#and he’d be like. the one normal part of her life (immortal or otherwise-)

[burnt-toast-life]

*thinks about the thing I mentioned yesterday again* Wilardo/Charlotte childhood friends au

#/hj #I know that prolly wouldn’t happen bc of Charlie’s whole past #but also consider #super soldier™️ and immortal #or also like. imagine Charlie hanging out w Wilardo whenever she has the chance #and he’d be like. the one normal part of her life (immortal or otherwise-) #not that she’d really care about that sort of thing at the time but SHHHHHHH I’m trying to b soft

[nikmikaelsonswife]

White Doves.

Description: Klaus doesn’t realize his feelings are requited until it’s too late.

Pairing: Niklaus Mikaelson x Reader

Warnings: angst, character death, mentions of blood, graphic descriptions of death, mature themes, unhappy ending

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: for ash’s may prompt challenge!! enjoy.

“Why would I ever want to leave you? You’re my everything.”

Your gaze drifted to your glass as you swirled the contents inside with your straw, a bashful heat flushing your cheeks. You suddenly became very aware of his arm slung over the booth behind you and the proximity between your bodies. “My greatest friend,” you lifted your chin so your eyes could dance across the ceiling, “my greatest inspiration,” his dark irises were twinkling once you’d finally gained the courage to meet them, “my soulmate.”

“Even if I wanted to leave you behind, the gods above wouldn’t allow it.”

Your heart skipped a beat when he reached down, fingers ghosting over the smooth skin of your cheek, plump lips parted as he leaned in even further. His breath fanned over your face, lashes fluttering as he took you in, a look in his eyes that was different from the way he’d normally see you. Or at least, when you were paying attention. The atmosphere was different, the chaotic world around you drowned out by the steady thumping filling your ears. For that moment, he was truly everything, your most beautiful dream, your most yearned desire.

“Promise me,” he breathed, eyes dropping to your lips.

That mischievous sparkle in your eyes dulled, a supernova fading into a black hole in the masterpiece that was the galaxy of your gaze. Your lips trembled, muscles straining to form a simple smile, one that never failed to unleash immense serotonin throughout his body, to calm his otherwise incessant storm within merely a nanosecond.

Long lashes fluttering and lids growing in weight, you attempted to do as he said, to hold his gaze. He took his time with taking in your features then, mind momentarily drifting to the many times he’d promised to recreate you on a canvas as he couldn’t pass up on such a beautiful creation.

If only he’d had more time. Time was a bitch of a thing.

A gloss of tiny droplets gathered over the surface over your eyes, creating an artificial shine. A lone, rebellious tear broke from the pack and rolled down your cheek just as one did from his own, the two mixing together before they met the ground.

His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he cradled your face against his chest, attempting to be strong for you to no avail. The bridled cries clogged in his throat, though the tears were unrelenting in flooding his cheeks. He was so consumed by his thoughts that he nearly jolted when your hand reached up to brush against the wet skin of his face. “Don’t cry,” you whispered, voice weak, “you’re too pretty to cry.”

He clenched his teeth, chest heaving as he fought against the tears for you. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, “I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head as much as you could, with the burden of your withering strength and his hands, which was nothing more than a subtle shift. A wet cough left your throat as your lungs gradually filled with blood. “Wasn’t your fault.”

In that moment, he wondered why. Why he’d been brought on to this earth, to have a father who treated him not like a son, but an enemy since his adolescence. To be born as an abomination, a monster, a creation that was not meant to walk the earth, not meant to live, not meant to love. To find the woman of his dreams, countless of times it seemed, to have it end in bloodied destruction.

To find the woman of his life, the embodiment of his love, just to lose her as he did all the others. To have her succumb to not her’s, but his fate.

To be doomed to an eternity of living an endless nightmare. He’d walk around, feeling superior in the fact that he was immortal. But the fact had never made him feel less than the dirt on the ground, had never made him wish he were dead more than now.

“Tell me,” you began to request, seemingly stronger than before, but Klaus knew it was most likely a figment of his imagination that stemmed from the dying hope in his heart, “What was it like to die?”

His brow twitched at the inquiry, reddened eyes rounding in something along the lines of concern and shock. “So I can be prepared,” you explained with a quivering smile, as if holding on to the bit of light you had left.

He sniffled, gulping down the saliva that’d collected in his mouth. “It won’t be the same,” his fingers timidly stroked your hairline, “but it will bring you peace, because I know for a fact where you’re going is some place nearly as beautiful as you.”

Your smile grew, “Will it have white doves?”

“Plenty,” he reassured, “You’ll see them and I will immediately come to mind.”

“Wouldn’t want to forget you,” you attempted to chuckle, but coughed instead, the back of your throat filling with the thick, crimson liquid that signaled what he wasn’t ready for. What he would never be ready for.

His chest constricted as he watched it flood your mouth, dribbling from the corners where your lips met and streaking down your face. “Promise,” you gurgled, “n-not to forget...me.”

He shook his head. “T-to not forget-t how good you truly are. To not forg-get how,” your head lolled, but you fought through the pull on your conscious as if what you had to say was worth it, “how much I always will love y-you.”

He would’ve allowed it to register as a platonic kind if it weren’t for the look in your eyes, one that casted butterflies throughout his stomach, that thickened his heart in his chest. It was one of pure adoration, shared between lovers, between soulmates that offered lingering touches and feverish kisses. It was the first time he’d truly seen it, as if his tears had washed away the haze of oblivion that had been obscuring his gaze for who knew how long. He didn’t, as it would show him just how much time he’d wasted, afraid of rejection, of losing you.

And somehow, fate had made a way for him to live in his greatest dream and nightmare all at once.

His hands shook as he was consumed with so many unidentifiable emotions as once, “I love you, too.” He wasn’t allowed a reaction as just at that moment, the light faded from your eyes and your smile fell without the support you’d been pushing to give.

“Wait,” he cried, a crack in his voice, “Please,” his volume dropped to a whisper, “please.” Despite the fact that your life slowly slipping away, his touch remained gentle, tremors shaking his fingers as he held your face in his hands. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Why would I ever want to leave you? You’re my everything.”

“(Y/N), please. I don’t want you to go.” Your skin was warm against his fingertips, providing some sense of hope yet dread in his heart. At the fact that maybe, deep down, you were still there, but you were still slipping away. Still abandoning him, still breaking your promise. “You can’t go,” he all but cried out, broken voice echoing throughout the room.

Your fingers found his chin, the pads brushing against the course hair that licked his jaw. A genuine smile pulled at your lips accompanied by a fond twinkle in your irises, “I promise.”

You solidified it with a soft, platonic peck to his lips, before a jingle could be heard from above. The both of you looked up, finding two white doves hanging from the ceiling.

“There,” you pointed, “Whenever you see white doves, remember that it means we’re together even when we’re physically not.”

#may2021promptchallenge #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x you #klaus mikaelson x y/n #klaus mikaelson imagine #the vampire diaries #the originals #klaus mikaelson #tw death

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Thoughts on what Renesmee thinks of Jasper and vice versa? And if she finds out how much Edward hates Jasper, do you think she'd start hanging around him a lot out of spite?

Thoughts on Renesmee's relationship with her family and thoughts on her relationship with Edward.

Interesting question, anon.

Renesmee's Thoughts on Jasper

I imagine Renesmee's not quite sure what to think of Jasper. Given Edward, I'm sure Edward all but forbid contact between them. Jasper has the worst control of the lot of them, WHAT IF HE ATE HIS DAUGHTER?! Whether this is a possibility is moot point, it doesn't seem to be from Bella's newborn reaction and Renesmee's pleasant but not mouth watering smell. The real issue is that Edward despises Jasper and doesn't want him to be a potentially corrupting influence.

I imagine the very large elephant in the room, that vampires in fact eat people, is something Edward doesn't wish to acknowledge and tries to hide from Renesmee to the best of his ability.

That girl's going to have one weird, sheltered, and very fucked up childhood.

And Jasper was once the most vampire vampire around, participating in never ending wars over territory. Edward barely tolerates this guy in the house, I imagine he gives Jasper a similar talk that he gave when Bella was human on how he should give Renesmee wide berth.

That, and I imagine Jasper's never quite sure what to do with Renesmee. She's this weird, alien, creature who changes every time he blinks. What are they even supposed to talk about?

So I imagine Jasper's on the periphery of Renesmee's life. She's distantly curious about him and how he came to be with the family (neither Edward nor Bella will give her details and say something about coming from "... A very different family, sweetie") but she doesn't really know him and he never seems all that interested in talking to her.

He's not a pillar in her life. He's just kind of around, included with the Cullens because of Alice, and just part of the weird backdrop that's her general life.

Jasper's Thoughts on Renesmee

I imagine he finds her to be an extraordinarily strange person. Oh, he likes her, loves her even, but is not quite as caught up in the "IT'S A MIRACLE" that everyone else is.

I imagine he's more consumed by thoughts of what Renesmee represents.

First, the relief that he didn't have to take her out into the woods and murder her as an infant. Had she been an immortal child in actuality, he would have done it, and he both knows that and knows he'd have been the one who had to do it.

He really dodged a bullet with that one and I imagine that haunts him to this day.

Otherwise, there's the question of what happens with the rest of the world.

Children are something that vampires have not only died for but murdered for. Immortal children are against the law not only for their devastation but because it was that common. Multiple covens have died for this. And now, a miracle has occurred, vampires can have biological children.

I imagine Jasper realizes what this means.

Renesmee's birth, the publicity of it, and the Volturi not outlawing it then and there means there will be a wave of rape and murder as vampires try to beget their own children. Human women are going to die en masse in agony as vampires both try to impregnate them and fail and when they are successful.

But his family's so enraptured in the little miracle that is Renesmee, the fact that Edward and Bella could have this child, that he doesn't want to be the one to bring this up. Especially since it doesn't really affect them, what of the outside world to the covens?

And it's hardly Renesmee's fault and she shouldn't feel guilty for her own existence, no matter the consequences.

This, combined with Edward being Edward, means that Jasper probably keeps his distance as he contemplates deep thoughts. He likes Renesmee, enjoys having her around, but doesn't need to be especially close to her in the way some of the others do.

Besides, Jasper likely believes himself unworthy of raising children and that he somehow would, in fact, be a corrupting influence. Best to stay out of the way.

Renesmee Finds Out How Much Edward Loathes Jasper

As much as the Cullens might wish otherwise, the charade they undoubtedly put up for Renesmee will crumble bit by bit, and all the little bits of truth will leak through.

She'll realize that Aunt Alice and Rosalie don't actually like each other that much, that Edward not only left her mother but is a horrifying creep, that Jake was once in love with her mother and only feels the way he does about her due to imprinting, that Carlisle lived with the Volturi not just for a few years but decades, Jasper's past, and everything else.

That Edward likes some family members more than others, that he loathes Jasper, is just one of these secrets that will some day bubble to the surface.

I imagine this would intrigue Renesmee, she'd likely try to find out more about him, either through the reluctant Jasper himself or through one of the others (my money's on Carlisle).

She might hang out with him for spite but I imagine she would not hope for much success.

Before hanging out with Jasper, to get the family/her mother's attention, I imagine there's a lot of acting out Renesmee does. At high school, Renesmee makes herself the problem child: she skips classes, shoves kids in lockers, and just gets into general hijinks that gets Carlisle called into the principal's office.

Ironically, this makes the Cullens look like a more normal family as their children aren't all weirdly perfect. However, it likely doesn't get Renesmee the attention she actually wants and instead two seconds of pouting from Edward and Bella who are "so disappointed in her".

Renesmee hangs out with Jasper, they're probably not even going to notice.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #jasper whitlock #renesmee cullen #edward cullen #anti edward cullen #meta #headcanon #opinion

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into The Unknown, Part 8

First

Previous

Marinette had never thought that living in another world would be this hard.

Sure, she had known that she would have issues when it came to the whole ‘she wasn’t technically supposed to be here and therefore needed a new identity’ thing. That was kind of obvious. The story they’d come up with had been simple enough -- she had grown up in Gotham with her parents, was highschool sweethearts with Tim, they had gotten married, he’d moved in with her, and her parents had died so she’d gotten custody of Damian. She was pretty sure Tim had a tragic backstory, but she didn’t really have that memorized yet. She wasn’t all that worried about it, though, she spent quite a lot of time dodging answering questions about her private life as Ladybug. Marinette probably wouldn’t even need to memorize his backstory (she would, of course, because she was nothing if not an overachiever, but she was well aware of the fact that it wasn’t quite necessary).

But, no, it was the small things that made it difficult.

Like affection.

Marinette was Parisian, she was used to greeting people with kisses on both cheeks. Hugs were something reserved for people you were close to.

But, no, Americans just insisted on being backward in everything that they do. And, supposedly, Marinette was American. She could get away with her accent because Gotham had a bunch of different people and it was easy to claim she came from the French part of town, but when it came to customs? No, she had to at least try and act like someone who had lived in America for her entire life.

So, when she was greeted with a hug from the most affectionate of her fellow interns, Marinette suppressed a cringe and patted her on the back awkwardly.

“Hi, Paige,” she said.

Paige beamed. “Ready for work?”

Marinette squinted up at the building. The WE in this universe was even taller than in her usual one.

… or maybe it just looked like that because she dreaded going inside. Ugh. Being an intern was going to suck.

“No.”

“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

“Thanks…”

But, despite Paige’s assurances, it did not go fine.

And it wasn’t even the job thing that wasn’t going well. That, at least, she could handle. No, it was this world’s meme culture that sent her spiraling.

She’d been holding exactly nine cups of coffee, seven mugs of tea, and one energy drink can. Marinette didn’t know if it was her time working in a bakery or some sort of latent Ladybug skills or what but it wasn’t even all that difficult to hold them all.

Paige raised her eyebrows at her, looking vaguely concerned. “Do you need help?” She asked, hands already out as if expecting her to say yes.

Marinette cracked a grin. “No. I’m fine. It’s not even that hard. I could probably carry another two drinks, even.”

“Freaky flexing, but fine.”

“... the fuck did you just say to me?”

~

Tim hummed lightly as he bounced on the balls of his feet, baby sleeping soundly on his shoulder. Marinette fumbled the keys to their new apartment, mumbling curses.

She’d outright told him that she didn’t really care, that she’d lived above a bakery for most of her life so it wasn’t like she would mind as long as the place had counter space…

So why was he nervous?

He felt the tiny hand in his shirt grip him tighter and he looked down. Damian was still fast asleep, sucking on his pacifier peacefully. Tim wondered, idly, how that worked. Was it a reflex that humans lose as they age like the grasping reflex or was it a learned behavior that went away when it wasn’t reinforced anymore?

Marinette managed to open the door, her cheeks tinged red at how difficult it had been, and she swung it open.

He stopped bobbing up and down to watch her face.

But she just shrugged to herself and bent down to grab the box she’d brought up.

He tried not to look too relieved as he followed her inside and watched her set the box down on the kitchen island.

She glanced back at him. “I call cleaning and setting up the apartment!” She said brightly.

“Okay…?” He said, confused as to why she was so excited to clean up…

But then Damian started to stir.

Oh. If she had cleanup duty… then he had…

Baby duty.

Oh.

Oh no.

“Shit, Mari, wait --!”

“Too late! You already said okay!” She said, already heading to the door.

Damian spat out his pacifier and took that one long, deep breath he always took before he was about to scream.

“Mari!”

She stuck her tongue out at him and disappeared around the doorframe just as the baby started to cry.

Tim heaved a sigh and pressed a kiss to the top of the kid’s head. The wailing quieted a little, but didn’t stop. Tim would take it, he hadn’t even been expecting Damian to quiet himself. This was an absolute win in his book.

He glanced at the box that had been brought up but, unfortunately, they hadn’t had enough foresight to bring the baby supplies.

He poked his head out the door and yelled for Marinette to bring up the box with the baby stuff first. She yelled ‘fuck you’ in response but when she came back she handed him the box regardless.

He smiled -- or, at least, he smiled as much as it was possible to smile when a baby was screaming at you -- and went to work figuring out what was wrong.

~

There was good news and bad news.

Good news was that Damian was starting to learn that crying was okay.

Bad news was that Damian was starting to learn that crying was okay.

And, listen, Marinette obviously preferred that. She wanted to know when the kid was hurt or hungry or even just craving affection… but ugh.

She twisted around in the bed to squint at the clock.

Three o’clock. Great.

She groaned softly and buried her face in Damian’s hair again. “Dami, please, I have work tomorrow. Shhhhhhhhh,” she pleaded. As if she didn’t have to go to work every day.

Damian, of course, didn’t stop crying.

Marinette thought she was going to cry.

Tim pulled his arm from around them so he could cover his ears with his pillow.

She reluctantly sat up. Damian banged his little fists against her shoulder in an attempt to tell her… something. Probably that he wasn’t happy. As if the entire apartment complex couldn’t hear just how unhappy he was.

She changed his diaper and then got him Cow. Hopefully that would sate him for the rest of the night.

She clambered back into bed and sent Tim a weak smile when he wrapped an arm around them.

She scooted toward him, because Damian was reaching for him and his eyes were closed, and tucked her head under his chin. He tensed just slightly before relaxing and tangling his legs with hers.

Damian seemed to like being cocooned between them, because he made a vague happy sound and settled down to sleep without much (more) fussing.

Tim hummed lightly. His voice was terrible, but it seemed to calm Damian so Marinette wasn’t about to complain.

It took a while for Damian to go back to sleep but, eventually, he did. Unfortunately, he fell asleep while biting the crinkly ears of his plush and it was hard to sleep with the steady crkcrkcrkcrk sound right next to her.

From the way Tim’s breathing had yet to slow, he wasn’t asleep either.

Well, at least that was something to do.

“I’m beginning to think the reason babies are so cute is that otherwise we would kill them,” she joked, her voice soft so as not to wake the kid again.

Not that it would matter all that much. She could, unfortunately, not see herself going back to sleep before her alarm went off.

He chuckled and nodded as much as he could with her head beneath his. “Right? I just want one night of good sleep --.”

He stopped suddenly.

She drew back a little to check that he was fine, only to see him looking mildly horrified.

“We need to go back home soon. I’m going to get used to sleeping like a normal person. I can’t do that,” he said.

She grinned. “Oh no. The horror.”

“No, you don’t get it. If I do that then I’ll be giving into my family’s wishes. I can’t let them think they’re right about something!”

She giggled, shaking her head. “Here, I’ll make it easier for you: I don’t want you to sleep. As Dami and I are your only family -- legally -- for the next fifteen years, you must not do what we want. Therefore, you have to sleep.”

“Ah. Reverse psychology.”

“Well, I am a psych major.” Some of the amusement faded. “Was a psych major.”

“... really?”

“Yeah. I dunno. I’d figured it was the closest I could get to being Ladybug again.”

“You’re still Ladybug.”

She shrugged just slightly. “Yeah. I dunno,” she said again. She tried for a grin. “Doesn’t feel the same when there’s no emotional terrorism involved.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to do the same thing over and over again for a million years.”

“There’s some comfort in things staying the same.”

“Oh? Maybe we should trade.”

“That’s an amazing plan that I see no problems with. You get to go around beating up the Meta Of The Week and I’ll stay in Gotham dealing with all the idiots in spandex.”

“Are we switching outfits, too?”

“Oh yeah. Obviously. Gotta commit to the whole ‘switching’ thing. I bet I’ll look cuter in your outfit, too.”

“Ah, yes, because cuteness is the most important part of vigilante costumes.”

“We end up in papers all the time, being cute is totally important.”

He chuckled lightly and she felt the arm around her give her a tiny squeeze. She buried her face in his chest.

“You should try and sleep.”

“Hypocrite,” she teased, but she could already feel her eyelids drooping.

He hummed. She thought that, maybe, it didn’t sound so bad as to make him stop.

~

Tim had been in the middle of bathing Damian as he always did before bed when he’d accidentally splashed water on his face.

Perfectly fine and normal.

What wasn’t perfectly fine and normal was that the baby responded by saying: “Oh shit!”

Tim’s eyes narrowed.

“MARINETTE,” he yelled.

Marinette was there in seconds. There was some kind of green paste on her face. She’d been in the middle of her usual skincare routine. He thought it was kind of weird that near-immortals needed skincare routines but that wasn’t the point here.

She looked around frantically. “What?! What’s wrong?!”

“Damian just said sh --... he said the s-word.”

Marinette relaxed at that and sent Tim a glare. “Don’t blame this one on me. You’re the one that says that.”

Tim frowned. Because, now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure she was right.

“Now, if he’d said ‘fuck’, that would have been on me, but he didn’t, so --.”

“FUCK,” Damian said brightly.

Tim glared at Marinette again, this time rightfully so.

