#because Normal was in death savings and barely conscious if I remember (might be wrong)

[7-deadly-simpin]

Could I get the brothers reactions to if mc fought a noble, just a demon that's pretty close to their rank? How would they go about getting mc away from them and then reprimanding the demon?

Yes, of course! I wasn't sure if you wanted them as a group or to each their own, so I gave them each a spotlight. Enjoy! (Also may have gone a little overboard with Satan...oop)

Demon Brothers React to MC Fighting a Noble-Status Demon

Lucifer

Absolutely livid.

A little surprised that you had the gaul to scream at another demon of that rank.

Mc...seriously?

Why would you EVER put yourself in such a position?

Remember how he & his brothers have tried to kill you before???

Belphie SUCCEEDED

Doesn’t care what the fight is about, he holds you to much higher standards.

Will get in between you both in an instant and transform.

You are LUCKY only words had been exchanged at that point.

If you had been hurt, even he is not sure what he would have done.

Gives you a glare that shakes you to your very core, but not as bad as the demon who even DARED to lay a hand on you.

Demon receives a lecture that could probably bore him to death, but they aren’t that lucky.

Don’t get it twisted, the demon will be tortured, but it happens while Lucifer paces back and forth telling them absolutely everything they did wrong.

The eldest is too prideful to allow some demon to hurt MC, regardless of who they think they are.

Mammon

This demon surprisingly likes to avoid confrontation as much as possible.

(seriously, how often do we actually see him in demon form other than events at the Demon Lord’s Castle?)

He’s also a bit curious as to WHY you would raise your voice at a demon of that status?

Sure you yell at him and his brothers here and there, but to be fair, even Mammon knows they all mess up sometimes.

Ripped awake from his thought the literal second he sees this ‘hoity toity’ demon try and hit you.

He wants to destroy the demon, he really does, but MC is top priority.

Being the fastest of his brothers, except Lucifer, he whisks MC away before the demon can even finish blinking.

His mind is racing a mile a minute and he accidently yells “ARE YOU FUCKING DEAD?!” instead of “Are you okay?” or telling the noble demon “You’re dead!”

He doesn’t care about anything other than your safety and will fly to the House of Lamentation immediately.

Very protective over MC and refuses to let the other brothers touch them.

If anyone is mad, he will take full blame for the situation. He doesn’t care, you being safe is all that matters to him.

Levi

Is more shocked than anything that you’re standing up to a demon of equivalent reputation to him.

Becomes visibly distressed when you try and HIT that same demon.

Are you INSANE?! I mean, maybe a little since you seem to handle him and his brothers no problem, but…this was a completely different circumstance.

That demon had no obligation to protect you, let alone let you live.

The high status demon growls low and Levi knows it's only a matter of time before this demon tears you to shreds.

Levi musters up all his courage, you better appreciate this, to talk down this normie demon from hurting you.

The demon chuckles in his face. Oh…

And then the demon grabs you by your neck. You struggle, but quickly stop as something more frightening catches your attention.

Levi, standing in demon form who in the scuffle SUMMONED LOTAN.

Has Lotan deal with the disrespectful demon while he grabs you and rushes you to safety.

Could care less if he gets in trouble right now, he just saved his best friend, his Henry.

Satan

You just bitch slapped a demon with the same status as him and his brothers!

Not that he’s surprised, you’ve had to knock some sense into each of them from time to time.

IMPRESSED AS HELL though, might be slightly turned on.

Becomes immediately aggravated when he sees the demon retaliate. You fall to the floor and Satan is on the brink of losing it.

He plans to have words with the degenerate...but then you turn to him. Blood trickling down your head.

This man cannot, and WILL NOT contain his anger any longer. MC is hurt and Satan is going to make the demon wish they were dead.

MC basically has to group video call everyone for help because Satan is in a full on brawl with this demon.

You’ve never heard such demonic growls and snarls in your life, it actually scares you.

There is a circle around them chanting “fight, fight, fight!”

The brothers rush over. Belphie and Mammon are on crowd control.  Asmo and Levi are making sure you’re okay. Meanwhile Lucifer and Beel are holding back Satan from throwing another punch.

The thing is, they understand his anger. They aren’t all that upset with him. Just worried about you both.

Lucifer and Mammon will have to straighten things out. Mammon isn't the best with his words but he loves his brothers and will do what he has to in order to see that Satan receives a very mild punishment at best.

Asmo

Initially upset because he thought the high rank demon was trying to hit on you.

If anyone was going to hit on MC and succeed, surely it would be the marvelous Asmodeus.

A quick scan over of body language and he knows his initial hypothesis was dead wrong.

This demon looks aggravated and has their hands balled up into a fist.

Queue the most disgusted yelp you have ever heard leave Asmos lips.

Who in the Devildom does this demon think they are?!

Don’t you dare even look at Asmos precious MC the wrong way!

Struts his beautiful self next to you. If he can’t stop you from fighting, he will be the baddest B back up.

The only one to place an arm around your shoulder to try and bring you back to reality as he talks down to the pathetic demon who even had a thought of injuring you.

Sees you return to your senses and look grateful for him stepping in before things get worse. Living with a bunch of demons on the daily can make a human feel more powerful than they are after all.

He will use his charm on the demon to get them to forget they were even upset with you.

Makes sure to take you back home and ask if you’d like a face mask or any relaxing bath bombs.

Beel

He isn’t quite sure what happened, but Beel can clearly see you are beyond frustrated with the demon in front of you.

He knows MC can be feisty with him and his brothers, he doesn’t mind, you’re family after all.

But this was some strong demon you decided to pick a fight with.

He notices the Demon losing its patience as well. He needs to get you out and fast.

He won’t let his family get hurt ever again, he WILL NOT let what happened to Lilith happen to you.

Now, Beel is normally pretty self conscious about his size, he doesn’t like looking as intimidating as he does...but you’re in trouble, he will use everything he can to his advantage to keep you safe.

Quickly places himself in front of MC and tries to speak to the demon.

The demon was so focused on you, it wasn’t until they PUNCHED Beel that they realized what happened.

Beel doesn’t care, he barely felt it. For a high rank demon, he sure is weak by comparison.

However, Beel is VERY aware that punch was meant for you. He will not let this go unpunished.

The demon looks up at Beel who easily towers over them and begins to slowly back away, apologizing profusely.

Beel contacts his brothers in front of the now frightened Demon. He doesn’t mind them handling it, he’s focused on making sure you aren’t shaken up.

Plus that weak punch really just made him hungry.

Belphie

He fell asleep in class….again.

Which MC should be really thankful for this time.

He wakes up to the scene of you slapping away the hand of a reputable demon.

Unsure of what is going on, but already on alert Belphie watching from afar, to see how the situation plays out.

Belphie is good at reading body language, and notices MCs' small huff and how they hold themselves when the demon talks down to them.

Seeing you clearly uncomfortable, he makes his way over to you.

No one should ever make you feel anything like that, especially not some random demon.

Belphie will slouch on you and pretend the demon is of no importance. He doesn’t give a damn about status.

Interrupting the demon may have not been the best choice of action as they become agitated at the new annoyance in front of them.

Belphie turns with his signature glare and suddenly the demon recognizes the youngest of the brothers.

A demon of his status is aware of Belphie and his feelings towards any authority figure.

Any demon crazy enough to want to go toe to toe with the future demon king is too much of a hassle to deal with anyways.

Also, what kind of crazed demon would try and mess with the baby of an entire family of powerful demons?

You both end up back at the House of Lamentation and Belphie expects head pats for his rescue.

#obey me hcs #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me! headcanons #obey me imagine #obey me x gn!reader #gn! mc #gn! reader #obey me! hcs #200 follower event

[sadachmesarthim]

coercive notions - stucky

content: semi-graphic violence, blood, minor character deaths, emotional manipulation and abuse, false imprisonment, kidnapping, torture in the form of nonconsensual body modifications, stockholm syndrome.

dead dove: do not eat. steve sucks big time in this one. i’m not really sorry about it. 

note: happy 6k followers to @sweeterthanthis​ !!! i love the idea of these prompts, they definitely did their job !! i was thrilled when i saw i got my quote of choice. this one’s based on ”i wish i knew how to quit you” from brokeback mountain (my favorite angsty husbands) 

if the timeline is nonsensical in this - think 2 years post engame but no one's actually died! there is also some background starker but it's only mentioned twice. this is my first time writing for steve and bucky, and my first ~dark~ piece. it was definitely the challenge it presented itself as, and i’m super thankful for the opportunity to participate alongside so many talented witers!! 

word count: 4.2k ; read time 15 minutes

Steve'd survived because of Bucky. 

Bucky was the one that kept the fevers at bay, bought him medicine, nursed him back to health even when neither of them thought he'd survive through the night. Bucky was the one that dragged him out of the river, and left him alive on the bank.

Left him to wake up. 

Bucky was the one that welcomed him with open arms when Steve was abandoned by the Avengers. Steve'd lost his home, his family - everyone and everything he had - when the world rejected him (the millionth time). Bucky was the one that came back. He'd lost his arm, his identity, everyone and everything he remembered - but he still ran to Steve without hesitation. No matter how far away they got, no matter what separated them, they always came back to one another. 

They got together right after the fight with Tony in Siberia. 

They'd found each other, and suddenly gained a future. 

Steve had never... really pictured himself having a future. When he was younger, he accepted that he'd die young. A fever that wouldn't break, a cough that wouldn't leave, pneumonia he couldn't beat... Then he joined the army. He suddenly... had possibilities.

But there was still war, he was still fighting, and he was still in the line of danger every single day. It didn't matter if he was fighting Hitler, homophobia, Hydra, - someone was always gunning for him. Someone was always trying to get him killed. And it worked! He died! Crashed straight into the ocean and froze, for seventy fucking years!

Until someone had the audacity to defrost him, and yet again force him into the line of fire. Without really consulting him first. It was something Steve was slowly coming to terms with - he’d always be fighting, always be serving, always be protecting. 

He’d been failing his job as a protector, lately. 

+//////+

They all thought it was a bit weird, but then again, so is living with two men that look seventy years younger than they actually are. So is living with your coworkers. So is being a superhero. So of course none of the other Avengers said anything. 

Not when Bucky started asking Steve permission for things - to get up from, and leave, the table after meetings. If he could get seconds during breakfast or dinner. If he was allowed to come on patrols or missions. Everyone just assumed it was a forties thing, or that it was just Bucky getting more comfortable around them. The dirtier minds of the group (Tony, Peter, Natasha) chalked it up to a kinky sex thing. 

Steve saw it as devotion. 

Bucky saw it as a way to keep him appeased. 

See, Steve'd gotten more... irritable, lately. Every time Bucky got hurt on patrol, was in a bad position during a mission, needlessly volunteered to do something dangerous  - it pissed Steve off to high heavens, for no reason. It'd gotten significantly worse over the course of a few months, to the point where Bucky could barely breathe without Steve getting upset. 

It came to a head one day when Bucky got pinned during a fight with New York's latest nuisance. He wasn't even supposed to be there, it was his day off, for fucks sake. But he'd heard the call go out, and suited up before following a few minutes behind the rest of the crew. 

This particular species of big nasty™ (a xorrian dog? Thor had called it?) had an... upsetting taste for live, warm flesh. He popped up outta nowhere over Manhattan during the Friday morning rush, apparently scouting Earth for the next course in their Milky Way Dinner Service. 

Bucky, self sacrificing moron that he is, was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just as Steve laid down the final blow, narrowly avoiding the alien's jaw, Bucky slid underneath it, shoving his hand between the soft plating of the monster's stomach. He reached in, single-handedly gutting the thing while Steve put a shield-sized dent in its skull.

Their foe dropped almost instantly, crushing Bucky beneath several tons of dead weight. None of them would have known he was there, either, if Tony hadn’t programmed life-sensing protocols in a new combat arm he’d gifted the soldier for his second anniversary home and Hydra-free. A signal went to Tony’s suit the instant FRIDAY sensed structural integrity issues, sending him a precise location.

“What do you mean he’s here, babygirl? We didn’t call him in.” The worry in Tony’s voice was apparent, calling the attention of the rest of his team. They were all intrigued, prematurely pulled from their celebrations of a fight well won. 

“It seems that Sergeant Barnes is approximately twenty paces northwest of your location, and his elevation is slowly decreasing. Would you like a map of the area?”  

“Uhh, no Fri. I think I know exactly where he is. Cap, get your ass over here!” His heart rate was increasing by the second. If he thought correctly (as Tony almost always did), Bucky was... underneath the alien. “We need to pick this fucker up, or flip it, or something. I think Bucky’s stuck under it.” 

Steve’s blood ran cold. “Tony, what the fuck are you talking about? Bucky wasn’t part of the group today.” 

Steve didn’t hide his anxiety well when it came to Bucky. Their team knew that he was Steve’s whole world. One more life threatening situation, and Steve might actually die from old age with all the years Bucky’d stressed out of him. FRIDAY sending a detailed ping with Bucky’s combat arm location didn’t do anything to ease his anxiety, either. He knew it was just like Bucky to do something like this - jump in without word, all act and no think. Try to help his team out and wind up crushed by an alien pet the size of a 787.

Peter was next to them, soon, ready to help get this thing off their friend. Together, they managed to drag Mister Beast-of-the-Week far enough down the street, revealing a very unconscious, very bloody Winter Soldier nestled in the asphalt. 

Steve was on him in a second, picking Bucky up with both hands. Tony already had FRIDAY doing preliminary scans and sending them back to Cho and Strange. Initial reads weren’t terrible, all things considered, but he still looked like shit. He might be five hundred times stronger than the average man, but no one’s prepared to be stuck under 200 tons of pure xeno-reptilian mass. Not even Bucky Barnes. 

His head rolled back freely as Steve picked him up, exposing an already bruised and swelling jaw. Steve’s breath caught in his throat, choking him on his own shock. Saved by the bell, Cho called Tony back immediately, sending for one of them to bring him to the tower surgical site immediately. 

“We have to go, Steve. Let us take him, we’ll get him fixed. We’ve done it before. We can do it again. But you have to let him go.” Steve’s upward glance brought him Tony’s exasperated face. He was dizzy, everything felt like slow motion. 

