded and dizzy. The world spun once, twice, before he blinked it away. What he had thought was a wreck before was suddenly a hundred times worse. There was nothing still standing. Instead, there was only a pit of broken pieces, a pile of rubble. And you were somewhere beneath it all. Because he hadn’t been able to reach you.

With a barely restrained growl and no hesitation, Bakugo vaulted over the edge. It would have been smarter to find a hero whose quirk was more suitable for search and rescue. Surely, there was somebody nearby who could tunnel through the debris to find you, but finding them meant time, and every moment he wasted was another moment for you to crawl closer to death. He wasn’t willing to risk even a minute away.

His only option was to use his own, brute strength and the assistance of his explosions to move the building’s remains out of the way. And as he did, everything else faded away. The villains didn’t even cross his mind, and the fight no longer mattered. Figures rushed to the pit’s edge, shouting his name, demanding to know what he was doing or how they could help or insisting he was being reckless. Reckless? No. No. Determined, wild even, but not reckless. He had to save you, and the clock was still ticking. His costume tore in too many places, dozens of cuts splattered his blood on the rocks he dug through.

Dirt sprung up and touched his eyes, and that was why they swelled with water, no matter how many times he wiped the moisture away to see clearly again. He had thought the rescuing would be easy. His best personal work was always in combat and always his first choice between the two. Bakugo had never been tasked with the responsibility of reaching out to someone to save them. In his mind, it was always the easiest part. Once the fight was over and the villains were defeated, a team would come to clean up the rest. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t simple at all.

There were lives, real people’s lives, in his hands. Someone’s life had been in his palm, and he let it slip away so easily. What kind of hero was he if he couldn’t reach one person? What kind of hero couldn’t save a single life?

“Damn it!”

Concrete went flying, smashed into pieces by an explosion that shot searing pain up into his arms. He was starting to overdo it, but a little bit of pain wasn’t going to stop him. Unbearable agony wouldn’t be able to stop him. One way or another, Bakugo was going to save you. He just had to find you again.

Another blast sent shattered rocks clattering away. There. From a heap of loosened stones and metal rods, he caught sight of a hand. Still reaching. Still begging to be saved. With renewed strength, he clawed away the rubble, clearing air for the person buried underneath until finally, he could wrench you out of the mess.

There were scratches and bruises littered all over your body. Some were deeper than others and red stains were just barely visible past the dirt that coated you. One arm was bent at a painfully awkward angle. Wide, frantic eyes searched your face before Katsuki leaned closer and placed his ear near your mouth. And waited. And waited…

Faint. Barely even there, but he felt a trickle of a breath brush the side of his face. Somehow, you were still alive, still breathing, though badly hurt. He swiped once more at his watery eyes, scooped you up in his arms, and trudged his way back to level ground.

An area had already been set up for the injured. So far, not many were there. Either few had been hurt, or the hurt hadn’t been rescued yet. Without a word to the ones who had gathered around the pit, Bakugo pressed forward, cradling you close, determined to keep you safe, and headed for the cleared section. You couldn’t have been in a stable condition. If only he had been quicker or formed a better plan from the beginning. If only he had been able to save you, you wouldn’t be so hurt now.

If only he had reached further.

He hated the freezing cold that appeared when a medic took you from his arms. He felt empty, and in the space that was left, hatred crept in. Over the course of three days, he thought through every moment a thousand times and came up with a thousand ways he could have done better but forgot them every time he let something else distract him. For his first real rescue, Bakugo had failed miserably. Sure, he hadn’t heard that you were dead yet, but you were injured, and it was his fault. For three whole days, he hated himself.

Until:

“Bakugo,” Aizawa’s dull drone caught him before he could make it more than a step outside the classroom.

He cursed in his head. What now? He hadn’t done anything wrong this time. No fights with Deku, he hadn’t broken anything, even his normal bitterness had been toned down, directed at himself instead of others. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “What.”

         “(Y/n) has asked to see you.”

         “Who the hell is that?”

         It was torture for Mr. Aizawa to keep his eyes from rolling, but the man somehow managed. “The person you saved the other day. The one you dug out of the building’s wreck.”

         His heart thumped against his ribcage. You wanted to see him? Why? Probably to lay into him on how horrible of a hero he was. He wouldn’t take any of it, but whatever words you said would echo in his mind for the next week. Either way… he did want to see you again, to make sure you were okay. He wasn’t sure what all injuries you had sustained, just that, with a larger group of people with greater wounds, you got knocked down on the list of those who would be tended to by pro healers. Until everyone in front of you was good to go, you would have to heal on your own.

         “Fine,” he finally grumbled. “Let’s go.”

         The sun was setting by the time Bakugo and his teacher reached the hospital. A red glow illuminated the walls, streaming through every window it could reach and blaring into the boy’s eyes. Hands still deep in his pockets, he passed through the halls without so much as a glance at anyone else who walked by. Dread plunged a hole in his stomach, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He had already decided to see you. He could take whatever ridiculous scolding you had prepared for him. He wasn’t scared of you.

         As soon as Aizawa indicated which door was yours, he threw it open with an unintentional blast from his palm. You looked better than the last time he saw you. The minor scrapes and bumps were nearly healed, though the worse ones were still covered with bandages. On of your arms was wrapped and tucked in a sling, but you were very much alive. The fear from his sudden entrance faded after a brief second. He would never admit it, but it was a relief to see you alive.

         “What do you wan-”

         Before he could finish the question, you had crossed the room, and your good arm was wrapped around him. He froze. The cold that had crept in when you were taken from his grasp was filled again. Uncertain of what to do, he stood motionless, unable to move, staring at you in stunned silence.

         “Thank you,” you whispered and clutched him a little tighter, “for saving me.”

         It wasn’t perfect. He could have done so much better, but you seemed mostly alright. Next time, he would do better. If not for himself or the next people who would need rescuing, then for you. “Yeah.” A loose arm wrapped around your shoulders. “Any time.”

[as-write-as-rain]

Love Song

Pairing: Bassist!Bucky x Singer!Reader

Summary: Everyone in this band is your best friend, but you wish the bassist was a little more than that.

Warnings: PG Language. Lots of Fluff!

This is for @kentuckybarnes' 3k Writing Challenge! Here's your Rockstar!AU one-shot featuring Bucky w/ a Bass, I hope you enjoy it!! Here's my first attempt at fanfiction, and I've probably been overthinking it, but I'm fairly happy with the result. Please be kind!

You drew your coat tighter around yourself, hurrying across the quiet street. The streetlight illuminated the snow drifting through the air, giving a peaceful feeling to the night…but you barely even noticed. You were running late for practice, and you really weren’t in the mood to hear another lecture from Steve – not after the day you’d had. Work had been busy as hell, because someone had called in sick and you had to pick up the slack; then, when you’d finally clocked out and headed to class, you got your philosophy paper back with a big fat D at the top. All you wanted to do right now was hang out somewhere warm with your favorite people in the world and make some music. Luckily, you were finally on your way there now!

Everyone looked up as you (accidentally) slammed the door open to Steve’s apartment. Tossing them a “sorry!” cringe, you stomped your boots on the mat, trying to dislodge as much snow as you could. The last thing you needed was a bunch of puddles creating a real safety hazard in the middle of your jam session! Stuffing your hat and scarf into a pocket, you hung your coat from one of the hooks on the wall, and joined your friends in the living room.

“’Bout time you got here, girl – we were wondering where you were!” Sam’s voice, dripping in sarcasm, made it crystal clear how he felt about having had to wait for you, and the withering look you shot him in response only made him laugh. You’d been friends since third grade, and always liked to give each other a hard time. Carol was setting up her keyboard, but she tossed you one of her patented wry smiles, her twinkling eyes speaking volumes about what she thought of Sam’s antics. Thankfully, Steve was engrossed in a pile of papers and only glanced up briefly enough to give you a quick nod as you passed, before returning to his work.

You took a deep breath to mentally prepare yourself before turning towards the couch, where you had already spied Bucky out of the corner of your eye. He had one leg up on the edge of the couch where he was tuning his bass, but as you approached he looked up and smiled. You steadfastly ignored the way it made your heart squeeze, and just gave him a breezy smile in return, dropping your laptop bag onto the cushions with a little more force than you meant to.

He instinctively leaned a little closer to you, and, in a quiet voice, asked, “How’s it going?” You glanced over, appreciating the way he tried to keep the question just between the two of you, instead of involving the whole room in the conversation. His attention was focused on the tuning pegs, but when you didn’t answer right away he looked over at you, tossing his head slightly so his shoulder-length hair fell back from his grey-blue eyes.

You sighed. “It’s going.” His expression turned sympathetic, and, with a half-shrug, you elaborated, “Today was kinda shit, but now I’m here and ready to rock out with you guys.”

His eyes searched yours, trying to make sure you were really okay, and the kindness and concern you saw in them made you secretly weak. “Well, I’m always here for you, if you wanna talk about it later.”

“Thanks, Buck,” was all you trusted yourself to say, and, with a small smile, you busied yourself with pulling out your music while he finished tuning his instrument. After a few seconds you peeked back at him out of the corner of your eye. His hair had fallen back across his face, and what you could see of his expression was once again serious. His focus was back on his gleaming silver guitar with its single bright red star, and you let your gaze linger on his lips before dropping to admire the way his muscles flexed while tuning it. Had he been working out? You could have sworn they were even bigger than usual, and he’d never been scrawny to begin with.