She looked a little sheepish. “... okay, yeah, that one’s on me.”

~~~~~

Next

@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

#my baby cousins are starting to rub off on me #yesterday i said 'im sleepies' in a normal conversation #girl help #into the unknown #maribat #timinette #timari #timmari #shutterbug #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #red robin #tim drake

[kmikaelsonimagines]

Animal Instincts, Part One: A Kol Mikaelson Imagine

Request from Anon: Hi! Congrats on completing all of your requests! Can I request an kol x reader where the reader is New Orleans witch who is kind of like a maledictus (from fantastic beasts)? Like she can turn into an animal but will eventually be stuck in that form forever? She helps Kol, and they get really close. Eventually confessing to each other, but when Marcel bites Kol and he's put under for 5 years, when he wakes, he's found that she's transformed permanently. He finds her and vows to break the curse.

Hope this is okay for you lovely, and enjoy x 

Want to see more? Find the rest of the series just below:

Animal Instincts

Kol had always told her to stop, to only use her gifts when she needed to, when it was a life or death situation. That way, he would be able to spend more time with her; that way, they would have time to figure out the inevitable change that was bound to happen to her, when she would no longer be human.

He’d always thought they had time, but then Marcel had bitten him and time had disappeared, crumbling underneath both of them.

He’d always thought they had time, but then five years had passed and now she was gone. He needed to find her, needed to fulfil his promise of saving her.

When Kol met Y/N Y/L/N for the first time, he didn’t know what she was. That confession would come later, when they were walking home from an outing together. It wasn’t a date. Not yet. They weren’t there yet.

He remembered enemies jumping out at them; he remembered frantically searching for Y/N as he fought them off but she was nowhere to be seen. But then he had seen it, or rather, her. He saw her rip their attackers apart before he’d even had a chance to use his supernatural abilities.

He saw her change back when it was all over, a girl crouched where an animal had been before. He remembered the look in her eyes as he covered her with his coat, the apology that resided there, the expectation that he wouldn’t want to be around her anymore.

He remembered the words he said.

“That was amazing.”

And it was. She was.

A few weeks passed and Kol learnt more about the curse of the maledictus, about what was headed Y/N’s way. And his knowledge grew, so did his love for her, his emotions clouding his judgement, coming to a head in one explosive confession.

He remembered the day he told her that he loved her. He remembered the fight they had been in, how she had screamed at him.

“Why do you even care, Kol? Why are you so desperate to save me when I can’t be saved?”

“Because I love you.”

No answer. Just a kiss that he would remember for the rest of immortal life. A kiss that was the start of life getting better.

But then, everything had changed. Everything always had to change.

“We need to find her.” Kol had stood, facing his siblings, anger flowing through every pore. After finally being awakened after five years, satiating his hunger and finding out that Y/N was nowhere to be seen, his rage was understandable. He was beyond desperate to find the girl that he loved, the girl he had been parted from for five years, the girl who could be dead for all he knew.

When he had asked where she was, Hayley said she didn’t know. Apparently, Y/N had disappeared a few years back, telling Hope’s mother that she was searching for an easier way to get her family back, to get Kol back. They had fought and Y/N had stormed out.

She hadn’t been seen since.

“If Y/N doesn’t want to be found, then that’s up to her, Kol.”

“Who says she doesn’t want to be found, Rebekah?”

Those were the last words he said before he had set off on his journey to find Y/N. Maybe Rebekah was right, maybe she didn’t want to be found, maybe she had finally seen sense and realised that loving a Mikaelson was a dangerous game. Maybe she was just living a normal life like she deserved.

But Kol’s instincts told him otherwise. And he always trusted his instincts.

He figured early on that everyone else’s problem was that they had been looking for a person; that was why they hadn’t found her. As much as Kol didn’t want to admit it, he had a feeling that Y/N wasn’t Y/N anymore. Well, she was, she just wasn’t human. As he made his way through the woods, he prayed that he was wrong.

But these were his instincts, and they were almost never wrong.

“Y/N?”

Nothing.

“Y/N? It’s me. It’s Kol. I’m back. I’m okay.”

A snap of a twig. The snaps of several twigs. A nose peeking out from a thicket of trees. A black, wet nose that lay underneath dark eyes. Dark eyes that belonged to Y/N. Dark eyes that belonged to a bear.

Kol let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. So it had happened. She had finally turned, for good, this time.

And as the bear crept towards him, sniffing him before nuzzling into his side, Kol Mikaelson vowed that it wouldn’t be for good. He would find a way to fix it, to bring back the girl that he loved more than anything.

He placed his hand in her fur, holding on tight.

“Not for much longer, Y/N. I’m going to save you, I promise.”

Masterlist

#TVD #tvd imagine #tvd imagines #the vampire diaries #the originals #the originals imagines #the originals imagine #to #Kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson imagines #kol mikaelson imagine #kol mikaelson x reader #nate buzz #Nathaniel Buzolic #nate buzolic

[alfredosauce50]

What makes me human [Cyberpunk! America x reader] 12

Wordcount: 3, 719 Rating: M for strong language and mature themes Warning: Implications of a panic attack and other sensitive/shocking content ahead. "See? I don't even have any goddamn organs! And I'm still alive!" "But hey, I get it. Maybe this isn't even my body. If it was, I wouldn't be alive. Maybe I'm a clone or something. A robot clone. Do you think they still kept my old body as a souvenir?" Chapter synopsis: Alfred is dying from something unknown, and the weaker his body gets, the faster his sanity wanes. You can't do anything but ease his pain as he slowly deteriorates. Fortunately, a deus ex machina arrives to save the day. The reader is referred to as she/her

Songs to listen to while you read (in order as found in playlist): VIRUS, Devil’s At Your Door, Glassy sky, Within. I have indented song titles throughout the chapter so you can change accordingly. Starting now:

VIRUS

12 - Like tears in rain

When Alfred left to do his business, you traced a finger over your leg and continued to look towards the bathroom. He was going to reappear any second now. That was what you told yourself as you waited, impatiently, but it never happened. Instead, you heard a loud slam and your heart jumped out of your chest.

It was the sound of glass. 

“... Alfred?” You called out, tone uncertain. Sliding yourself off the bed a few moments later, you walked to the door with a fearful kind of urgency. Without wasting another second, you knocked a few times. “Are you okay in there? I heard something. What happened?” He didn’t answer. There was only shuffling of feet--the rough scraping of the sole of a sandal against the tiled floor. 

It was almost as if he was struggling to stand. 

“Alfred, open the door!” You rose your voice in a distressed shout. Pounding your fists against the door, your pleads fell on deaf ears as he never made an effort to respond.

That alarmed you beyond compare and you resorted to thrusting your elbows against the cold and hard metal surface. “Alfred—” Your voice broke as his name fell from your lips. Bile never rose this quickly in your throat. 

When the door did open, you stared wide-eyed at the man through a flurry of tears. He was so confused, disoriented even, but he was safe and sound.

But when he saw the way you looked at him, crying, his face twisted with regret. “Fuck, (F/N)!” He breathed, catching you in his arms when you launched yourself at him. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you, but I’m okay—I promise. See? Now please don’t cry anymore.” Pulling away to offer a smile of reassurance, it faltered when you shook your head profusely with bitter despondency. 

“I’m not stupid. I know what I heard.” A dark glare only lasted so long when your expression quickly morphed into despair. “Please just tell me what’s wrong.” Reaching out to grip onto the sleeves of his shirt, you clung onto him desperately, almost as if he’d disappear if you didn’t. Little did you know, it wasn’t far from the truth. 

As if Alfred already knew this, he hung his head with a tired grin. 

“To be honest, I don’t know any more about this than you do.” He shook his head, defeated. “My best guess is that I’m having particularly shitty side effects with this... Immortality thing. But that’s it. I can’t die. So I’ll be okay.” 

He didn’t pay much attention to the signs he’d been seeing for the past few days. At first, he only experienced a little bit of lagging in his interface, like whenever he’d use his trusty in-built Google maps. This minor issue escalated into occasional forgetfulness, and even then, he brushed it off. But now, this mutated into something alarming.

Finding yourself in his arms again, you squeezed him in a tight embrace and screwed your eyes shut.

“That means this won’t be forever... Right?"

You wanted to believe it with every fiber of your being. But fear returned like an old friend, ravaging your being until it left nothing but paranoia in your consciousness. "I still think there’s something wrong with you..." Shaking your head as you choked out your words, he squeezed you right back.

"This won’t happen again, I’m sure of it. So don’t be so worried, okay?" Pulling away to soften his gaze on your teary one, he wiped away any moisture with a swipe of his thumb. Then, he sighed, but a small smile appeared right after. “I’ll be fine. Otherwise, who’s gonna look after you when I’m gone?”

“Don’t say that.” You deadpanned.

The truth to his words was haunting, and you couldn’t deny it. That was precisely why you hated hearing it.

“Do you care about me that much now, (F/N)?” The other grinned, his cheeks pink with content.

“Don’t ask that as if you don’t already know the answer.”

Alfred closed his eyes with a look of satisfaction. To hear you snap at him like this only pointed to one reason, and one reason only.

He'd totally grown on you. Maybe more so the other way around, but this was how things have always been. So he wasn't surprised when he was the first to feel something beyond a platonic friendship. Ironically, he was made of more metal than flesh and blood like you. But did that even mean anything anymore?

“Just wanted to hear you say it. But that’s good enough for me.” He hummed, watching a blush spread over your cheeks he himself was responsible for.

You hit his shoulder. "... Take this a little more seriously, would you?"

The blonde laughed. "I am! I was just being honest."

Neither of you noticed that you both had taken the leisure to sit on the ground. But given the circumstances, how could you possibly focus on something else? The same could be said for Alfred as he continued to stare at you with an unreadable expression.

Even then, he was pulling you in like a moth to a flame.

"You say that and yet I really can't tell what you're thinking."

"... And what if I didn't want you to?"

Whatever it was that was between you both, it couldn't be ignored. You weren't on the same page as him, but that didn't mean you wouldn't do everything in your power to save him.

He was carefree about this, but you weren't taking your chances.

Not that you could do anything to help him as his symptoms spiraled out of control. What he said would only be a one-time thing became a daily ritual. His episodes were longer. More violent. If he wasn't freezing up in the middle of the street, he was having seizures left and right until he fried his own brain.

Devil's At Your Door

You would drag his heavy body to an alleyway to wait it out. This was one of those times, but the task proved more difficult during a thunderstorm, and when heavy was more of an understatement. Not only was he made mostly out of steel, but he was well over six feet to boot, so all it took was one small puddle to slip and drop him--right onto the concrete with a thump.

In the few seconds he laid flat on the ground, he looked dead.

But a few seconds was more than enough for tears to form. They streamed endlessly down your face as you watched his, motionless and peaceful as it lay half-submerged in a murky well of water. As dark as it was, it still reflected the bright neon of the city. But the lights were anything but beautiful.

"... Sorry for dropping you." You murmured, reaching up to rub your eyes. He remained quiet. A part of you wished he said something, maybe a soft laugh going, don't worry about it. But he never did.

Bending down to sit beside him, you pulled Alfred onto your body and rested his head on your shoulder. It wasn't the freezing puddle your legs were submerged in that bothered you. Nor was it the light drizzle of rain on your face, the rumbling of thunder, or your dirty clothes sticking to your skin.

It was the feeling of him twitching in your arms, the restlessness in his uneven breaths. Something inside him was killing him. And all you could do was ease his pain while he wasted away.

Sticking your hand into his pocket, you pulled out a metal pin before lifting his tank top. Then, you inserted it into a tiny hole in his chest. You felt a pop, and a plate opened up. At least he wasn't drenched on the inside. But the water was a bad sign nevertheless, especially when he wasn't filtering it out like he normally did.

With whatever areas of your clothes that were still dry, you rubbed the inside of his torso vigorously. Then, you carefully removed detachable parts to wipe them as well. So there you sat, and hoped, unscrewing plates and reattaching them with his trusty screwdriver for ten minutes before he began to stir.

It was easily the longest ten minutes of your life. When he laid there, unable to process a single coherent thought, you had to wonder if this would be the last time. What if he never woke up? What if your father's men found him out here, and did away with him while he was so vulnerable?

The fear for his dwindling life chipped away at your sanity faster than you could deal. But every time he woke up, he put a stopper on your waning senses. A cough was heard and you stopped your movements abruptly. "... Pervert." He cracked his eyes open into thin slits as a tired grin stretched at his lips.

But you couldn't humor his comment as bile rose in your throat.

"I thought you weren't gonna wake up again." Your lips trembled in a frown. Working quickly to put him together, you pulled his top down and leaned down to hug him. "Thank god... We need to get you out of the rain. I know that much."

You helped him up slowly and slung his arm around your shoulder. "Yeah. You know more about this dinosaur than me." He furrowed his brows together and managed a sheepish smile. "If you didn't dry me up, I could've shocked myself to death. That would've been kinda embarrassing."

"Oh, shush. You know I'd never let that happen." Taking slow and steady steps, you both moved out of the alleyway and onto the street. The downpour just got heavier, so you kept your head down and ran to the closest shelter available--the outside of an upgrade store.

And as you stood there, waiting, you heard him say something you would never forget.

"... Even if you didn't, I'm still... Probably gonna die anyway." He laughed dryly. Misery shook his voice, and it manifested in the form of tears that rolled down his face. When you saw them, you almost couldn't tell as droplets of rain had dotted his skin. But he gave you no chance to process the fact he was crying when he continued.

"I'm being killed by something inside. It's not a disease. It's like... A virus." He dug a hand through his hair, and his eyes widened with a manic kind of sadness. "Ha! I'm about to die the most unnatural death. And to think I used to believe I was still a human."

"But you are." You forced out, swallowing thickly as an intense wave of grief washed over you. Then, you shook your head at him. "What I said when I met you was stupid. I didn't know who you were. I was scared. You're scared. I can tell. But don't tell me you're not human after everything you've done."

He wanted to believe you with every damn fiber of his being. He did. He really did. But he just couldn't. Not while his vision glitched so that he could barely see your face. And not while his ears blared with static to render him deaf. "... I'm not what you think I am."

Gritting his teeth so hard, veins popped around his neck and his left eye shattered.

"Alfred, stop!"

What was left of it was a bright blue light in his eye socket.

"Look at me." He breathed shakily. "I'm not even a fucking cyborg. Nothing about me is natural. Can't you see?"

He forced his chest plate open, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop him from pulling it off its hinges. Landing on the wet sidewalk in a clatter, you struggled to keep his hand still as he tore away one part after the other. "I've opened myself up before. I pulled everything out. There's nothing inside but metal and plastic."

But it was true. It became apparent when he pulled himself apart and gutted himself. You stood no chance against his inhumane strength, so he ripped everything out until he was reduced to nothing but a hollow shell.

"See? I don't even have any goddamn organs! And I'm still alive!" Alfred screamed with a face full of tears, but you were just as much of a mess as you sobbed wretchedly. "But hey, I get it. Maybe this isn't even my body. If it was, I wouldn't be alive. Maybe I'm a clone or something. A robot clone. Do you think they still kept my old body as a souvenir?"

He emptied himself as he spoke through crazed laughs, tossing his insides onto the street without a single shred of care.

Glassy Sky

As people walked by, they stopped to stare at the unfolding altercation, but some couldn't bring themselves to give a shit. A few even stepped on his parts on accident as they brushed past. And the sight of them cracking under their feet left you more and more unstable until you stopped crying altogether.

Lowering yourself into a crouch, you covered your ears as an unpleasant concoction of panic and anxiety overwhelmed your senses. As if hot water rushed into your head, a thick mental fog slowed your thoughts to a standstill. In fact, it was so incapacitating, you never struggled when you were picked up from behind.

Even when you were placed into a stranger's car, you never made a move to get out.

Once you calmed down, you were in an entirely different location. Familiar, but different. As you studied your surroundings, you came to recognize it to be the same room you stayed in at Arthur's. And rather than laying down in bed, you were leaning against a warm body. Pressing your face into their chest, you were overwhelmed with the scent of cologne.

Allen's cologne.

Tilting your head back, a pair of striking red eyes stared down at you with the most tender gaze. "Hey. Did you miss me?" He'd said.

For the second time that day, you cried. You cried and cried until there was nothing to cry about anymore. But rather than on a fearful note, it was a happy one. You clung onto him like a lifeboat as he began to rock you gently from side to side, then whisper soft words of comfort into your ear. Allen was alive and well. And the tables had turned for him to save you.

He never thought he'd have the stroke of luck to find you and Alfred. But his sudden urge to go to the bathroom--which came from the heavy downpour--turned out to be the best damn thing that ever happened to him.

"... I gotta take a leak," Allen murmured, earning a slow nod from the man beside him. Climbing out of the vehicle, he jogged across the road. He had been mulling over going all the way to the mall a few blocks down to relieve himself, but he opted for the alleyway right across where their car was parked. When he left, he noticed a small gathering of people down the street.

"...?"

Then, someone screaming bloody murder. He would've turned away, having seen similar scenes unfold like a regular Tuesday, but it was the sobbing that followed he couldn't ignore.

The voice sounded just like yours.

In a heartbeat, he burst into a sprint and pushed his way through the crowd to the center. When he finally got to the middle, he managed to step on a random part--an enhancement of some kind--much to his confusion. Then, he lifted his head for some answers. He paled immediately at what he saw.

Alfred was standing there in all his glory, having disemboweled himself. You were presumably reacting to him doing it.

"... What in the hell?" Sweat amassed around his forehead as he processed the grotesque sight. But seeing you so distraught was more than enough to get him to spring into action. Without a moment's hesitation, he shoved all the curious onlookers away with a scowl. "Fuck off, all of you. Never seen a dude gut himself before?"

Once the group dispersed, he scooped you up with one arm while he used the other to drag Alfred away by his collar.

One frenzied car ride and nap later, you were here in Allen's arms. He had long forsaken the idea of leaving you by yourself. But that wasn't the right way to put it when he never considered it in the first place. "You're okay, (F/N). Everything's gonna be fine." He murmured, digging his hands into your hair to rub your scalp.

It was something he always did to calm you down, and like every other occasion, it worked like a miracle. Feeling his fingers massage your head was therapeutic, and you quickly settled into his chest.

"... I thought you died, you know." Tightening your grip on his white tank, your chest felt heavy as you revisited the memories. "Even if it was for a little while, I knew I went a little crazy afterward."

Allen closed his eyes and rested his chin on you. He usually would have cracked a joke on a topic like this, but he knew better. So there was no sign of mirth in his expression when he responded.

"And that's why I didn't die, sweetheart." Coiling his arms around your neck, he gave you a squeeze. Then, he opened his eyes and narrowed them into a frown. It didn't matter what he did in his life. If he somehow passed before you did, which was more likely than anything, he'd latch himself onto this world with the regret of unfinished business.

"If I died before you, I wouldn't ever forgive myself. I can't leave you alone in this... Shitty world." He pulled away just so he could press his forehead against yours. "It's just you and me. Everyone else is fucking crazy. We're the only sane ones alive."

You couldn't help but crack a smile at that. Allen always had a way with words, even if he was a bit heavy on the colorful vocabulary. In a way, he shared an affinity with Alfred who hated the world just as much as him. But rather than starting revolutions, he preferred to keep it on the down-low and make the most of what he had.

And you had to admit that you preferred the same. "... Maybe you're right. But at least we have each other."

Allen hummed.

"Uhhuh. And maybe I could take Arthur into consideration for the normal people club. He's got a good head on his shoulders."

Speaking of which, how was he going with Alfred, anyhow?

Within

As if he read your mind, he offered to take you to the medical bay. Leading you down the dimly lit halls, he pushed open the door to reveal a violent altercation taking place. Alfred, who had been sleeping off the operation, was up on his feet and causing a ruckus. He held medical scalpels in both hands as if to defend himself.

Darting his wide eyes between the two men, Arthur and another man you didn't recognize, he screamed his lungs out. "Don't come any closer! I'm armed!" Backing himself to the corner, he dropped one of the blades but kept the other firmly in his grip. And that he used to point at whoever that moved.

"Who the hell are you guys? What the fuck did you do to me?!"

What did he say?

Your face fell as you watched the scene unfold. Nothing but pure, unadulterated fear oozed from every action Alfred made. Like a caged animal, he kept his distance from everyone and everything because he simply couldn't understand what was going on.

And the longer the predicament dragged on, the clearer it became to you why he was acting up.

The Brit gave Allen a nervous side-eye.

"Allen, do something! Restrain him, I don't know! We don't have any enhancements, so one stab from that and we're done for!"

He shook his head as he made a weird look. "Wait, what dya' mean restrain him? He's just disoriented, just let him be! What if he dies?"

"Yeah, big guy! Tackle him while we try and sedate him!" The other man exclaimed, narrowly dodging a metal tray thrown his way. His copper brown hair was tied back in a long ponytail, and his eyes were almost as red as Allen's, but they were noticeably darker. "Fuck you! This is pretty much a hospital, you know? Just because we don't have uniforms doesn't mean we tried to sell your organs!"

"... Not that you even have any." He murmured that under his breath, but karma struck and another metal tray came flying his way to hit him square in the face. "Ow!"

Arthur muttered out a string of curses. "Goddammit, Allen! He's not disoriented, he has amnesia!" You tensed up all over as your suspicions were confirmed right then and there. "He doesn't know who any of us are, and he won't have any trouble killing us all when he figures out he can shoot rockets from his arms!"

"Wait, what the fu--I can do that?!"

"Uhh, no you can't!"

There was no way he couldn't remember you, right?

The thought deeply saddened you, but it was more reasonable than getting ahead of yourself. If he couldn't remember Arthur and Allen, what were the chances he'd remember you? Nevertheless, a part of you hoped he somehow did after everything you two went through.

There was only one way to find out.

"Alfred!"

Your shout echoed across the room and he turned to the source. When he saw you, he dropped his scalpel to the ground in a clatter.

His eyes went wider than dinner plates, but you had no way to gauge what he was feeling, let alone thinking. So you let him walk up to you, albeit slowly. When he managed to stand right in front of you, he attached two hands to your shoulders, the action prompting Allen to pull out his gun at light speed. Training that at the blonde's head, he curled his finger around the trigger.

But he never pulled it.

"... (F/N)?"

#hetalia fanfiction #hetalia x reader #x reader #reader insert #axis powers hetalia #axis powers ヘタリア #aph america #america x reader #aph america x reader #alfred f jones #allen jones #2p america #2p! america x reader #2p!americaxreader #cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk fanfic #fanfiction #scifi

[delicatelyherdreams]

Pragma(tic) 23: Her Heart Betrays Her

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 6058

Warnings: Language, death, execution

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 22: She Unleashes Hell

You were hospitalized for a week for reasons beyond your comprehension.

Your mother insisted it be for at least that long, to monitor your health if nothing else. The battle against your father had left a gaping wound across your chest and damaged muscle in your shoulder and she had to be sure that you were healed enough to function. Despite your healing taking care of the situation within seventy-two hours, you remained in a hospital on Olympus for the full week.

Pietro was in and out of your room periodically but mostly left your care to the nymphs. He, after all, had a more pressing case on his hands than yours.