He didn’t register the movement until he saw it, watching Peter’s hands as they held him back. Tony took Bucky’s lifeless form, carrying him toward Stark Tower and away from the wreckage. 

The wreckage he shouldn’t have been anywhere near in the first place. 

The wreckage he wouldn’t even have known about if he didn’t beg Tony to be included in all mission alerts. 

The wreckage he would have avoided if it weren’t for the martyr complex he’d had since birth. It might not be nearly as strong as Steve’s, but it was still there. Bucky’d always gone to obscene lengths protecting the people he loved. 

Steve had a track record of doing a piss poor job of repaying the favor. He couldn’t save him from the war. He couldn’t save him from the train, or from Hydra. He couldn’t save him from Thanos. He couldn’t even save him from a stupid little skirmish downtown. No, from where he was standing, Steve’d fucked up. Big time. 

He promised that day, he wasn’t going to let anything like this happen again. 

+//////+

It was weeks before he was back to normal, and even then - Bucky wasn't entirely sure he wanted to leave. Not because he was still sore, or not feeling up to par. In fact, he'd been antsier and more ready to get back into the field than ever. He missed his friends, he missed the people he fought evil with every day. He missed sparring with Sam and going on runs with Peter, listening as Thor regaled stories about Old Asgard no one.. could quite follow. Missed the twice weekly calls from Shuri. But most of all, he missed his freedom. 

Steve wasn't ready to give it to him. 

When he woke up after surgery, Steve was right next to his recovery bed. He almost looked like he did back in the day - sleep deprived, worry lines forcing their way to the surface of his face. Vague frustration enveloped him, even when he met Bucky's conscious form for the first time. 

Their first few conversations were tender, loving, but it didn't take long for them to sour. 

Steve'd insisted on bringing Bucky back to their shared floor immediately after he woke. He allowed Cho to look him over, FRIDAY to scan him, everyone to come say hi - but he never let Bucky out of his sight. Not while Bucky was awake, anyway. 

He slept a lot in those first few days. He was still healing, and while it might have been much faster than anyone expected, he was also recovering from what should have been several deaths over. He spent most of his time in bed, asleep, or talking to Steve. 

Most of it was lecture, some was praise. How stupid he was to get involved on his day off. How much Steve loved him. How he wasn't allowed to go being a martyr like that again. How much Steve loved him. How Steve was going to do a better job of watching over him from now on. How much Steve loved him. 

There was a lot of that, after Bucky woke up. How much Steve loved him. How important Bucky was to him, how much it meant to him that Bucky was alive and breathing and conscious and okay. Every time he got a lecture, or a reminder, Steve's hand was on him somewhere. His shoulder, his wrist, his face. His throat. Every time he spoke, he squeezed, just the tiniest bit. Not threatening, not even to force acknowledgement. Just.. Because he could. To the untrained eye, it was just physical contact. 

Bucky knew better. 

Bucky knew conditioning when he saw it. When he felt it. 

Bucky also knew he was significantly more susceptible to conditioning than most people. 

Bucky was fucked. 

+//////+

Tony didn't think anything of it when Steve asked for handcuffs that could hold a supersoldier back. He, too, was a pervert with a genetically enhanced super-boyfriend, who was he to deny the Captain a little fun? He'd designed restraints Peter could use without breaking (or hurting himself!), why not share the love?

No one thought anything of it when Bucky stopped joining them on missions. Trauma has a different effect on everyone, maybe Bucky just needed time to process almost dying (again). No one would blame him for it. Hell, most of them encouraged his staying home. 

None of them... really thought anything of it when he quit leaving altogether. They trusted Steve's judgement, and if he didn't think Bucky was ready to leave, then he wasn't. Bucky knew better than to defy him, too - just kept his mouth shut around "yes, Steve"s and "okay, Steve"s.

The conditioning didn't stop as he got stronger. He'd been back to 100% weeks ago, but Steve was still babying him. Carrying him to the shower, not letting Bucky bathe himself, or brush his own teeth. He couldn't dress or eat without help, go anywhere without asking. "I just want to keep you safe. I need to know that you're not going to get hurt." Steve's words remained calm, level, but his face betrayed the threat behind them. If you don't listen, you won't be able to leave at all. 

Bucky'd learned the hard way that if he didn't listen to Steve, he wouldn't have a choice. He'd attempted to leave their floor by himself while Steve was out on a mission with Tony, Nat, and Thor - he got up early, showered, got dressed. His first taste of freedom in a long time, he was so excited to go see everyone again. 

He was downstairs and halfway through breakfast with Bruce and Peter when Steve got back. 

+//////+

Bucky couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sun. It's a familiar feeling to him, one he thought he'd never deal with again. The isolation. The lack of control. The fear. 

Steve initially hadn't looked mad. He let Bucky finish his meal, kept a distant but watchful eye over the group until the two others finished and moved on to their lab work downstairs. 

Bucky knew he was fucked. He'd broken rules. He'd left their room without permission. Steve might not have looked it, but Bucky could feel the anger and disappointment radiating off him. 

After that... He wasn't allowed to do anything. 

No workouts, no missions, no patrols. No leaving their room. Steve'd used the restraints Tony made - had him thoroughly tied down to the floor below their bed. No internet, no phone. Not a single book or movie or boardgame in sight. Good boys don't require entertainment to behave. No eating - Steve'd placed a gastric tube down his sinus to provide nutrition. His muzzle, the one hydra'd used... Steve'd locked it over his jaw, and left it there. Good boys don't need to use their mouths - not to drink, not to eat. Not to talk back or call for help.  No using the bathroom on his own - he had a catheter replaced once a day, and Steve changed his bag as needed. Good boys don't get to leave the bed, not even if it's an emergency. 

He learned to wait for Steve. Learned his schedule - early morning meetings with Wakanda, check ins with Fury and Maria, patrol a bit after lunch. Then, he'd come back, make sure Bucky's bag was empty and his feeding tube was flushed and clean before feeding him. 

Steve allowed him to use the bathroom and shower at night, under incredibly watchful eyes. The restraints Tony'd made were long enough to stretch the entire perimeter of their room, but Steve kept him on a short leash. Bucky had five minutes total - shit, shower, shave. If he didn't finish in time... There's always tomorrow. 

If he did, he'd get rewarded. 

Steve'd wrap him up in a large fluffy towel, carry him to bed. He'd bring back the sweet little reminders, with his hand around Bucky's throat. How much Steve loved him. How this was all for his protection. How Steve wasn't going to let anything happen to him, ever again. How proud Steve was of him, for letting him return that favor, even decades later. How well behaved Bucky was, how good he'd been for Steve.

Steve was so different from Hydra, too. That's what made it so fucking difficult to resist the love bomb-type conditioning. He wasn't the torture type - didn't like the idea of doing anything he didn't have to. Steve didn't want to hurt him, and Bucky knew that. He found it harder to reject Steve's advances the longer he was locked in that fucking room, found it harder to discern whether or not he... wanted... to reject it.  

He was Bucky's dialysis, and his drinking problem. 

He was Bucky's oxygen machine, and the cigarettes he'd smoked to earn him one. 

Steve could ask Bucky to do anything, ask him for anything... and he was powerless to say no. He'd tried. 

+//////+

It'd gotten him a flick to the mouth, for his hesitation. 

"When I ask you a question, love, you need to answer me. Do you understand?" The tears in his eyes nearly spilled over, sharp pain from his lips radiating into his nose and the corners of his eyes. He didn't want to answer. He wanted to leave. He wanted to run, to get the fuck away from Steve and the compound and everything. 

"Yes."

"Yes what, angel?" Steve might've been good about keeping his emotions checked in public, but Bucky could tell he was smug. Gloating. He enjoyed this. What'd happened to the sweet kid from Brooklyn that could barely hold himself upright? Bucky missed him. 

"Yes, Stevie. I’m sorry Stevie." Saying his name was painful. This wasn't his Steve. This wasn't the Steve he'd fallen in love with. Wasn't even the man that'd dragged him out from underneath that alien... How long ago? Months? Years? 

Bucky didn't know anymore. 

Didn't know why his friends hadn't saved him yet. Didn't know how his absence went unnoticed for... however long it'd been. Didn't know why he was struggling to be upset about it all. 

Steve, observant as he was, could practically see the gears turning in the other's head. He cradled Bucky's face in his hands, drawing him into calculated eye contact. Bucky felt sick. There was something... wrong, there. Something Bucky'd never seen before. 

"They don't love you like I do, Buck. They don't want you. They don't love you." 

Bucky flinched at the words, physically recoiling from Steve's grasp. He knew it wasn't true, he knew... He thought it wasn't, right? 

Steve's laugh pulled Bucky out of his own thoughts, bringing him back to the room in front of him. He had a display up, with various recordings of the rest of the Avengers. He flipped through them, muting and unmuting seemingly at random. 

"... I mean, he's probably ditched us for Zemo again. Would that really shock you?"

"he almost died again. I don't blame him, i wouldn't want to be found eith-"

"-e can take care of himself, let's just give him time."

Steve waved the holo display away when he saw the first few tears fall. "Don't you see, Baby? They don't care like I do - they don't love you like I love you. No one will ever love you like I love you." Steve's words stung, but Bucky couldn't deny that they made sense. Of course no one was looking for him. He was unpredictable, still kind of an outsider. Why would they try to come find him? Why would they care?

Bucky's mouth moved before his brain could stop him.

"'m sorry, Stevie, please, I'm so sorry! I-I- I thought they cared, please, please don't leave me Stevie! I was so wrong, Steve please! Wish I knew how to stop, Stevie, but you know I can't. You gotta help me stop Stevie, I've been so confused, been tryin' to quit you Stevie but I can't. Wish I could quit you but I can't, I can’t be left alone anymore. Please, you can take my arm if you want it, Stevie. Take anything, take whatever you want from just please, please don’t leave me alone anymore!"

He was in hysterics at this point, unable to believe what was coming out of him. Was he really okay with Steve taking his arm away? Did he really love this Steve back? Was he just scared?

The worst part was that he couldn't tell. 

+//////+

The smell of fresh coffee woke him before he was ready. His eyes burned, still dry after Steve refused to close the window before they went to bed. 

Bucky would have closed it himself, but he couldn't actually reach that far. 

They'd moved out to the cabin a few months after Bucky finally broke realized how wrong he was. It was a cute little place, big enough for the two of them but small enough to not draw attention if someone came upon it by accident. Not that they really could. Steve'd installed motion sensors five miles out, and had fully automated... solutions, in place, should any threats or issues arise. 

They went entirely unused. 

It really was a beautiful plot of land - they had a few animals, a cute pair of kittens to dote on and play with. He had enough room to move around, to sit in the sun or curl up in bed. He had plenty of books, games, anything and everything he could want to occupy his time, really. He had Steve. 

And breakfast now, apparently. 

Steve set the plate on the bedside table, gently sitting next to his lover and planting small kisses on his still shut eyelids. Bucky looked up and smiled, blushing at the hand that'd wrapped around his neck. He reached out, gently thumbing at the inside of Steve's wrist. Oh, how he'd missed this. Missed contact with his Steve. 

He opened his mouth, accepting the bite Steve offered him. Steve always made the best pancakes, he thought, appreciating the hot meal hitting his tongue. He hadn't eaten this good in weeks. It was hard for him to cook without his arm, but Steve always provided. Steve cooked for them, cleaned up after them, made sure Bucky was sated. Safe. 

He'd taken off for a mission nearly a month ago. A dangerous one, he'd said. One he might not return from for a while, he'd said. Bucky worried. He always did when Steve left, especially since he couldn't know where or why he was going. But Steve always came back to him. Sometimes, he was back in one piece. Once, he'd come home with an arrow in his stomach and several gunshot wounds. That'd been a... scary night. Another time, he came home with half of his hair singed off and his clothes in tatters. 

Last night... Last night he finally came home, and he looked like shit. 

He was covered in bruises, nearly 40 pounds lighter than he was when he'd left. There were holes in the shield, too large to be bullets but too small to be anything else easily recognizable. Some were through his suit, too - puncture wounds littering his chest and stomach. They were already partially closed, but he was still bloody. 

There were still webs in his hair, too - Bucky brushed them away after Steve closed (and locked. always locked.) the door. He knew better than to comment. Steve was just protecting him. Steve loved him, he was doing what he needed to keep Bucky safe. 

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt. That each time Steve left for a mission, Bucky cried himself to sleep. He thought, eventually, that the pain would go away. That the death of each of his friends would get easier, somehow. That the fear, the hope, of losing Steve would stop consuming him. 

He'd just smiled, kissed his husband's cheek, and helped him strip down. He'd mouthed at the graze left on the side of Steve's neck, reverent in the presence that was his protector. Bucky'd developed quite the complex, in their time of isolation. Every time Steve came in - from cutting firewood, picking food from the garden, feeding the animals, or from nights like last... Bucky just couldn't stop talking. 

About how he wouldn't be alive without Steve. How he'd still be a mindless slave for Hydra, killing innocent people under everyone's noses. How he owed Steve his life, a thousand times over. How he'd've been taken by Ross or Stark or Clint or someone, and locked away miles under the sea. He'd pressed them into Steve's jaw like kiss-coated secrets, like no one in the entire world knew these things but Bucky & Steve. Like they were bits of information to cherish, to chew on and savour before swallowing. 

Steve just laughed, picking Bucky up and bringing him to bed. He followed shortly after, cleaning and patching himself up before snuggling right up to Bucky. 

Sleeping was interesting, initially, but they'd adapted. It was easier to cuddle Bucky without his arm, but sometimes Steve woke up with his legs tangled in loose chains by the footboard. It was an easy enough trade, in Bucky's opinion. Give up his arm, give up a bit of freedom, and get a loving, devoted husband in return? One that would make him breakfast in bed, one that would hold him and kiss him and praise him whenever he needed? One that would kill for him? Die for him?

Bucky saw it as a fair enough trade, and if that meant their friends needed to die... He tried not to think about it.