Steve cleared his throat and you quickly looked up to where he was standing in the middle of the room. “Anytime you’re ready, Y/N.” Trying not to look guilty (did he catch you checking Bucky out? Or is he just annoyed that you were late?), you nodded and stepped over to the mic.

Closing your eyes, you took three deep breaths, releasing the stress of the day and the pressures of the world; leaving behind the Harried Barista, Stressed College Student, and Pining Best Friend parts of your personality in favor of fully embodying your Rock Goddess persona. Everything that happened before this moment, you let fall away; right now, there was only you and the music. When you opened your eyes again, you felt fierce and self-possessed, filled with a deadly calm and ready to sing your heart out.

Carol was already poised, hands on the keys, and Sam sat behind his drum set, both of them looking to Steve, who was holding his guitar and tapping his foot to set the rhythm for the first song. Bucky got into position and faced forward, eyes on you. This was always his favorite part, watching you come alive in front of the mic. He saw your eyes open and your whole posture change, and he smiled to himself. Now we can rock.

Steve started first, then Sam, Carol, and Bucky last of all. You guys knew this song forwards and backwards, so it was almost like a warm-up for you. You grabbed the mic and started out quiet, gradually getting louder as the song built. It was so familiar and so freeing that you were grinning by the time the song was over. A glance at the rest of your friends told you they felt the same way.

The five of you had been friends forever, and Future Captains grew naturally out of your shared love of music. It started out as a fun project, but soon you realized you sounded really good together. Eventually, you’d all gotten kind of serious about it, and everyone had come into their own: Steve (and sometimes Carol) provided additional vocals, Sam was a genius at publicity, and Bucky excelled at managing most of what went on behind the scenes. And of course, everyone had only gotten better and better at playing their respective instruments as time went on. You loved to sing -- but more than that, you adored performing as a band, all of you creating music collectively, because it felt like you were part of something bigger than you, like you were sharing a soul for a few minutes in time. Whenever you sang, you felt powerful and unstoppable, and life seemed to make sense again. So, you eagerly lost yourself in the music, surrendering all your worries and just letting the songs flow through you.

After a couple of hours, you’d gone through all your material, both the older songs and the newer stuff you were still fine-tuning. You chugged from your water bottle and beamed at your band mates, invigorated. Carol winked, Sam gave you two thumbs up, and Bucky’s grin seemed to mirror your own.

Steve was smiling too, and as he started wrapping up cords and putting away his red, white, and blue guitar, he praised, “Great job, guys, we sounded amazing. I think we’re going to blow everyone away at the gig next week.” More smiles all around before he continued, “I’m almost done with those new songs I’ve been working on; I should have them done by Thursday’s practice, so we’ll try them out then.”

“Ooh, I can’t wait!” Carol cooed in that dry tone that always sounded a little teasing. When Steve glanced over to see whether she was being sincere, she continued, “I mean it! You’re a really great songwriter, Steve. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Steve blushed and shrugged. “Well, thanks. But I’m not the only one! You guys are super talented too, and if any of you ever want to write a song, just let me know. I’m more than happy to share the songwriting responsibilities!” He looked around the room, holding everyone’s gaze for a few seconds, looking at Bucky last. Bucky studiously avoided eye contact, busying himself with putting his own guitar away.

The mic was the easiest item of all to put away, so after stowing it in its box you’d helped Sam dismantle his drum set and store the pieces safely in the corner. Addressing the room at large, you clapped your hands together and asked in a chipper tone, “Anybody up for a drink down at the bar? I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve had a hell of a day.”

Sam was first to jump at the chance, and Carol was happy to join in. With an apologetic look, Steve explained that he had an early test tomorrow that he really needed to study for. Bucky hesitated just a second. “I’d love to, but I have an essay I need to finish.” Seeing your disappointment, he scrambled to add, “It’s almost done, maybe I can finish it up quick and meet you guys?” The three of you nodded, and he quickly decided that the smile you gave him was worth whatever grade he would end up getting on his half-baked paper.

He watched you, Carol, and Sam grab your jackets and head out the door, and when you turned back with a little wave, he gave you a grin that looked a lot more confident than he felt. The door shut, and he turned away, only to see Steve sitting at the kitchen table, regarding him knowingly.

Frowning, he growled, “What?”

“Nothing.” Steve’s voice was annoyingly patronizing.

With a sigh, Bucky turned towards his room, intending to ignore Steve’s smugness and hurry to finish his paper, but he’d gotten only a few steps before he heard him speak again.

“You should just tell her how you feel, Buck. I’m pretty sure she likes you, too. You guys would make a great couple.”

Whirling around, Bucky scowled at his roommate. “What are you talking about?”

Steve sat back in his chair and just gave him his patented look. Bucky jutted out his chin and crossed his arms, determined to be just as stubborn. Steve broke first, giving a short huff of laughter and shaking his head with a smile. “You’re my best friend, Buck, and so is she. It’s clear you have feelings for Y/N, and I wish you would just come clean, instead of pining over her and acting so weird and defensive. You’d be good for each other.”

Bucky looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve sighed. “Okay. We don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want to. I’ve got my test to study for anyway, and I know you’ve got to finish your paper.”

  A little over a half hour later, Bucky sat at his computer, reading over his paper one last time. It definitely wasn’t his best work, but it was pretty solid. He’d probably get a C; anything higher than that would require significantly more time and effort, and he wasn’t willing to spend any more of either at this point. His mind was already thinking ahead to seeing you at the bar, maybe find out what was bothering you – or at the very least, get to cheer you up and spend some time together. He loved just being in your presence, making you laugh or smile. You were like the sun to him, you seemed to warm his very soul; and he couldn’t get enough.

He quickly emailed his essay to his professor, grabbed his stuff, and headed for the living room. Steve must have heard his footsteps, because he stuck his head out of the kitchen, probably about to nag him again. “Hey, Buck –“

Bucky cut him off, calling out loudly, “Sorry, Steve – gotta run!” as he rushed out the door into the cold.

Steve sighed, looking down at the books his roommate had left in the kitchen. The clutter was really distracting him (probably because he might have been eager for any distraction at all from his studying, which was turning out to be very boring indeed), and he had hoped Bucky would take his stuff back into his room. “I guess I’ll just do it myself, then,” he mumbled to himself, picking up the stack. A page fluttered out of the notebook on the bottom of the pile. “Oops,” Steve bent to retrieve it, and then pulled up short. He’d expected it to be chemistry notes, but this was laid out like a poem, and the unexpected formatting caught his attention.

His eyes skimmed over the stanzas. “Aw, Buck….” The wheels in his head started turning.

  As soon as he opened the door to the bar, Bucky could hear one of his favorite sounds in the world: your laughter. The place was about as busy as you’d expect for a Tuesday, and it wasn’t hard to spy the three of you in a booth, laughing uproariously about whatever story Sam had just finished telling. He stopped at the counter to order a beer before heading your way. Carol spied him and waved animatedly, as though he hadn’t already seen you guys; you snorted at her antics and took another sip of your drink before giving him a quick hug hello.

Sam’s story seemed to remind Carol of something similar that had happened to her once, and soon the four of you were in stitches, imagining her incredibly serious Lit professor going to lean back against the desk like he always did – only to find that the desk wasn’t exactly where he thought it was…and ending up on his ass on the ground instead.

“Everybody laughed, even Dr. Snyder – and then he swept right back into discussing Camus again, as though nothing had happened. You would not have been able to handle it, Y/N!”

You put your hands on your hips, trying to look menacing, or at least offended. “What’s that supposed to mean??”

Sam shoved your shoulder, shaking his head and laughing. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t know what we’re talking about. You can never keep it together when something strikes you as funny – especially when everyone’s supposed to be super serious. Remember that assembly in high school where you couldn’t stop laughing and you ended up getting detention for it?”

You grimaced, facepalming when Bucky joined in the teasing, asking, “Which time??” The three of them laughed even harder, and you had to give it up and join them, even though you were blushing brightly. This is why you’d wanted to come to the bar, after all, to relax and just have some fun; and besides, you really couldn’t deny that they were absolutely right.

Once the laughter had died down, Carol stood up, announcing that she was going to request some songs on the Jukebox. Sam shouted after her, reminding her to put some Marvin Gaye in the rotation, and she rolled her eyes and waved a hand at him to signify that she was well aware of Sam Wilson’s Jukebox Rules. Satisfied, Sam sat back, taking a swig of beer and surveying the room.

“Hey, Buck, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but that blonde in the corner hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you got here.”

Bucky, who’d been about to nudge you and try to initiate conversation, was startled by the sudden change in topic, and froze. “What?”

Sam leaned in conspiratorially, a smirk on his face. “It’s your lucky day, man; looks like she’s heading this way. And her friend is cute!”

You barely had time to react before the two girls reached the table, and Sam was already hailing them with that swagger that you usually made you laugh, but somehow tonight was just getting on your nerves.

The girls giggled, and you swore you saw the blonde bat her eyelashes at Bucky. Who does that??

You grabbed your drink and hopped out of the booth, trying to appear chill despite the sinking feeling in your stomach. “I think I need another one of these,” you mumbled, even though nobody had asked.

The blonde had placed her hand on Bucky’s bicep, but his eyes stayed on you as you marched up to the bar and shone that million-watt smile on the bartender. Of course the guy started flirting immediately, who could resist you? Clenching his jaw, Bucky turned his attention back to his admirer, who was asking, “You know, you guys look familiar, have we met before?”