Bucky had been rushed to Olympus after Pietro got to him and emergency surgery was administered to remove the infected and burned tissue that made up his arm and prepare the flesh to be fitted with a prosthetic, should Bucky ask for one.

He was set up just rooms away from you, but you couldn’t make yourself get up to go see him. 

For one thing, his mother was constantly at his bedside, nursing the wounded god back to health as much as possible. You’d tried to go see him once, just after you were cleared for walking again, but—upon seeing Winnifred at his bedside—was turned away. The glare she’d shot you was so withering and filled with malice that there was no way you would’ve gotten near the god without her biting your head off. 

But, even if she wasn’t there at his side to guard him, you weren’t sure you’d be able to stand in his presence at all. After all, it was your fault he was hurt. He’d sacrificed his limb to save your life. If you’d never been in jeopardy at all, he might not be in this situation. 

The guilt you felt was overwhelming. Mixed in with the grief that held onto your heart, it was unbearable. 

You’d only seen Bucky once since the battle at Thessaly—in the dead of the night under the cover of darkness, stepping through the shadows where you could lurk silently and pretend you didn’t exist. You’d forced yourself into his room to reassure yourself that he was alive. But after checking him for a pulse and pressing a quick kiss to his forehead, you vanished, melting back into the shadows and reappearing in your bed, trying (and failing) to hold back anguished tears.

The guilt you felt kept you away, but, in reality, this was probably best anyway. 

After all, there’s no rest for a goddess.

Carol and Natasha had been briefed on how Kronos and his brothers escaped and a global manhunt for Pierce and Brock was issued. Any god, goddess, nymph, or otherwise who was able-bodied was ordered by the Queen of Olympus herself to hunt down the traitors to Olympus. You’d been informed of this twenty-four hours after the hunt had been issued, on the fourth day of your recovery.

You were unsurprised when Carol came in to tell you what she’d done and that they’d been found and apprehended. Of course, you knew that they’d have to face the consequences of their actions and you figured that it wouldn’t take them long to find them.

She told you delicately that Pierce, your previous lieutenant, and Brock, your ex-lover, were in the palace now, bound in the unbreakable chains and being held in the dungeon as they awaited trial.

The “trial” (if that was even what you could call it) took place the following day. You were kept away from it on account of your continuous recovery (despite the fact that the cuts had faded to ugly scars and you were doing everything as normal as usual) and so you did not attend. But Natasha came to you after to deliver the verdict. 

The price of their betrayal, in this case, and of this magnitude, was death. 

You should’ve expected this, but it still made your heart drop.

You couldn’t have cared less about Pierce’s fate. He’d never been your favorite in the Underworld and his actions against you were motivated by pure greed and selfishness. He’d betrayed the gods for himself, hoping to lift his ranking in the world and kill you.

But Brock… Brock’s punishment hurt you.

As much as his betrayal destroyed you, you didn’t want him to die for it. His betrayal had been misguided. He’d been under the impression that he would have you back if he helped the titans rise to power. As twisted as his actions had been and as much as you hated him for them, you still couldn’t make yourself wish death upon him.

Because it wasn’t really death that awaited him; it was annihilation. 

They didn’t have to explicitly say that, but you all knew it to be true. Annihilation was really the only fate for an immortal.

And odds were you were going to be the one to carry it out. After all, the only weapons in existence that could kill an immortal had either been destroyed or were in the possession of you and your sisters and you were the goddess of the dead and the Underworld. It was only natural that you’d be the executioner, no matter how much you hated it.

———

You hated your executioner gear. You despised the heavy black cloak and the black armor. You loathed the way it felt to wear them, feeling their weight flow directly to your heart and make it sink in your chest like a stone. You hated your bident, knowing that it was about to take a life.

It felt like eons since you’d last donned the uniform. It was the execution of Erebus that enabled you to become the goddess of deep darkness and shadows which had been over a thousand years ago. One of the good things about living in Olympus with as small of a community as you did was that no one ever really fucked up so badly they had to die.

Because of this, executions were few and far between; but that just made the ones that did happen that much more important and official.

All the gods dressed in their traditional robes. Carol would wear the purest white with her crown of lightning on her head. Natasha would dress in the ocean embodied in fabric with a crown of waves resting on her hair.

You dressed in the emptiest of blacks—literal shadows forming your cloak and armor—while donning a crown of precious gold swirling with the souls of the damned.

From there, the others would dress according to their role and domain, all looking regal and magnificent. 

You could sense them gathering in the town square outside the palace from where you stood in a guest room, preparing yourself for the emotionally-taxing event to come. Your body was fully healed and you’d been released from the hospital a few days ago. Carol had agreed to postpone the execution until you were well enough, but you could tell that she and the others were just itching for it to be over with. The remaining titans had already been sent back to Tartarus with reinforced prisons and this was the final obstacle standing in the way of normalcy. Once the traitors had been dealt with, the gods could return to the way things were before the panic that was the titans.

You overlooked the square where the gods were gathering. The execution stand had been set up in the center with two chopping blocks where the two prisoners were to be set up. It wouldn’t be long before Pierce and Brock were chained up and you would kill them. Opposite of the stand stood a raised platform where three thrones had been erected. Carol’s stood in the center with yours to the right and Natasha’s to the left. Though regal and begging for their occupants, you knew that one of them would remain vacant. 

You pulled anxiously at the laces that held your bracer on your arm. Your stomach churned and you found yourself wishing that you could be anywhere else.

Your unease was surprising to you. You’d never been this queasy at an execution before. In fact, you’d taken lives as mercilessly as death. But this one was different.

Probably because of who was being executed.

Knowing that Brock was about to die brought you more discomfort than you wanted to admit. It chilled you to the bone to think of him on that execution block, destroyed by your own hand. If you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine that none of this had come to pass. You could almost imagine that you were in bed with him a whole century ago, your head on his bare chest and his arms secured around your waist. 

What would’ve happened if this last year and a half had never happened? Would you still be with Brock, happily in denial about the reality of your relationship? Would things have been different? Would he never have felt the need to betray you in order to win you back? Would he not be dying today?

You had no doubt about Pierce’s fate. The god was corrupted by your father, enticed by the power he was promised. He would’ve betrayed you regardless and been sentenced to death. 

Of course, this alone possessed an issue for you. Pierce was a god and he had dominion over a necessary part of life: death. With his death, his dominion would be orphaned and the title of god of death would have to be passed on to a willing god.

But what god would take it? Everyone avoided death like the plague, especially the Olympians. That left you and you alone to take it over.

You didn’t mind this fate, but it scared you. Being the goddess of death would be a full-time job on its own. It demanded that you help lead the mortals to the Underworld when they die so that they don’t get stuck in the Mortal World. It wasn’t something you hadn’t done before, but millions of mortals died every day. You wouldn’t have the time to do such a task. 

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts and you shuddered free. You let go of your laces and straightened up before calling out, “Come in!”

The hinges squealed as the door was pushed open and the sound of heels hitting the tile filled the room. “How are you doing?” came the voice of your youngest sister.

You breathed a chuckle and glanced over your shoulder at her. “Never better. My boyfriend is in the hospital and I’m about to kill my ex and my lieutenant. Life’s shaping up to be great.”

“You know, a little less sarcasm wouldn’t kill you.” The smile on Carol’s face was teasing as she sat down on the bed. 

“Actually, I live off of sarcasm so yes, it very well could kill me.” You turned around to face her and crossed your arms, a small smile of your own creeping onto your lips. “You don’t have to worry about me Carol, I’m fine.”

“Then why don’t I believe you?” She hummed and leaned forward. “How are you really handling all of this? The execution, Bucky, Dad’s death… I can’t imagine that any of it is easy on you.”

“It’s not, but when did life ever ask me what I wanted?” You hung your head. “Misfortune is not something I’m a stranger to. As shitty as it is, I’m used to something going wrong in some way or another. I think it comes with the territory.”

“I’m really sorry, (y/n).”

“Don’t be… It’s not your fault they did what they did. It’s not your fault that Dad was a psychopath or that Brock and Pierce… That they decided to follow him. They’re grown men. They made their own decisions. I just… I just wish…” The words were trapped in your throat.

“You just wish that it didn’t have to end in death.”

You nodded. “Pierce I understand. He’s a danger to us all so long as he lives. But Brock…”

She stood and crossed the room to you. Placing her hand on your shoulder, she gave you a weak smile. “I know you guys have a history together—one that I’ll probably never understand—and I know that he means something to you, but the law is the law. He’s already proven that we can’t trust him. He poisoned you, (y/n). He helped set our father free. We can’t just have someone like that running freely around Olympus.”

“I know.” Your voice was a ghost of a whisper as you lowered your gaze. “But that doesn’t mean I like it.”

“I know you don’t, and I’m sorry it had to come to this.” 

You didn’t say anything; you just hung your head. You hated this situation more than you would say. You knew they had to die, but you weren’t ready for it.

“Hey…” Carol said after a while. “Why don’t… Why don’t you sit this one out? I can take care of the… The execution. You don’t have to do this.”

That caught your attention. You looked up, your eyes widening. “Really?”

“Yeah! It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to do anything official like this. Besides… You shouldn’t have to have that on your conscience.”

A weak smile pulled at your lips and you nodded. “Thank you, Carol.”

“Don’t mention it.” She rubbed small circles on your shoulder and took a step back. 

Given distance from her, you sighed. “Pierce is dying today.”

“Yes, he is.”

“He is the god of death. His dominion will be orphaned after he is gone.”

“I know. We’re going to have to find him a replacement.”

“You know that none of the Olympians will take it.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“And I know you and Nat can’t, so…”

“So you will?”

“I suppose I’ll have to. I just don’t know how I’m going to balance that with running the Underworld.”

“You really can’t.”

“I know…”

She bit her lip and shifted her weight. “I can’t ask that of you.”

“But you have to.”

“I do…” She exhaled sharply. “But, if you do it, I can promise that it will only be temporary—just until I can find a permanent replacement.”

“You can do that?”

“I’m the queen of the gods. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

That drew a laugh out of you and you nodded. “Yeah, I guess you can.”

“So you’ll take it temporarily?”

“Yeah. But you better find a replacement quick or I might just die from the stress.”

“Duly noted.” She smiled softly and looked around the room. “Will you stay up here during the execution?”

Pressing your lips together, you shook your head. “No. I think I will go down for the execution. It would be informal to exclude one of the three queens.” You turned away from Carol and looked down at the pavilion where the gods had begun taking their places. Apprehension and foreboding took hold of your heart as you said, “I can manage it.”

———

Despite the sun beating down on Olympus, the air was cold. Your throne was chilled to the touch as you sat there. Your foot taped anxiously on the ground as your eyes stayed locked on your sister. 

Carol stood on the execution platform, her staff of lightning towering above her head as it hummed and crackled with raw power. The light oozing from its surface was blinding.

You’d only seen the awesome weapon a handful of times; once when it was being forged, once during the first Titanomachy, and most recently when you fought and killed your father just days ago. And now it was about to execute a god and a naiad.

She was stiff as she looked out over the assembled Olympians. She took a deep breath and a hush fell over the crowd as the event began. 

“Citizens of Olympus,” she called out, her voice magnified in the square. “We have come here today to deliver justice to those who have betrayed us. Their fate is not one that we would wish upon anyone, but it is necessary. In order to safeguard our peace and preserve our safety, the traitors have been sentenced to death. I, Carol, Queen of Olympus, shall officiate this execution. Now, bring forth the traitors.”

Tony was the one to obey her orders, emerging from thin air and holding onto an unbreakable chain of his own creation. 

Pierce was the first into the light, his wings trembling under the sun and his hands and feet bound in shackles that were attached to the chain Tony was holding. He’d grown paler in just the week of his imprisonment. He wore a scowl on his face as he glared at the gods. He was angry with them. He wanted to lash out and try and kill them all.

But he would not. His bindings prevented it. In addition to being unbreakable, they also inhibited all powers and godly abilities. So long as he was held by them, he would not be able to do anything.

Brock emerged seconds later, more mellow and resigned than his predecessor. He looked defeated and miserable. Filled with guilt, he couldn’t even look up at the gods that watched him. The blue in his cheeks was more pronounced in the shadow of shame. You could tell just from his posture that he regretted everything that led up to this moment. 

But what was done was done and he and Pierce were being led to their death.

Tony took them onto the platform and shoved them down to their knees in front of the chopping blocks. He secured Pierce’s shackles to the ground first, knowing that the god would try anything if given the chance. The naiad, on the other hand, was more placid and obedient.

You could feel your heart trying to crawl up your throat so it could run away. It didn’t want to be here any more than you did.

Your hands tightened on your armrests and you gripped the vibranium so tightly you were sure that you were denting it. Your crown was heavy on your head, adding to the stress you already felt. Your stomach churned and your body trembled. Your breathing was growing heavy.

But nobody paid you any attention. You hardly even paid yourself attention as you watched Carol tower over the men bound before her. She addressed Pierce first, her eyes beginning to glow white with power. Her stare was cold as stone as she thundered, “Alexander Pierce, god of death, you are guilty of treason against Olympus, conspiring against the gods, collaborating with our most ancient enemy, freeing the titans, and the attempted murder of the Queen of Hades. For this, the decided punishment is death. Have you any last words?”

His piercing blue eyes fluttered up and scanned all of the gods until they settled on you and iced over with malice. “I have none,” he said, his voice low and even, “save for: I only regret that I did not succeed in killing you, (y/n). Death would’ve been such a good look on you.” 

“And I’m sure it will be the same on you,” you said casually as you met his eyes. You would not miss looking into those eyes one bit. Tearing your gaze away from him, you looked up at Carol.

Her white eyes met yours and she hesitated for a second. Her posture begged your permission to carry on.

You simply gave a slight nod of your head.

Taking your approval, Carol took a deep breath and gripped her staff tighter. “Your time has come. May the Fates have mercy on your immortal soul.” She lifted her staff over her head, positioning it so it would fall on his neck. With one swift and powerful movement, she pulled it down and it crashed on his skin.

With a scream of agony, he burst into ash. The power had been too much for even his immortal body to handle and he vaporized on the spot.

You turned your eyes away from the scene and suppressed a shudder

If there was one good thing about these executions, it was that there was no body to clean up because there was no body left behind.

Nothing remained of the god. The only things that even suggested his existence were the shackles that had fallen to the ground and a ball of black light that hovered over the execution block.

At once the gods broke out into murmuring as they eyed the ball warily. They could feel the death and decay radiating from it and so could you.

After all, it was death itself.

The ball of light was death, Pierce’s dominion concentrated into one area and left without a vessel.

Carol set her staff down on the platform and walked over to the ball. She held her hands around it, careful not to touch it, and looked out over the crowd. “The god of death is dead. His successor must be named. Who will step up and claim this role?”

There was an uncomfortable murmur among the gods as you expected. No one wanted it. It was a good thing you’d already accepted your fate. 

Shoving yourself into a standing position, you rolled your shoulders back and raised your hand. “I will, for a temporary amount of time. A replacement will need to be found for me but until then… I, (y/n) Aidoneus, accept the role of goddess of death. I take on this role being of sound mind and of my own volition, therefore claiming all of its responsibilities and obligations. I swear to uphold the position and carry out its requirements until a time when it can be claimed permanently. Allow me to embrace this position, and seal me as the goddess of death.”

The orb was before you in an instant as it sank into your chest. You could feel the chill of death seeping in, spreading to your fingers and your toes until you were as cold as ice. You felt the vacancy, the absence of life, filling you to the core. 

It was hard to breathe for a moment as your body adjusted to the intruder, but it wasn't long before you were accepting death as if it had been yours for a long, long time. Finding your breath again, you gave a curt cough and sat back down. Looking at Carol, you nodded your head.

It’s been done.

She breathed a sigh of relief. She was glad it’d taken well. Now there was one less thing on her plate. “Very good, then,” she said, her voice commanding attention once more. “Let us continue.” She turned her gaze to Brock and the white of her eyes intensified. “Brock Rumlow, naiad of the River Cocytus, you are guilty of treason against Olympus, aiding the god of death in the liberation of the titans, conspiring against the gods, and the attempted murder of the Queen of Hades. For this, the decided punishment is death. Have you any last words?”

For the first time that day, you allowed yourself to look at Brock and really let his appearance set in.

He was scared. You could see it in his eyes. He’d never been able to hide that sort of thing from you. But more than scared, he looked sad and defeated. He felt like he deserved this—he did deserve this. He wasn’t paying any attention to the powerful gods around him as he knelt on the chopping block. Instead, his chin was tilted up and those brown eyes you’d gazed into so many times were set on you. He gave you a weak smile as he met your eyes and he nodded. “Yeah… Just a few.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m… I’m sorry, Precious,” he said addressing you. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I should’ve treated you better. I just didn’t know how to and I’m sorry for that. Please… Find it in your heart to forgive me.”

You couldn’t breathe. Your heart had climbed so far up in your throat that it blocked all airways. Your eyes burned as you stared at him. This man had been your first love, your love for the longest time. Never in a million years would you have guessed you’d be where you were now. You wished this was all some sick dream, that it never had to come to this.

You knew you shouldn’t be feeling this. Brock had tried to kill you, after all. He’d abused you for so many years and left you broken time after time. You should’ve hated him—should’ve been glad he was about to die. But your heart betrayed you, filling you with a sadness you wished you’d never known. You could feel pain rising up in your belly as red filled the edge of your vision.

Having said his fill, Brock closed his eyes and bowed his head over the block as he accepted his fate. 

Carol took that as her cue as she took a deep breath and tightened her grip on her weapon. “Brock Rumlow, your time has come. May the Fates have mercy on your immortal soul.”

You saw the world move in slow motion. Carol pulled her staff above her head again, poising to bring it down on his neck.

Brock tensed as he braced himself to follow Pierce in death.

You saw the lightning flash, heard it crackle as Carol brought her staff down in an arc. Sparks flew through the air as it rained down onto Brock.

Fire erupted in your stomach and flowed throughout your body, possessing you to stand and scream, “Stop!” The world was fully red now and your chest was rising and falling with labored breaths.

The lightning halted just centimeters away from his neck, and both Carol and Brock looked up at you in surprise.

You could only imagine how wild you looked. The world was clouded with red so you knew that your irises had already turned, but the red alone did not cast insanity on your figure. Your lips were parted in desperation and you were almost lunging at the pair. 

Carol frowned up at you as she retracted her weapon. “(y/n)?”

“Stop,” you repeated again, your voice a shallow whisper. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Kill him. Please don’t kill him.” The heart of a younger goddess had its hold on you. Suddenly you were young again, gazing at Brock through the eyes of someone who had loved him at one point. And though the feelings had gone and died, the urge to protect him had not.

“What?” Carol was confused as she looked up at you. “But, (y/n), he poisoned you. He tried to kill—”

“I know what he did!” you snapped, your voice thundering out, amplified by the surrounding silence. “I was there for his confession, but I can’t let you kill him.”

She set the lightning down at her side, the base of it painfully close to Brock’s face. “And why not?”

“Because I…” You what? You didn’t love him, that was for damn sure, but you couldn’t make yourself loathe him. Despite all the evil he had done towards you and your family, you couldn’t let him die. You’d invested too much of yourself in him. To let him be executed now in front of you would tear your heart in two. Despite where you were with him now, he was your first love, and you couldn’t just let that go.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and looked down from the dais, locking your eyes with Carol and shoving as much pleading as you could into them. “I can’t let him die. Please, Carol, punish him, but don’t take his life.”

Brock stared at you, his mouth agape, and he mumbled, “Precious…”

Carol slammed her staff into the ground, causing sparks to fly. “Silence,” she hissed, her voice deadly, before looking at you, taking in your desperation. At once she understood. You could see it in the way her eyes softened when she saw your desperation and in the way her grip on the staff of lightning relaxed. She was silent for a few moments, glancing around at the assembly of gods before looking back down to the man whose head sat upon the chopping block.

Letting out a heavy breath, she said, “Very well.”

There was no reaction from the gods, though you could tell they wanted to protest. This was the man that had aided one of their greatest enemies escape, who had poisoned one of their own (although distant and often disliked) and who had betrayed them. They wanted him dead, but they knew better than to go against the decision of a queen.

A weight was suddenly lifted off your chest and you could breathe again. You eased yourself back down onto your throne, your heart hammering in your chest as you looked at Carol expectantly.

Carol looked back at Brock, her eyes beginning to glow white. After a moment of deliberation, she seemed to settle on a new punishment. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her staff and pointed it at Brock’s head. 

He flinched away from the light, squeezing his eyes shut as if the action would shield him from whatever she was about to do.

She didn’t care, and when she spoke, her voice was filled with untamed and absolute power. “Brock Rumlow, naiad of the River Cocytus, you have been pardoned from the ultimate punishment of death. However, your treasonous crimes against the Queen of Hades and the gods of Olympus still stand and thus you must be punished accordingly.” She inhaled sharply and lifted her staff over his head, letting it hover there threateningly. “I hereby strip you of your immortality, damning you to live and die among the mortals. You will never again walk with the gods or spirits you called friend or foe. You will live out the rest of your days bearing the weight of your sins and your crimes, and when you die, you will be condemned to the nothingness of the Asphodel Meadows. Never again will you be welcomed on Olympus or experience the comforts of immortality. May the Fates have mercy on your mortal soul.”

As soon as the last few syllables were spoken, the punishment took effect. The blue drained from Brock’s face, the markings that identified him as an immortal naiad vanished, and his skin took on the rosy hue that most mortals had. The change wasn’t drastic, but it was obvious to you; in those few seconds, he became human—mortal.

Brock gasped for air as the change took hold on his body and he crumpled to the ground. You could only imagine how painful it would be to have such a big part of you stolen away, but you wagered it was better than an immortal death. 

Carol paid no attention to him as she turned to address the gods. “This concludes the execution,” she said, her voice dismissive. “Thank you all for attending. Never again will the guilty threaten our safety. We can rest in peace. The second Titanomachy is over, once and for all.”

No one but you stuck around long. Natasha stayed by your side, seated in her own throne. Carol waited until most gods had gone before turning to you. “I will take him to the Mortal World. Will you be okay?”

You didn’t need to ask who she spoke of. You nodded, not looking down at the mortal before you. “Yes. Thank you, Carol. I appreciate it more than you know.”