#quotemeonit6kchallenge #sweeterthanthis #there's a lot of tw tags on this bc i want to be safe #i'm not used to writing full length fics so this was definitely a challenge for me #steve rogers/bucky barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes #graphic violence #kidnapping #torture #emotional abuse #manipulation #tw violence #tw kidnapping #tw abuse #tw manipulation #stockholm syndrome #tw stockholm syndrome #murder #tw murder #.mine #.text #.fic #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #bucky barnes/steve rogers #bucky barnes x steve rogers #dark!steve rogers

[the-black-birb]

Rekindle [Futakuchi Kenji]

Pairing: Futakuchi Kenji x Reader

Summary: Futakuchi gets a phone call from an old triend and soon finds himself in over his head.

A/N: Had to write this bc @miyulovestowrite 's smau had me thinking ab the futacoochie 😔✌ I never intended this to be this long but it looks like it's gonna be multiple parts!!

I listend to Katelyn Lapid's "When Somebody Love Me" and Death Bed by Powfu when writing this so that's?? The inspo

[Part 1] / Part 2 / Part 3

Without a doubt, most people that met Futakuchi Kenji would agree he had an awful personality. Whether it was in conversation or on the court, he was particularly skilled at provoking people just enough that they couldn’t quite call him out on it, but they still left with a bad taste in their mouth. His actions were almost always for his own benefit, he was rather selfish, and there was positively sour. This was the general consensus of Futakuchi Kenji, and he worked everyday to live up to his reputation.

Among all the people he’d met, you were the exception.

Even when he was bitter and angry, your soft hands would cup his cheeks and tell him everything was alright. When he was fuming, you’d press yourself to his chest, all love and warmth, and relax into him. Your presence was a lullaby, calming him and helping him. No matter how little he deserved it, you’d stand by his side no matter what. When rumors and voice engulfed him, wondering why you’d ever choose him, you’d be cradling him in your and pressing soft kisses to his hair promising you were the only one for him.

Your unwavering confidence in him was one of the reasons he’d never deleted your number from his contacts after the two of you split ways. It wasn’t really a conscious decision he’d made, but since Futakuchi had never held any ill will to you it had never really occurred to him that it might be strange to keep an ex’s number saved.

His memories of you were almost exclusively positive. Even his low moments and your rough patches were illuminated by the comfort you’d always provided each other. He kept all his photos of you and on the occasion that he found them while browsing his camera roll, he’d always smile fondly (one time, his teammates had seen and thought he was possessed).

Despite the impact you’d left on him, Futakuchi hadn’t spoken to you since the two of you broke up. Although you’d initiated the conversation, the end was entirely mutual (or so he told himself). You were going to college far away and he wanted to keep playing volleyball as well as attending college and you were certain it simply wouldn’t work out. Although it stung a bit, Futakuchi couldn’t bring himself to harbor any anger towards you.

You’d always been like a guardian angel to him, looking out for him and yourself. He couldn’t get mad at you for simply wanting the best for yourself.

While his friends insinuated it was quite possibly the most mature Futakuchi had ever reacted to, well, anything, he’d been more focused on seeing the path forward. If you were going to move on with your life and make yourself better, he couldn’t disappoint you by wallowing over a relationship that was long gone.

And so, despite the immense impact you’d had on him, Futakuchi hadn’t thought about you in years. He’d decided to focus on the now, his volleyball team and his job, before he’d let his thoughts drift back to you.

But he’d never forget you. Every time he got irritated, he’d remember your touch, lingering on his shoulder. Every time he drank chamomile tea, he’d recall you treating him after every game. Each time his friends teased him on his bachelorhood, he’d think about your hand firmly in his. There were traces of you everywhere, even if he’d never admit it.

Yet he thought of all places, his mind would be clear of you in a volleyball stadium. Even when you wore his jersey and visited practices, volleyball was always his before it was yours together. When he continued to college, he was able to clear his mind of everything except the sport when he needed to. Even today, sitting next to his intimidating best friend and watching the old freak duo play each other, he hadn’t a worry in his mind except the outcome of the match.

Until his phone started ringing.

Even worse, it happened while that (“snotty-ass” as Futakuchi called him) setter was up to serve, just as the whole gymnasium quieted down. He was so concerned with the eyes drawn to him; he didn’t even take the time to look at the caller ID before he picked up. Instead, he muttered a quip “what?” to his mystery caller as he briskly left the stadium, finding someplace he could speak in quiet.

“Kenji?” the caller said.

His heart dropped.

“Is that you?” It was a female.

Even four years later, he’d recognize your voice easily. It was just as gentle as he remembered, if not for the specks of tension he could sense. You sounded scared.

Not really sure how to react to his ex, possibly the person he’d come closest to ever being in love with, called him after four years of radio silence he found himself breathing out a shallow “Yeah.” He swallowed his worries. “It’s me.”

Futakuchi was at a loss for words. Should he be excited? Concerned? Angry? No, never angry. He couldn’t be angry with you, no matter how much he tried. Instead, he was silent, waiting for you to speak.

“How’ve you been?” you ask and although your voice is light and you’re doing everything in your power to sound nonchalant, he can hear the nervousness in your voice. Whenever you were anxious, your voice would pitch up and your words would become so slightly forced. It was barely discernable from your normal cheering speaking voice, but he’d spent enough time listening you to know something was amiss.

“What’s wrong, [F/N]?” he only assumed you’d call him if you absolutely had to. You chuckled from the other side of the phone and he could picture your nervous smile, like the first you’d confessed to him (he thought you were joking, it took three more times for him to get the point and two times after that for him to finally ask you out). So clearly he could see the way your cheeks glowed, always giving away how you were feeling.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you assured him, betrayed by your tone. “I just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing.”

“[F/N].”

You grumbled at his stern tone. Of course, he saw through you, but what could you do about it? You at least wanted to attempt to be polite, but all sense of social norm was lost to Futakuchi. Concise and to the point, he hadn’t changed a bit.

“I need a favor,” you admitted. “I’m sorry I can’t ask anyone else I just-”

“I’ll do it.” Futakuchi was just as startled by his response as you were. He wasn’t sure what had taken over him, but in that moment, he was confident enough in his own stability to know whatever it was you needed, he could sacrifice some time for you.

You chuckled from the other side of the line and for a moment, Futakuchi pictured himself in his bedroom with you under him, his hands tickling at your sides as you laughed and protested. It sounded so familiar, yet so far away. “You don’t even know what I’m asking of you,” you reprimanded him.

“So tell me,” Futakuchi resolved, as if it was the easiest answer in the world. He heard your breath hitch before you spoke, nervousness clear. He’d do whatever he could to hear you relaxed and stress-free.

“My brother’s getting married,” you explained. Futakuchi remembered him; he was two years older than the both of you but far less intimidating than you. While he was an awfully sweet dude, Futakuchi had walked all over him in high school (because he let him!). “It’s a month from today and my mom’s pressuring me to bring a date. So, come with me?”

As much as he relished at the idea of seeing you dressed up and at his side, he knew there was more to this. “Why me?” he asked, voice uncharacteristically soft. It had been four years since you’d last spoken, yet you called him up on a Saturday noon for a date like nothing had changed between the two.

He heard you moving over the phone, likely shifting position to sit comfortably and think over your words. He gave you time to figure it out, because he always. Futakuchi’s subtle talent was his patience for those around him who were quieter, like you and Aone. He didn’t come off as someone with that sort of resilience but you knew otherwise.

Finally, you were ready to speak. “You’re the only one I can ask,” your voice choked up and suddenly Futakuchi felt bad for asking. “I just… there’s no one else that knows about my family.”

Oh.

Suddenly, he was sitting in your bedroom, cradling you in his arms. It wasn’t often, but every few weeks when your mother was out of the house and your brother was away at college, you’d breakdown. But Futakuchi had always been there to catch you. Your parents had divorced long before he met you, but he witnessed the scars it left behind. He listened to you on countless sleepless nights, rambling about how it always felt like your fault. He’d even met your father, picking you up from his house one weekend when your mother had work.

Yes, he’d seen first hand the intricacies of your family. He knew what subjects were taboo and who he could joke around with. Most importantly, he’d seen you grow past what your family had taught you to become your own person. He was certain by now you’d have found someone else to share all of this with. After all, any guy or girl would be lucky to have you.

But it appeared you haven’t.

“I know it’s a month away,” your voice was strained. He prayed you weren’t crying, the thought of it making his chest tighten. “But I’m helping my brother prep and I don’t know how my friends would react and…”

“Calm down” Babe. The word was caught in his throat, almost thrown out instinctively. He imagined all he’d do to comfort you, gentle running his fingers through your hair and pressing kisses to the top of your head. How he wished he could hold you like that.

“I can go with you,” Futakuchi promised. “It’ll be okay.” He didn’t know if that was true, but he desperately hope it was.

“Thanks, Kenji,” you sighed out. Relief flooded Futakuchi’s chest as he realized you had finally released all your tension. Your voice was vulnerable, but finally truthful. “We should probably meet beforehand to get our stories straight. Are you free next Saturday?”

Futakuchi gulped hard, a million different emotions mixing in his chest. He wasn’t really sure how he was supposed to feel. It all felt far too casual for a rekindling with his old flame.

There was a part of him that felt like he’d always see you again. He didn’t know why, he simply knew it to be true. You were too important to him to be gone forever. But he’d always imagined it to be a shared glance across a coffee shop, or passing you in the grocery. He’d never in his wildest dreamed pictured you choosing to reach out to him. Yet here you were, fear lacing your voice right beside resolve.

“Saturday is good.” He didn’t know if it was but he was sure he could cancel plans. “Does two in the afternoon work for you?”

Your sigh of relief from the other side of the phone had him sighing alongside you. If you were in this together, it’d be okay.

“Two is perfect. I can text you my address?”

Futakuchi had no idea what he was getting himself into.

“Sure, I’ll pick up lunch on the way.”

But he knew you, and he wouldn’t let go of you a second time.

#futakuchi kenji x reader #futakuchi x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu futakuchi x reader #haikyuu futakuchi Kenji x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu futakuchi #haikyuu futakuchi kenji #futakuchi #futakuchi kenji

[violetwolfraven]

Blood and Kisses

((Just a jomike flangst (kinda fluff kinda angst) one shot. Mostly angst tho. Nobody asked for this but y’all can’t stop me.))

Tw: Internalized homophobia, blood, and the word ‘queer’ but not used as a slur.

...

Jojo moved as fast as he could through the streets, ignoring the various aches in his body.

He had to find Mike.

After getting soaked by the bulls, there had been a lot of confusion. The only really clear thought any of them had was that they had to get away, had to get to the Lodging House. They had first aid supplies there, and though some dislocated limbs had to be treated in the alleyway most of them rendezvoused in, the pain of moving was largely set aside in favor of getting somewhere safe.

Race and Davey were splitting the duties of leader between them, with Race making sure everyone’s injuries got tended to and Davey checking to see who they were missing besides Crutchie, who they knew had been arrested, and Jack, who’s absence everyone had noticed immediately.

Davey’s headcount came up a few short. They were missing Elmer and Mike, among others.

So, Davey had picked a few of the least-injured guys to help him look for their lost friends.

Jojo wasn’t one of the least-injured guys. He had enough bruised ribs that it hurt to breathe and his knees were scraped up from getting shoved on the ground.

But he had to go, anyway. He had to know if Mike was alright, no matter what Davey and Race said.

It had never fully registered in Jojo’s mind until now that he cared about Mike more than any of the other guys, but he did. The twin was probably his best friend, not that he’d ever had a best friend before him to know how that felt.

Mike made him bolder. The old Jojo never would have snuck out of the Lodging House, even to go find someone who might be hurting somewhere. But whenever he started to lose his nerve, he kept thinking of Mike’s laugh when he told a joke, Mike’s patience when he didn’t get a social cue, Mike’s friendliness when they first met, which had never gone away.

He had to find Mike.

This was significantly harder than normal, trying to lay low with cops everywhere and move quickly and check every alley and behind every dumpster.

Not many people were close with the twins. Davey had become fast friends with them by a) being a twin with his sister, Sarah, and b) being able to tell them apart right off the bat. But he hadn’t known any of the Newsies very long and with Ike too hurt to look, Jojo was probably the only one who might know where an injured, disoriented Mike would run off to.

“Mike?” he called as he finally thought to check behind Jacobi’s.

A soft groan was the only response he got, but it was enough.

Jojo rounded the dumpster and found a barely conscious boy, banged up halfway to hell on the ground.

But alive. He was alive. That was enough.

“Mike!”

Jojo managed to drag him up to a seated position, but Mike really wasn’t responding. Blood ran down the side of his face from a gash on his temple. He was clearly super out of it.

“Mike, can you look at me? What hurts?”

“Besides everythin’?” Mike mumbled. He laughed weakly, his eyes half closed as they met Jojo’s.

“We need to get you back to the Lodging House,” Jojo muttered, “Race’ll be able to help, and Buttons, if he ain’t too busy. Maybe Davey, when he gets back. Oh, yeah, we couldn’t find Elmer. And Finch is missing, too, but you’re okay, so I’m sure they are—“

“Jojo...”

The soft tone in his voice made Jojo stop, freezing as one of Mike’s hands touched his cheek. Jojo grabbed his other hand and squeezed.

“I’m here.”

“I don’t feel so good.”

“You’re gonna be fine,” Jojo said, stretching his sleeve over his fingers to try to wipe some of the blood off his friend’s face.

The wound was smaller than he was expecting, but he guessed head wounds always bled more than they were worth.

Still... this one looked deep.

“In case I ain’t...” Mike whispered, “And even if it ain’t today, even if it ain’t during the strike... I just... I need ya to know...”

“Know what?” Jojo asked. He was tempted to tell him to save his strength, to tell him later, but blood kept trickling down the side of his face no matter how much he tried to wipe it away.

“I can’t... I ain’t much good with words. And I can’t really think at all right now, so...”

He was trying to lean forward, and Jojo leaned a little closer, too, anticipating a secret whispered in his ear.

Instead, Mike’s hand on his cheek guided him into an exhausted kind of kiss.

Jojo froze. Inside, he remembered everything the nuns had ever told him about this kind of thing and this was wrong wrong wrong—

Mike looked a little sad when he pulled back and saw Jojo’s wide eyes, the way he hadn’t moved at all, the shock that had to be written all over his face. The look in his eyes said that he’d half expected this reaction.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, before his eyes fell closed, his chin falling against his chest.