Sam preened. “You might have seen our band play around town, we’re the Future Captains?”

The girls squealed. “That’s what it is! You guys rock!!”

The blonde squeezed Bucky’s arm. “You’re the bassist, right? You’re incredible,” she breathed.

He smiled widely despite himself. “Thanks for the compliment, doll.”

“We’re playing at the House of Blues next Wednesday night, you girls should come check us out.” Sam really excelled at promoting the band, which Bucky was secretly grateful for, since it meant he didn’t have to hold up much of a conversation, and could continue watching you surreptitiously. The bartender was being extra friendly, and Bucky was trying really hard not to crush his beer bottle in his fist.

The conversation around him carried on without him even noticing, and he almost didn’t even hear Sam addressing him directly.

“Bucky, you coming, man?”

He focused back in on Sam’s face, searching his memory to see if he could remember the last thing someone had said. “Uh…”

Sam rolled his eyes. “To the party? That these lovely ladies have invited us to?” He gave him a very pointed look, clearly trying to telegraph something with his eyes. Whatever he was trying to say, it was definitely lost on Bucky.

“Uh, no, thanks. I’m gonna hang with Y/N, that was the whole point of coming here, after all – what kind of friend would I be if I abandoned her?”

Sam paused. “You’re right, bro, maybe I should stay too?”

Glancing around at the ladies waiting impatiently, and Sam’s conflicted expression, he made a quick decision. “Nah, you go. It’s totally your scene, and I’m sure she’ll understand. I just don’t want to leave her completely alone.”

Sam shrugged, standing and putting an arm around each of his new fans. “You’re right. She’s a big girl, she’ll get it. And it’s not like she can’t handle herself.” With a quick wave in your direction, and one at Carol (who was still close to the jukebox, seemingly deep in conversation with an admirer of her own), he donned his jacket and left.

Meanwhile, you were flattered by the bartender’s attention, and while it wasn’t really doing much to raise your spirits, it did ensure that you got a nice, strong drink. Besides, he was cute enough, and you knew from experience how hard a job in the service industry could be. So you played along with his small talk; it’s not like you were in a rush to get back to your friends and watch some strange girl fawn all over Bucky. But the bar soon got a bit of a rush, and when you snuck a glance back at the table, you were surprised to discover Bucky sitting all by himself, with neither strange girls nor Sam anywhere in sight. Grabbing your drink and sliding the bartender a generous tip, you made your way to Bucky.

He greeted you with a big smile, sliding over to let you into the booth. “Where’d Sam go?” you asked, searching the room one last time as you sat down.

“He went to a party with his new friends,” Bucky offered.

“You didn’t want to go?”

Your surprise was written all over your face, and Bucky shrugged, chuckling. “And leave my best girl behind? No way!”

You took a sip of your drink to disguise how flustered you felt. You were his best girl? What did that even mean?? You settled for playfully elbowing him in the ribs. “Well, thanks, Buck. I definitely appreciate it.”

The grateful smile on your face made his heart explode, and he was instantly glad for every decision he’d made tonight. He impulsively put his arm around your shoulder and pulled you in for a side hug.

You returned his hug with a happy sigh, and when he didn’t withdraw his arm after the hug was over, you snuggled in close to him. It almost felt like old times, before you had developed this pesky crush and were just as comfortable being affectionate with Bucky as with the rest of the group.

Speaking of, you spied Carol finally returning to the table, and grinned. “And where have you been?” you teased.

She rolled her eyes as she climbed back into the booth. “What can I say? Who am I to snub a fan?” The three of you laughed at her pretended cockiness, and you settled in to listen to her next hilarious story. Your heart felt lighter and happier than it had all day, and once again you gave thanks for having such awesome friends in your life.

  Your spirits were high by the time the next rehearsal rolled around. The rest of the week had been pretty low-key at work, and you hadn’t had any big assignments or tests in any of your classes, which was a relief. You even talked Carol into heading to practice early, hoping to hang out with your bandmates a little longer.

You stopped by work to grab a round of coffees (or hot chocolates!) for everyone, and then headed to Steve’s. When you & Carol got there, they’d left the door unlocked for you, and you walked in to find them watching some ridiculous old 90s movie they found playing on cable. They greeted both of you with smiles and hugs (and excitement about the drinks!), and invited you to join them. After only the slightest hesitation, you opted to sit on the sofa next to Bucky, while Carol sank into one of the big plushy chairs facing the TV. Bucky grinned at you as you sat down, and you couldn’t help but notice he looked even better than usual today, in a blue shirt that really brought out the color of his eyes. He stretched his arm across the back of the couch, inviting you to snuggle up close to him as always, and you couldn’t resist doing so. He was so warm and safe, which was quite a welcome situation to be in after walking in the snow. So you curled up into his side and took a fortifying sip of your cocoa, letting yourself be warmed both inside and out.

The movie was over by the time Sam arrived, and the four of you had just been chatting about life, work, school, and upcoming gigs. Carol was draped sideways over the arms of the comfy chair, her hair hanging over one side and her legs dangling over the other; Steve sat on the floor with his back against the couch, fiddling with an old Rubik’s cube he’d found under the coffee table.

As Sam grabbed himself something to drink from the fridge, Steve checked the clock and realized it was time to get rehearsal started. Standing in front of you all still in the TV room, he adopted the tone you all recognized as Business Steve.

“Okay guys, I finished the songs I was working on, you ready to hear them?”

You all whooped in response, enthusiastic as ever to hear what Steve came up with. He was great with lyrics, but it was really his melodies and arrangements that always blew you away, personally. He had a real talent for that sort of thing, and you loved to encourage him.

Steve dragged over a music stand and his acoustic guitar, sitting down in the comfy chair that Carol had vacated to join you on the couch. Sam plopped himself into the other comfy chair, still nursing his drink. Steve played a few chords, and just as you thought he was about to sing, he stopped and coughed.

“Uh, Buck, you think you could help me with this?”

Bucky looked like he’d been caught passing notes in class. “Huh?”

“Wanna come up here and sing this for me?”

“Why?” Bucky said, blankly. You didn’t blame him for being confused; Steve usually debuted new songs by singing them himself, and this was the first time he’d ever asked someone else to do it instead.

“Because my asthma has been acting up, and I don’t think I can do it today.” Steve sounded like he was trying very hard to be patient, and you fought to keep yourself from snickering at how odd he was acting.

Bucky stood up, looking concerned. “Oh shit, man, I’m sorry. I hadn’t even noticed. Have you been wheezing or anything? Should we make a doctor’s appointment?”

Steve’s face was starting to turn red, and you grabbed onto Carol’s arm, biting your lip and avoiding eye contact with her, knowing it would make you crack up. She put her hand over yours and gave a sympathetic squeeze as Steve continued in a slightly strained voice. “I think I’ll be okay, Buck, but I just don’t want to exacerbate it by singing today. Can you just please come sing for me instead?”

Bucky obediently got up and crossed the room, taking the pages Steve handed him and looking them over. You were so busy struggling to control the laughter that was threatening to burst out of you, you didn’t even notice how Bucky suddenly got really still and tense. His eyes hardened, and darted over suspiciously to Steve, who was diligently focused on his guitar, apparently tuning it even though he’d been playing it just fine minutes before.

“What is this?” Bucky asked in a steely tone, very quietly so that only Steve could hear.

“It’s our new song,” Steve announced brightly to the room in general. “You ready to start, Buck?”

Bucky swallowed, glancing quickly at everyone, his eyes lingering just a second longer on you before going back to the music in his hands. There really was no way out of this, he had to just plow through and hope he made it to the other side. “Sure.” His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat and took a drink of water.

Steve smiled a wide, too-innocent smile, and started strumming again. After a few moments, Bucky began to sing.

I know every little thing about you And you know all about me too But not everything, I have a secret How have you not noticed yet?

You had always loved Bucky’s voice, gravelly and rich. But for whatever reason, he usually preferred to leave the vocal parts to Steve, so you didn’t get to hear him sing as often as you’d liked. Your earlier amusement already forgotten, you smiled, letting his warm voice wash over you while you listened to the lyrics and tried to imagine yourself singing this song in the future.

We've known each other since we were small Never dreamed that I would fall But every day I have to pretend Because you’re also my best friend

His voice, tremulous at first, had grown stronger as the song continued, but on this last line it cracked just a little. Then the rhythm changed, and it was clear the chorus was approaching.

You shine like the sun and I'm only a shadow The center of my world but you'll never know You're everything I've ever wanted I'm haunted

The song was beautiful, but, more than that, the lines were breaking your heart. They seemed to exactly describe how you felt about Bucky. But, how did Steve know? Was this some kind of joke? Had he figured out how you felt and was outing you to Bucky? Even as these panicked thoughts occurred to you, your rational mind had to point out Steve would never be that cruel. But as the verses started up again, you sat up a little straighter, trying to pay closer attention to what was really going on here.

When we're together, I have to hide Got to keep it all inside But deep within I'm falling apart Because I’m already losing my heart

The emotion in Bucky’s voice was raw, and you found yourself incredibly moved. And in that moment, your heart seemed to stop. Maybe this song wasn’t from your point of view at all. But did you dare to hope?