She smiled softly. “You ask so little of me; it was the least I could do for you. I will make sure he has arrangements, though they will not be the most luxurious.”

“I would expect nothing else.”

She turned her eyes to Nat. “Would you come with me? It’s been a while since I’ve been among mortals.”

Natasha hesitated for a moment, turning to you to see if you needed her. 

You simply waved your hand. “Go on. I’m a big girl; I can handle myself.”

Chuckling, Natasha nodded. “Then yes. Let’s go as soon as possible. I’m starving and don’t want this to take all day.”

In the blink of an eye, they were gone and you were left alone.

Well, almost alone.

Two gods lingered in the square.

Tony stood at the base of your platform and smiled up at you. “You sure you’re alright, kid?”

“Yeah, Tony,” you said, standing and approaching him. Despite your status, it was rude to tower over him. You crossed over to the edge of the platform and sat down so you were level with him. “I’m just stressed.”

Pepper stood beside him, leaning into him. The woman’s eyes were soft as she looked you over. “We can tell. It’s not just this execution that was stressing you out, was it?”

You pursed your lips and let out a soft sigh. No, it wasn’t. Sure it had been the main cause of your distress, but now that it was over, you were still on edge.

“It’s a boy,” Tony said, but it wasn’t a question. It was more like he knew exactly what he was talking about.

A boy… It was Bucky… 

You chuckled and hung your head. “Yeah… I guess it is. How did you know?”

“Cause I was in with him the other day getting him fit for a prosthetic. He misses you. He was asking about you and, even though I told him I don’t talk to you much, he wouldn’t quit. He said that I was the only god he could really ask. His mother doesn’t like you and Pietro is too busy with his medicine to really check in on you. I was the only one he could ask.”

He missed you. Well, if you didn’t feel like shit before, you did now.

You couldn’t go see him yet. No, the guilt of being the cause of his pain was too much. If not for you, he would’ve never lost his arm, would’ve never thrown caution to the wind like that. If you’d never met him he would’ve never gone through the pain and heartache you forced him into. You couldn’t see him until you had something to absolve you of your guilt and by holding off, you were just putting him through more pain. 

Besides, you weren’t emotionally-able to take that on just yet. With the death of your father and lieutenant and the exile of your ex-lover, you weren’t able to tolerate anything else that would tug at your heartstrings; you didn’t have the capacity to deal anymore. You couldn't see him or let him see you like this.

You hung your head. “I can’t go see him… I can’t handle it right now.”

“It’s alright, (y/n),” Pepper cooed, putting her hand on your shoulder to soothe you. “We get it. You’ve been through a lot these past few days.”

“I know… I just… ” You exhaled sharply and doubled over, folding your hands over your knees and letting your forehead rest atop them. “I just don’t know what to do now. For the first time in my life, I have nothing. No cards left to play. I have no control.”

“You could always come to the forges,” Tony said, his voice kind and gentle. “Y’know, whenever I get stressed and feel like the world is out of control, I build. It helps me take my mind off of things and gives me something that is mine and mine alone. Besides, it’s nice to do something with your hands. I can teach you if you want. It could be therapeutic.”

You lifted your eyes to look at him. “Really?”

“Of course. You’ve just gotta deal with my insanity.” He gave you a lopsided grin. “You don’t have to make up your mind now, but my doors are always open if—”

“Yes.”

“Pardon?”

“Yes, I’ll come and work with you. Just until I can get my mind set straight again.” You took a deep breath. “So, when can I begin?”

Next 24: She Mends a Body and a Heart

#pragma(tic) #hades and persephone #hades & persephone #hades & persephone au #persephone!bucky x hades!reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x y #bucky x you #mcu

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 1 - for it is important that awake people be awake

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AO3  (go to AO3 for complete list of tags for this fic)

Masterlist

(TW: violence/graphic imagery, guns, snakes, fear)

(The title for this chapter comes from “A Ritual to Read to Each Other” by William E. Stafford.)

Roman's gut twisted painfully and his eyes snapped open. He sat up. His room was still dark, the heavy curtains blocking out whatever moonlight would have fallen across his bed, but he didn’t need it. He’d lain his clothes and equipment out before going to sleep a few hours earlier. The routine was so ingrained into his mind at this point, light became arbitrary.

Roman’s movements were almost mechanical as he folded back the covers and slipped into his shirt, pants, and armor with long-earned efficiency. The armor was a gift from Logan, who stood as the only person Roman had ever told about his nightly endeavors. It was made of a tough but flexible leather that wasn’t as protective as metal, but far quieter—which Roman found worked to his advantage most nights. Logan, being the obsessive problem-solver he so often was, hated the fact that there was nothing he could do to alleviate the curse. It had been sealed in Roman’s own blood—against his will, of course, but it made no difference. According to the dragon witch, whose brilliant plan it was to have Roman fight a demon for the rest of his life, had told him that he was the only one capable of keeping it at bay.

Yeah, right, he thought sourly as he wrapped a ruby amulet around his bicep. Another “gift” from that blasted dragon witch. Roman had given up pestering her for a remedy for the curse several months ago, finding the long haul up into the mountains far too much work just to be rejected. He couldn’t even kill the stupid thing. It was immortal. He could weaken it, sure, and make things easier for himself for a few weeks, but it always came back.

Sometimes stronger.

What did the dragon witch expect to happen? Eventually, he would die. Whether it was the demon’s doing was yet to be seen, but he definitely wouldn’t outlive it. What then? Would she simply pass the curse on to another? Continue the viscous cycle of torment? Stop complaining, he scolded himself, pressing his lips into a thin line and cinching the leather guard tight about his forearm. It’s been a year. You should be over this by now. 

Picking up the pace, Roman holstered his two pistols on either side of his belt, slipped a dagger into a sheath secured around his stomach beneath his shirt, and picked up his sword. He was best with the blade, though he wasn’t foolish enough to go in without back up weaponry. He despised the guns most of all. They were loud and clunky and gave him a headache to use, but more often than not they got him out of perilous situations, so he kept them. The sword was heavy, though Roman was so used to it now, it felt comfortably weighted.

Doing a quick double-check to make sure he had everything he needed, he opened his door and stepped out into the hallway. He closed the door behind him with a soft click. Roman had grown accustomed to traversing their house in silence, dreading the possibility of Patton or Virgil discovering him sneaking out loaded with weapons. He turned a corner, about to head down the stairs, when he noticed a warm amber glow trailing up the wall. Someone was still up—or they’d left the light on, at least. Was Virgil having trouble sleeping again? Or was Patton indulging in some late-night baking? Both options were likely. Could Roman manage to sneak by without being noticed? Thoughts raced through his head a mile a minute. Something inside him pulled, like someone plucking a bow string drawn dangerously taut. The curse compelled him forward, and he nearly stumbled down the steps as he pulled back. He had no choice; he had to leave. Could he sneak out his room window? It was a long way to the ground and the only tree was by Patton’s bedroom window. He’d risk injuring himself by jumping, which could put his life in jeopardy later. He’d have to try and sneak past whoever was out there. It wasn’t worth having to face the demon with a twisted ankle. Perhaps he could knock them out and convince them it was all a dream? He shook his head. He couldn’t attack any of them. It would eat him up inside.

Slowly, he peeked out over the banister. A short reading lamp sat on an end table beside the couch, barely light enough to keep the shadows in the corners of the room at bay. Bathed in gold light, the figure in the chair turned out to be Logan, hands clasped in his lap and eyes staring vaguely at the wall, deep in thought. Relaxing somewhat, Roman straightened and continued down the stairs as quietly as possible. The third one down was always squeaky. Logan hadn’t noticed him yet, and even as Roman approached, he stared at the wall, chewing on his bottom lip and mouthing silent thoughts to himself. Roman couldn’t help but smile.

“Logan,” he said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Logan jumped, startled. “Wha—oh, it’s you. I was wondering when you’d leave.”

“What are you doing up? It’s the middle of the night.”

Logan cocked his head to the side, considering. “The sun sets at nine p.m. and rises at seven-fifteen a.m.. By all accounts, we are less than halfway into the night,” he said, gesturing to the otherwise dark and empty house. He cleared his throat. “I, er, wanted to see you off before you... left.”

“I’ll be back before the sun rises, Lo,” Roman said, waving a dismissive hand and trying to hide the strain in his voice. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you can’t stay up like this every night.”

“I think you’ll find there are many things I can do,” Logan said, his normal sternness hardening into something akin to anger. “One being making sure you arrive back home in one piece. Are you positive I cannot accompany you? I’m sure there are options we haven’t explored yet.”

“Logan, you—“ Roman tripped forward into Logan as the curse tugged at him once again, endlessly insistent. Logan caught him, but Roman quickly righted himself again, struggling to keep the pain from showing on his face. He cleared his throat. “You know I can’t do that. You being there would only distract me and put me in more danger. I’d be too worried about you getting hurt.”

Logan studied his face for a moment before sighing and letting him go. “Very well, but you better come back.”

Roman put on a smile, chuckling. “Of course I will. Have a little faith, Lo.”

“I shall try,” he muttered as Roman opened the front door. He glanced back one last time only to see Logan lower himself back into the arm chair and lose himself in pained thought.

                                                  * * * * * * * * * *

The forest was only two blocks away from their house, so Roman didn’t have to walk very far. He’d devised a route through the neighborhood that led him behind houses and between backyard fences to lessen the probability of someone spotting him waltzing around dressed like a walking armory. Most nights, however, were largely uneventful save the occasional barking dog. The sudden noise used to scare Roman.

Now, he had bigger things to be scared of.

The forest dampened every noise as soon as Roman stepped through the tree line. Though he could still see civilization through the trees, he felt a thousand miles from any sort of help were something to happen. The curse wouldn't allow him to leave until the first signs of dawn—he would know, he'd tested it. Many times. The beginning was always the most dangerous part. The demon knew exactly where he was, and at what time he'd be there. The trick would be escaping into the darkness of the woods and losing him along the way. He shook off the nerves breeding in the pit of his stomach, and trudged deeper into the darkness, sword at the ready.

Ah, the darkness. He’d brought a flashlight only once before, and had barely escaped the night with his life. Turns out, a bright beam of light does more to give oneself away than to help locate a possible predator. He never made the mistake again. Since then, he’d become quite familiar with the dark. However, it was less of an old friend and more an impartial entity desiring entertainment regardless of who ended up on the wrong end of it. He took no solace in it, but rather treated it with deference and wary reverence.

Something shifted in the trees above him. Roman froze. Dense fog clung to the ground, curling around his legs like ghosts desperate for living touch. The moon was nothing more than a sliver, denying Roman what little light he usually counted on. The heavy slithering bounced around him, as if it couldn’t decide which direction it came from. Roman pressed his back up against a tree and held his sword in front of him.

“So brave,” a chilling voice hissed. Roman’s stomach dropped. “Have you not bored of this constant battle, yet, little prince?” Roman kept his eyes on the canopies and his mouth shut. He’d never figured out why both the dragon witch and the demon called him a prince, but he’d rather that than his own name. Roman refused to give it that power.

“I tire of this endless game. You drag out the inevitable,” the demon sighed. It sounded vaguely human, though if that human had swallowed shards of glass and gargled with shrapnel. The sound of the beast dragging its enormous body through the branches still eluded Roman, jumping around his head like he wore headphones that kept shorting out.

“Why?” it breathed so close to Roman’s ear, he could feel it. He tensed, swinging his sword around. It sunk into something solid. It took Roman a split second to realize that it wasn't a giant serpentine head, but the tree trunk. He tugged. It didn't budge. Terror swept through him in the same second as a grating laugh echoed around the trees. He abandoned the sword and hadn't so much as taken a step away when a wall of cold, hard scales slammed him back into the tree. He could feel the creature's muscles undulating and constricting beneath the smooth plating, slowly crushing him into the wood. It was dark, yes, but Roman had seen it before on nights with a full moon: a gold scaled beast with a body several times thicker than the trees and a head the size of a small car. Eyes like pools of molten lead the size of Roman's whole face and fangs longer than his arm. He'd only been caught by it a few times in the last year. Each time he'd nearly died. Though, he was ashamed to admit, they didn't usually happen quite this fast.

He'd definitely set a new personal record.  

Luckily, he'd managed to pin his arms in front of his chest, so he could somewhat resist the creature's constricting. He took short shallow breaths and pushed outward with all of his strength, but it was a futile effort. The constricting halted, and the monster lowered it's head to meet Roman's eyes.

"Tell me why."

"You think I want to be here?" he spat. "A dragon witch cursed me."

"Dragon witch?"

"Yes, the dragon witch named Ursula. You know, after a whole year of barely five words to me, you're suddenly really chatty," Roman said derisively, hoping to distract the beast from the fact that he was slowly reaching for one of his pistols. Not exactly easy when your arms are being crushed by a gigantic reptile, but progress was being made nonetheless.

"All this time and she still holds onto that ridiculous nickname. You'd think she'd have learned to imprison me with more than a sniveling child," it hissed, baring its enormous fangs. Roman paled, wriggling his arm toward the holster a little faster now. It reared up its head and tightened its hold. Roman cried out, the air slowly forced out of his lungs. He saw stars.

"I am no troublesome pixie that can be held over by a simple curse. She will pay for this insul—"

BANG!

Roman drew and fired the pistol faster than he'd ever before. It hit just below the demon's eye, ricocheting off its scales and off into the night. The snake hissed angrily and released him, retreating in a spiral up the tree and into the canopies once more. It knew better than to stay in close range while the guns were out, regardless of it's tough armor. Roman may not like guns, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to use one. So far, the mouth and the eyes were the only weak spots he'd located.

He dropped to the ground, heaving and retching. Roman scrambled to his feet. There was no time for recovery. He tore his sword from the tree and sprinted deeper into the forest. He needed to find shelter or somewhere to hide. While he couldn't see the serpent as well when it was in the trees, it couldn't move nearly as fast. If he managed to lose it, he may just have a chance.

Calm down, Roman. You've been doing this for three hundred and sixty-five nights, and you haven't lost a single one. Don't make tonight any different.

The battle was nowhere near over, and the night had only just begun.

                                                 * * * * * * * * * *

Roman fumbled for the key beneath the place mat. It was almost five-thirty in the morning, and though the sun hadn't technically risen yet, his curse had seen fit to release him as soon as the first hints of light played at the horizon. It was still relatively dark, the skyline glowing a pale blue-green against the starry indigo above it. His ribs ached, his knees and elbows were scraped, his clothes and face were streaked with mud, and he was covered in blood up to his elbows. Not his own. Last he checked, his blood was red, not black. It was the demon's, from when he'd driven his sword through the underside of its mouth. He hadn't seen his reflection yet, but he could imagine the horror show that was his appearance. The stuff never really dried, either. It remained sticky like tar and was an absolute nightmare to try and get out of the leather armor Logan made him—not to mention his own hair.

Eventually, his sloppy fingers found the spare key and managed to stick it into the lock. He turned it, replaced it beneath the mat, and pushed the door open. The house smelled of cinnamon and happiness, due in great part to Patton's baking yesterday. The lamp still sat on in the living room, illuminating Logan's sleeping features. His glasses hung askew across his nose and some fancy-pants scientific book lay open on his lap. Roman closed the front door behind him as softly as he could manage, then froze with his foot inches above the floor. Virgil had just mopped last night. If Roman took one step off the front rug, he'd track mud, dirt, and demon blood through the entire house. Cursing under his breath, he leaned forward, reaching for the coat closet. He nearly fell on his face and woke the entire house, but in the end he'd acquired what he'd been looking for: his old jacket. It was worn, fraying, and impossibly comfortable, and would do exactly what Roman needed it to. He could always wash it later, right? Laying it open on the floor, Roman stepped onto it and proceeded to shuffle his way down the hall toward the stairs. True, he could have simply taken off his boots, but they were laced up tight and sticky with blood he didn't have the patience to deal with in the middle of the house. He'd see to it once he got to the bathroom and didn't have to worry about anyone seeing him. He passed by Logan, who had fallen asleep in the arm chair, snoring softly.

It was a long, tenuous journey, but he eventually made it to the base of the stairs. There, he was met with a new problem. How was he supposed to make it upstairs on his jacket?

"Roman?" Logan muttered groggily, squinting at him.

"Nothing, go back to sleep," Roman whispered, waving a hand at him.

"What's all over your—is that blood?"

"Yes, but be quiet!" Roman hissed. "You're going to wake up everyone else!"

Logan stood. "What do you mean yes? Are you hurt?" He reached a curious hand out toward the black goo covering his arms.

"Don't touch it," Roman snapped. His temper was worn thin after the night he'd had, and the last thing he needed right now was a scientific analysis of demon blood. He sighed, "Sorry, Lo. I just... need to get to the bathroom. Could you get some towels or something to lay on the stairs so I can—" he started, but Logan apparently had other ideas. In one swift motion, he hooked an arm under Roman's knees and scooped him up into his arms.

"What are you doing?" Roman demanded, "You're going to get it all over you."

"Irrelevant," Logan said, though his nose crinkled slightly at the stench of death covering his friend. "I shall simply carry you upstairs. It will be faster and more efficient. Don't worry about the jacket, I'll take care of it. Now," he shifted his grip, "are you sure you're not hurt?"

"Yeah," Roman said, though it came out as a strangled gasp. The way Logan was holding him put pressure on a bruise he'd gotten while the overgrown worm had tried smothering him in a swath of mud. Logan cocked an eyebrow and didn't move. Sighing dejectedly, Roman instructed him where he could place his hands to cause him the least amount of pain. After a few moments of readjusting, Logan set off up the stairs. Roman was impressed at how steady Logan was despite carrying his entire weight up the stairs.

"Watch the wall," he grunted, and Roman tucked his feet in to keep from leaving streaks of mud down the hallway. They passed Patton's room, then Virgil's, then arrived at the bathroom. Logan set him down on the tile flooring, promising to fetch him a clean pair of clothes and a bag to place all of the blood spattered articles in. After one last concerned look, he closed the door and left Roman alone in the bathroom.

He grimaced as he glanced at his reflection. Roman looked like he'd been run over by a garbage truck. Blood, dark and glossy as pitch, speckled his face and neck and clumped in his hair. It covered both forearms up to his elbows, as if he'd dipped his arms in black paint. Contrastingly, his own crimson blood had dried across his upper lip and chin from the bloody nose he'd received when flung into a tree. Sickly gray mud clung to the rest of him like plaster. Carefully, he peeled his clothes off and tossed them into a pile near the door. He'd had hopes of the washing machine saving them, but looking at them in a pathetic heap on the floor, he doubted anything could be done. He'd have to burn them later.

Returning his attention to the mirror, his throat constricted. His torso was mottled with a myriad of purple and green bruises, or maybe that was just more mud. They certainly felt like bruises. His eyes trailed down his shoulders, then came to rest on the grimy amulet still tied to his upper arm. He turned it over in his hand, wiping the dirt from its surface.

Think of it as insurance, the dragon witch had written in a nice, instructional letter on how to handle his curse. Insurance that you don't go dying on me too soon. Any injuries you sustain while wearing the amulet will heal as soon as you take it off. You won't even need to sleep, my prince. Easy as that.

Scowling, he undid the clasp and pulled the necklace from his arm. Immediately, burning cold energy coursed through his body. He bowed forward and rested his elbows on the counter, biting his fist to keep from making a sound. It took a considerable amount of self control not to collapse to the floor and itch his gradually healing skin bloody. It felt like a million spiders with needles for legs crawling around inside him.

Some healing magic, Roman thought venomously, breathing hard through his nose. Feels worse than healing normally.

But it was faster. And Roman couldn't risk Patton or Virgil finding out simply because they touched a tender spot. There was a knock at the door.

"Roman? I've got some new clothes and a trash bag, can I come in?"

"Hold on," he choked through gritted teeth. The sound was more like a whimper than Roman would have wished, but there were far more pressing matters for him to deal with than a measly voice crack. An entire year of this, and he still wasn't used to the feeling. How pathetic. He stumbled into the shower and pulled the curtain.

"All right," he said, leaning heavily against the tiled wall. He wasn't going to pass out. He been in worse shape on previous nights. This was nothing. Roman heard Logan open the door slowly, then silence. He heard the faint scrape of him picking up the amulet. Roman had explained its purpose to him the night he'd found out. Mainly because Logan had demanded to know how he wasn't a pile of mush every single night. No one could take a beating like that every twelve hours and still be walking, let alone acting like nothing was going on.

"Are you going to be okay, Roman? Do you require any assistance?" He came closer to the curtain.

"I'm fine. Thank you, Logan." Please don't look, you'll only worry. Don't look.

A pause. "Very well. I will await you downstairs when you are done cleaning up." Another long silence as Roman clenched and unclenched his fist as the healing magic completed its circuit around his body. The feeling eventually faded into a dull prickling. Logan sighed, set the amulet back down on the counter, and left.

Roman let out a breath and cranked the faucet as far to the hot side as it would go. The water was scalding, but he didn't care. The demon blood slowly dissolved from his skin and hair, swirling down the drain in a disgusting black soup of mud and dirt. He wished he could wash it all away, scrub the demon from his pores and the pain from behind his ears.

Clean water streamed down Roman's face in the place of the tears he did not shed.

Thanks for reading!! You can find the rest of this fic on AO3, here.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #deceit sanders #janus sanders #logan sanders #thomas sanders #fanficiton #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #chapter one #modern fantasy #modern fantasy au #ao3 #read on ao3 #guns tw #tw guns #graphic imagery #tw graphic imagery #graphic imagery tw #snakes #tw snakes #snakes tw #tw violence #violence #violence tw

[xstarker]

Since the beginning and until the end (Part Two)

Peter is immortal, reincarnation exists, and in every lifetime Peter has met and loved Tony, only for him to die. He's hoping this time might be different. 

[Part One]

Author's Note: I am posting this chapter earlier than I originally planned because I got a lovely comment begging for more on the last one, and I wanted to say I appreciate it very much! I'm so glad you liked the last part and I was going to tag you but for some reason you aren't pulling up when I try. This chapter is more centered around Pepper and what's going on with Tony between returning home and going time travelling.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1379

After a while, Tony exhausted all possible ideas he had to get Peter and everyone else back. The others tried finding Thanos, but he had just destroyed the stones beforehand, and ended up another dead end. He tried brainstorming other options too, the only one that he hadn't crossed off the list? Time travel. But it was insane. A pipe dream. Tony couldn't do that, could he?

Pepper's pregnant, because of course she is. Tony didn't want kids. Not now. The only "kid" he wanted was Peter. He couldn't ask her to abort the child, and he didn't want to be alone. So he tells Pepper everything, what Peter said on Titan, the crazy thoughts going through his head, how much he misses the kid and wishes he had gotten more time with him. 

"It sounds like you were in love with him Tony.” 

It wasn't the response he was expecting, but it's the one he gets. He looks at her with a bewildered expression. Peter was just a kid. It was just a platonic thing, right? Tony hadn't ever really considered kissing Peter, or fucking him. Then it hits him all the times he's secretly admired Peter from across the room, how often he thinks about him, how easy it is to be around him. 