“Mike?”

Despite having no idea what to do, no idea what to think, because Jojo’s best friend was a queer, his best friend was queer for him, his best friend just kissed him and it was Jojo’s first kiss and this was supposed to be wrong—

Despite all of that, Jojo was still overcome with relief when he checked and found that Mike’s pulse was still strong.

“Jojo? What the hell are ya doin’ outside the—oh my God, Mike?”

“He’s alive,” Jojo told Tommy Boy numbly, “Just unconscious.”

“Okay, good. C’mon, we gotta get him back to the Lodging House. It’s dark enough that we can carry him and nobody’ll be around to question.”

Tommy picked Mike up over his shoulders as Jojo got to his feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked, “Ya look like you’s seen a ghost, Jojo.”

Jojo just shrugged. He didn’t want to lie, because he was not okay, but he didn’t feel like talking to anyone about what just happened.

He kind of wondered if Ike knew. No one else did, surely, because if they did, Mike would be out on the streets, but as his twin, he of all people would, right?

He wasn’t going to tell anyone, but Jojo didn’t know how he could stay in Manhattan after this.

Because as wrong as kissing his very male best friend was supposed to feel, there was a part of Jojo that had thought it felt right.

...

Though avoiding problems was not usually a good way to deal with them, Jojo spent the next couple weeks, even after the strike ended, avoiding this one.

He couldn’t face Mike. Not with what had happened. Because even if it had just been because of the injury, the way he’d been talking had made it sound like he’d really, genuinely wanted to do that.

He’d genuinely wanted to kiss Jojo, which...

Which was impossible to reconcile.

Because Mike was good. He was a good person who cracked jokes when everyone needed to hear them most and was stubborn enough to stick with a stike that could have and very nearly did end in his death.

How could someone that good be a sinner?

He almost thought said apparently-a-sinner was right in front of him until he spent more than ten seconds looking the guy in the eyes.

“Ike.”

“What happened?”

“What?”

“I’m a dumbass, Jojo. I ain’t stupid. My brother’s avoidin’ you and you’s avoidin’ him and it bothers both of you.”

Jojo sighed. He should have guessed Ike of all people would know.

“So, are ya tellin’ me what happened?”

Jojo’s gut twisted in guilt at the memory he couldn’t shake.

Warm, gentle lips against his own, the taste of Mike’s blood where it had ran down his face and caught on the corner of his mouth.

Complete and total shock, kind of a complete mental shutdown.

A part of him buried deep, deep down that was feeling and enjoying and wanting that kiss.

God help him, Jojo had dreamed of it more than once in the last couple weeks, except in the dreams, his inhibitions were gone, and...

He told himself that they were just dreams. He couldn’t control them, and it was only natural they’d elaborate on confusing circumstances.

God, this was so confusing. It was Mike, who was good and kind and funny and it didn’t make sense for him to be a sinner. It didn’t make sense for a part of Jojo to enjoy his best friend’s kiss. None of this made sense.

Ike probably deserved to know. At least... part of it. Why Jojo and Mike weren’t talking.

“You remember when I found Mike behind Jacobi’s?”

“‘Course. Why?”

Jojo took a deep breath, “He was probably just delirious and not thinking straight, but... he... he kind of kissed me.”

The end of that statement came out as a whisper. Jojo hadn’t intended that, but he didn’t necessarily want anyone to know, so...

“Oh. Okay. That explains a lot.”

...what?

Jojo had expected him to jump to his twin’s defense with some kind of explanation or threat to keep Jojo from telling anyone else, but... what Ike said next definitely wasn’t that.

“I’m guessin’ by the look on your face, you didn’t enjoy it?”

“...sorry?”

“I mean, I’ve been told Mike’s a good kisser, but I never believed it,” Ike said nonchalantly, “I guess I should cut him some slack for bein’ half-unconscious, but...”

Jojo couldn’t even begin to process what was happening right now.

“Wait...” Ike’s smile faded, “Oh, shit. I don’t remember hearin’ of ya bein’ with anyone since ya moved into the Lodging House, so... was your first kiss was a terrible one behind a dumpster with my stupid brother? I’m so sorry!”

“Ike,” Jojo tried to summon his thoughts, “Ike, well... yes, that was my first kiss, but you’re... it’s not... Mike is a boy!”

Ike rolled his eyes, “Obviously. What did ya think he— oh. I guess ya... didn’t know. ‘Bout him bein’ queer.”

So Ike did know. That was the only thing here that was expected.

Jojo sighed, “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Why not?”

“Boys likin’ other boys is wrong, and Mike is a good person. I don’t understand.”

“Who told ya boys likin’ other boys is wrong?”

Ike looked confused, and maybe a little offended, too when Jojo looked at him.

“The nuns.”

Ike rolled his eyes, “Didn’t they also tell ya that girls aren’t supposed to dress like boys? Ya know—like Sniper and Smalls do?”

“Sniper and Smalls dress like that ‘cause it’s easier and more comfortable for ‘em.”

“Exactly. Not everythin’ the nuns say is right.”

“But—“ Jojo tried to protest, but Ike was already cutting him off.

“Jojo, you’s a smart boy. Do ya think anyone chooses who they love? Ya think fallin’ in love is a choice?”

“Of course not, but—“

“Jojo, if a boy falls for another boy, it ain’t his choice any more than if he fell for a girl. Same goes if a girl falls for another girl. You have no control over who you love. So how can it be wrong?”

Jojo was at a loss for words.

That actually made sense. The twins were usually jokesters, but Ike definitely wasn’t joking, now, and the point he was making was a valid one.

How could love be wrong when you didn’t control it?

Ike laughed, “Honestly, I’m shocked ya ain’t noticed anythin’ queer ‘round here until Mike kissed you. Damn near the entire group is.”

“Wait, what?”

“Damn, Jojo. Did ya think we all joked ‘bout Blink and Mush sneakin’ out together ‘cause they was friends?”

Jojo honestly hadn’t thought about it, like, at all. But now that he was thinking about it... God, most of his friends were paired up and had been since before he even came along. And if he took off the glasses of assumption... maybe they’d been flirting in front of him this whole time and he’d taken it as just playful banter.

And all of them were good people. They were all too good for their love to be anything less than natural and beautiful.

And if none of this was wrong, maybe Jojo could let himself think about certain things. Namely, his best friend kissing him and him enjoying it.

Ike grinned, “I think you and my brother need to have a talk.”

Jojo nodded, still halfway numb with shock.

Really, right now, his only real thought was that he needed to talk to Mike.

...

When he finally managed to get him alone the next day, Mike looked like he expected Jojo to punch him.

Jojo, of course, wasn’t going to. He could still see the wound that had almost killed the other boy, though it was healing well and mostly covered by his hair.

He was waiting for Jojo to make the first move, only Jojo didn’t know what to say.

He probably should have figured that out beforehand, but it was too late, now.

“I...” Jojo took a deep breath, “I think we needs to talk. About what happened behind that dumpster.”

Mike nodded, “Yeah, probably.”

Jojo had a lot of questions, but only one that felt relevant right now.

“Why’d ya do it?”

Mike looked over his shoulder, down the hallway towards the room where most of their friends were hanging out. By the sounds of it, Race was in the middle of beating everyone at poker, so they probably wouldn’t be walked in on, here. Jojo guessed that was a good thing.

He shrugged when he looked back on him, “I’m not gonna lie to you, Jojo.”

Jojo nodded, “Good.”

Mike looked a little surprised at that, but he took a deep breath.

“I kissed ya because I wanted to. I have, for a really long time. I thought you were cute the first day ya came here, and I that was before I even got to know ya. And behind that dumpster, I was really scared and I felt like I might never get another chance, so... well, and I was hurt. I woulda asked if I was in my right mind, but... are you gonna out me?”

Jojo was struck speechless by the amount of fear in his voice. Mike seemed to take his silence as a ‘yes.’

“I guess I don’t blame ya. Kissin’ someone without permission ain’t right, ‘specially when kissin’ that person could get both of ya arrested. I don’t particularly wanna go to jail, though, so’s I guess I’ll just grab what I can and run away some—“

“No,” Jojo interrupted.

Mike looked up from the floor.

“No,” Jojo repeated, “I don’t want ya to run away. I ain’t gonna out ya.”

It was Mike’s turn to be speechless.

“Mike, I...” Jojo took a deep breath, “I was raised to think a lot of things are wrong. And bein’ here with our friends, with you, I’ve unlearned most of it, at least enough that I’m workin’ on it. You and the others have given me a family, helped me so much, so... so when Ike tells me that most of the fellas is queer, it wouldn’t make sense for their love—somethin’ they don’t control, anyway—to be wrong. It makes them happy. They makes each other happy.”

Mike looked uncharacteristically uncertain, “What’re ya sayin’, Jojo?”

“I don’t mind,” Jojo clarified, “That you’re queer. I know you’re still you, and you’re my best friend. After all, even if I didn’t know, you’s been this way since we met, right?”

“Right,” Mike confirmed, finally starting to smile, “Nothin’s changed.”

Jojo hesitated, “I... wouldn’t say that.”

Mike’s smile dropped. He didn’t look as scared as before, but a bit of the fear was coming back.

“Ya wouldn’t?”

Jojo took a deep breath. No turning back now.

“You said you’s wanted to kiss me since we met.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, but...”

Mike’s voice faltered as Jojo dared to step a bit closer. For some reason, it made Jojo smile, butterflies erupting in his stomach.

“That’s the smile,” Mike whispered.

Jojo tilted his head, confused, “What smile?”

“The smile that makes everyone else want to smile, too,” Mike responded, “It’s amazin’. You gots one of those smiles that lights up the whole world.”

That rendered Jojo completely unable to say anything for a few seconds, and he figured his face must be pretty good for Mike to laugh like that.

“You’re so cute.”

“You’re cute, too.”

Mike froze, and Jojo tried to swallow his nerves.

“I didn’t know before,” he mumbled, “But then you kissed me, and I couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it and I... I’m queer, too. For you, specifically.”

There was a beat of silence where neither of them moved, and then Mike smiled.

“Well, then, since I didn’t ask last time...”

Mike touched Jojo’s waist with one hand, light enough to give him goosebumps.

“Can I kiss you, Jojo de la Guerra?”

Jojo took a deep, shaky breath. He was still scared, the way he still was whenever he did anything the nuns back in Harlem would have disapproved of, but he knew what he wanted.

“Yes.”

Mike brought his free hand up to the side of Jojo’s face, pulling him in for a slow, gentle kiss.

God, if Jojo had enjoyed their first kiss, this was something he never could have imagined. He didn’t really know how, but he tried to kiss back, anyway, trying to ignore the little bit of awkwardness creeping into this.

“Good?” Mike asked quietly, pulling a couple inches away.

“Amazing,” Jojo answered, a little breathlessly.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. He actually really wanted to kiss Mike again, but he didn’t really know how. He didn’t know if he should ask first or just lean in and go for it. He didn’t even know where he was supposed to put his hands to try to make sure he didn’t miss, so he was just kind of fidgeting with the sides of his pants.

“You can touch me, ya know,” Mike said, noticing.

“I’m sorry,” Jojo mumbled, “I don’t know what I’m doin’.”

“Oh, I know. That don’t matter to me. I’ll help ya figure it out. For now, how ‘bout this?”

Mike grabbed Jojo’s hands and put them on his shoulders. He put both of his hands on Jojo’s waist.

Jojo nodded, “This works. Can I..?”

“Of course.”

He had to say... kissing Mike got better every time he did it, and as... minutes, hours, who knew and who cared passed, Jojo liked to think he got a little better at it.

They jerked apart a little as they heard a whoop from the room where everyone else was.

“I guess Race is winnin’,” Jojo said awkwardly.

“He is.”

Jojo buried his face in Mike’s shoulder as they realized that Ike was standing only a few feet away, just leaning against the wall and grinning.

“Davey asked me to go find ya both,” he explained, “I swear, he’s becomin’ more like a worried mother hen every day. He actually said he expected you’d be together, but I’m sure this ain’t what he was thinkin’ of.”

Mike laughed, “Probably not. I mean, it’s been weeks and he still don’t get it when the rest of us tease you and Race for sneakin’ off to Brooklyn.”

“How long were ya standin’ there?” Jojo asked.

Ike shrugged, “Long enough. Don’t worry, I’m happy for ya. I gotta say: it’s about damn time.”

“I assume ya ain’t givin’ him a shovel talk,” Mike said, wrapping an arm around Jojo’s shoulders as he talked.

“Are you kiddin’ me? That’d be like givin’ a shovel talk to Elmer. There are just some people ya can’t try to scare. It’s a moral thing. Jojo, you ain’t gonna hurt Mike, right?”

“No?”

“Good. See? I believe him, so that’s good enough. How’s about we go join the game, now? There ain’t enough cards for everyone, but we can play as a team.”

Mike made eye contact with Jojo, “Ya don’t mind if I put this on hold to play some poker, right?”

Jojo shook his head, “Of course not. Race is gonna kick both your asses, but if ya don’t mind that, that’s your business.”

“I don’t mind. Let’s go!”

Of course, he didn’t know why anyone even tried to beat Race at poker, but Jojo was happy to just sit by his... were they sweethearts, or what, now? and ignore the smirks a few of his friends gave him, having read the signals of Ike looking smug, Mike looking happy, and Jojo blushing.

Jojo definitely would be thinking a lot about this later, but for the most part, he wasn’t afraid anymore.

#newsies #jomike #jojo x mike #jojo de la guerra #mike newsies #angst #ike newsies #violet’s writing

[pants-jones]

Outer Wilds is the best exploration adventure literally ever.(Story Review)

Outer Wilds is a small space exploration game that came out on May 28, 2019, developed by Mobius Digital. It’s gotten multiple awards and there isn’t a second of someone’s voice in the game. I personally found out about it thanks to Jacksepticeye, and he does this thing where he doesn’t explore things in a game enough for me to be satisfied, and it really frustrates me even though I love his content. So, like a normal person, I held that frustration deep within my soul for an entire year until I got my own ps4 and I noticed that they were selling it on the PlayStation store. I remembered very little about the game at that point and going in blind was literally the best part. Ever since I was little, every time a game came out promising endless gameplay or a large world to explore it pretty much never happened.