I don't know what to say So I hold my tongue another day What if you don't feel the same? I don't want anything to change

You shine like the sun and I'm only a shadow The center of my world but you'll never know You're everything I've ever wanted I'm haunted

The notes slowed down and time seemed to stretch out with them, as he sang the final coda.

I'd give everything just to have you be mine Worship you all of the time But I'm so afraid to cross that line

As the song ended and the last chords died out, a silence hung in the room, like the world was holding its breath. Your eyes were threatening to overflow with tears, but you didn’t move. Bucky stood still, not looking up; afraid to see your reaction. He felt like his heart had been laid bare, and he was terrified to see what came next.

You looked back and forth between him and Steve, desperately trying to figure out if what you hoped was happening was actually true. When you caught Steve’s eye, he was already looking directly at you. He raised a brow and ever so slightly tipped his head, nodding towards Bucky.

You felt frozen; you didn’t know what to do. Next to you, Carol cleared her throat, and suddenly you remembered there were other people in the room.

“Great song, I love it!” she crowed, her voice startlingly loud after such an extended quiet. “Um, Sam, I just remembered I have something I wanna show you. In the kitchen.” She practically leapt off the couch, and Sam followed her lead immediately.

Steve stood up too, mumbling something about having to wash some dishes, and scooted out of the room on their tail. You gave an amused exhalation at their lack of subtlety, but for the first time in your life the humor was tempered by a situation that needed your more immediate attention.

Bucky had yet to move from where he stood, though he was now staring after Steve with a somewhat incredulous look on his face. You took a deep breath and found your voice, though your heart was in your throat.

“Bucky?”

You were so quiet that you wondered if he’d even be able to hear, but he turned toward you, fingers fiddling with the music sheets. He kept his eyes downcast, still avoiding eye contact. “Y/N…”

You waited to see what he was going to say, but when he trailed off, you decided to speak again. “That song…that was amazing.”

The emotion in your voice was what tugged his eyes up to meet yours. “Yeah?” The ghost of a smile appeared around his lips, but his gaze was hopeful.

You smiled softly, taking a few steps closer to him. “Yeah.”

He flushed, glancing down at the page again. “Steve –“

You stopped abruptly, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. “Steve?” You questioned, in a disbelieving tone, though your eyes twinkled with amusement. “Is that who I should be talking to right now?”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “He – he wrote the music, but…no, the words are mine.” He searched your face hesitantly, and he slowly crossed the last few steps between you.

You stared into his eyes for a few moments, feeling like you might drown in them. Finally, in a voice that was barely a whisper, “And?” When his eyebrows quirked in slight confusion, you added, “Did you mean it?”

At this, he smiled broadly, and his response was soft. “Every word.”

He carefully placed a hand on your hip, his gaze questioning. He was so close to you now, and you were on the precipice of everything you’d been dreaming of. Tossing the final vestiges of your caution to the wind, you wove your hand into his hair, pulling him the last few inches towards you, answering him with a kiss.

He responded eagerly, bringing his other hand up to gently cup your face. His lips were soft and tender, his kiss urgent and worshipful. He kissed you like you were the answer to everything he’d ever searched for, and for you it felt like the whole world clicked perfectly into place.

When you finally broke the kiss, it was with a happy sigh. Bucky affectionately nuzzled your nose with his own before resting his forehead gently against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that forever.” The way he was looking at you was making your heart soar like a balloon.

You couldn’t help but smile giddily. “Me too.”

Sam’s voice from the kitchen broke through your shared reverie. “You lovebirds done yet? We doing any actual practicing today or what?”

You and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh.

[darksiderssin]

Post Apocalyptic Slowburn feat. Horsemen

WOW THIS TOOK ME LONG ENOUGH. Super long post, so I’ll stick it under a cut so you don’t have to scroll forever XD

War: The fact that you've survived despite your planet being dead for the good part of a century has impressed the guy right off the bat. Not so much the Watcher, but War is adamant you stay with him- initially to prove to the Council that humanity isn't extinct and strengthen his case. Then you start having each other's back- you are vicious with that machete and Chaoseater is never too far from neatly bifurcating whatever's out to eat you. He's blunt when he tells you why your world ended, and you admit that it's not cool that this was pinned on him just because he was the closest person at the time, and War comes to treasure your loyalty like you treasure having him for a companion. You have a solid friendship already going on here. 

By the time the Chosen are dealt with, War doesn't expect you to blindly follow him into the Black Tower for his rematch with Straga and grudge match with the Destroyer, but you do. Your bond is only strengthened by Azrael's confession that the Apocalypse was a mistake, so you are 100% down to help him fight Abaddon. Afterwards, it's just kinda natural that you stay together- you have work to do. 

If your first kiss as a couple took a while, then you'll have to wait for one of your more calmer moments to get it on. No Watcher to taunt him now, no Council out to vindicate him- War knows what's coming next. You sit beside him, leaning on his shoulder and holding his arm gently as he admits that despite everything, despite the fact that he's ready for whatever comes next, he is terrified of losing you. That night is spent with your bodies intertwined in a way you know the Horseman just needs, but he's so scared that he might break you in half that you have to talk him through it the whole time, reassuring him and giving him praise. The look in those eyes as he takes you is a mix of feral lust and deep devotion that makes your loins twinge in just the right way, and the growled curses in Abyssal against your ear is enough to send you over the edge. You spend the rest of the night sleeping in an exhausted pile of tangled limbs, but it's a moment of peace you both deserve. 

Fury: She absolutely didn't want you around at first. Why you didn't just go to Haven was beyond the Black Rider's comprehension, but you don't get in the way, you're smarter than you look, and you're not a bad shot with a bow and arrow- if you're lucky, you might catch Fury musing aloud how archery is a dying art among other races and that it's refreshing to see it still practiced by humans. ("What was that?" "Shut it and keep walking.") It becomes nice to have you around, though; your reassurance against the taunts of the Seven is strangely comforting, almost, especially when you say you don't know why they call her the dumb one and mention that it's pretty rude. 

Speaking of the Seven, hearing them say awful things about how they want to eat you or something along those lines pisses Fury off to no end. Like no, that's her emotional support human, get fucked. Especially when Pride has the nerve to insult her further for "cavorting with the dustborn mongrels"- at least you have a clapback for it that takes Fury by surprise. It definitely knocks Pride's ego down more than a few notches when she's lying defeated with your arrows sticking out of her, But when the masks fall away, you tried to save Fury from Envy, and Envy took you away as a result as the Horseman fell. Fury's mega pissed when she sees that Envy has you chained like her brother was as she assaults the Council.

After it's over, and Fury has ferried the last of the humans at Haven away to safety, she admits that she was terrified of losing you. Now that you both have a moment alone, she's holding you to her chest and making sure Envy didn't hurt you. She finds a few marks and grumbles about it, even when you insist that it's not that bad and it'll heal. "She took what was mine," Fury growls, then captures your lips in a kiss. If you thought Envy left a mark, you're in for a ride, my friend; there's no real method, none of her usual dominatrix posturing, this is her boasting to her deceased enemy that she tried to take away her cherished human, the one who made her want to change, and failed. She's not giving you a moment to breathe, and you get sucked into the frenzied, feral, "holy-shit-we-survived" sex that leaves you both covered in hickeys, and you're pretty sure you passed out at some point. Sure, you've got a temporary colony to set up in the morning, but you crazy kids earned this. 

Strife: You know him as Jones, the mild-mannered man of few words that you ran into on your way to the big-ass tree in the middle of Manhattan. He asked if you were alone, and when you explained that it was just you and where you were heading, he asked if he could tag along, since a giant tree isn't something you see every day. You talked about yourselves on the way, but you didn't glean much from his brief answers; middle child, two brothers and a sister, not a local by any standards. You brushed it off as him being a tourist when things literally went to hell in a hand basket and let it go. Ulthane and the other two Makers welcomed you both warmly, and you settled in with the others, finding your place to sleep. You noticed that Jones looked amazed that there were still so many humans alive after everything- you joked about needing a bigger tree, considering a tree this big would draw way more people, given time, and you might run out of room. With time, though, you'd started to pick up on things that he said that gave you the impression that he was a total fish out of water; not knowing about Chuck Norris jokes, or any of the TV shows that had been on before the world ended, and it seemed like he'd never picked up a book, either. You guessed that he was just raised a certain way and left it at that- you just didn't have the heart to ask. 

It was one day while you were out hunting together, when you got jumped by a pack of Stalkers. Just your luck, your gun jammed, and you had no idea how to fix it. But just as you'd resigned yourself to the fate of being a lesser demon's chew toy, you heard gunshots ring out next to you- you had no clue where they came from, but Jones was holding two ornate pistols that blasted huge holes in the heads of the Stalkers and didn't seem to run out of bullets. When the smoke cleared, you didn't let it go- he was going to tell you what happened right now. Jones tried to tell you that you didn't want to know, but you were his friend, and he knew you wouldn't stop until you knew the truth. So he showed you. You were sworn to secrecy, but you felt you could trust him more now that you knew who he really was under the mask of a grizzled man in his late thirties, and it showed. Everyone joked about how close you two were getting and you nearly spat your stew across the room when someone asked when the wedding was one night over dinner. Jones took it in good jest, though- but wow, if you two weren't thinking about it later.