Then he thinks about Pepper. He thinks about how she has been by his side for years, how it seemed logical to move things forward with her after so long working side by side. He thinks about how she was always the responsible one, balancing out his irresponsible nature. Then he thinks about how many times she asked him to stop being Ironman, how she left him alone when he was having panic attacks, how she even broke up with how for a while because of it, and how ultimately having a child with her and getting married to her means being Ironman even less. 

If Peter were here, the choice would be obvious if he wasn't only 17. Tony looks off to the side, breaking eye contact and trying to remember how to breathe. Maybe Pepper was right, and he is in love with Peter.

And now Pepper is pregnant with his child, but he’s in love with someone else, but that someone else is gone, no foreseeable way of bringing him back. 

So Tony has a choice to make. Does he try and bury down his love for Peter and move on? Or does he wallow in his own shit, break up with Pepper, and give himself back to the times where he drank himself to sleep every night. 

“I think I do love him in a way, but he’s just a kid. I just care about him Pepper. I miss him.” He sighs. “So little Morgan is coming huh?” He really had wanted a kid before Strange shows up and half the universe was wiped out by Thanos. He could try and be excited now, and stay with Pepper. It’s not like Peter being here now would change the age difference between them, he reminded himself. If none of this ever happened, and life had stayed how it was, he would have still married Pepper and they still would have a child on the way. The only real change was now he wouldn’t have any reason to constantly worry about Peter. 

Instead he would just constantly be reminded of the Peter sized void in his life. 

-

Morgan is born. She’s a beautiful baby girl, weighing a healthy 7.2 pounds, and her parents have yet to be married. It wasn’t that Tony wasn’t trying, but more that anytime wedding planning came up he would just remember all the people who wouldn’t be there. Pepper seemed to understand, but he wasn’t sure how long she would wait for him. 

There is obvious strain in their relationship. Sex has become almost nonexistant for the first time, which was partially due to Tony returning to Earth almost too weak to stand, and looking worse than he had during his time kidnapped by the ten rings, thanks to the infection and lack of oxygen while on the spaceship. But time went on, and Tony began to look more and more like himself, until it was obvious that his health wasn’t the reason they hadn’t had sex. 

Taking care of Morgan while Pepper continued to run Stark Industries gave more and more excuses for them to not interact. Pepper knew Tony was shutting her out. She tries to talk to him a few times, but after a while she gives up. She can’t fix him. She’s never been able to. 

About six months after Morgan is born, Tony surprises Pepper with a romantic dinner and wine. She knew it must have taken him hours to do, he never had been a strong cook in the first place, and watching Morgan certainly wouldn’t have made it any easier. They eat, they drink, they talk. One thing leads to another and finally she thinks, maybe things will return to normal. 

They do in some ways. Tony eventually goes back to working on little projects in the garage. He smiles more, especially when he’s around Morgan. Pepper suspects she helps him cope with not having Peter anymore, if even just a little. The only thing that doesn’t return to normal is their sex life, but it does get better. 

Tony doesn’t shy away from her anymore and they begin cuddling more at night again. They screw about once a week, which is good all things considered. It’s nothing like the insatiable Tony she used to know, but she doesn’t really mind either. Sex had never been as important for her as it had been for him. They had a kid now, and neither of them were as young as they used to be; if Tony didn’t want to have crazy sex all the time, she could live with that. 

-

It’s a Thursday afternoon when Steve and Nat bring Scott Lang to Tony’s house. He had been about to take Morgan inside for lunch when they pulled up to the house. They bring up that little idea that was still uncrossed off his list. Tony tells them all the reasons it won’t work, why it’s insane, but still the idea burns in his head as he washes the dishes that night. 

It’s seeing Peter’s picture that makes Tony decide to give it a real try. 

Tony begins working with a stark pad on perfecting time travel. He thinks of every possible variable, and goes through it all until the last piece finally fits into place. After running a test, he sits back, because holy shit he just cracked time travel. “Shit.” He lets out a breathy laugh. Maybe he’d make Peter proud after all.

“Shit.” Morgan, who at some point snuck out of bed and made her way down the stairs, grabs his attention. “What are you doing up little miss?” 

“Shit.” Tony shushes her. “Only mommy can say that word. She coined it. It’s hers.” Tony picks up his daughter, carrying her up to bed. 

- 

When he comes down and finds Pepper still reading on the couch, he decides he has to give her this chance to say no and try and convince him to stop, otherwise in the morning he would be on his way to the compound first thing. At least, that is what he expects her to do. Instead, she is more understanding than he has ever seen her, urging him to try because otherwise he will never truly be able to be at peace. 

It was the truth, but he never expected her to admit it. 

She admits it, because she already knows she’s lost him the second he says time travel. There was no stopping Tony when he got ideas like that in his head. She had tried so many times, and never succeeded. This time would be no different. 

Except maybe it would. This time wasn’t the same as all the others. This time he was trying to save Peter, and if the feeling in her gut was anything to go by, it meant that when Tony came back, he would no longer be hers anymore. If he ever was.

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #nova writes #since the beginning and until the end #immortal!peter parker

[annmarcus63]

The kindst thing

The war has shaken all the realms, everyone everywhere talks about the tragic death of queen Calanthe and the wiped out of her army, people fearfully whisper about the mountains of corpses the Nilfgaardian army leaves at its wake. Jaskier awakes sweating and trembling on a cold night, his chest contracting despite his controlling breathing. He fears the war, of course, but not for him, he’s safely away after all. He fears for certain witcher and his child surprise. News about princess Ciri's death haven't reached him, he really really hopes she's ok, again not for him but for Geralt. Because although the witcher never showed any interest in the child, the bard knows the loss could be too great for the witchers' heart. Yes, he believes Geralt holds a heart, big and hard to reach, but a heart no less.

It's been over a year since that dreadful day on the mountaintop. Over a year since that scornful words and the look that spoke volumes. Jaskier healed himself with music and dancing, also with the normal tears rivering down his cheeks every now and then. Jaskier wasn't a stranger at traveling alone, after all he and Geralt used to part ways more often than not, even though that used to happen after months and months of traveling together. He forced himself to picked his broken heart, rebuilded even if he still could see the cracks.

And then came the anger for the unfairness thrown so casually against him. How dares he? How. Dares. He? all those years of friendship and loyalty repaid with words aimed to pierce, and pierce they did. Words that were the outcome of the witchers' broken heart, because Yennefer had walked away from Geralt despite the love he feel for her. True love or not, it was still love. Jaskier was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And then came the sorrow for his sweet witcher, and his perpetual broken heart. He wasn't justifying the harshful words and his own broken heart, of course not, but at least he now understands why Geralt said what he said. He needed to broke something, even if that something was their friendship. Oh his sweet emotionally abused witcher, if only Jaskier could mend him back together, if only Geralt let him. And one day the opportunity presented itself. After a very glorious performance on the local inn, he heard a couple of farmers gossiping about a witcher fighting an Alp no far from there. In all his traveling years he has never encountered with a witcher other than Geralt, he hopes that same fortune still follows him around. He packs his lute and the rest of his possessions to get back to the road. Asking is always the best resource if you want to find someone or something, and is oddly easy to locate Geralt.

Maybe destiny is part of their relationship, not that he'd ever mention it to the witcher.

An old woman point him to a road towards Kaedwen. Uh, So he's going to Kaer Morhen. He considers himself lucky to find him before disappearing like he used to every winter.

He walks and walks until the smell of smoke reaches his nose, he has learned a thing or two from Geralt about tracking, thank you very much, he's not that useless. Again maybe destiny is helping him, he's not that good, you see.

He goes through the trees until reaching a small clear and the unmistakable arrange of a camp. He sees a small figure, a girl with a black cloak covering her face, tending a very familiar horse. He clutches at his lute strap, by Melitele he's so fucking nervous, his heart beating frantically against his ribcage, his ears stuffed with white noise.

What if Geralt sends him away without a word? what if he spat more hurtful words? what if he's not welcome? Well, at least he'd have tried.

"Hi" he says softly

The child tense visibly, slowly she takes a step away from Roach and turns around.

"You better go before he sees you" so young age and so much steel in her voice, no wait-

"Princess?"

"Bard?" of course he returned to Cintra after the child surprise incident, Queen Calanthe liked so much his first performance that invite him to play three more times, one on Ciri's birthday. He is the best bard of all continents after all.

Of course Geralt would find her, of course. He felt a wave of pride surging from his chest. He did it, he found her. He was not alone.

“Jaskier?” Oh that voice, that damn voice reverberating on every fiber of his skin. And suddenly the witcher is there, in all his splendour, sword on one hand but he's not wearing his armor.

"Hello Geralt" and he gifts him with a sweet smile, despite the sweat on his palms and the creeping terror of being rejected. But Geralt doesn't said anything, doesn't move, some may think he's a statue. "Don't worry I won't stay long, I only want to talk if you allow me" he didn't came with the intention of staying, no, he'll respect the witchers blessing no matter what.

More than a year full of a banquet of emotions for the witcher, oh and how he love him still.

The silence stretch for long seconds, it may be hours for all he knows. And just when he's about to turn back to were he come from..

"I'll stay with Roach to give you privacy" dear Ciri says and Geralt nods rather insecure and Jaskier's heart aches at the picture. Jaskier follows Geralt to the camp, not that far from Roach and Ciri but that'll suffice. He's sure Geralt would want to keep an eye on her. The witcher sits against a tree leaving the bedroll for him. Jaskier place gently the lute on the ground not far from him. They sit facing each other.

breathe in breathe out, come on Jaskier you can do this. Bollocks, Geralt probably can sense how nervous he is.

He sees a small twitch on Geralt's lips like he wants to say something and Jaskier freaks out. "No!" he yelps, and then more softly he adds "No, let me talk. You know how much I love the sound of my own voice" he says with a small smile, but Geralt doesn't sees him, he's looking at the grass.

Here goes nothing.

“I've known you for a long time now, Geralt. It may be not that long for you with all your immortal years, but it is to me as the fleeting human that I am. You knew me as the annoying little bard, and now you know me as the annoying old bard. I've spent most part of my life by your side, if not the best part of it. And I did it gladly, and I would do it again gladly, because I choose to. Even in the first years when you were trying rather desperately to get rid of me. I choose to. No because of the magnificent songs I wrote but because I liked -like- your company.” Jaskier force himself to stop, a nasty bump forming in his throat, is harder than he though. You are already here, you may as well give it all. "You...you’re all that I have" And this earns him a reaction, Geralt twitch against the tree and sends him a indecipherable look, to return it at the same spot on the grass. “Yes yes, I remember the I don't need anyone needing me situation, but well, here we are, don't you know? you are my very best friend on the whole wide world" There, yes, a smile on his lips."You are, my friend. I mean, no matter how many times you denied it. It took me more than two decades to get to know you. It took me five years to know that you would rather spend a night under the stars, than in a inn without proper stables for Roach. Ten years to know how much you hate fish, but love the rabbit broth I cook. More than ten years to know when to shut up otherwise you'll snap at me, though I admit I've not always follow this knowledge. I could go on and on but not today. And so I know you didn't mean what you said on the mountain, at least I hope, not completely. You were unfair and cruel. Nothing of what you accused me is my fault, not entirely, but if it’s my fault then you must know I'm truly sorry. If I had known I assure you I would have left your side a long time ago.”

"You're not at fault" Geralt says with a weak whisper. And Jaskier feels something loosening up on his chest, carefully he closes the distance between them, knees almost touching. "Good, good. I came to apologize even though I didn't do anything wrong, but you should know that I won't do it again. I'll not tolerate more words with intent to hurt. I'll no longer be taken for granted or tossed aside like an old pair of shoes. Have I made myself clear? Because if you do something like that again, oh by Melitele I promise I'll make you pay.”

"Yes I understand" Answers. The white wolf stripped of all his barriers. He sounds so tired, so broken.

"Oh my sweet sweet witcher" he says lovingly, daring to reach out for a lock of white hair falling above Geralt's cheekbone to tuck it behind his ear. And Geralt for once, doesn't pull away. "Life has not been kind to you. But I am, I have and will be kind to you till my last breath. You have me, even thru distance, you can count on me, even if I'm not that resourceful. Look at me Geralt. Yes, there you are. Hi. You have my undying loyalty and consideration, and you know why? because I'm your friend and I love you. By the way I'm amazingly happy for you have finally found your child surprise, although I wish it had been on better circumstances” Geralt smile at him, that small curve on his lips accompanied by the delicate flutter of his eyelids. And Jaskier falls for the man a little bit more. "Oh well, that was intense. I should get going, I'm planning on staying on the road for few more months maybe years who knows? I still have a couple of great songs on my sleeve about our adventures. Oh, and I received a letter from Oxenfurt. They recognize me as one of the best poets of the age. They have a classroom reserved for me, can you imagine? Me, teaching! a terrible idea If you ask me. But I'll make them wait some years, if old age doesn't take me first. You must come and visit me there, yes you must! or on the road when all this is over. Don't make me wait that long, ok?” He reaches one last time to grab Geralt's wrist and squeeze, fully smiling before standing up, he dust his fine clothes and hangs his lute over his shoulder. "Be safe my witcher and take care of each other" he says loud enough to be heard by Ciri. He approaches the princess in question and Roach who neigh in delight, she's got a soft spot for him and the sugar cubes he always stuffs in his pockets, just like the ones currently on his fist. Roach gently took a couple from his open hand.

“You're safe with him, princess”

"I know...and uhmm it's Ciri"

"Ciri” he replies

"Is good to know he have someone" say Ciri in a small voice.

"He’s always had, only thah he needs to be reminded of now and then.” She nods solemnly, in that moment Jaskier knew she'll grow up to be an excellent warrior even better than Geralt. He hopes he'll be there to witness it. And with that he leaves, throwing a last glance at the witcher, who's still sitting against the tree, lost in thought.

He looks at the sky, nightfall is about to come in more or less two hours, enough time to reach the nearest town to rent a room. He'll not perform, not tonight. Tonight is for him alone. His stomach grumbles embarrassingly loud, he's only eaten bread and a green apple on the entire day. He can't wait to get to the inn to order a plate of the delicious pork he could smell as he passed by. Perhaps he can afford to buy honey pastry, oh yes.

With every step taken away from the camp, he feels like he's finally free, the acid sensation in his chest and throat is no longer there. The sorrow finally gone. Suddenly, subtly, unexpectedly tears began to pour, he's sobbing, but smiling at the same time. He’s undoubtedly content.

Footsteps. Heavy footsteps behind him. He stops.

It can't be.

He turns unhurriedly, and he sees him, sees Geralt running towards him . A desperate expression on his handsome features. And Jaskier knows what's about to happen. With a swiftly movement takes the strap of his lute to let it fall at the ground. Sorry girl.

"...Jaskier" he grunts just before engulfin the bard in those strong arms. Barely recovered from the shock, Jaskier sobs some more on the witcher's shoulder. This is truly happening. Geralt is hugging him like he's an anchor, like he's worth it.

Geralt takes his face between his hands, cleaning the still flowing tears with his thumbs. Faces inches apart. "What have I done to deserve you" he whispers with devotion. "You should be angry, you should hate me. I don't deserve..."

"You deserve this and more. Much more." Geralt's eyes are wet and Jaskier feels blessed to be granted the trust to seeing him so open, so vulnerable.

"And you, do you deserve this despicable treatment? Please forgive me" Jaskier smiles against the tears, bumping his forehead with Geralt's. "Forgive me"

"There's nothing to forgive, my sweet sweet witcher" Sweetly Geralt guides his lips to his forehead, his eyes, his nose, the corner of his lips. Jaskier may as well die with the happiness surging from every part of his being.

“I wanted to search for you, I was planning on to, after leaving Ciri at Kaer Morhen. You're too far important for me and therefore you're important to Nilfgaard. Come with me, come to Kaer Morhen with us. I can't bear the thought of leaving you behind"

"Yes" Because he'll always say yes, no matter what. Yes to this life, to the danger, to the songs. Yes to Geralt. They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other, breathing each other scents, loving each other.

There are still things left unsaid, but it was enough for now. They needed to rest. To hold each other some more, maybe.

_______________________

Hello everyone! no beta, sorry :( I’m sure there’d be a lot of mistakes, be kind to me 

#The Witcher #the witcher fic #ficlet #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #geralt x dandelion #geralt the witcher #jaskier x geralt #the witcher (2019) #netflix the witcher #mine

[agentargus]

Silvano is much less cynical than he thinks he is. When he studied art in Italy, he was lead by little more than excitement at the prospect of exploration and creativity. (He saw that same excitement in Dara before he realized it, which is part of why he fell in love with her, but that didn’t happen until later.)

His time working as one of the Nine, an order of alchemists working in interdimensional transmutation was what started the cynicism. These so-called higher minds, with the farthest reaches of the galaxy at their disposal, were even more concerned with superficial human vices—growing wealth, expanding their own lives, moving up social ladders, using their abilities to control others—than the average human being seemed to be. It was artifice rather than art, the illusion of exploration, and he thought that was all there could be on a larger scale.

Going back to his family was bittersweet. He appreciated being understood and nurtured, but having been away would have changed him even without the alchemical rituals. Falling back into the role he had before he’d left just didn’t work for him anymore. Time went on and he saw his parents die and his sisters grow older. Safiya got married, had children, and was the only member of that family who had a relatively normal life. I like to think she was fine with that.

The first time Silvano met Dara (but not the first time she met him) was when she took Amira back with her to the future. Already, Dara was a positive presence in Silvano’s life, both freeing him from his perceived responsibility of taking care of his baby sister, and insuring they would meet again in the future. (TLDR, Amira became immunocompromised after a bad childhood illness and probably would have died of the Plague had she stayed in her own time period.)

Silvano’s time with the vampire colony was an attempt to rebuild what he no longer had: a close-knit community whose concern with survival bred devotion even where it might not otherwise exist. It felt safe for awhile, but eventually became stifling. Art became the only way he was able to distinguish himself from others and he found himself less and less able to take time to pursue it.

For a time, Silvano thought there was something inherently artistic and therefore freeing about romantic relationships, but this made more sense in theory than in practice. Likewise, the flamboyantly brooding facade that Dominic presented was really something form of controlled aberration—think the surly goth cousin that still comes to all the once-mandatory family gatherings in full makeup and spikes even after they’ve become an independent adult and aren’t being forced by their family to come. Dominic was very much part and parcel of that family unit, more than happy with what he was able to do and be within it, and I think that’s just as much the reason he and Silvano broke up as it was Silvano joining Repubblica.

Gemma—later Agent Virgil—was the only member of the Nine with whom he’d shared what might be called a friendship. It was strained at times, but surrounded by aging pseudo-immortals with old-world ideas, they took comfort in having someone their own age around. She was the one who convinced him to join Repubblica eventually. (He has a habit of being too loyal at times. This was probably one of them.)

The whole thing felt a little farcical, a song and dance of diplomacy, but these things required creativity. There was a reason he and three three vampires from the colony who joined chose agent handles from the Commedia De l’arte. (Maybe one day, I’ll write something about Former Agent Colombina, Agent Arleccino, and Agent Brighella.) It felt superficial but at least this was a self-aware superficiality. It was a job he’d taken because he didn’t think there was a better option.

Dara represented some of the first times that Silvano felt like he could be completely himself, creative without artifice, loving without being stifled by his role in a family unit. He could enjoy himself without feeling self-conscious. And when he did feel himself getting cynical again, that cynicism would always be challenged. (I think at the beginning, he saw her as a bit of a manic pixie dream girl, but once he came to know her as an actual person, he loved her for who she was, not just for how he felt when he was around her.)

It also helped that the little community he built within Repubblica mostly loved her. When Arleccino and Colombina Sr. retired, he built a close relationship with their successors and all four adored her. (Because this probably doesn’t make sense otherwise, “Alichino” is a pun on “Arleccino,” and also one of the demons in “The Inferno,” so the switch in code names was the successor joking on the original.) Even the other vampires came to love her. (Dominic goes to her for fashion advice on a regular basis.)

Gemma never entirely warmed up to Dara, and the weirdness of it was the first red flag that Silvano took seriously. Despite the gossip of some of the other agents, it wasn’t a romantic rivalry. (Gemma’s super gay.) I think it was more that Gemma bonded with a more insecure, people-pleasing version of Silvano who only saw himself as the older brother figure and not as an individual. (I think one of the reasons she decided to take Dante on as a protégée after Agent Arleccino retired was because she saw the same qualities in him.) She didn’t feel like she knew the person Silvano was when he felt more comfortable and confident with himself. He changed in ways she didn’t understand and that was terrifying. She’d become so devoted to her practice in an attempt to understand forces out of her control and she couldn’t even understand her former best friend. In truth, she’d become the very sort of stuffy old alchemist set in outdated ways that she’d once befriended Silvano to escape.

(Their friendship became even more strained when Silvano found out that Gemma did a lot of bad things in the name of science and didn’t take responsibility for them, but that’s another story.)

I think Silvano realizing that she hadn’t changed while he did made him rethink his cynicism. There’s a lot of reason to be cynical, but you can’t become so set in your ways that you lose sight of the fact that you can make positive change in little ways.

#the emperor (agent pantalone) #muse info #I’ve been re-reading watchmen and I thoroughly disagree with Alan Moore on the nature of omnipotence #it would have been more powerful to me if Manhattan had more childlike hope from having seen the future #omnipotence should mean seeing everything and knowing that you can find meaning in at least some of it #anyway this is why I have ocs

[bramblepeltao3]

Oh hey part 2 of ? of this AU of an AU of an AU because I’m an adult and there is no one to stop me.

---

“The chronic fatigue isn’t going anywhere any time soon, but that’s okay. There are plenty of accommodations that can be made for him. I’m putting in a requisition to make the palace grounds wheelchair accessible, and if it doesn’t go through immediately I’ll just be an annoying bitch until it does. They’re getting rather sick of me up there.” Del tapped her pen on the desk, swiping on the tablet through her most recent notes. She didn’t need them, but they made her look more important and organized. “Otherwise, his physique is finally catching up to that of an average, healthy teenage boy. Though I’d appreciate it if you’d lighten up a bit on the strength training, it’s taking energy from his academics.”

Aranea stared at her from the other side of the desk, looking far off into space.

“Aaaand, you didn’t hear any of that, did you?” Del huffed.

“I did. I was just thinking….sorry about how I’ve been acting.” She crossed her arms, looking Del in the eye. “I didn’t trust you, kinda still don’t, but it’s nice to see Prompto happy again. He’s always been like a little brother to me, so, guess I got a little overprotective.”

Del felt a stab in her chest, and forced a quick smile to hide it. “I mean, isn’t ‘overprotective’ in your job description?”

“True.” Aranea relaxed into her seat. “I still don’t get your motives, but you seem like your concern is genuine. So, at least we both have that.”