Like Disney Infinite or whatever that shitshow of a game was called. Surprisingly finite, believe it or not. Same thing with No Mans Sky, even though I’ve heard that it’s improved recently. But this game is perfect when it comes to space exploration. The solar system you reside in isn’t too big, so going from planet to planet isn’t a pain in the ass like No Mans Sky. Each planet has so much to explore, on top of everything you can see in the ice comet that flies through, or the sunstation orbiting the sun at like 40000000 miles an hour, or the literal ghost moon that disappears when you look away. Each planet is extremely unique and has their own dangers, and I could talk for literal hours about each location in the game and the story behind each. Before I actually get into this, there is this one youtuber that has a channel about this game, and he actually explains a lot of the stuff that I didn’t understand or just got wrong on my first playthrough. He’s called The Lore Explorer. You can click his name to go straight to his YouTube channel. 

This is going to be on the story of Outer Wilds. Because I want to talk about the gameplay separately. 

In this game, you play as a member of an alien race called the Hearthians, residing on an earthlike planet called Timber Hearth. Your race is small, but they devote their time to science and exploration of the solar system they reside in and the universe. They want to know the secrets of the universe, to understand it. They’re a peaceful people, like space hillbillies, They don’t have a specific gender, they refer to each other with they/them unless requested otherwise, You are a rookie in their space exploration program, Outer Wilds Ventures. You wake up early at your campfire, eyes looking up at the sky, the giant planet Giants Deep above you. The ancient alien space station orbiting said planet explodes, and a small purple light launches out into the night sky. (This is the best picture I could find)

You get up and meet Slate, a Hearthian that was roasting marshmallows in the campfire next to you. You exchange some dialogue, and you learn they’re the one who made your ship, and that this is gonna be your first voyage into space. They tell you that you have to go to Hornfels, one of Outer Wilds Ventures’ lead scientists, to get the launch codes. You spend some time exploring the small village that your people reside in. You meet up with your old teacher, who taught you about everything you’ll endure up in space. You do one last no-gravity test, before heading up to the Observatory at the highest point of the village. The first thing that greets you is a statue, made by a strange ancient race named the Nomai.

You move on to Hornfels, get the launch codes and walk out the same way you came in, when you freeze and the statue opens its eyes and faces you. It’s eyes light up, and it’s almost like your memories of today are being played back at you. (below is the best picture I could find.)

A Hearthian who works at the observatory watches all of this and approaches you, claiming in shock that they had no idea that the eyes could even open, neverminded that they can grow. 

You move on, on to your ship. You enter and where you go first is up to you, the player.(obviously.) Personally, I decided to do what I think most people would ignore, and explore the planet we all start on, Timber Hearth. And of course, I found some stuff, but that’s for later.

Anyways, it doesn’t matter what you do, but most likely you’ll be going to Timber Hearth’s moon, the Attlerock. It’s an asteroid like moon that you’ll probably see in the sky orbiting the planet from it’s surface. There’s a Hearthian named Esker up there, and they give you their first goal: Find and meet the five founders of Outer Wilds Ventures. You’ve already got one down, since Esker is one of those five. But, ignoring all this, lets assume you made the mistake everyone makes (and I promise you it’s everyone) and you didn’t land where Esker grew trees for oxygen, and you made the dumbest decision to just, forget your space suit. Well, you’d die obviously. Air is important. You obviously suffocate. Dummy.

I genuinely can’t find a way to show you how dying looks in Outer Wilds. Or, the post death. Pretty much, every moment you just experienced gets played in reverse, up until  the very moment you wake up. Then, this Nomai mask is the last thing you see, before you wake up on Timber Hearth again.

I think anyone with an IQ above sand knows that this means you’re in a time loop. It’s obviously because of the statue, and when you go to look at it, it’s eyes are still open. There’s a mystery here, and you will most likely not have any clue how to solve it.  

You’ll go back into space. And you’ll choose any of the five planets in this small solar system to explore. It doesn’t matter which. You’ll learn things abut the Nomai, you might even meet one of the astronauts you were told to meet. None of this matters. Because in 22 minutes after you wake up, you hear a strange loud noise, look to the sun, and realize its collapsing in on itself and exploding. You barely have time to react before you die again and wake up in your village again. And that’s pretty much the opening of the game. If you wanna see the sun explode, click here. It’s pretty cool.

First I wanna start with the fact that this solar system is pretty small, but each planet has so much stuff you could do. I didn’t even mention all the stuff in the observatory, like the rock that moves when you don’t look at it (which is VERY important), the Nomai text that you can translate with the device Hornfels gives you, or the fucking creature that they call an anglerfish that they hold in a tank (which is also very important). I didn’t tell you about the Planet Locator on the Attlerock, or the fact that you can see the ship you use in the Alpha of the game. I want to talk about each planet and location but it would genuinely take me way too long, because the story itself is way way way too long but it’s literally amazing. This game is probably the closest thing to real life in one way; it doesn’t matter what you do. You could throw your ship into the fucking sun and it won’t matter. Inevitability is one of the biggest themes of this game. 

You learn of the Nomai, an ancient race that came to your Solar system on something called The Vessel, but they got split up when they had to use escape pods because of some tragedy. You learn that they’re looking for something called The Eye Of The Universe, an entity older than the universe itself. That space station that blows up every time you wake up? That’s their Probe Launcher, that’s them trying to find that Eye. You learn how they made warp technology and how Black Holes work, you can even create a paradox and break the universe (this is very loud, I’m warning you.) This game takes environmental storytelling to a whole other level, because this race of Nomai is dead and long gone, but their underground catties and escape pods and ships and every piece of research that they have is left behind. They left a fucking Sunstation that orbits the sun at the speed of something really fast, and if you’re good enough at flying (i am not) you could land on the damn thing. Or you could teleport to it using the Nomais warp tech.

I think it’s there that you learn why the sun is dying. Your goal this whole time was to learn why the sun is dying, maybe you can reverse whatever the Nomai did. But the Nomai didn’t do this. Sure, they wanted to make the sun explode, but that was to power their time loop machine, so they could find the Eye easier. But it didn’t work. The sun station was made to blow up the sun and it didn’t work. The sun isn’t blowing up because of the Nomai, it’s dying because it’s just old. It’s old and there is no saving your people or your solar system. You then realize that its not just your solar system that’s dying, but others too. You can see it all the time.

When you’re out in space and see stars suddenly start to glow brighter than before, if you zoom in, you can see that they’re exploding. And not only that, once you find the Nomai’s Vessel (which is hard to do), you can find transmissions from modern Nomai, claiming that the entire universe is dying. There’s nothing you can even do about it.

Before I talk about the Eye itself, I need to explain what a Quantum Object is. A Quantum object is an object that exists in all possible ways until viewed by a conscious. The rock in the observatory I mentioned earlier is one of these objects, and there’s tons of items just like them 

They usually look like this black shard above. The Nomai found these and studied the actual hell out of them, and they learned three things they labeled the rules of quantum objects. The first being, if you are making physical contact with one of these objects and you turn off the lights or lose your vision, you will become quantum like the object. Technically it means until you can see again, you will be everywhere and anywhere at random.

The next rule is that if you take a picture of the quantum object and look away, it will not move. I think this is self explanatory, you’re still technically observing it even if it’s just a picture. And the last rule has more to do with the Quantum Moon. The Quantum Moon is supposed to be the Eye’s moon, but since it’s a quantum object it always appears orbiting random planets in this solar system. 

The Quantum Moon won’t be on any map of the solar system, and it’s by far the second most difficult location to enter and navigate. You’ll only know how after exploring multiple Nomai ruins with text on the walls teaching you the three quantum rules. If you just fly into it, You’ll simply go through the grey smoke and end up on the other side, You need to enforce the second quantum rule (this is called Quantum Imaging btw) and take a picture of it. Then you’ll be able to land on it, though what you find first may be different depending what planet it’s orbiting.

It mirrors the planet it’s orbiting, like when it orbits Timber Hearth the surface of the planet is going to have a lot of trees and grass. If it’s on Giants Deep, which is mostly an aquatic planet with lots of tornadoes and storms, it’ll have a lot of water and smaller tornadoes in the distance. Eventually, you’ll make your way to the Nomai tower on the North Pole of the moon.

From the inside of this tower, you’ll be able to travel with the quantum moon, even getting close to the Eye itself. The Nomai always say that when the moon isn’t visible in this solar system, it has to be at a sixth location, and since the Eye orbits our sun from lightyears away, it’s safe to say that the sixth location is actually the Eye of the Universe. When you enter the tower, you’re going to be turning the lights off and opening the door a lot, since the only other way to tell where you are inside the tower is a mechanism on the wall. But when you’re orbiting the Eye, you won’t be able to exit the tower, since the door will be blocked by the same material that the quantum shards are made of. If I remember correctly, you need to have the tower appear on the South pole of the moon. Then, when you get to the moon’s version of the eye, You can leave the tower and see what it’s like. 

On top of that, you can actually meet the last Nomai. Her name is Solanum, and she is the only Nomai to get this close to the Eye of the universe. The same way that the moon has a sixth location it goes to, she is the secret sixth astronaut that you can meet. She doesn’t speak your language, or at all, which means the Nomai didn’t speak. They communicated using the blue swirls you can see next to her. Those are the swirls that you translate to learn everything they’ve done through out the game. 

Meeting Solanum is a bitter moment, since she claims that she believes she’s been in some sort of in between death and life state for years now. She theorizes that being in such close proximity to the Eye has made her a quantum object, which is why you can find her ship and dead body on all the other locations the Quantum Moon can be at except this one. Above Solanum is a wormhole, where all the clouds are falling into. When you try to enter this wormhole, you fall back into one of the other moons locations, Solanum’s body at your feet. 

Now the Eye of the Universe itself is the most difficult location to get to. It took me around three hours of trying over and over again, because we need to get to it before the 22 minutes run out and the sun explodes. You first need to waste 7 minutes getting a power core from the machine that runs the time loop, so if you die you technically die for good. Then you need to enter the 5th planet and the one I despise the most, Dark Bramble. 

Dark Bramble isn’t a planet. It’s the remains of an icy planet, destroyed by the bramble. Nobody knows where the bramble came from. Nobody knows how it even exists. But it’s there, and it should be the last place you want to enter, because it’s the only place with an actual creature that want to hurt you: The Anglerfish. 

The Anglerfish are giant, blind space fish that will eat anything and have super sensitive hearing. You need to fly past these things in your ship, and you never know what lights are anglerfish and which lights are just more nodes to enter deeper into this pocket dimension.  In Dark Bramble, you can find one of the 3 Nomai Escape pods. The other two landed on planets outside of Bramble, but this one had a much darker fate. 

This is Escape Pod 3. The Nomai in this escape Pod used audio tech to find the distress signal the Vessel was emitting, but there was a problem; they frequency was coming from two different places. The Nomai were scared and running out of oxygen, so they headed towards the closer frequency, leaving lights behind as a trail so they didn’t get lost. Unfortunately when they reach the frequency...

All they find is a seed. The frequency is coming from it, but they went the wrong way. They can’t fit inside it and it hasn’t grown enough for it to be a node they can pass through. So they all died there, floating motionless. You can shoot a scout through the seed, and it’ll land on the Vessel.  Now you have a way to get there.

When you bring the power core, you have to pass through the Anglerfish nest, so you’re pretty much gonna be gliding through the whole thing reaaaally slowly. You can’t outrun the anglerfish, and I never tried touching their eggs so I don’t know what’ll happen if you try that. 

After a lot of slow gliding, you’ll find The Vessel.

You can put the power core inside, and once you enter the coordinates that you can find from the space station orbiting Giant’s Deep, the Vessel will warp to The Eye of the Universe, with an overhead view of it. 

You can take as much time as you like here. You’re way too far for any supernova to affect you. The planet you can see isn’t the eye itself, but it’s more like an orb of the same material that the quantum shards are made of. All the clouds and lights surrounding it is the Eye. I’ll leave a video of someone getting to the Eye right here. When you warp onto the planet above the Eye, you’ll start on the north pole, and start walking towards the south, where the Entrance to the Eye is. When you walk under the clouds, it’ll be dark, with lightning strikes briefly lighting up the area, with random objects appearing due to the eye being the origin of quantum objects. 

(What the wormhole looks like from the outside vs. the entrance.)

I can’t really explain what happens when you fall into it, so I’m gonna leave it at that. This game is a solid 10/10 for me. It is the best exploration space game I’ve ever played, and I’d buy it at full price again just to support those who made it. Also the soundtrack and credits song are amazing. I 100000% recommend it

#outer wilds #review #gaming

[myherohcs]

Single Dad Present Mic scenario/headcanons

Gave him a daughter in this one! I named her Kaya because I got bored using “the child” or “his daughter” the whole time lol. #Kaya In The Skya

warnings: angst, loss of a spouse (no gender), eventual EraserMic, fluff because my boy deserves it, and kinda long! 

🎙Present Mic would have loved his S/O so much for years and years and years if he was given the chance. They would probably be a hero too, but he's the kind of guy who would love just about anyone. Hero, civilian, quirk, quirkless, Mic believes in love above all else.

🎙But Mic is around heroes so much, he'd probably meet his S/O in the line of duty. They would hit it off quick and everyone would remember the two for having such an easy and passionate love for one another from the beginning.

🎙They were that couple that moved in with each other after only a few months dating, got engaged after six months, and married a year after meeting each other. They would adopt their daughter not long after that.

🎙Everything moved so naturally fast for them and Hizashi would thank his lucky stars for that later on.

🎙He would remember how normal the day had been when he found out he lost his spouse. They died as many heroes do; saving others. The news came to him after a long day of teaching followed by a visit to the radio station to plan an upcoming segment before going home to take over babysitting for his S/O. The tradeoff was short and Hizashi was barely awake when he kissed them goodbye for the night. He would rest and watch over the mostly sleeping 4-year-old, Kaya, while they went out for a  patrol through their hero agency. 