He did sleep with you, but it wasn't at Haven. You two were out on a run for supplies and any other things that could be useful to Ulthane or the others when you found what was left of one of the big hotels in town. There had to be stuff in the old safes here that the rich folk left behind when the End came, one being one of the mattresses in the suites that could fit like three people on it, and it was in pretty good nick. Maybe out of some childish impulse or lack of thought, you thought it'd be hilarious to tackle him onto the mattress. After he got over the initial shock and realised you were playing around, you both had a friendly wrestle on the mattress, laughing and rolling around until he let the facade fall away, pinning you down. You could feel his smirk under his mask before he took it off and tossed it aside, capturing your lips as your play-wrestling took a more intimate turn. I mean, no better way to break in a mattress, right?

Death: He was surprised, but elated to find you after stopping some of the Phantom Guard from pulling you out of your hidey hole. Gently as he could manage, he coaxed you into coming out to talk. You were alone, no clue where your friends had gone, and moreover, you were lost. You offered to help the Horseman look for the pieces of the Rod of Arafel, but you weren't sure where you would go after that. Begrudgingly, Death offered to take you with him (a poorly worded statement either way from someone named Death) so he could take you somewhere where you would be safe and protected- and most importantly, you wouldn't be lonely. At this point, anywhere sounded better than Earth, so you went with him. Then, the Pale Rider noticed something with you- not so much on your part as it was his, but...what was this old, familiar feeling? He thought he was being protective because he'd promised to get you to safety, but now he had these thoughts of staying with you. But War...

The more you convinced Death to tell you more of his family, you came to see another side of him- a side that was selfless and wholly prepared to sacrifice for his siblings. You found that quite endearing, that he seemed so human beneath the mask. He made you swear not to repeat any of what was said, but you knew that was a good thing. He was starting to trust you more, enough so that he'd started to take your perspective into consideration when you two were presented with obstacles or challenges, or listen to any random tidbit of trivia or a memory with interest. You wondered if it was love or if you were reading too much into it, and secretly Death wondered the same thing. He was beating around the bush when it came to figuring it out, but it wasn't like he was doubting it, gently brushing his knuckles against your arm as you slept next to him.

Death has to admit it- away from prying eyes. Really, it's the last thing he does, and he knows it's going to be cruel when he has to leave you behind, but he really wants to get back to you someday- time progresses differently depending on the realm you're in, after all. That's why he has to come clean to you. You're not sure how it happened, but you're so close, your body pressed against his chest. You reach up to remove the mask barring access to his lips, but his hands catch yours. "No." It's not said to scorn you, it's a request that shows his vulnerability- you're not sure where it comes from, but with his hands so attentive to your body's aching need, you can forgive him. Lying in the afterglow of your completion, Death feels an ache in his chest. He feels the crushing weight of his duty to War, to his siblings. One day, he hopes, you can forgive him for having to put you second.

[splendidlyimperfect]

Gray hasn’t seen Natsu in years - not since he moved away with his boyfriend Joel and Natsu stopped texting him. A chance run-in at a bar brings Natsu back into Gray’s life, but the encounter puts Gray in danger when Joel finds out. Natsu quickly realizes that Gray’s stuck in a cycle of violence, and wants to help him escape. But leaving isn’t that easy, and sometimes loving someone might not be enough.

Chapter Summary: Joel's behavior is unpredictable, and Gray's playing a dangerous game.

Chapters (13/22):  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Gray Fullbuster/Original Male Character(s) Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rape Aftermath, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Natsu just wants to help, but Gray feels like he can’t leave, Non-Linear Narrative, Trans Character, Tumblr: FTLGBTales, ftlgbtpride2019, Coming Out, First Love, Angst with a Happy Ending, I promise

**Major TW on this chapter: suicidal thoughts, self-harm (cutting), physical abuse (hitting/grabbing)

-----

never knew loving could hurt this good

des·​per·​ate | \ ˈde-sp(ə-)rət adjective :  having lost hope

.

xiv august .

Gray can’t do it.

He sits on the floor in the middle of the rose petals and shattered glass, holding the broken pieces and thinking over and over about how much easier it would be if he didn’t have to feel anything. The tangled, confused knots would disappear, would unwind in red patterns that spread across the hardwood.

It wouldn’t hurt anymore.

He lets the glass rest against his skin, traces the blue-and-purple fingerprints on his wrist until they’re outlined with tiny beads of red. But he can't push harder, can't close his eyes, can't end it.

Because it would break Natsu’s heart, and Gray can’t do that to him.

Continue reading on AO3

When Joel comes home an hour later, Gray’s still sitting on the floor. Gray quickly pulls his sleeve down – the cuts aren’t deep but he doesn’t want Joel to see them. Doesn’t want him to worry. Doesn’t want him to tell Gray that he’s too much to deal with, that he’s broken and needs Joel more than ever.

Gray doesn’t try to hide the mess because it’ll make Joel angry, and Gray can deal with that better than the uncertainty.

“What the hell happened?” Joel asks as he steps into the dining room, work bag still slung over his shoulder, Bella on his heels. “Babe, are you okay?”

Gray looks up at him, confused. Joel’s face is drawn in concern, and he drops his bag on the couch, gesturing for Bella to stay back from the broken glass. He kneels down next to Gray, reaching out for Gray’s hands and wincing in sympathy at the cut on Gray’s thumb.

“C’mere,” Joel says gently, helping Gray to his feet and guiding him carefully out of the disaster. “Are you hurt anywhere else? C’mon, come sit down.” Gray follows him numbly, sitting down on the couch and staring at his hands. Bella jumps up next to him, whining and nudging him to pet her. “Gray, baby, look at me.”

The cuts on his forearms sting under his shirt.

“I...” Gray swallows. The knots are even more tangled now, and he wants to cry. Why isn’t Joel angry? He’s supposed to be yelling. “I’m sorry,” Gray whispers.

“It’s okay,” Joel says. “I know it was an accident, I’m just worried about you.”

He crouches down in front of Gray and touches Gray’s arm through his shirt. Gray can see the dots of blood that have soaked through the fabric, and he winces when Joel rolls up his sleeve.

Gray’s pretty sure he can’t play the cuts off as an accident.

“At least they’re not too deep,” Joel says, running his thumb over Gray’s other wrist. “Stay here, okay? I'm gonna go get the first aid kit.”

Gray stares down at his arm, then looks up at Joel as he heads down the hallway to the bathroom. Bella whines again, and Gray runs his fingers through her fur as his stomach twists with guilt.

Of course Joel’s being kind. He cares about Gray. He’s always been here for Gray, always taken care of him, always loved him. And Gray’s done nothing but lie and fuck up and make Joel worry.

“I’m sorry,” he says again when Joel comes back with the first aid kit. Gray barely feels the sting of the antiseptic Joel dabs onto the cuts, doesn’t wince when Joel presses a bandage over his wrist and rolls his sleeve back down.

Joel shakes his head, taking both of Gray’s hands in his and pressing a kiss to Gray’s knuckles. “It’s okay,” he says, brushing Gray’s hair out of his eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

But I did, Gray thinks, closing his eyes to keep himself from looking over at his phone. I did, I fucked up again, I thought about telling Sting, I texted Natsu, I keep breaking your trust again and again.

“You look so tired,” Joel says softly, pressing a kiss to Gray’s forehead. “C’mon, love. Come sleep.”

Gray follows Joel down the hallway to the bed, wiping at his face as Joel tucks the blanket around him and rubs his back. Bella jumps up next to Gray, curling up and resting her head on his arm, and he feels exhaustion pulling him into the mattress.

“I’m sorry,” he says one more time, before letting himself fall asleep.

-----

A week later, Joel hits him again.

A long, bad day at work has Joel angry and irrational, and Gray forgetting to fold the laundry is enough for Joel to lash out.  

“You’ve been home all fucking day,” Joel hisses as he shoves Gray back against the kitchen table. “Why the fuck didn’t you finish this?”

Gray knows he should stay quiet, but he’s exhausted and sick and not thinking straight.

“I was tired,” he says, stumbling back to his feet.

“You don’t think I’m tired?” Joel says, voice rising in irritation. “I work twice as much as you. What the fuck do you do at your job anyway? Carry plates. You don’t have to think too hard about that.”

I was supposed to be an engineer, Gray thinks.

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” he says, looking over at the clock on the microwave. It’s already eleven, and he’s so tired he can barely think. He’s been sick for days now, and the cold medicine is making him dizzy.

“You’re gonna do it right now,” Joel says, grabbing Gray’s arm and pulling him toward the bedroom. The stubborn part of Gray tries to yank his wrist away.

“I’ll do it before work tomorrow,” he insists again as Joel tightens his grip. “It’s not a big deal.”

Joel whips around, face dark and full of anger. “I’ll say whether it’s a big deal or not!” he yells, stepping back into Gray’s space and grabbing the collar of his shirt. Gray scrabbles at Joel’s hand, trying to pry his fingers off.

“Let GO of me!” he shouts, giving up and shoving at Joel’s chest instead. Joel is so close, and his fingers are like a vice around Gray’s wrist. “You’re being ridiculous, I’ll do it tomorrow!”

“I said, do it NOW!” Joel’s voice is loud enough that Gray is sure the neighbors can hear it. Normally he would back down, try to get Joel calm again, but rage and hurt are warring inside of him, so instead he pushes Joel again.

“No,” Gray says. “I’m tired and I’m sick and I just want to go to bed.”

Joel lets go of Gray’s shirt, then backhands him across the face before Gray can move away. The edge of his ring catches just below Gray’s eye, but Gray’s too surprised to feel the pain. Joel doesn’t usually hit him that hard where someone else can see. Gray blinks a few times, shaking his head to clear his blurry vision.