“My motivations are to treat my patient until he doesn’t need me anymore.” And who knows where she’d go after that? Maybe a long vacation feet first into a volcano. “Call me idealistic, but I’m a doctor. I want to cure the sick and heal the wounded. It’s not much more complicated than that.” It was way, way more complicated than that.

And the shield could tell.

She stood up, leaned over the desk until her face was inches away from Del’s.

“Trust me, Doc, I wanna believe you.” Aranea smirked, noticing the deep red rushing over Del’s cheeks. “But I’ve been around the block here too many times. And this time, I’m not letting anyone get the jump on me.” She stood back up with a knowing glare before turning and leaving.

“Wait-” Del shot up, knocking her own chair back. 

“Oh, and the strength training was Shortcake’s idea. He insisted, actually. You want him to study ancient Altissian history instead, take it up with him and his tutor.” And she was gone, the door closing right behind her.

Del leaned a little more heavily against her desk. Maybe...maybe Aranea should know. Maybe she could help, really it couldn’t hurt could it? 

But what if she told Prompto, or what if it changed how she looked at him? What if Verstael found out? She remembered the first and only time she crossed her father so blatantly. 

No. No one needed to know. She’d just take the suspicion and blame in stride and continue her work. She already had one confidant, stressful as he was, and that would just have to be enough.

---

“A treaty?” Cor asked, looking at the young and panicked delegate’s assistant. “You can’t be serious.”

He nodded. “Marshal, Sir, the ambassador was very direct. Niflheim wishes to broker peace with Lucis.”

Bullshit.

“He wasn’t clear on the terms yet, he only said he wished for His Majesty to speak to their Emperor. And they’d like to send their prince to Insomnia as part of a goodwill tour.”

Cor felt his stomach drop. “They want to send their sixteen year old recluse over here?”

“Sir.” Monica spoke up. “I was listening on the call. It would seem they want to forge diplomatic relations between our future monarchs. I couldn’t say if it’s genuine but…”

It made sense. Noctis and Prompto were both sixteen, both royalty, and both set to inherit a generations’ old war. It was in both country's interests for the two to meet and start some sort of friendship now, if they were ever going to see peace within the next century. But inviting Imperials right into their own homes, just waltzing right through the wall like it wasn’t made specifically to keep them out. 

The risk and reward were both intense.

“Then I suppose we’ll have to inform His Majesty of this development.”

The prince of Niflheim walking through the doors of the city; Mors was surely rolling in his grave at the thought. But then, the latest intel on the boy stated he was still having health troubles despite obvious improvements. So it stood to reason that any delegation that came with the prince would have to include…

“And discuss negotiation tactics.”

---

“No way. No fucking way.” Del yelled before colliding her fist into the punching bag. She didn’t often engage in physical training, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She needed to be at her best both mentally and physically if she was going to see her work through. She couldn’t keep relying on the chancellor to protect her forever.

“You’re not being asked, you’re being ordered.” The man who couldn’t be more than an intern on the chain of importance said, unflinching as she continued to pummel the bag swinging from the ceiling.

“He’s not fit to travel that far. I’m not signing off on those orders, it would be a breach of ethics. And you can take that back to your Emperor. I don’t give a shit.” 

“Refusing to sign will be noted as an admission of failure in your duty to tend to the prince’s health.” He stated flatly.

She gave one last hard punch before turning to face the man.

“Excuse me?” Del seethed. “Letting him travel for days on end on a train, a boat, over a desert and into a city full of people who want him dead would be a failure of my duty.” 

“I don’t pretend to know what it is you do, Doctor, I am merely stating a fact. So once again, please sign this release form.” The man was unnervingly lacking in emotion.

“You can shove that form right up yo-”

“How dare you speak to a lady of the nobility with such impunity!” A voice from behind cut her off. A voice she knew. 

Oh Gods. Not this guy.

“Do you have even the slightest idea in your thick skull who this woman is? Because if you did, you would surely show more respect.” The kid, dressed in his dorky high school gym clothes with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, intruded into the adult conversation.

“I am speaking to the prince’s personal physician, Doctor Besithia, and she is refusing to comply with the Emperor’s orders.” The man replied as if this was a completely normal thing to happen. 

“Loqi, I swear to the fucking Gods, what are you doing?” Del rubbed her hands between her eyes. It was only a matter of time before she’d run into this guy again but she really hoped it wouldn’t be this soon.

“There is no need for the doctor to sign a release, she’s going with the prince to Insomnia.”

“Ha! Okay, wow, this is certainly not the correct venue for either of you to be making these decisions for me.” She said, standing there in her gym shorts and sports bra, sweaty and red. 

“His Imperial Highness put me in charge of the delegation, I’ve already made arrangements for you to be part of it.” Loqi said with unearned confidence. “You have nothing to fear from the Lucians, my lady, Highwind and I will be there to protect you.”

“I’ll have to draft a new form then.” The man muttered before leaving.

“Yeah, whatever, okay, what delegation? What the fuck is even going on and why out of everyone possible were you put in charge of it?” What she really wanted to scream was why was this guy put in charge of anything involving her?

“The Emperor wishes to broker a peace treaty with the Lucians, and plans to send his highness prince Prompto to act as ambassador.” Loqi said, making a show of averting his eyes from her.

“Oh, okay. So the prince who has no experience with foreign relations or, well, being around more than three people at a time is going to go into the heart of the country we’ve been at war with for decades, and you’re in charge of the whole thing?” Del asked.

“That is correct, my lady.”

Del sighed. “So it’s a death trap.”

“My lady I can assure you no Lucian will even so much as touch you during this tour. Not even their Immortal. And I welcome him to try.”

“Oh Gods you’re still on about that, fucking shit, dude.”

Ten years ago Delphia made the biggest mistake of her life. She’d been sent away to a strict private academy after her father discovered the second biggest mistake of her life. And there, she met Loqi Tummelt. A boy one year below her who was creepily obsessed with Cor Leonis. And one day, in an attempt to make him shut the fuck up for just one gods damned minute, she’d made the mistake of telling the kid she’d met The Immortal.

“Yeah, he’s an idiot and not that impressive like at all, so can you please cool it with this weird obsession?” She remembered telling him.

She’d been extra mean on purpose, as she did with everyone she met during that time, to make sure he’d never want to speak to her ever again.

But this kid, this freaking kid, all he heard was ‘I’ve met your weird rival hero’. And that was it. He refused to leave her alone since.

Medical school was nice specifically because he wasn’t there.

But now he was here.

Great.

He made a show of looking around, seemingly to make sure they were alone.

“I know your secret, my lady, and though I cannot begin to understand I will protect it with my life.”

Her what?

“I didn’t mean to overhear, but whatever reason you must hide the truth of your birth, it doesn’t change who you are.”

Her WHAT?

“I’ll show you, Princess Delphia.” He whispered. “Soon, I’ll prove to you and everyone else once and for all my true strength. And then, I’ll finally be worthy of taking your hand.”

HER

WHAT

Del instinctively pulled both hands up to the sides of her face. “Okay, first off all it's Doctor. I am Doctor Besithia to you. I did not bust my ass in school to not be called Doctor. And whatever it is you think you overheard, you didn’t. I’m not a-”

...Loqi was the one who eavesdropped on them all those months ago. He heard her call Prompto her brother. And that was his takeaway. 

Fuck.

FUCK!

“You little shit, you were eavesdropping on me.” 

“Your secret is safe, I swear it. Now. Please be packed and prepared to depart for Lucis by this coming Sunday. The journey will be long, and we’ll require your expertise to ensure the prince’s safety.” He bowed. 

And he left.

And after a moment, finally alone in the quiet walls of the gym, Delphia screamed.

---

Prompto could scream. A whole week spent preparing himself mentally for this trip wasn’t enough. He just could not account for the absolute rush of emotion he would feel stepping onto a train for the first time.

It hadn’t even begun to move yet. 

But it’s what the train represented that mattered. His second chance. His more certain future. His tiny little taste of freedom. It was all here, packed and loaded on to this train. This was something he knew he could never, ever forget.

But just to be on the safe side…

“Hey Nea, say cheese!” He chirped before taking a perfectly terribly timed selfie.

Aranea blinked before frowning at him. “Alright, whose bright idea was it to give Shortcake a camera?”

“Uncle Ardyn!” Prompto said, full of joy. He rarely got to see the chancellor but when he did the man was always bringing him the best gifts.

Doctor Del looked at him with surprise from across the train car.

“Ooh, Del, gotta get one with you too!” He slid over next to her, lifting his camera. “Smile!” Prompto said before clicking the shutter.

“You’re in high spirits today.” Aranea looked at him with a smile.

He shot back up, standing between the two of them. “Yeah, I’m just...I’m really optimistic. I know this trip is gonna be great.” The destination, well...that was left to be seen. He felt a rush of embarrassment wash over him, like everyone in the train car was staring at him. Probably because they were. 

“I’m glad you’re well enough to enjoy this, Prompto.” Del said, also smiling.

Okay, now he was super embarrassed.”Couldn’t of done it without you girls!” He said, pointing at his doctor and his shield.

...the much older than him doctor and shield who were full grown women he just called girls.

“I-I mean…”

“Sit down, Shortcake, you look like you’re gonna pass out.”

He did so, and took some time to look out the window as the sound of steam releasing hissed and the train began to move with a jolt. The scenery began to move past him, faster and faster, until he thought they couldn’t possibly go any faster.

And then somehow they did.

It wasn’t long before the motion began to sit wrong in his stomach, and he thought perhaps he should spend some time going through the enormous notebook of intel that was handed to him just this morning.

He opened it and looked at the first page. A dossier on Lucis’ prince. Noctis Lucis Caelum. He was only a couple of months older than Prompto, which was a relief. If he was way older or younger this would’ve been a weird visit. He turned the page and suddenly, he was face to face with him. A photograph of prince Noctis: dark hair, mysterious eyes, an obvious build of muscle and good health.

Prompto felt himself begin to sweat even on this air conditioned train. Who was he fooling? While he’d spent the last eight years bed ridden and alone, this prince was surely doing what princes are supposed to do. Training, studying, a perfect skincare routine, maybe he was even good at art and dancing! Noctis just looked like the perfect model of nobility.

And here was Prompto. Pale skin, droopy hair, red dots all over his face, weak, talentless, and far behind in anything academic a prince should be skilled in by sixteen. He frowned at his reflection in the window. This was a mistake. Surely, it had to be. He couldn’t even compare to Noctis. The Insomnian court would take one look at him, laugh, and send the delegation back. Then they’d just wait for him to take the throne one day so they could easily overthrow him.

That’s exactly what was going to happen.

His downward thought spiral was interrupted by the sound of the train car door slamming open. The leader of this mission, General Loqi Tummelt, stepped in. He was still dressed in his military finery even though they weren’t due in Lucis for a long while yet. He seemed like that kinda guy though, the sort who took a lot of pride in his heritage and rank. No wonder his father trusted him with such a precarious mission!

“Your Imperial highness, ladies, or journey has-”

“Doctor.”

Prompto looked over at Del, who had interrupted the man with little regard for his status.

“We’ve been over this. Address me as doctor before my gender, please and thank you.” She frowned.

“Yeah, actually. You’ll address me as Commodore, Tummelt. Unlike Lemon Tart over there, I’m not even a noblewoman. So get your shit together before you open your mouth again.”

Prompto felt like he might just shrink from the awkwardness taking place around him.

“Just Prompto is fine!” He blurted out before realizing how stupid that was.

Loqi took a long breath before continuing. “Doctor. Commodore. Just Prompto. Our journey has begun. In due time we will be upon our enemy’s doorstep. And then a true battle of wits will begin. Be sure you’re prepared for anything.”

“Oh, is that all?” Aranea asked.

“Wow dude, very helpful.” Del sneered.

“Like we didn’t already know that.”

“Fucking useless, this guy.”

“I cannot believe you addressed the prince like that.”

“Get it together, Loqi.”

“Yeah get your shit together Loqi.”

The two women shot insult after insult at the general with no regard whatsoever for his rank of station. It was...terrifying.

Loqi cleared his throat. “I’ll be in the first cabin should you require my assistance.” He said before leaving back from where he came from.

A tense silence settled in the air that threatened to choke him out. Prompto felt that familiar tingle of anxiety creeping up his spine, about to reach out and burst through in tears until he heard Aranea begin to laugh.

And then Del started laughing.

And then both of them were laughing harder.

“Can you believe that guy?” Del asked, rubbing at her eye.

“Gods, he is such a pain in the ass.” Aranea smirked.

“You’re telling me, I went to high school with him. Cannot believe he somehow made it this far.”

“Oh you’ve never heard of failing up? Pretty common around here.”

These women were brutal. They were mean, and sharp, and cut right through whoever was in their path without remorse. 

“Hey, Prom, you doing alright?” Aranea asked. “You’re looking a little pale there.”

“Oh!” Del jumped from her seat and sat next to him, putting a hand on his forehead. “Are you nauseous? Motion sickness is common on trains. I packed some dramamine in my bag, let me just-”

These women took no one’s shit and demanded respect where it was due. They were ruthless.

And they were both like older sisters fussing over him with care and…

Huh.

“I’m okay, really.” Prompto said. And he was.

---

Cor steeled his nerves one last time. The delegation was on their doorstep. They were either about to usher in a new era of peace, or make the biggest mistake in Lucis’ entire history.

But also the little kid who was really mean and shitty was all grown up and part of it. 

Cor had to figure she wasn’t that much different from her younger self. From what little intel they could scrape, she’d pissed off her father at one point. In retaliation she’d been banished away to private school in Gralea, got her act together, and got into medical school easily as a legacy applicant (Though her grades were part of the intel. She didn’t need that family name to get into whatever school she wanted.)

The most surprising thing in that whole file, however, was that she’d applied to the Insomnian Medical Institute. There were only so many foreign students accepted every year, and she was most likely disqualified because of her name. The irony was immense.

“Everything’s in order here. Status, Drautos?” Cor asked through the mic on his ear piece. The glaive had their orders, the crownsguard theres. The need for hospitality was great, and security even greater.

Everyone was playing their part. And that included Insomnia’s own civilians. It appeared the population was split in half in their opinions: one side embracing the idea of peace, one calling it a hoax and threatening violence upon the visitors.

Regis had made it quite clear they intended to greet the prince of Niflheim as a guest. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Free and clear, standing by.” Cor’s colleague reported into his ear. 

He crossed his arms behind his back, standing by his king’s side. On the other, the prince was reluctantly in his own royal regalia which did not quite fit him as well as his father had hoped.

Scientia had done his best.

Their intel on the prince was lacking, of course. Hard to get much information on someone who rarely left his heavily guarded room. But Cor knew enough. He knew where that kid came from. And he knew the woman who had been photographed again and again at his side.There was hope. Just a little.

There was always the chance Prompto was nothing more than a puppet, an unwilling actor in a show meant to destroy everything Cor held dear.

So vigilant he stayed, with a small layer of hope on top.

He hoped that little kid was still the rebellious little shithead who denounced everything her parents stood for and was ready to burn everything down.

That would work out quite well.

[abloomntime]

A Bloom In Time Ch12 Dealing With The Past

Poppy's eyes widened when the giant snake like creature turned around in the opposite direction and began to float off somewhere still looking at her with that scowl. He was-....Sure something else wasn't he? She'd never seen anything like this before. Was he a swamp monster? Could be, she'd never been in a swamp before and didn't know what was hiding in it and she hadn't heard much stories about monsters except for the typical monster under your bed kind, and she still felt a pit of dread in her stomach harder than a rock when his gaze didn't budge from her face. It was almost like he was both suspicious and cautious in his movements as he held her up and away from her like someone who had to carry something but definately didn't enjoy doing so.

".......How do you know her?," he asked finally breaking the silence.

She flinched and blinked at the sudden question and all she could ask was, "W-what?"

"I SAID how did you meet the girl?"

"I-I-....S-She rescued me from prison." Well it was the truth. Even if it technically wasn't actual jail or a traditional dungeon. It was still prison to her.

He hummed and brought her around from the left side of him to the front to get a better look at her but still kept her at arm's length for obvious reasons. He was still dealing with the inner turmoil of emotions suddenly busting inside him, but if there was one thing he was good at it was keeping his mouth shut and his true emotions hidden. Right now he was feeling...He didn't know exactly. Anger? Guilt? Resentment? Maybe a little bit of happiness? He didn't know. Oh no no. Not angry at her or anyone else, but at Vanessa. If the kiddo really rescued a 'lady wearing an apron' (his yellow eyes glazed over her brown leather work apron) and it was Poppy, when it really wasn't a maid or cook after all. Then that also meant that......She was right there the whole time in that heavily chained room. ...And in all the few times he was there he never bothered to look inside ....she was so close...Right there. Which raised a whole bunch of other questions. Was she an ice statue like the others? How long had she been in there? Was she locked in there before or after he was chained up? Did-.....D-Did she know it was because of him? Oh peck! Did the kiddo say anything to her?! Did she recognize him?! Poppy hadn't given any indication she even recognized him so that was probably a big fat no. So then ....Did she resent him? D-Did she even know the reason she was locked away by the mad queen? Did she blame her friend? Guilt and anger at himself bubbled up from himself and he growled. STOP IT SNATCHER!! How many times did you have to tell yourself it's NOT your fault!! ALL OF IT WAS VANESSA'S!! HERS NOT YOURS!! The sudden growl made her jump and he snapped his thinking back towards her movements. The sight of her still scared form seemed to calm her down a lot making him sigh(or give a sigh sound since he didn't have lungs) and frown. Less intimidating than the harsh scowl. And he hoped it wouldn't scare her now that-.......Now that she was...She was back..POPPY WAS BACK AND SAFE! That one thought made him halt in his movements causing her to lightly swing in his grasp at the sudden stop and she blinked at him. His eyes looked over her studiously before she found herself slowly being lowered down, she was placed on her feet and the giant claws retreated back to the ghost who once again towered over her quietly. He studied her dirty still damp self yellow eyes stopping at the twinkling peice of gold around her wrist and blinked at the dirt covered gold bracelet. Yellow eyes widening at it before his ghost brain(if he even had one) kicked into high gear and years of experience being in this scenario rammed back into him making him hum and look back to her confused, lightly scared face. Poppy was safe...For now at least. But what if something happened again. He hissed and was still angry at himself for allowing this to happen to her. Her whole life was stopped because of him and now she had to pay the price for it....but what if-....HE COULD DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT NOW!! YES!! He was so puny and weak back then, but now he had the power to do whatever he wanted. He could take care of his forest, his minions, those kids, and himself...Why COULDN'T he do the same for her..He could..Make it up to her. Make amends and make up for everything he couldn't do for her...YEAH!! Well first he had to seal a deal with her, which meant no one could ever hurt her again. Just as a safety precaution. He'd done it before. And he knew jjuuuust the way to do it.

"This is a nice accessory you got here," he complimented pointing a claw at her wrist. "It's ok if I keep it, right? It's sparkly. I like that. It looks magical."

She blinked and looked to her wrist..And immediately pulled her wrist up and to her chest, her other hand clutching it as she scowled. "NO peckin' way, Ya purple onion reject! I don't know who ya think you are, but there's no way I'm giving you this. It's the only thing I got left from my home!"

He smiled at the sudden gesture even if it didn't nessacarily mean she wasn't giving it up because she missed him. "Im sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I am the Snatcher. Im the one who takes all your stuff when you forget it under the couch, or deep in the closet....Or in this case. Your SOUL!!" Again her face twisted onto one of fear and he continued to smile and hold up a clawed hand, making a small blue fire appear. "I took it the moment we touched. This small flame is your life force." It really wasn't but he was great at acting when you were a scary prince and people feared you. They beleived anything you told them.

"Y-You...PECKING DIRTY VARMANT!!" She suddenly charged and started jumping and grabbing at the small flames. Horrified and angry her 'life force' was being held hostage by some swamp monster. She was DONE absolutely DONE with her poor life. "GIVE IT BACK!! GIVE IT BACK GIVE IT BACK PLEASE!!"

"You can't have it back. It belongs to ME now. What are you gonna do? You're just a little girl. Only fire magical hurts me, and you're not a fire spirit." He lightly tainted smiling and still staring almost in a happy way at her. This was always too easy. "No one enters my forest and doesn't face some sort of consequences. But tell you what. I've got a piece of paper here, and a nifty one at that too. I've got some work that'll suit you just fine with your spunk." His hand with the tiny flame was suddenly engulfed in blue fire and as she gaped at it like many mortals he's seen. A moment later the bright light dimmed away completely to show a big scroll in his hand without the flame. In one swift motion he unfurled it and lowered it and himself down to her. His head practically upside down as he held it a foot from her face and the other hand grabbing one of her shoulders. "How about a deal!? You get to keep your body, mind, and soul and in return you help me with just a few minor things I can't do as a human. "

"......Deal?", she asked unsure before looking back to the long piece of paper and her hands reaching out to take it from him. He let her and watched in anticipation as she read over the thing. It was almost half her height. A deal with a swamp creature...There's something you don't see every day. The paper looked old and slightly torn around the edges here and there. At the very top of the paper was a fancy drawing of the creature before her with the face and his arms outstretched, beneath that was some very fancy writing that read "CONTRACT" in fancy bold captial cursive letters. The Rest was also in fancy cursive but lucking she could read it pretty well reading someone's fancy cursive order of flowers all the time. It read as followed:

CONTRACT

SERVE THE DEAD WITH WHAT THE AGREEMENT STATES

You have been caught trespassing in the Subcon Forest owned by the benevolant and merciful the Snatcher. The punishment for invaded and disturbing the dead's sacred resting place will be your life long servitude and loyalty to said ruler The Snatcher. Refusing to comply will result in the reposession of one's soul as payment for your crime. But you are lucky enough to have been selected as few mortals to help the eternal after life and anything the Snatcher requests within reason of the servants morals and abilities. The following territories of the forest shall be availble for the signer to visit willingly as they please.

-The Subcon Forest

-The Employer's Home (with special permission)

-The Subcon Forest

These parts shall NOT be availible for any reason and will not be negotiated unless the employer says otherwise.

-The Haunted Manor

-The frozen bridge

-The Subcon Swamp

-The Subcon Well

-The frozen territory

-Any place my employer has said is off limits

By signing this the signer shall be paid for their service and loyalty with immortality, protection from the Snatcher and those under him, a home, and anything the signer requests within reason. Binding by contract means your soul shall remain bound to the contract which cannot be broken by any means except by will of the employer, a.k.a the Snatcher. And in return the signer shall do ask the Snatcher asks with they're full cooperation. If the Snatcher at any point terminates the contract the signer's soul shall be released from his care and they shall live a normal rest of their life. By agreeing you shall also be safe from other supernatural entities and their influences whatever they may be, including influences from the employer and other minions. Also by signing this the signer agrees to willing do this and become a certified minion of The Snatcher. If you have complaints, suggestions, or other, the signer must report them to their employer immediately. As a down payment for all provided by the Snatcher, he shall be given the contract with your soul will be bound to for eternity unless decided otherwise, but the servant will be allowed free of will, full freedom, tasks the employer asks something of them, mind, body, and their soul in their body.

SIGNED

And then there was a small line for her name. Poppy's blue eyes stared gobsmacked at it before rereading it again.......Before closing her mouth and looking up to the smiling spook with a raised brow.