He would get the call in the early hours of the morning. He needed to go to the hospital quickly. It was bad. He didn’t want to bring Kaya, so he called the first person he thought of. 

Shouta had been awake grading papers and almost didn’t answer his phone. It was the perfect time for Hizashi to need help home from the bar and he didn’t know if have the energy for that tonight. But he did answer. Like he always does. He knew immediately by the mere tone of his friend’s voice that something terrible was wrong. Hizashi sounded terrified and he needed Aizawa to watch his daughter for him. He had to go to the hospital. Hizashi didn’t have to explain much after that statement. It was every hero’s nightmare to have a loved one beyond their realm of saving, but unfortunately a common thing in their line of business. Aizawa agreed and Mic was at his apartment in no time and gone again in a flash. Shouta's goddaughter slept soundly through it all. 

🎙Hizashi loss that night would destroy him. He’d need a lot of support from his friends and coworkers in the weeks following the incident.   

🎙It was one of the few times anyone could really remember Hizashi going silent. He is usually so vocal about his feelings, but in this time of great emotion, words failed him. 

When he could speak again, when he could function again, he found himself emotionlessly arranging the funeral and taking care of all the duties one must take care of when they lose a spouse. He took care of his daughter too, but it was done more upon instinct than anything really conscious. A hero’s funeral is one of the worst to deal with. It’s hard to deal with the rampage of emotions being projected onto you. You should honor the hero for their sacrifice, but you must deal with the fact that it was such an avoidable death. The media can swarm depending on the popularity of the hero. Present Mic got it bad. The couple had been very open about their marriage and always in the public eye, and the story of a hero becoming a widowed father was not one to pass up. Hizashi barely batted an eye at the attention. In fact, he barely reacted at all. How could he when he just lost everything? Nemuri and Aizawa stayed with him that night. Surprisingly, it was Aizawa who confronted him about his lack of emotion after the funeral. In a weird, alternate-dimension-type moment, it was Eraser’s turn for once to break Mic out of his shell. 

“You know, it’s illogical to not feel something after this Yamada.“

Hizashi broke down and admitted he was hurting to his friends. He was terrified at raising Kaya alone. He was afraid of going back to work and having to deal with others again. His friends helped him through it all. 

Nemuri and Aizawa took shifts being with Hizashi and helping him take care of Kaya after that. Aizawa took his role as a Godfather seriously. He had accepted years ago that he would never have children. This would be the closest he’d ever come to being a parent and a small part of him wanted to prove that he could be good at that. 

Kaya was old enough to recognize the change in the household and had some trouble accepting her caretaker wasn’t retuning. Hizashi and her both attended therapy to get through this new shift in their life.

🎙 Hizashi took some time off, but went back to work quicker than most expected. Mic thrives when he’s with others and knew the only way he was going to find some semblance of normality again was by getting out there and talking again. 

The main difference now was that he usually had his favorite listener with him. UA has an early education center and Kaya started coming to work with him. They would show up early everyday and Kaya would usually stick with Mic until he had to drop her off and go teach his classes. This meant she was a familiar face in the teacher’s lounge. 

🎙Kaya liked to color during staff meetings. She liked to bring cookies for all the teachers. She would sometimes be tired in the earlier mornings and sleep in Aizawa's sleeping bag while everyone worked and planned for the day. 

🎙She hung around Aizawa all the time. She was enamored with the quiet, dark-haired man who would take care of her and teach her things. She would sometimes nap with Eraser or be allowed to visit his class with her dad. She loved getting to see him and it became obvious to everyone that she saw him as a parent as much as she did her own father. 

🎙One day Kaya woke up sick. She had a fever and Hizashi has to drag her through their morning routine as she feels so tired. Hizashi told her they would go see Recovery Girl when they got to school. 

🎙Aizawa knew something was wrong the moment Hizashi walked into the teacher’s lounge.

Mic hadn’t gelled up his hair that morning. He only ever did that when either he was sick or Kaya was sick. Mic could never be bothered to do extra work like style his hair when he was sick. And when Kaya was under the weather, she liked to hide behind his curtain of hair.

“What’s wrong?”

The other teachers looked up in surprise at Aizawa’s question and Mic smiled at his coworkers. 

“Kaya is feeling a little under the weather today.”

He went over to his work desk and carefully sat down with the child. Shouta reached over to check her temperature and found her too warm for comfort. Kaya had fallen asleep and blinked lazily at Aizawa before yawning and snuggling back into her father.

"Recovery girl will be in soon. Maybe we should go down to her office and wait for her," said Aizawa.

Hizashi would smile at his friend and thank his lucky stars he had someone like Eraser in his life who cared so much for his daughter.

🎙Aizawa was around a lot, but happened to miss the first time Kaya used her quirk.

Teleportation.

Hizashi and Kaya had been walking back from visiting Aizawa's class and one moment his daughter was there, the next she was gone.

It scared the living daylights out of Hizashi. He had an inkling it had to do with her quirk as Kaya's preschool teacher had warned him she was at the right age to start any day now. However, nothing could have prepared him.

He raced back to the training grounds to get Aizawa and burst in on his lesson to announce Kaya's disappearance. He had already been shouting from a good distance away and it wasn't until he was almost directly upon Aizawa did he realize his friend was already holding his daughter.

Aizawa stood there stoic as ever as the four-year-old beamed at her father, so excited to see him.

Hizashi dramatically fell over in relief and the students got in a quick laugh before Eraser shooed them off.

"You should keep better track of your daughter, Yamada."

Hizashi laughed, "Yeah, I guess I really should now."

🎙Kaya's quirk was hard to control. She would think about Aizawa or Midnight or someone else she liked being around and would often (without intention) teleport to their side.

One time she spent an afternoon with Principal Nedzu this way. She adored the fluffy, white creature and hung onto every word he said during his long, drawn out conversations. He was unbothered by her sudden appearance in his office and kept her around to give her some pointers about her quirk as apposed to sending her back to the preschool. He would prove to teach Kaya all kinds of things about her quirk and the potential behind it.

Another time she popped in on Toshinori as he was teaching class 1-A. They were in the middle of a training simulation and Toshi had to jump into action to save her from the crossfire between his students. He hadn't moved that quick in weeks and held his All Might form for a good 30 seconds after rescuing the girl as he had gotten terriblly worked up thinking about how much she could have hurt herself. His students stopped their antics to find out what had suddenly brought All Might's hero form out and sent someone to let Present Mic know Kaya was on the training grounds.

🎙Kaya had to wear a special bracelet to alert others of her quirk and had her father's agency's phone number on it for emergencies or in case she teleported somewhere and got lost.

🎙Kaya would learn to better control her teleportation quirk faster than most kids as she had some of the best teachers in the world giving her tips and watching over her.

🎙Aizawa was a big help. He rarely had to erase Kaya's quirk, but it did come in handy on the occasions Kaya couldn't concentrate enough to stay in one place.

🎙Kaya spent all her time with the teachers of UA. They all took it upon themselves to teach her valuable lessons and give her memorable experiences.

🎙People would ask Hizashi if he would ever start dating again, but he would just tell people he already had everything he needed.

He had his daughter and an amazing support system behind him. He was happy.

It wasn't until USJ that he remembered how quick happiness can be taken away.

🎙It felt like losing his spouse all over again. He almost lost Shouta. The one person he can rely on no matter what.

It reminds him that there's no time like the present to live your life and take chances.

🎙He confesses in that hospital room. In a moment of quiet tenderness he tells Shouta he's in love with him and he wants him to move in with him and Kaya. This life could end at any moment, so he wanted Aizawa close to cherish every bit of it.

Aizawa was going to need the extra help anyway, but that's not why he agrees.

He loved Hizashi too.

🎙And together they raise Kaya. And Eri. And Shinsou.

And they both get the big family they always wanted.

And they both enjoy every last day with eachother.

#bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #yamada hizashi #single dad present mic #present mic #headcannons #kaya from z nation boi

[ineffable-endearments]

Foiling Nightmares

Rating: T

Relationship: Aziraphale/Crowley

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Dreams and Nightmares, Post Almost-Apocalypse, Cuddling, Kissing, Wings

Word Count: 3466

Content Warnings: brief mentions of violence/death, mild suggestive themes

Aziraphale decides to try an ancient human experience that some people would say he's never given much of a chance: sleep. He isn't quite prepared to have a nightmare about certain recent apocalyptic events, but fortunately, he also won't have to deal with it alone.

Will be reblogging with a link to AO3! Thanks to FangsScalesSkin and ArgentConflagration on AO3 for their eyes.

=

Six thousand years - over two million days - and this is probably his best day in existence. Aziraphale adjusts his bow tie in eager preparation as he and Crowley walk the vast, echoing halls of Heaven. As soon as they finish this discussion with the Archangels, they can go back and save Earth, and everything will be better than it ever has before.

Of course, as he’s told, no demon has ever Risen before. He’s not sure how the process would work, or if anything would change for Crowley except some ceremonial non— er, some ceremonial process by the Archangels.

Uriel had been the hardest to convince. They had made exactly the same arguments Crowley had made - that demons are unforgivable, that to try and redeem one would be to defeat the original purpose in casting them out. But Gabriel’s enthusiasm and the assurance that this must also be the Lord’s work had won them over in the end.

Michael had been unexpectedly enthusiastic. It was rather surprising, as Michael did lead the original War in Heaven. But Aziraphale had been able to convince them without much trouble by framing Crowley’s exile and return as all part of the Great Plan, not as an error in Michael’s judgement. (Of course, Aziraphale couldn’t have cared less why Crowley was coming back, just that he would be here.)

Sandalphon...it was better not to linger on Sandalphon. Sandalphon hadn’t been disagreeable, had been rather easy to convince, following Gabriel’s lead on the whole thing, but it had bared its teeth in this nasty grin that reminded Aziraphale of crucified corpses and salt pillars.

After the initial explanation (“I believe that in the course of our enmity, well, the demon Crowley has asked— he would like to— I believe he may be interested in being redeemed, you see, it really is quite remarkable”), Gabriel had seemed rather jovial about the possibility, all things considered.

And this led them here, to the great white expanse of Heaven, all the great monuments of the world visible from the massive windows. Crowley trails uncharacteristically behind, looking nervous; every now and then, Aziraphale turns back to give him a reassuring smile. Each time, Crowley nods. Aziraphale can’t quite place the expression on his face, but oh, well - he can’t be blamed for being nervous.

At last, they reach the end of Heaven’s hall, the door they were asked to enter for the meeting with the Archangels. Aziraphale smiles at Crowley once again, then holds the door open so he can go in and begin his new life.

Aziraphale enters behind Crowley, and…

It’s an all-white room. Oppressively bright, some would say. The Archangels are all there, standing around a bathtub, inside of which immaculate clear water has already been poured. They’ve left room in front of the tub, on the side closest to the door.

“What’s this?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley is unnervingly still, glasses off, full-snake eyes glancing back and forth at the Archangels.

“This is the Rising Ceremony,” Sandalphon oozes.

“It’s a very important custom,” Uriel adds.

That’s odd. They’d said this had never happened before...

“Crowley must get in the tub before he can be fully integrated into Heaven,” says Gabriel.

Michael is standing by, silent, with a crystal-clear pitcher Aziraphale recognizes.

“I don’t—” he stutters. “I don’t know if this…”

“Don’t you worry a bit,” Gabriel says. “If Crowley is ready to come back to Heaven, the holy water won’t hurt him at all!”

Crowley turns to give Aziraphale a look of pure terror.

“You did say he was ready,” Michael says. “You said he changed.”

Uriel nods. “You said it must have been a miracle.”

“Well, but this isn’t necessary,” Aziraphale says. “Crowley is here. He’s already at your mercy.”

“These are the rules,” Gabriel says.

The Archangels stand there, foreboding and immovable. It’s the sparkle in Sandalphon’s eye that finally jolts Aziraphale into grabbing Crowley’s wrist.

“Perhaps it wouldn’t be wise to follow through with this after all,” he says. “Perhaps Crowley should—”

“Oh, he’s not leaving,” Michael says, stepping forward with the infinite pitcher. Sandalphon is already advancing; Aziraphale tries to open the door behind the two of them, but it’s locked.

For the first time, while Aziraphale is fiddling with the doorknob, Crowley speaks. “Angel, please.” He tries to take over, but the door doesn’t yield for him, either.

Aziraphale turns to the Archangels. “Hold on,” he says. “I’m quite sure if we just talk, you can clarify that Crowley is planning to be loyal to Heaven, you understand, and certainly doesn’t need to take any risks to prove it.”

“You know as well as I do that’s not good enough,” Gabriel says with a scorching smile. The Archangels surround the two of them.

=

Aziraphale is barely conscious again before he stumbles through the dark, still in sleepwear, to the phone. It isn’t necessary to see the dial to make the call. As an afterthought, he flicks on the desk lamp for a small bit of light.

“Everything alright?” Crowley asks the instant he picks up.

Oh, dear. He hasn’t thought this far ahead.

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale says, impatient, because nothing is wrong. Obviously. “What about you?”

“Wha— Me? I’m not the one who called at 3 AM,” Crowley says. He’s tetchy, which means he’s nervous.

“Well. I just wanted to make sure!”

“Um.” There’s a moment of palpable confusion from the other side of the line. Aziraphale has to admit he doesn’t blame him. “Is something wrong? Weren’t you saying you were going to try sleeping tonight?”

“Oh, I did! It was fine, but I’m done now!” says Aziraphale.

“You’re...done,” Crowley echoes.

“Yes. And now, I really should be going.”

“Wait, hang on—”

“I’m glad everything is well, Crowley!” Aziraphale says, overplaying the cheer a little before he hangs up.

There’s an eerie silence in the bookshop now, the conversation still ringing in his ears. Outside, a messy mix of snowy slush is coming down at an alarming rate; he would normally feel protected in here, clad in these warm flannel pyjamas in his dry sanctuary of books in the cold night, but at this moment, he’s feeling only isolation.

Aziraphale takes a deep breath. That was - that call was foolish. He shouldn’t have done that. What an absolute bother. He takes out a copy of a favorite novel - it’s one he’s memorized, but it’s still comforting to see the words there on the page - and hunches over it on his desk, trying in vain to concentrate before noticing he’s opened it upside down.