“Shut up and do the laundry,” Joel growls, never letting go of Gray’s wrist. “I work all fucking day, and all you had one thing to do!”

“Stop it!” Gray tries again to pull away, but Joel just grips his arm tighter, pulling him toward the bedroom again. “Stop hurting me!”

“Then stop fighting me and do the fucking laundry!”

Joel finally lets go of Gray’s arm, pushing him toward the bed where the laundry basket is sitting. Gray stumbles backward, arm catching the edge of the basket before knocking it to the ground. The clothes spill out into a pile between the two of them, and Gray stays on the floor, squeezing his eyes shut.

Joel takes a step toward Gray, but there’s a scrabbling of nails on the hardwood and suddenly Bella is there, standing in front of Gray and growling at Joel.

“Move,” Joel hisses, but Bella barks at him – the deep, warning bark she uses when someone unfamiliar comes to the door. Gray stares at her, pushing himself up on his elbows as she barks again.

There’s a long, tense silence where Joel stares down Bella, and Gray’s suddenly terrified that he’s going to hit her.

“Bella, it’s okay,” Gray whispers, reaching out and stroking her back. Her hackles are up and she doesn’t take her eyes off Joel. Another growl rumbles in her throat, and when Joel tries to step forward again, she barks and snarls at him.

“Shut up,” Joel hisses, but he stays where he is.

Gray’s caught somewhere between grateful and terrified, and he shifts to his knees, keeping a hand on Bella’s back.

“It’s okay, girl,” he says gently, rubbing behind her ears. “Shh, it’s okay. Look, we’re fine. We’re all fine. Right?” She turns to him and sniffs his face, then settles down into a sitting position next to him, still firmly planted between them.

Joel stands there for a minute longer, then shakes his head, backing away. Gray thinks he might start yelling again, but instead he turns away and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Good girl,” Gray says as he wraps his arms around Bella’s neck and tries not to cry.

----- 

When Gray wakes up the next morning, Joel isn’t there, but there’s a note on the bedside table.

I called in sick for you. Stay home and feel better.

At first, Gray feels a flood of affection – even after a full night’s sleep, he’s still exhausted, so Joel must have…

Then the rest of Gray wakes up, and everything hurts. His face aches, and he can feel swelling around the corner of his eye. When he rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, familiar dark lines of blue and purple are there to greet him.

Fuck.

Joel didn’t call in for Gray because he’s sick, and the note isn’t sweet. Stay home isn’t a reassurance – it’s a threat.

Bella rolls over toward Gray, panting happily as he slowly reaches out and strokes her head.

“Hey, girl,” he whispers. His throat hurts and he just wants to curl up and go back to sleep, but when he looks down to the end of the bed, the pile of laundry is there, waiting for him.

He’s about to get out of bed to fold it when his phone buzzes.

 Joel [09:34] How’re you feeling? Hope you got to sleep in. I’ll pick up Chinese for dinner, let me know what you want from Lee Garden. See you at 5. <3

 Gray wants to throw his phone on the ground and shatter it into a hundred pieces. Instead he sits up and types out a reply with shaky fingers, because if he doesn’t answer it’ll be worse.

 Gray [09:35] Thanks for letting me sleep in, I feel a lot better. I’m just folding the laundry.

 He wants to add I’m sorry but forces himself not to.

Gray waits a few minutes for a response, but when it’s clear he isn’t getting one, he sets the phone down on the bedside table and takes a deep breath. His fingers drift down to the drawer handle, and he hesitates for only a second before opening it.

Even though Joel’s not here, Gray glances around the room carefully before digging past the books and receipts and chapstick and pulling out a different phone. It had cost him all the money Natsu had given him, plus the generous tips Sting had been leaving, but now he has it and a long-distance calling card.

Gray flips the phone open, then thumbs to the contacts. There’s only three numbers saved in it – Natsu, Erza, and Sting.

Gray takes a deep breath before clicking on Natsu’s name.

The line rings twice before Natsu answers. “Hello?”

“H-hey,” Gray says hesitantly. “It’s me.”

“Gray,” Natsu breathes, and there’s a small pause before he asks, “are you okay?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘okay,’” Gray says, trying to keep his voice light. “I… don’t feel great.” He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that Natsu doesn’t ask questions that Gray can’t answer.

There’s an uncertain pause before Natsu asks, “did he hurt you?”

Gray rubs his eyes, shifting until he’s back under the blankets and propped up against the pillows. He doesn’t say anything, and he knows that his silence is as good as a ‘yes.’

“Do you need the police?” Natsu asks. “Or the hospital? Do you want me to call Sting? I can be there in—”

“No,” Gray interrupts, pressing his face into the pillow. “No, you—don’t, you can’t. I just wanted to… to talk to you. That’s all.”

“Gray,” Natsu says gently. “I can be there by… twelve-thirty. Seriously, I’m in the car right now, I can—”

Gray shakes his head. “It’s not… I want to see you, I do, but you can’t. I can’t.”

“Why not?” Natsu asks, and Gray can hear the desperation in his voice. “Please, just let me come get you, I can—”

“It’s not that easy,” Gray whispers, curling up tighter and hugging the other pillow against him. “I’m—you don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t,” Natsu says softly. “Fuck, I feel so stupid, I can’t believe—how long? How long has he… what did he do? Gray, I’m so sorry.”

“’s not your fault,” Gray says. Bella wriggles closer to him and rests her head on his stomach. “He’s not… it’s not always.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Natsu argues, and Gray can picture the expression on his face so easily. “Gray, he shouldn’t be hurting you.”

“He’s… it’s not…” Gray sighs in frustration, rubbing his face. He wants to see Natsu again so badly.

“Please let me come get you,” Natsu begs.

“No,” Gray says, shaking his head. “You can’t. I don’t—you don’t get it. I can’t leave.”

“You ca—”

“I can’t!” Gray’s close to tears again and he takes a shaky breath. His head is pounding and everything hurts. “Please, I know… I know you’re trying to help, but I can’t and I just need you to listen, okay? Please?” He swallows heavily. “It was hard enough to call you.”

Gray hears a sniffle, and he realizes with a guilty start that Natsu is crying. “I’m sorry,” Natsu’s voice is thick. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry, I’m just—I feel so useless. I just want you to be safe.”

“I am,” Gray insists. “I’m safe right now. Most of the time.”

“Most of the time isn’t enough,” Natsu argues. “I’m so fucking mad at myself for leaving, I shouldn’t have gone to Danton. I should have stayed with you, and—”

“Don’t,” Gray says. “It’s not your fault.” He takes a shaky breath, then asks, “can you tell Erza? About the phone numbers? I don’t…”

“I already did,” Natsu says softly. “She misses you.”

“I miss her, too,” Gray whispers.

They’re both silent for a moment, but it’s a comfortable, familiar silence. Eventually Natsu says, “she and Jellal got married last summer.” Guilt digs its claws into Gray’s chest, but Natsu keeps going. “God, it was—okay, you remember Loke, from school? So he showed up with this girl and we were all like, ninety-seven percent sure she was an escort…”

A wave of relief washes over Gray as Natsu keeps talking. Once he’s done the story about Erza’s wedding, he moves on to another one about his niece, and then talks about his work, and his cat, jumping from topic to topic while Gray just listens.

They talk for almost two hours, and when Gray finally says he has to go, he’s breathing a bit easier.

“Thank you for calling me,” Natsu says. “I’m sorry that I can’t do more.”

“No, this...” Gray sighs. “You helped. I feel better.”

Gray knows that Natsu doesn’t want to hang up, and he can hear the hesitation in Natsu’s voice when he says, “you can call me anytime, okay?”

“’kay,” Gray says. “I’m… I’ll try to call you again this weekend.”

“Okay,” Natsu replies. “I love—” He stops himself, biting the words off, and Gray can almost see the pink rushing to his cheeks. “Fuck, sorry, that was—”

“No, it’s okay,” Gray says quietly, ignoring the pang in his chest that says, Joel loves you, don’t betray him.

If he loves me, he shouldn’t hit me, Gray thinks, and the admission is like a wave that breaks and swells through him.

“It’s okay,” he says again, pressing his cheek to the phone and wishing that he could always feel this way. “I love you, too.”

[beefybuffybucky]

Brooklyn and the Benevolent

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Request: Could you do one where Sebastian falls for a photographer in Brooklyn?! Pleaseeee😊 (-anon)

Warnings: little bit of language - fluff, mostly

Word Count: 2K

A/N: y’all, i have an interview today, so hopefully by the time this is posted, i will be a lot less anxious

Endless buildings tower high into the sky, disappearing deep in the grey, drooping clouds as gentle drops of rain patter down on your jacket. You stand in the middle of the sidewalk, hoards of people bustling around you, their heads down, moving quickly through the streets as they pass from one place to another. A few shoulders bump into you, making it hard to get the right angle and view through your camera that you want. You focus on the view through your camera, shielding the lens from the heavy raindrops as you line up a perfect shot and -

“Hey!” You yelp, being shoved by someone whose face was masked by a dark hood, their eyes concealed behind sunglasses. The camera had tumbled from your hands and landed with a horrible crash on the wet cement below you, pieces of the outer edges flying under the trampled path of hurried feet, the lens of your camera shattered beyond repair.