"Do you REALLY expect me to hand over my life to YOU?!"

"Hey! You get to keep literally EVERYTHING. You're soul won't even belong to me. Only the contract it'll be connected too. Plus you don't literally have to do anything except minor tasks. Like going to the book store. You really can't expect me to easily buy books as I am do you?"

"NO! This is ridiculous! I'm not gonna-"

"Look, Po-...Miss." He almost said her name but made a clear throat noise and straightened back up looking down at her. "Perhaps I should've been more...Specific about what you owe me. You see this forest has thousands of spirits here. This is their home. They died here, they were buried somewhere here, and there's lots of obvious graves. Like or not you crashlanded into sacred burial ground disturbing them and annoying them all whether you like it or not. It doesn't matter if it's an accident, to them you invaded their sacred place. Which is also mine. There's a few powerful spirits here but none as powerful as myself. Im offering you a VERY generous deal, I even gave you your soul back once the flame left my hand." He smiled as Poppy suddenly blinked and looked at herself patted herself down as to check to see if her soul was still there. "All I want is a mortal helper to assist me in things I have trouble doing myself being an all powerful spirit. I even offer you anything you want in return. Within reason of course. Maybe you want out of here? To have the spirits forgive you?......Maybe some dry land by the looks of it. By refusing my offer you'd still be invading the undead's home and I don't think many are going to be as generous as I."

Her scowl quickly became a look of concern as she still stared at him. So he was a spirit huh? Was he right? Was there really big bad spirits like him around the swamp. She didn't think she'd ever see a spirit before like this. The guy was MASSIVE and obviously gave off danger vibes to her, but he offered her a deal, and....technically she DID kinda, sorta trespass on his home even if not intentionally. If she was a spirit she'd probably be upset someone walked into her final resting place too. Did it happen often if he was genuinely this annoyed about it? Was it true another spirit would get her if she didn't take his offer? Snatcher smiled wider showing off those fangs when she blinked and reread the contract over again....She didn't know documents too well, and she wasn't exactly an expert in laws like her old friend was, but it all seemed legit. Wasn't anything really underhanded in the paper except for the loyalty of becoming his 'minion' and doing as he asked without question. Boy her life just kept getting weirder and weirder by the hour.

"And what exactly kind of work would you have someone like ME do, Mr. Purple Shadow?," she asked raising a brow. "It's not like I have any special magical powers or anything."

"I don't need anyone else with magical powers around believe me. It's caused me nothing but trouble in the past anyways. Like I said, I only want a mortal helper to help me out with a whole bunch of things a big scary but handsome ghost like me can't."

"Like what?"

"Well as much fun as it would be to scare out an entire town and take the things I want, seeing everyone outside my forest scream and run away from me when I'm trying to simply buy books or something. It would be SO much easier if I had a normal looking mortal to do it for me and bring me things I want, and all kinds of other things a dead person like me can't. You like kids right? Live kids?" That question came out of no where and she rose a brow at how strange and sudden that one was. But he knew the answer was yes anyways, she always remembered how much she'd smile and laugh sweetly at all the children's antics. His minions were techincally those kids, and ...there was the girls. It WOULD be handy to have a lady who loves kids on hand right?...What would've their children have looked like if they ever had the chance to- He shook his head and looked back to her still confused face waiting for an answer.

"Uh....Y-Yes. I think they're some of the cutest creatures on the planet!'' She meant that bit too. "Why do you care though?"

"Because I have two small kids that drive me up a wall all the time. I could use a hand keeping them out of my hair."

Her brows rose. "You have childre-..." She suddenly froze. Blue eyes widening and remembering what the small alien girl said to her. Her father...A spirit. Snatcher- She suddenly pointed at him. "YOU'RE THAT LIL ALIEN'S FATHER?!"

He rose a brow. "Glad you finally caught up with what I was s-"

"She said you could help me!" Usually he'd be annoyed anyone would dare to interrupt him, but he just blinked at her sudden statement. "L-Look." SHe held out her hands holding the paper. "I-I just want some help! She told me you could help, but I don't know how! I'm lost, and everything's not where it should be, and Im having a very hard time believing anything is happening right now! I was frozen dead for a thousand years and rescued by an alien and now I'm talking to a giant purple ghost! I'm afraid I'm going crazy!''

"....Well, I can tell you everything you just said probably happened since I'm definately not an imaginary boogie man. But tell you what. You're lucky. That piece of paper there allows me to provide any help the signer might want within reason. You can clearly read it at the top there." He frowned a little bit. "I'll tell you this. I can't send anyone back in time, and wouldn't want to. But I can make life a lot easier for someone like you, and I can tell you already had it hard as it is. You lost so much already. So don't lose this too. Trust me, you'll regret it." Now she was put on the spot as she froze again and gave a helpless look between him and the paper...and gulped. "You know, you would also be untouchable to Pecking Vanessa. She'd be powerless against me therefore you too in a nutshell. Isn't it worth the price knowing you won't be a block of ice again."

Her eyes widened and she looked back to the paper with a sigh. "B-But...I don't h-have a pe-" He snapped his claws and a feathered pen appeared right next to her. She blinked at it for a moment but to his utter delight she reached a shaking hand up and grabbed it looking back down to the paper. "....W-What if I don't sign it?"

"Then another angry spirit will come and try to have at you for tresspassing. Im not the only ghost in this forest. Just the most powerful.~.....Sign your full name now."

The silence of the forest was interrupted by the soft scratching of a pen against paper slowly. Snatcher's smile became wider, and wider, and wider as she nervously signed away until she wrote the last 'n' of her last name. Once she did the pen disappeared in a small puff of smoke and she jumped, her grip on the contract loosening enough for the giant ghost to snatch it from her. At the same time a giant burst of energy throbbed hard within the very core of her body. Temparaily knocking the wind outta her. She gasped and fell to her hands and knees at the sudden tight feeling within her. Her body emitting a small purple light in the dead center of her chest before as soon it came it left and she stayed her gasping and blinking at the sudden sensation that came and left. Leaving goosebumps across the pale flesh and her shaking like a leaf again. Coughing and eventually snapping a scowl up to him. He smiled reading over the contract before it disappeared in a puff of flames too.

"That seals the deal, Lady! We're in business!"

"W-W-What the PECK was THAT?!," she demanded glaring at him.

"Relax. You're unharmed. It was just the bond ceiling between us and the magic forming a strong protective shield around your soul. Don't worry. You're safe now." His voice went a little soft there at the end as did his expression as he continued to stare at her. Poppy. His Poppy. His Princess of Flowers. She was safe. Free from any danger, out of Vanessa's grip, and safe at last. And with him after all this time. ....He shouldn't be happy about that. He still felt very guilty about her being locked away and frozen for a thousand years but I digress. But things were ok now. He would make sure of it. "SO. New Errand Girl." Still keeping up the act for now as he watched her get back onto her feet. "Tell me all about this little problem of yours. And follow me. You'll want to see you're new work place."

He went to grab her again but she took a step back and held up her hands still lightly scowling. "No thanks. I can walk."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself. Now. Are you going to tell me why the old blooming pecker locked you up and threw away the key?" he started forward again and she reluctantly followed. No sense in staying in the fog anyways right.

"To be honest I don't really remember." She gazed down as she walked, arms crossing over her chest. "It's...kinda fuzzy."

His full attention was on her as he scowled and hummed. "What do you remember?"

"I...remember these two big men in suits grabbing me from my stands when I was closing the shop. I think they might've been the Queen's knights." Snatcher scowled harder remembering those two very well. He could still almost feel them using their insane strength to hold him to the wall and chain him. "And then I was taken to the Queen's summer home and saw this monster...I mean the queen."

"No. You were right the first time. She was always a monster, it just took her a while to show everyone what was really inside. So don't give her any credit. She was never a queen, just a spider wearing a pretty mask."

She looked at him surprised. "Oh....Did you know her? I think the little alien said something about you were my age."

He bristled purple hair puffing up for a moment as he stared at her...before he scowled again. "Who DIDN'T know her?! She was Queen and then cursed EVERYTHING!!" He gave a small growl...before forced himself to calm down because she was looking at him funny and gave a sighing noise. "There's lots of spirits around here that was a poor victim of her tantrum." That wasn't a lie. There was lots of minions and dwellers that froze from her curse. "I'm sorry for what happened. But...A-Anyways, what happened after you met the crazy dame? What did she lock you up for?"

"I-......*sigh* I don't know. I think she said something about treason, but it's all fuzzy. And I SWEAR to you." She gave him an almost pleading look. "I didn't do anything but sell flowers in the square! I've never even met her before!''

He held up a hand. "OH! Believe me I believe you more than I would believe her. Lots of innocent lives were lost by her...But please. Feel free to continue." A guilty feeling bubbled up in himself and he had a pretty good idea what 'treason' Vanessa locked her away for.

She looked back down sadly...and shrugged. "That's about it. They threw me inside this big empty room, and locked me in. And then..." Her brows furrowed in thought. "....Uh. I don't remember what happened. All I remember was I was really cold and it was dark...and it was still so cold when I woke up. I could've sworn I was unconcious for a few hours."

He held up a hand again. "And let me take a guess at what happened next. Hattie blew the door down and took you back to her weird place in the sky, right?"

She nodded. "YES!! That's exactly it! She used her magic umbrella thing and there was this other little girl and then ..Hattie said you were a ghost and could help me. I still don't know how but ...I don't know. I guess knowing someone from my time was here after all was enough for me to get talked into getting teleported again. But then I ended up falling through the sky and crash landing into those poor trees." She looked at him. "H-How big is this Swamp, Mr. Snatcher Ghost?"

He rose a ghostly brow. "Don't call me Mr. Snatcher Ghost. Im known as Snatcher and nothing else and I would appreciate it if you'd call me that too. ...But the swamp's not that big. Maybe a small percent of my whole forest and territory. Subcon's a big place."

She stopped walking for a moment and looked at him. "Subcon..A-As in the Subconia or Subconette Kingdom?" She wondered which one she landed in.

He gazed at her silently for a moment before shrugging. "Both. A lot's changed over a thousand years, Lady. Those kingdoms don't exist anymore. Just some reminders left behind."

That was it. The thorn that pricked the skin. Poppy stopped staring there right at him for a good long moment....before the weight buckled from under her and she fell to her knees with a blank expression glanced to the ground. Immediately he floated over and held his hands arm unsure.

"H-Hey! Lady?!.....P-Poppy. Are you alright?" A choke came from her and fresh tears came down her face as she started crying, and he froze. A sudden feeling of guilt and worry bubbled up at the sudden crying. All the emotions and situation finally hitting her hard like a punch to the gut and finally breaking her down for him to see. Snatcher floated there for a moment still unsure what to do ....before unsurely putting one arm around her and his other hand being engulfed in flames, a hankercheif appearing in it before he awkwardly offered it to her. "Uh....There, there? It's ok. You're alright, right?"

She grabbed the small cloth from her and uselessly wiped at her face. "I-I LOST EVERYTHING!! AND EVERYONE I EVER CARED ABOUT IS G-G-GONE!!" She blew her nose into the small cloth and sniffed wiping her face with her arm. "W-W-What am I supposed to do?! My life is over!!"

"H-Hey! That's not true I-.....*sigh*" He rubbed the back of his head and tried to scramble for a solution. He was NOT good at having heart to heart talks even to himself, so...what would he say to this? He looked back to her as one thought crossed his mind. "I-I...I know exactly how you feel." He scowled. "Yeah. I know EXACTLY how that feels. Vanessa took everything from me too when she froze everything!" He growled and his grip on her became a bit tighter if he was being a lil protective. "I pecking didn't see it coming until it froze me right before my very eyes! I died before my life even took off the ground and now I'm stuck like this....But you aren't." He ...attempted a smile. "Listen, Poppy. I'm not good at this speaking from the heart stuff, but Im pretty good at speaking from experience stuff. So trust me when I saw you still got your whole life plus more ahead of you. It's....probably going to take a while for you to process this properly and start to move on like I did...But your friends wouldn't have wanted you to wallow over them. You can still do things now you're not a frozen statue locked in some room like Vanessa's trophy. And.....I-I promise I will help you. Alright?" And he meant it too. He owed it to her after all that happened. He'd help his dear friend-

"W-What AM I supposed to do now?...E-Everything's-"

"Gone?", he finished for her sighing again. "Look. I ....can't change the past no matter how badly I want to. But I can change the future, and so can you. Think of all the things you can do now without anyone to hold you back!" He might've been speaking from what he perceived as a positive but she gave him a funny look. "Uh...By that I mean vanessa of course. She's not holding you prisoner anymore."

"Gee...T-Thanks for the swell pep talk, Buddy. *hic*" She wiped her eyes again before trying to give back the cloth, to which Snatcher cringed and snapped his fingers making it disappear.

"Hey. I said I wasn't good at that kind of stuff....Hey." He rose a ghostly brow and looked around. "You said the kid brought you here. Where is she?"

She blinked and stared at him for a moment. "I-....I-I don't know. All I remember is falling and landing in swamp water."

He hummed and thought for a moment. Poppy blinked when she was grabbed and raised to her feet by him again. "I have a good idea about where she went. Come on. On your feet. I want to see if my hunch is right."

***********************************************************************************************

"MS POPPY!?"

The shouting of the children still echoed through out the forest as the small hatted girl ran down the dirt path towards the tree house. Blue eyes frantically looking around at every dead tree, tombstone, and dweller that she passed. Desperately looking for a moment of pale skin and red hair. Bow was bounding behind her right on her tail also wearily looking around the forest passing dwellers and subconites alike as she hightailed it after. Both were worried Poppy would soon end up on the wrong side of the forest by now! The swamp! Snatcher's traps! ....GOOD PECKING GOSH!! WAS SNATCHER EVEN BACK YET!? She'd be dead meat without one of the girl's to explain why a grown woman was suddenly walking around in his forest. How could she have let go of her hand and not realize it!? She felt like crying once the sight of the ghost's familiar home came into view. Getting another rush at seeing it, she bounded towards it as fast as she could. Pulling back on her heels digging into the ground and grabbing the hat on her head as she came back to a sliding stop in front of the empty home. Panting and startling the ghosts around it. After a few seconds, Bow ended up stopping right behind her and falling to her knees gasping and wheezing after the long run they did as her friend looked around at everything. No one but the ghosts and Rough Patch that was curled up in Snatcher's chair looking like someone randomly placed a bush in his home.

"Are you looking for the boss, Newbie?," one of the subconites asked pointing in the direction Snatcher previously rushed off too. "You missed him. He left 'bout fifthteen minutes ago."

"OH NO!! OH NO!!" Hattie immediately turned and began running in the direction the minion pointed leaving Bow heaving and sitting there too tired to follow anymore. Running blindly into the woods wasn't the best idea but what was she supposed to do at that now? What if Snatcher spotted Poppy? What if she fell into one of his traps? What if- The child suddenly came to a screeching halt at what emerged out of the woods before her with a scowl. "....Snatcher?!"

The spirit scowled and laserfocused on the little girl right in front of him....Before edging a little bit to the right revealing the red haired tired looking woman behind him. The two girls locked eyes for a solid moment...Before Hattie sighed in releif and wiped her forehead.

"Kid. You have got a lot of explaining to do."

#flowercrown #a hat in time snatcher #a hat in time florist #The Florist #florist #snatcher #florist x snatcher #snatcher x florist #a bloom in time

[alfredosauce50]

What makes me human [Cyberpunk! America x reader] 11

Wordcount: 5,150 Rating: M for strong language, ideologically sensitive and mature themes, gore “In a society that normalizes cybernetic enhancements, many forget what it is to be human. He never did.” Chapter synopsis: Allen and Arthur race to find you both, but it proves to be harder without knowing your whereabouts. Meanwhile, you've successfully helped Alfred find the chip. Before leaving, you have a long-awaited conversation with your father to realize he's more insane than you thought. The reader is referred to as she/her.

Songs to listen to while you read (in order as found in playlist): Cyberninja,  Trouble finds trouble, Tower Lockdown, Me!Me!Me!, Pt. 2, Him & I (with Halsey), Atlantis. I have indented song titles throughout the chapter so you can change accordingly. Starting now:

Cyberninja

Before Arthur could even buckle himself in, Allen rammed his foot into the gas pedal. He was thrown back in a violent manner, and hit his head against the headrest. But the mechanic never complained. He looked stressed enough as is, continually scanning the road while murmuring to himself as if he’d really gone mad. “Hell, that motherfucker could be anywhere in the whole fucking city right now.” He hissed, pulling out of the driveway and into the main road.

“We can’t call him. Track him. Nothing. Same goes for (F/N). They’re off the map.” Turning to his companion numerous times in distress, he sped through the streets, though he had no particular destination in mind.

The indicator clicked. Allen cursed at the car in front of them, but never made a move to overtake. As Arthur became overwhelmed by these stimulants, he opened his mouth, defeated. “If you’re in such a hurry, why--why bother following traffic rules? You never have before, so why now?” He asked with a shake of the head, earning a loud scoff from the other.

The car windows glowed with a flurry of pinks and purples as they moved closer to the commercial district. They were near their first stop.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t give a damn if I didn’t have to.” The whites of his eyes reflected a mosaic of color as he never looked away from the road. “But that was when I was working for my boss. I had protection. I could do a hit and run if I wanted, and without the running part.” The redhead breathed. Then, he stuck his head out of the window with a huff. Immediately, he was choked by the city smog, and deafened by the blaring of car horns.

“Friggen’ prick...” He flipped off the driver in front of him. Sitting back into his seat, he flashed Arthur a grin, though the man couldn’t return the energy.

“Did you get fired? Or did you quit?” This wasn’t the best time to ask about the past, but he had been dying to know why he wound up half-dead on his doorstep. So what better a time to do it than now?

“I quit.” Allen answered point-blank. “Old man didn’t take it well. Decided to kill me. Didn’t.” Slowing the vehicle, they arrived at a parking-lot surrounded by backdoors of multiple piss-poor establishments. One of which was illuminated by a flickering red neon sign that read ‘no-tell motel’.

“He thinks I’m dead, so the rest of the city has to think that too.”

Arthur gawked at him. “That makes you no better than a fugitive! And it’s not just anybody after you--Allen, he’ll kill you when he finds out you’re still alive!”

“And that’s why he won’t find out.” Tapping the side of his neck for a flap to open, the said man slotted a small disk inside. “Disables cybernetic upgrades in a twenty foot radius. Means I can’t use mine, but it stops other people from figuring out who I am.” He dug through one of the compartments for a muffler, which he wrapped around the bottom half of his face.

What he did next was alarming, however. Sticking his hand further in, he pulled out a gun and cocked it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the hell are you doing--!?” Arthur exclaimed, fumbling with a face mask Allen tossed his way. He didn’t see a silencer anywhere either. “If I can call the police without any upgrades, so can everyone else!”

His statement couldn’t ring any truer, and yet, it never slowed down the other’s movements as he climbed out of the car. Unsatisfied by his silence, he wound up getting out to follow him. “Oi, say something! At least let me know you’re not gonna shoot up a restaurant!” Whispering that part out, he had to speed up a few steps to catch up with the man, now marching to the backdoor of a motel.

“Put the mask on.” Allen murmured without sparing him a single glance. But he paused briefly to process what he said. “... A motel, you mean. But I’m hoping we won’t have to resort to that.”

Arthur’s eyes went round. “You were considering--”

He could share the desperation to save Alfred’s life, but he had a hard time following how. Shooting up a motel? What was he thinking?

“Yes.” Attaching his hand to the door, it creaked open. Before Allen took another step, he faced him with a serious glower. “Now when we get inside, I want you to walk up to the receptionist. He’s programmed to greet you. Ask him for a room, and while you do, I’ll approach him from behind and deactivate him. Kapeesh?”

But then again, he was in the dark here. Arthur hadn’t the slightest clue on what Alfred’s circumstances were, as mysterious as the man was, so he had no idea how he was on the verge of dying.

So naturally, he wouldn’t know how to save him either.

But he trusted Allen to know what to do.

“... Alright. You better not make me regret this, you tyke.” 

“You can call me anything you want, just not that. I’m not a kid anymore.” Those words would become apparent as they walked inside, where their plan went by without a hitch. They heard the automated voice of superficial kindness, which stopped abruptly to the sound of an android powering off. Its body fell to the ground to reveal Allen standing behind. Without wasting a second, he leaned over and typed furiously on the keyboard of the computer.

Trouble finds trouble

“Lemme see if this has a log of everybody who came by...” A few moments later, he started nodding at what he saw. “Bingo...” On their private encrypted server, stored the history of all the guests who booked a night. “Well, what do you know... Alfred checked out two days ago. But he’s on the move.” Pulling away to stand up straight, he jogged over to the exit.

“Even if someone tried to look for him in one a’ these places, he’d have to get behind the reception and do exactly what I did.” This someone referred to Matsumoto, but death already followed Alfred wherever he went. Not that Alfred knew that. “The perks of a no-tell motel. Even if they reek of piss, so long as there’s crime, they’ll never go out of business.” He beckoned Arthur to follow him with a tilt of the head. 

“One down, twenty-seven more to go. And that’s only in the direction he’s going... And under the assumption he’s only staying at these motels. So, uh, let’s hope he didn’t try to be too unpredictable.” 

The Brit huffed. This wasn’t going to be easy. 

“I think he’d be predictable to do that if you asked me.” He murmured. “But you call the shots. I’ll just be... Moral support.” 

Allen already disappeared out the door, but his head poked into the doorframe at that. “Nah. You have the most important job outta’ the both of us.” 

That was right. He didn’t tell him yet. He really should’ve a while ago, but he got caught up in the chase. 

“Whether you remove a chip from his head or not will determine if he lives or not.” 

Arthur paled. 

“He’s the guy my boss wanted me to kill. Remember the dude I told you about? The one who tried to steal a prototype chip three years ago?” Now that he mentioned it, he recalled the conversation a few weeks ago. But wait a minute. 

The mechanic felt his face scrunch up as he was hit with a major epiphany. That was Alfred? The terrorist Allen had been updating him about? He was the man who tore up three floors of the headquarters of Matsumoto Optics, and simultaneously, the same customer he had been serving for the last few years.

Before he could even process his shock, he was presented with even more appalling information. 

“He stole it this time. That’s what he and (F/N) disappeared to do. But now that it’s in his head, it’ll overwrite his consciousness until he’s a fucking vegetable.” 

Arthur was horrified. “Then why would he even--” 

“Because he doesn’t know.” Allen cut in with a grim expression. “He thought the chip was supposed to give him immortality, so he wanted to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. Like my boss. But no. It’s the opposite. It was all a ploy to kill him.” At this point, the blonde was at loss for words. As a doctor and mechanic, he was quite frankly terrified of how devilishly clever Matsumoto was. But he couldn’t expect any less from him, could he?

They made it back to the car, and he could only stare aimlessly out the windshield, paralyzed. 

“That’s why we need you.” He heard him say. Turning to the man, albeit slowly, he felt a hand slap down on his shoulder. Allen gave him a lopsided grin. “You’re the smartest guy I know, second to my boss. You were always great at fixing stuff. Cars, enhancements, people--so what’s a mixture of all three?”

Arthur dug a hand through his hair stressfully. “... You’re kidding.” And yet, he already knew he was on board. “... Are you calling him a car?” 

The other flattened his lips. “... He technically could be.” 

“Just to be clear, I fucking hate you.” 