It’s hardly eight minutes later when the Bentley whooshes up through the sleet, its headlights blaring. Thoroughly humiliated but not surprised, Aziraphale pulls the door open.

Crowley is as handsome as always as he jumps from the car. The red of his hair, a dash of heat, stands out even in the streetlights made faint by precipitation, and he grimaces at the weather but does not bother with a miracle to stay dry.

“Nice PJs,” he says, rushing to the bookshop’s front step.

Aziraphale nods, preoccupied. “Ah. Yes. Alright, then. You should come in.” The pyjamas are quite nice, he thinks, delightfully vintage, his favorite tartan, but Crowley might be being sarcastic. And anyway, they’re not the point of any of this.

Crowley stalks in. He peers around and seems to find nothing of particular interest in the dim light except for Aziraphale, who he levels with a piercing gaze through his glasses. He radiates a sort of energy, and if Aziraphale had to put that energy into words, they would be “I’m not going to relax until you admit the problem.”

Aziraphale lingers by the door after closing it, feeling profoundly awkward. “Had a bit of a nightmare,” he confesses. “I’m - I’m fine now. Just wanted to talk to you, you know, in the real world, to shake it off.”

Crowley points at his own chest. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Crowley studies Aziraphale, starts to say something, and pauses for a moment. “Nasty feeling, bad dreams,” he says finally, and slouches toward the old couch in the corner. On it lies the rumpled blanket, betraying Aziraphale’s lack of imagination for sleeping arrangements.

Aziraphale follows without a word, but does not help himself to a seat. He stands and wrings his hands before remembering himself, arbitrarily choosing some books to rearrange on the shelf instead.

“I...should maybe have reminded you,” Crowley adds, frowning at the thought as he takes a seat. “About nightmares. Not sure why I didn’t think of it when I was egging you on earlier.”

Aziraphale shrugs, standing there, not committed to where he wants these books to go, nor particularly caring. He shuffles them from place to place. “I knew about them. We’ve talked about them before. It isn’t your problem.”

“Would it help to talk about it?” Crowley attempts.

Surely he can’t expect Aziraphale to be straightforward about this…?

“It was you who got...hurt,” Aziraphale answers, instead of “no.”

“Oh,” Crowley says, frowning. He pauses, then opens his arms in a sweeping gesture. “Well, as you can see, here I am, doing fine.” He replaces the sympathetic frown with a smile. It’s comforting in a way that only he can manage.

Aziraphale nods. “You are.” He hovers next to Crowley.

“Come on, just sit already,” Crowley says, scooting left, leaning casually to the side with one of his own arms sprawled over that of the couch, patting the seat beside himself.

“It wasn’t just anything that harmed you,” Aziraphale continues, voice low, as if sharing something shameful. Maybe it is. He sits next to Crowley, as invited, a little closer than he would have a few months ago. “It was the Archangels. You - I brought you back up there. Said you were - you’d work with us.”

Crowley snorts. “Hah. First clue it was only a dream.” Sometimes he’s too cavalier, but this time, the tone is welcome. It helps shake off the dream. Of course it would be Crowley who could bring him back to Earth.

“It wasn’t bad at that point! You were a bit too quiet, now that I think of it, but everything else seemed fine. They - the Archangels - said they were going to, ah, test you.”

“Eurgh.”

“But what it really was, it was the same as your--” and here Aziraphale rushes through, as it doesn’t bear thinking about “--execution in Hell. Only they said it wouldn’t hurt you if you were really on our-- um, on Heaven’s side.” Aziraphale pauses.

Crowley waits, as easy-going as ever. Aziraphale finds himself seeking his eyes, accustomed to peering through those dark shades; he’s looking for a sign of discontent, but finds only patience written anywhere on Crowley’s face. Aziraphale shakes his head once, trying to pull himself out of it. “Anyhow. We tried to run. Woke up knowing we were both dead, though I didn’t see it happen.”

“Was only a dream,” Crowley murmurs. “Fake. Like reading a horror story in a book. It’s over now. I know it’s awful, but they pass.”

“I know.” Aziraphale scrunches his eyes shut. He’s read extensively about dreaming, but he can’t say it’s a part of humanity he’s envied. They don’t seem to have much control over where their minds go when they’re asleep. He’d frankly hoped he might be able to shut it off, but if there’s a way to do that, he didn’t find it tonight. “What’s bothering me about it,” Aziraphale continues, voice trembling as he puts his finger on the pulse of something terrible, “is how it almost did really happen. It’s not just any horror story.”

“It didn’t even come close. You’d have never got me up there in reality.”

The lamp on the desk flickers a bit. Aziraphale gets his feelings under control.

“Listen,” Crowley says. “The world was ending, and now it’s not. You said it yourself - everything worked out for the best. Right?”

“Of course, of course.” This is stupid. Aziraphale is being stupid. He should be able to shut all of this off immediately. He shouldn’t have even called Crowley in the middle of the night. “Seeing them in my sleep…” He sighs. “Reopened the wound, I suppose, is all.”

Crowley takes a deep breath and shuffles. It’s the first sign of impatience he’s shown, and it sets Aziraphale on edge, but the line of his brows and the curve of his lips are as soft as ever when he fixes Aziraphale with his gaze.

“What do you want? Like, really want?” Crowley asks. “Find a distraction?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale says.

And he’s struck, all at once, with the sensation of having waded far out into the sea and realizing he won’t be able to get back to solid ground before a colossal wave washes over him, because he does know what he wants.

“Angels aren’t supposed to have...this,” he revises.

“What?”

“What I want. Wanting at all, I suppose.”

“Give it a shot,” Crowley says. “We’re not playing by their rules anymore, remember?”

“Ah. Well.” Aziraphale can’t seem to keep the anxiety off his face or out of his voice. It’s not that Crowley isn’t allowed to see him that way, but the veneer of calm would certainly be a comfort right now. “The thing is. I’m not sure how to describe it exactly.”

Crowley shifts his weight so he’s leaning forward toward Aziraphale. It’s not an impatient gesture. Oh, for -- for Someone’s sake, there’s nothing to be afraid of!

“But it’s you,” Aziraphale finally admits. “I only know that I want you, whatever that means, very badly.”

Crowley is silent for a moment. He removes his glasses and lets them drop the short distance to the rug on the floor.

“Just to clarify,” he says carefully, “are you talking about...in the human way…with, you know...?”

Oh, blast it. Aziraphale can’t seem to make eye contact while he’s talking about this. “I’m familiar with what it usually means. And-- and it’s not…” This is supposed to be two different conversations. “I do contemplate the, ah, the carnal way, sometimes. A little bit like...I’ve had your body in the most literal sense,” he says, not bothering to censor any implications about their successful body-swap, “and I think about that, a-and other things too. But it’s not exactly what I mean here.”

Crowley tilts his head to the side, rather like a puppy with snake eyes. “Uh...hmm. Go on.”

“I would like to, um, be very close to you again and simply rest with you. For a long time,” Aziraphale tries. “Perhaps in our own corporations?” The physicality of it, he thinks, might be different that way, and worth exploring.

Crowley frowns and glances about as if he can observe his thoughts floating in the air. Aziraphale can practically see the gears turning in his head. At last, he raises his eyebrows and seems to return to his senses.

“Angel, that’s snuggling. You’re talking about snuggling.”

It is a good thing, he supposes, that at least one of them is capable of being blunt. Aziraphale winces at having his desires laid bare, put so directly, but he does manage to look at Crowley and give him an encouraging half-smile. “I suppose that’s true.”

Crowley swallows. He looks nervous; it’s not what Aziraphale had intended for him to feel. Aziraphale doesn’t question the depth of their bond, but not even all humans show affection physically, not everyone wants to do this sort of activity...

The thought flees along with all other possibilities of rational thought as Crowley moves forward and puts his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders, gentle, not resting his full weight. “‘S this fine?” he asks, quiet and gruff.

“Brilliant,” Aziraphale whispers back, and leans over so Crowley can reach him better. Whatever spell was restraining him breaks, finally, and he leaves his slippers behind on the ground so he can curl up for real on the couch. Crowley brings his other arm up for a true embrace while Aziraphale holds him, pressing his face into his neck, inhaling his smokey fireside scent.

For everything he’s held - piles and piles of books, things he’s been asked to carry for missions - Aziraphale’s arms have never been so full. Being able to hold Crowley like this, both of them nestled together on the couch now, causes something, something ancient and primal and blissful, to bloom in Aziraphale’s soul.

There’s a chime and a displacement of space that would seem odd to anyone who wasn’t ethereal, and a pair of black wings are wrapped around the two of them. They’re warm, intensely warm, in a way that isn’t physical.

“And this? How’s this?” Crowley murmurs. He’s got a hand resting in Aziraphale’s hair, and it is delightful to find another new sensation to enjoy after so long here on Earth.

“Splendid. Although…” As much as Aziraphale is experiencing a greater euphoria than he’s felt in all his millennia of existence, there is something a tad unfinished about the situation...

Ah, yes. Aziraphale takes his wings out, too. He casts a hinting look, and Crowley readjusts so he can be embraced by them as well. Aziraphale makes a point of holding him tightly with arms and wings alike, pulling him in as if they’re outside in the slushy mess and only Aziraphale’s heart can shelter Crowley from it.

There. Crowley’s wings may still be overlapping his, cocooning them on the outside, but at least he’s covered by Aziraphale on the inside. And Aziraphale threads his fingers in Crowley’s hair, too, because the reciprocity seems nice, and oh, he’s rather soft, isn’t he?

“You’re here,” Aziraphale says. “You’re here, and...you’re alright?”

“‘Course I am,” Crowley says, voice catching. “What else would I be?”

Aziraphale closes his eyes, allowing a familiar pain to surface at last, and presses his face into the crook of Crowley’s neck. “I’m supposed to be a being of belief...and I never believed this could happen. I never thought we could be allowed such a thing.”

Crowley caresses Aziraphale on his back, where his wing joins his corporation, and his head. His touch soothes the ache, as if the nightmare had reopened a gash on Aziraphale’s heart and Crowley has the balm for it. (Of course he does. Crowley has always been a salve.) “What thing? This?”

“Yes. Do you know...I’ve frightened myself with how badly I want you.”

“You’ve got me, angel.”

Aziraphale, who realizes he can be oblivious but is definitely not stupid, has known this for a long time. But it wasn’t always the same; he hadn’t known he could save Crowley. He’d only known that if the two of them got this close before, he’d never be able to stop, and they’d be found, and they’d be wrenched apart, and they’d be destroyed. He catches himself trembling with how badly he wants to never, ever let that happen.

“It’s alright, Aziraphale. I’ve got you.”

“The dream. It felt a bit like Heaven reaching down and trying to take you away.”

“They’re not going to,” Crowley says fiercely. “And neither will Hell. We’ll see to it.”

Aziraphale, emboldened by Crowley’s unflinching acceptance, leans up and plants a kiss on his cheek. He waits, eyebrows raised, for a sign of approval. Crowley snorts in that affectionate, indulgent way of his, and returns the favor, this time on Aziraphale’s temple.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says. “May I try something else?”

“Please do.”

And their lips meet, a brush of tenderness. Aziraphale isn’t very experienced with this. He tries it a few more times and worries it will get boring, but all seems to be going well, as he draws a pleased hum from Crowley with every kiss. After the constant dance at arm’s length, the pushing-away and the guarded stances, he needs multiple chances with this moment. He suspects Crowley does, too.

There is no equivalent to this behavior in Heaven or Hell; it’s quite remarkable, though, how intense and delicate it can be at the same time, pressing together these soft parts of their bodies that have expressed so much and yet have never been allowed to touch before. The heat of a kiss, Aziraphale discovers, is like the heat of their wings: not entirely physical.

“Lovely,” he murmurs. “But do you mind staying like this for...a while?”

“Not at all,” Crowley says.

“I don’t think I want to sleep.”

“You don’t have to,” Crowley says. “Sometimes the part when you’re lazing about in comfortable clothes is more fun, anyway.”

And so they remain, a pair of Earth-touched eternals swathed in their own black and white wings, curling into each other among the comfortable clutter of a dimly-lit bookshop, a heart of warmth on a slushy London night.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #ineffable spouses #good omens fanfiction

[mylittleredgirl]

Fic promp: We were together. I forget the rest.

yeah so turns out i’m no longer capable of flashfic, so six hours later have this long angsty but hopeful fix-it-y thing instead!

**

John wakes up in the infirmary, gasping, like he’s been held underwater, and he doesn’t remember.

Someone calls for a doctor (Rodney, he knows that voice, it sounds like Rodney), there are warm hands holding him down, Teyla’s voice: “Remain calm. You are in Atlantis. You will be all right.”

His senses start to kick in: the beep of a heart monitor, his own harsh breathing, the infirmary blanket gripped in his hands and pain, and the feeling of something like electricity fizzing along his skin. He can’t—

A light flashes in his eyes (a pen-light, possible concussion) and Keller is talking, telling him to breathe normally.

He tries to, and he sags against the pillows, blinks away the spots. His team is all there—a sign whatever happened to him is bad enough to hold an audience—and he doesn’t—

Ronon asks, “Sheppard, do you remember what happened?”

He doesn’t, he doesn’t, and there’s someone missing—

The first word he gets out is: “Elizabeth.”

Keller says, “Just relax, Colonel, don’t try to talk. Your body’s been through a lot. It’ll take a while to—”

But Elizabeth was with him, the last time he was conscious. He doesn’t remember where he was or how he got there or anything else, but he knows they were together. He still feels shocks along his skin, not unpleasant but strange, something familiar and again he can’t remember, and he manages to say, “Where’s Elizabeth?”

They all exchange looks, Keller with Rodney, Ronon with Teyla, and John realizes there’s something he’s missing.

Teyla’s hand squeezes his shoulder. She asks, far too gently: “John, do you not remember?”

And then, with the sick, sinking feeling that’s been with him for almost two years: he does.  