“Oh god, I-I’m so sorry,” the man’s smooth voice cracks with surprise, shock, and frantic worry. He immediately crouches down, leveling his height to where you sat on the wet ground, dirty rainwater soaking through your pants, tiny pebbles biting into the soft skin of your palms as you push away from the ground to balance on your feet while you crouch next to him.

“I-It’s fine,” you mutter, an embarrassing heat rising in your cheeks. You do your best to scrape the broken pieces into a pile, but immediately realize there’s no hope for saving your camera. “I’ll, just, uh...buy a new one.”

“Let me pay for it,” the man immediately offers, nearly jumping to his feet, your broken camera in his hand. “It was my fault, I-I can get you a new one. We could go right now if you’d want.”

Your mind quickly goes back and forth between trying not to cry over your most expensive camera being damaged and taking the man up on his offer, to thinking of all the dangers that could come from trusting a complete stranger to take you somewhere to buy a new camera.

“O-Okay,” you blink back at him from the ground. He offers a hand to pull you up from the ground, and you hesitantly take it, allowing him to help you stand. You follow him by his side down the street, taking quick glances at the vaguely-familiar face, trying to place a name to his face as you search your memory for where you’ve seen him before.

“There’s one,” he sighs under his breath. You blink at him again and scan your surroundings for what he could possibly be talking about, until you spot it - a garbage can, only a few feet away. He reaches out his hand holding the camera, and panic quickly attacks your nerves.

“No!” You shriek, lunging for the camera before he had the chance to let it tumble from his grasp. You fiddle with it until you find what you’re looking for - the SD card slot. You take out the small card and stuff it into your pocket, then exhale a great sigh of relief. “Sorry about that,” you chuckle lightly, glancing up at him shyly. “My SD card. It has all my work on it.” You sadly toss the damaged camera into the trash can, the gentle thunk resonating in your ears.

“So,” he says as you start walking again, your hand tucked into your pocket fiddles with the SD card between your fingers. “Do you do photography for a living?”

“Yeah, actually,” a small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. You love any chance you have for talking about photography. “I’ve been taking photos since I was a kid, honestly. My parents weren’t so happy when they found out I was going to school for it - they think it’s strictly a hobby, and nothing else,” you look at the looming buildings stretching into the darkened sky above you. “But, I went anyway. I finished school early, decided to move to the ‘Big City’, and now here I am.”

“Sounds like you really love it,” a large smile spreads across his face as he turns his head to look at you.

“Yeah, I do,” you return the gentle smile. A blush burns under your cheeks as you suddenly feel shy and awkward. “What, uh...What do you do?”

“I’m an actor,” he chuckles quietly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“And how’s that goin’ for ya?” You laugh, thinking about how most of this city is comprised of ‘aspiring’ actors and people trying to ‘make it big’, even here in Brooklyn.

“Pretty well, in my opinion,” he flashes another brilliant smile, and you could almost see the sparkle in his eyes through his glasses. “The shop is juuust around the corner.” His pace quickens and you struggle to keep up with his long strides, but as you fall behind him, he stops abruptly, and you nearly run into his broad back.

“Here it is,” he sighs happily, pulling open the door to reveal a large, high-end store full of photography equipment like you’ve never seen before - probably because you’ve never been able to afford anything like this stuff. “Get whatever you need, my treat.”

“A-Are you sure?” Your voice falters as you take in the store, your jaw nearly touching the floor in surprise. “This shit isn’t cheap.”

“Trust me,” he laughs lowly. He takes off his glasses and pushes back his damp hood. “I got it.”

“W-Wait a minute, you’re -”

“I’m Sebastian,” his grin lights up the entire room as he formally introduces himself.

“You’re...You’re Sebastian Stan,” you whisper in disbelief, pointing a shaky finger at him.

“Yeah,” he chuckles a bit louder. “I think that’s what I just said.”

“I-I can’t believe this,” you mumble.

“Well, uh,” he nervously rubs the back of his neck. “Feel free to get whatever you want, or whatever you need.”

“I can’t just take that money from you, I -”

“Really, don’t worry about it. I got you,” he puts a hand on your shoulder.

You scoff in happy disbelief and walk around the store, becoming completely overwhelmed by the sheer quality of all the amazing equipment and cameras around you. As you wander the store with Sebastian, you ask him questions about what it’s like working with his other famous co-stars like Chris Evan and Robert Downey Jr., and he asks you questions about your life and your photography works. After nearly an hour, you had finally picked out the most amazing camera you’ve ever seen in your life, and a few other pieces of equipment that you’ve always dreamed of having. Your heart was so full of excitement and joy, you couldn’t sit still as you stood next to Sebastian at the cashier’s counter, your fingers tapping speedily on the smooth countertop.

“Have a great day, Mr. Stan,” the cashier beamed as she handed over the bags to him.

“Thank you so much, you too,” Sebastian returns a genuine, flashy smile. You follow him out, giddy with excitement to use your new equipment, when Sebastian stops at the curb of the street and waves down a taxi. It pulls up to where you two stood, slowly driving up to avoid splashing the gross puddle of water all over you. Sebastian opens the door for you and motions for you to get in, and as you duck in the cab and shut the door, Sebastian jogs around the back of the cab to slide in on the other side.

“You like coffee?” Sebastian pants softly.

“Y-Yeah, I love coffee,” you sheepishly reply.

“25 Jay Street, please,” Sebastian leans forward and tells the cab driver. The driver nods in response and changes gears, pulling away from the curb and back out into the busy street of traffic.

“Where are we going?” You blink, peering out the window.

“Just a little café,” Sebastian smiles down at his hands in his lap. “It seemed like a good day for coffee.”

“You didn’t even ask if I had time to go get coffee,” you chuckle, looking at him with a look of sarcastic defense plastered on your face.

“Do you have time to get coffee with me?” He turns his head to meet your questioning gaze.

“I suppose,” you smirk, settling back into your seat. “I’m Y/N, by the way,” you break the short silence, turning back to him.

“Y/N, huh?” He tries to repress the smile tugging at his lips. “It suits you.”

“What do you mean?”

“It just…,” he meets your gaze again, then shrugs. “I don’t know, fits you.”

“Thanks,” you blush, turning back to the window, getting a little lost in thought while trying to force yourself to speak. “W-Would you, uh...Would you maybe be okay with me taking a few photos of you?” You bite the inside of your cheek as you turn to him, and find him already looking at you, which makes your heart nearly skip a beat. “It would be for a series I’m working on.”

“Sounds like a date to me,” Sebastian grins confidently, his captivating eyes sparkling brilliantly.

Before you could reply, the cab pulled over to the curb, stopping in front of an old, tall building. The white paint had been chipped away in many places from years of wear-and-tear from the weather, but the architecture was breathtakingly beautiful. Sebastian hands the driver a few bills and gets out, grabbing the two bags with him. You open the door and step out into the unforgiving rain, and quickly jog into the building, holding the door open for Sebastian.

“Thanks, hun,” he smiles, running a hand throw his short, thick hair to shake out a few of the water droplets. “Shall we?” He nods towards a small table tucked away against the far wall of the warm, cozy café. The sound of coffee beans being ground and quiet chatter, bubbly giggles, and happy people fill the comforting atmosphere. As Sebastian goes to get coffee for the two of you, you work on setting up your new camera, nearly tearing up at how beautiful the new piece of equipment is. When Sebastian returns, he takes the seat across from you and settles in, a smirk sliding up his face.

“What are you doing?” He asks before taking a sip of his steaming coffee.

“Just playing with my new toy,” you wink at him, a playful giggle slipping passed your lips.

“So,” Sebastian starts softly. “What do I need to do for your photos?”

“Nothing, really,” you shrug. “I’m just going to snap a few shots whenever. The goal of the series is to capture everyday happiness. I know it sounds cheesy and whatever, but I’ve never done something like this.” You pop your SD card into the slot and close it. “I just want to learn how to see the good in even the smallest of things, to make me appreciate life more.”

“That’s a really good idea,” Sebastian nods slowly, sipping more of his coffee.

“Yeah, I hope it is,” you nervously chuckle. “All of my other photography has been so serious and dark. I just want to try and see the lighter side of things for once.” You hold the camera up to your face and start focusing the picture.

“Beautiful,” Sebastian breathes, a soft, caring smile shines on his face.

“What?” You blush, looking at him from behind the camera.

“You’re beautiful.”

“O-Oh, uh,” you stutter, feeling even more heat pooling beneath your skin. “T-Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, I’m only telling the truth.”

You clear your throat and focus back on the camera, taking a few pictures as Sebastian notices a dog walking by the window and smiles wildly, causing you to chuckle. Once the dog passes, he turns his attention back to you, still smiling. You catch a few more photos.

“Can I see it?” He asks.

“See what? The photos?” You lower the camera from your face.

“No,” he shakes his head, the grin still plastered on his ridiculously gorgeous face. “The camera.”

“Sure,” you hand over the camera. He turns it over in his hands a few times before raising it to his face.

“What are you doing?” You giggle as you pick up your coffee, the warmth soaking into your palms. A large smirk replaces his smile as he focuses the camera, turning the lens on you for a change. “Sebastian, no -”

“Smile for the camera!”