Allen laughed. “Sure.”

“But otherwise, we’re wasting time.” He couldn’t believe the words falling from his lips. This was really happening, wasn’t it? After taking him in as an apprentice for his auto shop, the roles were finally reversed. He no longer took charge as the teacher. Or rather, he became the student caught up in the most difficult assignment yet. Having a taste of Allen’s work. 

“That’s what I’m talking about!” 

***

Tower Lockdown

You had all the reasons in the world to be anxious coming home. 

On top of worrying over Alfred, who had hundreds of trained assassins coming at him all at once, during every minute of the heist, you had to face an aspect of reality you avoided until now. You were in the building, and he had already stolen the chip. It was slotted comfortably in his head, ready to leave the premises.

 How come your father never appeared? Was he really just going to let you go just like that?

But the real question was this--should you stay or leave? 

Yes, you hardly approved of anything he’d done. Done to the world like Alfred always mentioned, and to Alfred himself. But you weren’t prepared to abandon him yet. He was still your father, and the only family you had. If you had to make a decision, you needed some closure. If not, a discussion. 

And you expected him to give it to you as the least he could do. 

As Alfred stood among a pile of dead bodies bathing in red, his mantis blades trembled against a katana blade. Even with his hands full, he made the time to check on you. “(F/N)! Stay away from walls! Just hang on for a second longer!” He shouted, turning to you briefly before diverting his attention back to his opponent. “We’re nearly home free!” 

Pulling away to give him a swift jab in the chest, blood sprayed onto his face, but he wasn’t fazed.

What did, however, was the sight of you being thrown over the shoulder of one of the bodyguards. Color drained from his face and he burst into a sprint. 

“(F/N)! No!” Watching you disappear into an elevator, he slammed right into the closing metal doors. “Fuck!” He slammed his fist against them to hear a loud bang. Before he could linger too long, he hastily made his way to a door adjacent. The emergency stairs would take a hell lot longer, but as if he’d wait for the elevator to come back down. 

Even if he needed to climb up a hundred flights to get to you, he would--all the way to the penthouse where Matsumoto was. 

When those men approached you, there was no struggle on your end. You knew where they were going to take you. And you wanted them to. It could even be said you were relieved, because that meant your father was thinking of you. After a minute or so, the soft whirring fell silent, followed by a soft ‘ding’. 

They moved outside the elevator, and after a few steps, they set you down on your feet. Right in the middle of your father’s office. At the very end behind a desk sat the man himself, and he was eyeing you with an unreadable expression. Upon returning his stare, came an onslaught of emotions. But the most prominent was incapacitating anxiety.

Even as his daughter, you could never see through him. He was impossible to read. So you had no idea what to expect. 

“Dad... We need to talk.” You began, walking up to him warily. This was what you wished for at the start, cried for, even. To return home. And yet, the nervous pounding in your chest seemed to worsen with every step you took. It was jarring to confront how much had changed since then. So while you barely managed any words, you were already overwhelmed, struggling to choke back tears. 

“For once, I need to know what you’re thinking.” 

He inhaled deeply before responding. “I was under the same impression that we’d have this conversation.” Standing up from his chair, he furrowed his brows at the sight of you clenching the fabric of your pants. “Don’t look so nervous, child. You haven’t done anything to anger or disappoint me.” Reaching out to your head, he settled a hand on it. 

“... Really?” You whispered out. Hearing his assurances calmed you down a touch. But when you saw the forlorn gaze he cast down at you, your heart was crushed. “... Dad?”

Me!Me!Me!, Pt.2

Any existing contempt for him melted away just like that, but you weren’t upset at yourself for it. Your father hardly expressed any emotion besides calm indifference. And when he did, it always felt like the world was ending. 

“I’m the one who deserves your anger.” He clarified, lowering his hands to your shoulders. “I’ve left you by yourself for far too long, (F/N). I hope you don’t hold it against me that you had to come home yourself.” You hung your head, unable to meet his saddened gray eyes. If you were to hold a grudge at him for it, you’d start by avoiding his gaze. “And I understand why you would’ve wanted to help him. He has a way with words, and a naïve sense of justice. But it’s a warped perception of reality.”  

You’d hate to admit it, but no matter how cruel he seemed to be, there was a method to his madness. 

And you were perhaps the only person in the world to know it. 

That was why you were so torn. Torn between hating him and understanding him. After all, you couldn’t have both. “You can’t blame him after what you did to him.” Glancing up at that, you felt bile rise in your throat. Then, your vision blurred. “I don’t know what you’re aiming for--for this company, and this world. But you can’t expect him to accept this world you created when you stole him from his. He had a life!” 

Staring at him through hot tears, he breathed out a soft sigh before rubbing them away with a swipe of the thumb. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness. And I won’t expect you to forgive me even after telling you the reasons for my actions.”  

He pulled away from you to begin walking back to his desk, but not to sit down. Instead, he stood by the window to watch the blinking lights of skyscrapers and small moving dots of cars on the streets. “In a society that normalizes cybernetic enhancements, many forget what it is to be human. He never did. So of course, he would reject the idea of immortality. The destruction of the most human quality there is.” 

He paused briefly to scan the landscape.

“Mortality. One’s inevitable end gives everything they do meaning.” 

Wrinkles creased between your brows. It was confusing to hear him speak so highly of death, frustrating, even. Wasn’t he the one investing billions into correcting it like a flaw? “If that’s what you really think, then why? Why would you make something that would take that all away?” 

He held his hands behind his back. “To serve the greater good. A sacrifice, if you will.” The man turned to you, this time with a serious glower. “Alfred thinks I would commercialize it. Sell it to the public. But he’s wrong. Immortality will only be available to the leaders of the world.”

By leaders, you could only assume he meant people like him. Not politicians, but business men and women. Company owners. The most powerful forces of the present. “The inability to die is a curse. You never move on because you’re still breathing. But that may be just what the world needs. Stagnation. An absence of change.” 

It was daunting to know this man was your father. You couldn’t say you were born with half as many of these attributes he had. Intelligence was easily passed down, but there was something else written in his genes you could never dream of having. “With every passing year, decade, and century, humanity frays like a rope. Society continues to deteriorate... All until self-destruction becomes a matter of time.” Facing the window again, he scanned the impressive architecture he was proud to call his own. And it looked as pristine as it did yesterday. 

“The only way to stop this was to take control of it myself. And that’s how I came to found this company. I’ve found a way to govern the people. To invest in science as the world’s last and only hope. But it’s a job that will last eons, so I was prepared to do it until the end of time.” 

He was right in saying that society was inevitably doomed with the direction it was heading. That technology was the only solution, along with a world government. Matsumoto Optics. A cosmocracy with jurisdiction over the whole planet. There would be no wars. No conflict. And with only one state to call the shots, things could be done so much faster on a global scale. 

It was a radical concept to grasp, but you couldn’t say there was no logic to it. “Alfred was meant to do it with me. To reincarnate again and again as my closest aide on my quest to preserve the world. But he ended up being the opposite. My foil.” Matsumoto shook his head. “Alfred is a nostalgic soul. He’s too attached to the past. But the way of the old can never last with how fast it makes the world burn. Even if he realized that, he would want to exact revenge on me after what I’ve done to him.” 

“So before he destroys everything I’ve created, I have to destroy him first.” 

Him & I (with Halsey)

You tensed up all over, but before you could ask him what he meant by destroy, the doors burst open. The very subject of the conversation had appeared, and just in time for the conclusion of it. His arrival caught you completely off guard, successfully derailing your train of thought, but your father merely acknowledged his arrival. “Ah. Speak of the devil.” 

“Speak for yourself, you fucking demon.” He spat, marching over to your side to pull you into his chest. Immediately putting his hands all over your face, he was riddled with concern as he inspected you. “You okay? I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you in time. What are you still doing here? C’mon, let’s go.” While he reached down to your hand to lead you away, you stayed put. 

As relieved as you were to see him here, you couldn’t follow him out yet. You gave his hand a squeeze, then a soft smile of reassurance. Then, you turned to your father. 

This time, you held him in a firm stare. 

“Even if everyone thinks you’re crazy, I always knew you’d have some kind of justification for everything.” You started. Little did you know, you would take back this statement in the very near future. “But I can’t forgive you for what you did to Alfred. He never ended up doing anything you wanted him to, so giving him all those adjustments was pointless for you. But not for him. If you wanted to get rid of him, it wouldn't be easy.”

Matsumoto closed his eyes as if to agree. That was what you interpreted it as, at least. But unbeknownst to you, he was doing anything but. “I wouldn’t know what’s best for this world.” 

“But what I do know is that I won’t let you hurt him.” 

You spoke those words with a conviction so strong, Alfred’s eyes widened when he heard it. It wasn’t news you cared deeply for him, but to hear you say it to your father like that, and Matsumoto, no less, it made his mechanical heart pound more than he could fathom. You were actively disobeying him, a man you previously revolved your life around, for his sake. To say he was infatuated would be an understatement. 

You felt his grip on you tighten. 

“Say what you will, and I’ll respect your conviction. But I will come for him.” The bearded man murmured in a foreboding tone. A sinister light glinted in his dark gray irises. “And in the most unexpected way he could ever imagine. You will never want to see me again when that happens.” 

“If.” Your voice was a little strained. As much as you wanted to hate him and move on, you couldn’t. Every single fiber of your being was urging you to find a reason, any reason, to not despise the man who raised you. “If, dad. Because if you did, I really will never forgive you. I’ll hate you forever.” 

A grim expression contorted at his face. In his many decades on the planet, he’d never felt more dread. But one had to wonder if that was the right word. The regret had already arrived, because he’d already done something unforgivable. It was only a matter of time before you’d find out. “I’ve already done something to earn your unconditional hatred, child.” 

That was right. He’d killed Allen, your best friend and only other semblance of family in your life. And perhaps, the person you held the closest to your heart. “Soon, you will learn what it is. So I’ll let you leave today because you will never want to come back. I’d imagine that to be more… Convenient for you.” 

It was only your ignorance that blessed him this last moment. The last moment where you’d see him as your father with eyes unclouded by hatred. But it was short-lived. 

It didn’t take long for you to put two and two together, and in your short silence, you came to remember someone that had been gone for a while. Allen. 

Atlantis

You woke up in a cold sweat. For just one measly second as you oriented yourself, you weren’t tortured by a fury. Betrayal. Disgust. But it all came rushing back to you like the memories of that Godforsaken day you met with your father.

Sitting up with a deep frown, you felt heat build up around your face. It would be etched in your mind forever. The memory of Allen laying in the dump. Tossed out like a broken toy. Then, the stench of blood and rust as he was left for dead. 

You always knew your father was mad, but he kept on surprising you with how mad he was. Turning to the figure beside you, tears only overwhelmed your waterline to see his chest rise and fall steadily. 

He was still here. Alive and well. You could only hope the same for Allen.

It had been ten days since the heist. There hadn’t been a single sign of Matsumoto or his men, meaning Alfred really did do his research on the best places to hide. Climbing onto his form, you wound up laying on his chest. Then, you peered down at his sleeping face. 

As you got comfortable, you felt a smile creep onto your lips. If the you from a few months ago saw what you were doing, she’d be flabbergasted. Since when did you like him this much? 

Your cheeks grew a little rosy as you became self-aware of the position you were in. Full-on embarrassment hit you when he began to stir, but before you could get off of him, his eyes fluttered open. Uh oh. Now this warranted an explanation. 

For a second, he was confused, but when he saw that it was just you, he grinned lazily. “Morning, babe. Care to tell me why you’re not sleeping on your side of the bed?” 

He’d totally cornered you. And did he just call you babe? “Um... I, well... I woke up on you, so don’t get the wrong idea. I was just about to get off.” Sliding yourself off of him at that, you tried your damndest to simmer down. But he never gave you the chance. Rolling over to face you, he pulled you in around your waist much to your surprise. “Hey!” 

You never got around to pointing out that pet name, either. 

He caught you in a serious stare. “Don’t be so shy. We’re close, aren’t we?” Alfred was never one to beat around the bush. You knew that better than anyone, but that didn’t mean you were used to it. Lowering your head at that, you fixated on his chest. 

“... I guess so. That doesn’t mean I can sleep on you like that, though. And plus, it must’ve been uncomfortable.” 

“Nah. You’re light as hell.” He hummed. Sitting up with you on his lap, his statement became more apparent in how effortless he made it seem. “You’re like a few grapes, really. So don’t worry about it.” 

Why he chose to focus on that part of your argument was beyond you. Did he really not see anything wrong with what you were doing? Or maybe he did, and didn’t want to mention it. He’d been hugging you a lot lately the past week, but that wasn’t as deserving of your attention as spooning you while he slept. 

Wasn’t he pushing the envelope? It would make sense he was just trying to comfort you after your run-in with your father, and your discovery that he was the one who attempted to off your best friend. But wasn’t this a bit much? 

He wrapped his arms around your neck. There was nothing between you both, and yet, he was holding you like there was. Like you were his. 

"...” It was in his smile. It was different to how he always looked at you, as if there was finally something behind those electric blue irises. Something alive. Something hot. As you played around with the idea, you lit up like a Christmas tree and pushed his mouth away. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

Almost as if he read your mind, he relented. But only reluctantly. Picking you up from under your arms, he set you onto the mattress so he could get out of bed. Looking back at you over his shoulder, he gave your cheek an affectionate pinch. “Whatever you say. I’ll be back after a piss.” 

When he left the room, you were left to your own devices. As you brought your knees to your chest, you came to realize how tight it was. He’d only left for a few seconds, and you were already waiting for him to return. It was ridiculous to think about, but it was almost as if you missed him. Already.

Did spending all this time with him give you some kind of separation anxiety? 

Or was it something more? 

You couldn’t tell. 

The fact that he mentioned ‘I’ll be back’ suggested he was aware of your attachment to him. You buried your face into your knees. 

Turns out, you weren’t the only one having a hard time processing your feelings. 

When he disappeared into the bathroom, he pressed his back against the wall. Reaching up to his chest, he scrunched up a part of his shirt as the pounding in his heart subsided--his metaphorical one. Alfred didn’t think it was weird to find you on top of him like that, let alone dislike it. In fact, he loved it. It gave him a shred of hope that maybe, you did like him the way he liked you. 

But that didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t be with you. 

This was the fifth motel he’d been to after the heist. There was no saying he’d be dead by the end of the day. Not when your father was after his head. So he wasn’t about to start anything. That would be too selfish, even for him--though one had to wonder if ‘selfish’ could even describe him anymore. He was anything but. At least, for you he wasn’t. 

Alfred would only be proven right when he took a step towards the toilet. His vision started to glitch. Then, he lost his balance, falling over the sink and slamming his head against the mirror. “Fuck--!” Stumbling back onto his feet, he was engulfed in black for a few seconds. What the hell was going on? 

His bout of disorientation lasted for far too long to be normal.

Before he would start accepting the prospect of going blind, his vision returned. He thought he would celebrate that moment, but he forgot what he was even fussing about. What happened? Lowering his gaze to his hands, he stared at them for a while before looking back up. What was he doing here? Where was he? 

That was right. He was in a motel. With you. Running away from uncertain death. It took a minute or so to recall all of these things, and that was what alarmed him. It seemed like his body wasn’t accepting the chip very well. 

Temporary memory loss and blindness was just apart of the transition, right? 

Little did he know, it was anything but. 

Outside that very district sat two men in a car. Bags hung under their dull eyes as they scanned the streets as vigilantly as their sleep deprivation let them. It had been two days since they slept, but they wouldn’t rest until they found him. There were only four days until the damage was done.

If they didn’t get to the man before then, he would be as good as dead. 

#hetalia #Axis powers ヘタリア #Axis Powers Hetalia #hetalia fanfic #hetalia fanfiction #aph america #aph america x reader #america x reader #alfred f jones #cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #scifi #scifi-romance #2ptalia x reader #2p america x reader #2p! america #2p! america x reader #allen jones #arthur kirkland #aph england #alfredosauce50

[robotslenderman]

One of my vampire babies (don’t call him that to his face or he will fucking end you), Oliver Stonecreek.

More info under the cut. @orodrethsgeek, don’t look! :O

Oliver Stonecreek is a Tremere neonate who was born in 1939. He was the child of English immigrants in a violent marriage, who both worked at a Los Angeles university. He spent every spare moment he had roaming the library there to avoid going home until he was too tired to stay awake. Because of this, the local Tremere who might browse the library from time to time got familiar with his face.

One night in 1949, a young child was separated from her parents and ended up at the library. The librarians temporarily put her in Oliver’s care, as he was another child and less frightening towards her. Oliver entertained her with card tricks and sleight-of-hand. He did it with such expertise that he caught the attention of a nearby man whom Oliver only knew by face -- a man who introduced himself to Oliver as Maximillian Strauss.

Once Strauss had finished tracking down the girl’s mother, something he was able to do with uncanny ability, he expressed interest in Oliver’s skills. Oliver happily infodumped about magic tricks and fortune telling using normal playing cards.

Strauss would visit the library once or twice a week for a couple of years to mentor Oliver -- helping him with his essay skills and writing, teaching him more sleight-of-hand, and even very basic but actual magic. With Strauss’s encouragement, Oliver grew more interested in school and learning and his grades skyrocketed, showing an extraordinary intelligence and aptitude for academics.

Impressed by this, Strauss Embraced him in 1951 when Oliver was twelve years old, essentially rescuing him from his terrible home life. Oliver’s teachers eventually raised the alarm when Oliver never went back to school. As to what happened to his parents -- Oliver never found out.

Over time, Oliver’s homesickness faded and he came to see Strauss as his actual father, if not by blood, and basically “grew up” in Kindred society with a much better childhood than he’d have had otherwise, if a morally dubious one. Once he was released, he remained in the Los Angeles Chantry except for occasional travel.

Because of his eternally appearing twelve, Oliver is almost always accompanied by an adult ghoul posing as his parent so that nobody calls the police because he wanted to walk to his haven at 3AM. While the majority of Kindred know better, most Kine treat him like the child he looks like, which really pisses him off because he’s eighty fucking years old.

Unfortunately, most ghouls respond to the blood bond by trying to mother him, which irritates him to no end. He’s much luckier with his latest ghoul, Jeff, who’s never been so excited to basically do nothing in his life except say the words “yes, I’m fine with him doing that”, occasionally driving Oliver places, and also hitting random people over the head because Oliver is too short to feed from them while they’re vertical.

He is also friends with William Hector Barnett, an antique book dealer and one of Aisling Sturbridge’s servants, when he occasionally comes around making deliveries or pickups for her from New York City. Despite his status, Hector is unaware of the Masquerade and of their true natures as vampires. Oliver has decided that if Hector finds out anything that a human is not supposed to, maintaining the Masquerade is “Aisling’s problem.”

Hector, thinking Oliver is a mortal but precocious 12YO boy, is constantly worried about Oliver’s wellbeing in the Chantry and the apparent indifference of his “father”, Jeff. Oliver has had to improvise and pretend Amy Allegra, a fellow Tremere, is his mother.

Hilarity ensued.

Now the LA Chantry get their kicks from watching poor oblivious Hector interact with Oliver like the latter is an intelligent human kid. For the most part, Hector is subtle enough that Oliver quite likes him and only facepalms a little when Hector texts his “parents” with content advisory warnings about the books Oliver has ordered through him, and then groans and endures it whenever Amy mercilessly makes fun of him for this.

Otherwise, Oliver is the only Tremere that warmly welcomes the immortal human to the Chantry and treats him like a friend.

#faceclaims #my OCs #Oliver Stonecreek #other people's OCs #(Hector is Geek's OC) #VTM #Maximillian Strauss #Tremere

[imaginedhaven]

hi this is a rant i’m already sorry

i really think our goddess sarah j maas should have made aedion gay. because then we wouldn’t have had that incredibly awkward period where we were (or i was) like ¿incest? AND then we wouldn’t have the whole aedion and lysandra thing because that also kind of enraged me when during KoA when he treated her like crap and only came to his senses after aelin was fine. and also, there’s a strong chance he settles, right, so then we got that heartbreak because i think i remember shifters are not immortal? any thoughts?

anyways that’s all and i love all your writing; wildfire is *chef’s kiss* <3

Haha, rant away! I love rants. Have a rant back!

As a bisexual person myself, I have a... complicated relationship with Aedion. I want to love that he’s bi. I just wish that we’d SEEN that instead of just being told as a one-off line at the end from an otherwise-straight-presenting person (although a bi person choosing predominantly heterosexual or heterosexual-presenting relationships is also totally valid!). Or that we’d been told that... really anytime BEFORE when we were told. That’s a whole other rant that I don’t particularly want to go into huge detail on right now, though! Lol. I’m sure I have enough unpopular opinions as it is.

The suggestions between Aedion and Aelin didn’t bother me that much, personally? It was always someone outside suggesting it would be a good match to strengthen the Galathynius line’s ties to Wendlyn further, which is... pretty much why noble marriage was done in societies like we see in TOG. Especially in royalty, cousin marriage was SUPER common to “keep bloodlines pure”, which is dumb but it’s a thing that happened. Aelin and Aedion both found the suggestion laughable the whole time, so that was enough for me to just kind of shrug it off.

Aedion and Lysandra, oh how I want to love thee. I completely agree that Aedion was 100% an ass to her throughout a large chunk of KoA. I also think it was... kind of odd how quickly he went from 0 to 100 on their relationship in the beginning, though? It’s part of why I decided to go with her being his mate in Rules of Engagement, I needed some kind of explanation for why he was just so completely GONE on her. Their whole relationship is... well, I have questions lol. For what it’s worth, though, I do think it’s not a bad thing that he’s not perfect. I certainly get angry with my spouse, and I like to think the stakes are far lower in my household! Do I wish he’d been a little more understanding? Absolutely. But I think it fits with his personality and his character traits that he just... wasn’t, at least not for a while, and then realized he’d been a jerk. Rather Aelin-like of him, in a way!

Ah, Settling. I do think that Lysandra is supposed to live a normal mortal life? I don’t think shifters settle, based on what research I’ve done into it. As someone who is half Fae, it is likely but not guaranteed that Aedion WILL Settle. If I were a primary-Lysaedion writer, I would absolutely want to get into a scene of their discussion should that ever happen! After all, we’ve seen that those who do Settle into effective immortality can yield that--we’ve seen examples of that in Mala Fire-bringer, and in Lorcan as well. I think Aedion would want to give up that longevity and just share a life with her, while she would want him to enjoy the full potential of his life. (I love exploring those difficult moments and conversations. I just don’t think I’d ever do it for Lysaedion.)

I, uh, think that covers most of it? I think my rant is almost twice as long as yours now, lol, so don’t feel bad! As for your comments about my writing, thank you so much! I’ve loved sharing it with you guys and you’ve all made me feel so very welcome as I try to figure out this whole tumblr thing while also joining a new-to-me fandom!

#asks #wow this really turned into a whole ass rant #sorry not sorry