Permanent Tags: @winters-beauty @wildefire @c-ly-g @dottirose @lokigodofsasss

[lemonsandstrawberries]

Not What You Expected

fandom: implied Stony (Steve x Tony), post MCU Avengers Infinity War

warning: THIS CONTAINS MCU Infinity War spoilers, read at your own risk!

summary: it wasn’t the kind of birthday Tony wished for, but he had to work with what he had.

length: 1 956 words

a/n: another year, and I am again thinking how MCU!Tony is celebrating his bday! If you saw Infinity War, you know it won’t be happy fic. or will it be?

—————

Not What You Expected

It was a common truth, that the harder one tried to not think about something, the more it was coming back to them. He tried to focus on constructing, on finding the scraps of metal, so different from the ones he used to work with and make the best of it with the littlest he had. He needed both of his hands to work, but would give one of them for a bottle of some matured scotch. Even for a glass. Something to dull his mind and help him channel his thoughts, instead of having them scattered all over, coming back to memories and possible scenarios he didn't need in his current situation. Sometimes he hated how his mind worked.

"Happy Birthday!!"

"Whaaat?" Tony smiled in his cheeky way, one corner of his mouth going higher than the other one when he had been allowed to open his eyes and had a bunch of confetti thrown in his face. "I totally didn't expect that," he said, faking every word, but still feeling flattered. Birthday parties were not mandatory in the Avengers' agenda but were welcomed. And he was touched by the Iron Man themed party decorations and colorful balloons filled with helium, dancing around the room.

His team. His friends. Alive and smiling.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to youu!" Clint crowed in a funnily high pitched voice, holding a deflated balloon. Natasha and Bruce were setting up the table. Rhodey and Scott kept arguing over music, having to decide if they should play classic rock or modern rock. Even Spider-Man showed up, this time as Peter Parker, as his secret identity wasn’t secret anymore, at least among the team. Tony laughed, noticing that Peter looked completely awed as Thor took it as his task to make the young Avenger feel welcomed and talked with him in his quiet rumbly voice, and Peter kept nodding, not letting his eyes off the taller man, taking in his every word. Starstruck was a right term. Tony immediately thought of the video from the Spider-Man suit, the one where Peter had impersonated Thor, and maybe he still had a copy of that saved somewhere. And then, most importantly…

"Happy birthday, babe."

A warm whisper in his ear and a sweet kiss on his cheek. Steve. Steve thought that he was so covert with organizing a surprise birthday party for him, but of course that Tony knew. He always knew.

"Thanks," Tony smiled at his boyfriend, and scrunched his nose playfully, when Steve ran his hand through his hair, brushing off some confetti. It fell to the floor in a light pattern, joining more speckles of colorful paper. Tony already felt bad for whoever would have to clean after the party.

"CAKE!"

At the call, Tony turned around, seeing Wanda and Vision carrying a chocolate fudge cake, one of Tony's favorite cakes in the world. It was triple layered, with uneven layers of chocolate buttercream and some piped out cream around.

"I and Vis baked it ourselves," Wanda said, sounding proud and putting the cake down in the middle of the table. The homemade look was explained, and for Tony it was the most beautiful cake he had ever seen. He was grateful that someone had enough of tact, probably Vision, and stuck only one symbolic candle into the cake.

"Thanks, guys," Tony smiled and then spluttered in panic, when he noticed the white icing on the top of the cake, a curly 'Happy Birthday!' and his exact age, and hearing a collective laugh at his reaction. "Yeah, just gonna get this off…" Tony decided, taking a knife and scooping the icing off, the laughter quickly replaced with a disappointed whine. "I know it was you who told them," he turned to Pepper, licking the icing off, and Pepper batted her long eyelashes innocently. Among all people gathered, she was probably the only one who could tell his whole birthday date without any hesitation and somehow Tony became pretty secretive about it, especially his birth year. Tony loved that she was so proficient and gave her a smile in the end, showing that he wasn’t really offended, which she returned. There was nothing wrong with teasing your friend, even on their birthday.

"Come on, babe," Steve wiped Tony's lips with an earlier prepared napkin, because that was Tony, always getting food on his face. He also loved that Steve knew him so well. "Blow the candle and make a wish."

Tony closed his eyes, wanting to keep this moment in his mind. His team. His friends. His boyfriend. All together. He blew the candle, the small flame disappearing and everything turned dark. It was dark and quiet, and then he heard everyone screaming and an enormous hand wrapped in gold reached in his direction, about to smash his head and he couldn’t move. There was just screaming and pain.

There was no screaming anymore, but some terrible, screeching sound brought him back. He moved up and saw Nebula, wrestling with a piece of a broken aircraft, trying to pull out something.

"Hey, wait," Tony quickly got to the woman. He didn't ask for permission, knowing that he wouldn't get a one anyway, and phased his Iron Man gloves on his hands and pulled together with her. After some maneuvering, they managed to get out a long piece of metal, flat and practically undamaged.

"Nice find," Tony praised, running his hand along the edges. They could use it for sure. Without a word, Nebula put her hands back into the pile scraps, searching for more.

She didn't talk much. She was quiet and precise, acting as if she knew what she was looking for, but not telling Tony, as if trusting him enough that he would know what to do with it, once she finds it. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part.

"Hey…" Tony asked, sitting on the dry ground and looking at the orange, sick looking sky above them. He never appreciated Earth's blue sky, always taking it for granted, and felt like such a fool. "When is your birthday?" he asked, aware that it wasn't time or place for such talk, but he felt that he won't be able to work today and won't even try, almost as if having a silent protest.

No answer. Usually, he had to ask twice to get something out of her.

"You know, birthday? Like the day you were born."

"I know what birthday is."

Oh, reaction. Tony didn't lower his head and kept looking at the sky.

"Do you even celebrate birthdays?" Tony kept asking, but mostly he was just talking to himself. "Like blow a candle and make a wish sort of stuff?"

Some more metal screeching and an impatient huff. Tony brought his head back and saw that Nebula was looking back at him.

"Once I and my sister asked our father how we will celebrate our birthday. On mine, he forced us to fight, and when I lost, he took my eye. On my sister's, he destroyed a planet and eradicated a whole race. I was seven years old back then. We decided to stop celebrating everything."

It was a terrifying story, said in the most neutral voice. Nebula didn't show any emotions and Tony decided not to either.

"On my seventh birthday, I got a Happy Birthday card signed by my dad's assistant and a check. I guess you won," he shrugged.

Nebula didn't hold the discussion and went back to searching for any parts she could find useful. It probably was a signal for Tony to stop talking too, and either help or remain quiet. Or…

"Hey, you ever had shwarma?"

He could see the exact moment when Nebula's shoulders tensed in irritation. Not that someone becoming irritated with him ever stopped Tony.

"It is a kind of Earth food. How do you call Earth? Terra? That's cute. In Latin it means Earth. Do you know about Latin? It is a dead language on Earth, no one speaks it anymore---"

"I could kill you with my bare hands," Nebula sneered in warning. It could send chills down Tony's spine, but it also wasn't the first time he was ever threatened. That probably was sad, but he didn't have the time to think about it.

"But you won't," Tony said calmly, not backing away when Nebula looked at him, her dark eyes narrowing in suppressed anger. "You won't because only together we can get off this planet. And I know that you want to kill Thanos as much as I want to, if not more."

Nebula was dangerous. Tony didn't know her in any way but decided not to fear her. He felt some quiet companionship between them, and even if he was the only one feeling it, they had a shared goal. To find Thanos and make him pay for everything. For taking their loved ones away.

Maybe it was that moment and when Nebula abandoned her task and walked to Tony in slow steps, everything in Tony told him to be afraid. He pushed that voice deep into his subconsciousness. Nebula was just as broken and incomplete as he was.

The woman sat next to him on the ground as if deciding that it was time for a break for her. They sat in silence until Tony noticed that she was stretching and curling her right hand. The arm was metal, but fingers were not robotic.

"When we get to Earth, you should come with me to my lab," Tony said, not letting his eyes of the metal arm and noticing the nervous twitch of it. "Not for that," he added quickly, for a second feeling that their roles reversed. Nebula saw what he was able to do with technology and with her past, he couldn't blame her for not trusting any sort of mechanics, cosmic ones or not. "I meant this," he said, knocking on the device on his chest. "It is rather new on Earth, and maybe my technology is not that advanced in comparison to what you know, but I think I can make some things more… bearable for you."

And like that, Nebula let her guard down. She didn't accept the offer but also didn't decline it. They just sat together, sharing a silent moment on a dead planet, making hypothetical plans for something that might never happen.

"And shwarma after."

Tony could swear that he saw the slightest shade of smile on Nebula's face before it dissolved into her usual expression. That made Tony smile too, and it felt like ages since the last time he smiled. He closed his eyes, taking the last moment to himself, knowing that it was time to move his ass if he ever wanted to get back.

"Okay, time to wo---"

"You talk a lot."

Tony blinked and looked at Nebula, not expecting a comment from her. Surprisingly she was looking back at him. It wasn't a hostile look, but a sad one with some very deeply hidden fondness.

"When you are awake. And when you are asleep you talk too."

Tony wasn't sure if he liked where this was going.

Nebula stood up, brushing off the red soil of her clothes, keeping Tony waiting for a bit longer.

"I wish you a happier birthday next year, Tony," she said in her quiet voice and walked away, ready to look for more parts.

Tony remained shocked for a second or two. He watched Nebula putting her hands into the broken parts and looking through them, already ignoring him. Soon, Tony joined her. There was no need for a courteous thank you. What they needed, was to get off Titan and back to Earth.