**

This is what they tell him: There was an accident with the Stargate, an explosion. They knew only he would have rematerialized through a random Stargate at high velocity, and they had no way to know where. They never would have found him if they hadn’t received an incoming wormhole from the planet five days later—no IDC, but nine small strikes against the gate-shield, in a rhythm that Rodney taps out on the hospital table next to John’s bed: dit-dit-dit dah-dah-dah dit-dit-dit.

They found him almost thirty meters from the Stargate, lying out in the open in an arid landscape, unconscious, alive, with no other evidence of human life anywhere on the planet. His body shows evidence of a break across his spine that would have paralyzed him for life if the nerves hadn’t somehow remained intact, internal injuries that should have killed him long before he was rescued. Keller calls his potential for full recovery “astoundingly lucky.”

This is what he remembers: He was dying, slowly, alone, and then he wasn’t.

This is what he knows: Somehow, Elizabeth’s alive, and she saved him.

**

He also knows it’s crazy, of course. So does everyone else. Rodney calls it a hallucination, brought on by blood loss or head trauma. Ronon tells him that his mind gave him something to hold on to, a reason to fight through his injuries for a while longer.

Teyla says, “It is not uncommon near the point of death to be… visited, by loved ones,” and John turns over, rolling away from her, because he’d get up and leave if he wasn’t trapped in bed. Everything they’re saying is right, but it’s wrong and he can’t stand to listen to it.

He remembers: Elizabeth’s hand resting on his chest, real and warm, and the crushing pain lifted enough for him to breathe. Her voice—here, John, drink this—pouring cool water from somewhere between his parched lips. The night desert air was cold but she was warm, and he never had enough clarity to ask her how she got there, but he knows he’d never have survived five days on that planet in the shape he was in. He’d certainly never have made it to the DHD. Certainly would never have crawled back from the DHD to where Rodney says they found him.

Ronon says, “So maybe there was someone else on the planet, and they left before we got there.”

“There was,” John says, frustrated, because he knows how he sounds but she’s the only thing he remembers clearly. Someone else might have been there, but he was barely conscious enough to speak—he wouldn’t have been able to draw out a Stargate address, let alone explain Morse code to someone who didn’t already know it.

He wonders if he’s crazy—if he isn’t, he wonders where she went.

**

He remembers her saying, on the planet: I wish I could do more.

He remembers her saying, on Atlantis: You don’t get to die alone, John. Even if—we’re still with you, you know that.

Sometime after her first brush with nanites, after he nearly died in Kolya’s Wraith torture chamber, after neither of them had slept right in weeks, they found each other on the same lonely pier. They spent six hours talking, sitting side by side, looking out at the black ocean. She told him what happened to her, in a voice so raw he held his breath. He told her things too, dozens of sentences starting with I never thought I’d tell anyone, like there was a spell over both of them, like they were bound together out of time. He told her he wasn’t afraid to die, but he was afraid to die alone.

He remembers how she hugged him, how he wrapped his arms around her and promised himself he wouldn’t close up again, wouldn’t let her close up, because the last time he’d felt anything like this with someone—exposed, but safe—he’d married her. It was different with Elizabeth, of course. Their lives wouldn’t permit romance as anything but an occasional fantasy, but there was always something intimate between them. Elizabeth knew him. She trusted him. She stood by him, and she kept him honest. She made him feel whole.

And he hasn’t felt that, not once since he left her behind on the Asuran planet, until a Stargate explosion broke his spine and she was there, kneeling next to him with tears in her eyes, saving his life and saying I wish I could do more.

**

He’s finally released from the infirmary. It’s happened a few times since coming to Atlantis—too many—that he’s been away from his own room long enough that the first steps in feel surreal. A t-shirt over the back of a chair, a half-finished book he barely remembers on his nightstand—he’s changed so much since leaving those there that it feels like his room is lying in state, a monument to the John Sheppard he was the last time he got dressed here.

The feeing reminds him most sharply of the Cloister, of the time he spent six whole months angry and lonely and abandoned and then returned home the same day he left to a piece of chocolate cake from last night’s mess hall dinner wrapped up on the top of his dresser, still fresh.

He stops three steps inside his bedroom doorway, remembering the energy that crackled along his skin when he woke up in the infirmary, remembering—

He reaches for his earpiece, his radio, before remembering he’s still off-duty and not wearing it, rummages around until he finds—

“Rodney,” he says, and his hands are shaking. “She ascended.”

**

This time, John tells them everything he remembers, no matter how crazy it makes him seem, because it all makes sense now: how she looked like herself again, how he knew it was her, how she touched him and healed enough of his injuries to keep him alive, how she knew where to find him. How she disappeared afterward, without a trace.

She’s dead, but she’s free, and grief and relief are mashed up together. He thinks he’d walk through an exploding Stargate again right now if it meant he could hold her hand.

“I don’t get it,” Ronon says. “If these ascended people can do anything, why didn’t she heal you all the way?”

Teyla chimes in: “If Doctor Weir were aware of us with the power to intervene, would she not have done so before now?”

“The Others wouldn’t let her,” Rodney says, sounding annoyed the way he always does when he’s answering what he considers remedial questions. “Ascended beings aren’t supposed to meddle. She didn’t want to get caught. But if she helped you, maybe that means she’ll find other ways to help us—surely they wouldn’t notice if she happened to leave us a note? With the locations of a ZPN or two?”

“Rodney.”

“I’m just saying!”

“Wait,” Teyla says. “You said she would not want to get caught.”

Rodney crosses his arms. “Yes, I said that.”

“What would happen to her if she was?”

There’s a pause, then Rodney says, “Daniel Jackson had to interfere with a galactic war before the ascended Ancients in the Milky Way kicked him out. Saving one life might not even get her a slap on the wrist. She’ll be fine.”

**

Six days later, John wakes up in the middle of the night, and he knows.

**

He’s still not cleared for off-world duty and there are pressing emergencies requiring Atlantis’s resources, but John argues and badgers and sits in Woolsey’s office calling in every favor he can think of because he can’t let this be put on a mission schedule for next week or next month or when-we-have-time, what-evidence-do-you-have, wait-until-you’re-back-on-your-feet, even-if-you’re-right-you-don’t-even-know-where-she-is when he knows, he knows, he knows.

It’s Keller who ultimately turns the tide, telling Woolsey, “I think he needs to put this behind him.”

John doesn’t care what the rationale is, doesn’t care that the others are humoring him, because he gears up for the first time in six weeks.

The planet where he didn’t die is calm and quiet and looks familiar, even though he was barely conscious the last time he was here and there are no real landmarks to speak of. It’s empty, dusty and rocky, with only sparse low scrub for plant life and no water to speak of. John feels a chill go through him like—well, like he’s walking over what was almost his grave.

“Sheppard!” Rodney holds up his life-signs detector, and John picks up his own, and he forgets that his body is still knitting itself back together and he runs.

“Stay back,” he tells the others when he catches sight of something pale, huddled on the ground. Teyla hands him a blanket, and he tucks it under his arm as he approaches.

He can’t see her face, only pale skin and dark hair, and his heart is pounding. When he says her name it’s barely more than a whisper: “Elizabeth?”

She stirs, shifts until he can see her face, and he remembers, remembers everything about her he hasn’t been able to live without. He hears Rodney behind him—Sheppard, is it her?—but he can’t tear himself away long enough to answer, can’t do anything but cover her body with a blanket and sink to his knees, can’t do anything but feel. “Elizabeth—” He touches her cheek, real, real, real. “—can you hear me?”

Her eyelids flutter and slowly blink open. “Who…?”

“I’m John,” he says. “You’re going to be okay. You’re not alone.”

She whispers, “I don’t remember.”

He swears to himself that every day, every day, he’ll make it up to her. For leaving her, for all the years and pieces of her life she lost, for the afterlife she gave up to save him, for coming back. “It’s okay,” he promises. “You will.”

*end*

#john x elizabeth #mai fic #i'll tidy it up and post it to ao3 at some point because I Do That Now! #thanks for the epic prompt babe! #nhawk-1 #chatter post

[1-1snailxd-art]

The Shield to your Sword

Masterlist ———- Chapter 5

Warnings: panic (please message or ask me if more need to be added)

Tag Support Team - Thank you for your support 💜 (let me know if you want to be added or removed) 

@the-real-wholesome-bitch @small-reptile-cake @phe-purple-parade-ts @daflangstlairde @quoth-the-sparrow @it-me-the-phi @soul-of-a-vixen @littleladynightshade @thequeensphinx @5150brotherbear @ollyollyoxinfree @celeste-tyrrell @ahyeahisurehopeit-does @pumpkinminette

Summary: The Fates shared their message with the King and other fortunate souls throughout the land; hoping their cryptic glimpse into the future would prepare them for it. Unfortunately for them, not everyone was able to process their visions completely.  

Beginning note: Sorry this took so long

——————————

Chapter 6 - Fates Fail

Logan woke and blindly reached their hand out to locate their glasses; wrapping tired fingers around the wooden frames and placing them on their face. A vision from the Fates had a very distinct feeling from normal dreams; they were intense and tiring. Shuffling downstairs, Logan set some water to boil as they collected herbs to mix a calming tea. The aroma was just beginning to fill the main area when Haefen came down the stairs to join his child at the mixing table.

"Care to share what you saw?" Haefen questioned, seeing Logan's furrowed brow.

"Only if you are willing to share your own vision."

Silence came as an obvious response of their reluctance to share and Logan carefully poured a cup of tea for their father before pouring the rest into a larger travel container.

"What are your plans, Logan?"

"If the Fates are calling to us, they may have touched others." Stepping away, Haefen sipped at the warm, sweet tea while Logan packed. "I'm going to check on Virgil and the other young servers."

"Take care not to catch the guard’s attention."

"They've never caught me before."

 Logan left without another word, mind still thinking about the message the Fates had sent. They questioned if the deer was referring to Spirit or themself; and if the deer wasn't them, it would make them the arrow filled wolf. All they could know for sure was they were one of the animals; they could feel that warning strong in their gut. It terrified them and they wished to be like Virgil and forget the vision altogether.

   ******************** 

  Slipping into Virgil's room was easy, but Roman was surprised to find the bed empty as he approached. Heavy breathing in the rooms furthest corner alerted him to his friend’s presence, and he activated a lamp to try and assess the state they were in.

"Virgil?"

The lamps light barely reached the far corner, but it was enough for Roman to see Virgil pressed against the wall with his arms wrapped tightly around his chest; breathing fast and desperate.

"It's okay, Virge." Keeping his hands in view, Roman carefully stepped forward as he watched the other’s eyes dart blindly around the room. "It's me. Roman."

"R-r-ro-roman?" "Yeah. It's me."

"I-I-I ca-can-n-can-n-t ssee. I-it hur-t-ts-ts-s" "It's okay. I'm right here." Hand reaching Virgil's shoulder, Roman felt guilty at the way he flinched before leaning his head forward to find their chest. "I need you to breathe for me, okay? Lets just slow it down."

   When Logan peeked into the room, he found Roman with his arms protectively wrapped around Virgil as they counted their breaths. The Prince turned his head and saw the physician looking in; giving them a nod of permission to enter.

"Logan's here. I'm going to help you back to bed, okay?"

With a small approving nod, Roman carefully lifted Virgil up and met Logan by the bed; sitting so panicked man remained on his lap.

"What happened?" Logan asked, immediately looking them over for injuries. "I don’t know. He just said he can't see and he's in pain," Roman shifted onto the bed further to lift Virgil's legs up as Logan continued to check him over.

Brow creasing in thought, Logan looked into Virgil's eyes; void and pupils small despite the low light. Mind sifting through everything they knew about Virgil and the Fates visions; a realisation dawned on the young physician.

   "You're fine, Virgil. You're just sleeping." They said, giving his shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"Um, no offense, Logan;" Roman said with a slight chuckle, "but you might have the wrong glasses on. Virgil is awake. His eyes are open."

"Yes, but his mind is still sleeping and trying to process the Fates vision." Logan replied, moving to pour some tea into a nearby cup. "Close your eyes, Virgil, and you will be able to see again." Roman watched in confusion as Virgil complied and their body relaxed further into his hold.

"Talk to us for a while, Virgil. Tell us what you can see right now."

"Virgil doesn't dream, Logan, you know that. He won't see anything. What is with you tonight?"

"Shush and let him speak." Logan replied sternly and helped Roman shuffle around so his back was against the bed's headboard. Virgil clung to his friend’s bed clothes and began whispering as they settled into their new position.

   "I just see the sky peeking through the leaves of the Queen’s garden."

"Can you hear anything, besides us?" Logan prompted, offering a cup of tea to Roman.

"No. It's nice. Peaceful."

"How do you feel?"

"The pain is gone. I just feel...Alone." The observing pair exchanged a glance; Roman nervously sipped the tea Logan had given him. "I know you're here though and...and I feel...happy."

"Happy? How can you feel alone and happy?" Roman asked, earning stern look from Logan.

"I don't know. I haven't felt like this before, but it's nice to feel it." "What do you mean by that? Aren't you happy here, Virgil?" That outburst earnt a slap to his shoulder from Logan.

"It's a different happy, Ro." Virgil hummed, breathing levelling as sleep began to take him. "Different... To with...you."

Opening his mouth to comment further, Logan silence the Prince with a raised hand.

"Let it go, Roman. He's asleep."

   "What was all that?" Roman eventually whispered, setting his cup aside. "How did you know he was asleep, even though he looked awake and was talking?"

"I remember listening to my parents talk about him when I was young. He experienced a great trauma before the Queen brought him here, Roman." Sitting on the bed opposite the pair, Logan stared at their hands to avoid the Prince's eyes. "The particulars of that trauma are not mine to share, but I'm sure you have a general awareness of them."

"I know Mother saved him during an attack on his village, and he was the only child to survive."

"Yes, well... To protect himself from that memory and lose, Virgil's mind has engaged a barrier of sorts. His subconscious remembers and recalls everything, but his conscious mind won't let everything through. As a result, Virgil recalls basic feelings and emotions on the rare occasion that information slips through, but otherwise he recalls nothing. That is my understanding at least." Sensing the others confusion, Logan sighed and met his eye. "The mind doesn't always follow an exact science, Roman. It isn't something we are meant to completely understand. But I knew the Fates spoke through the subconscious mind and I knew that that was the part Virgil keeps separate. I made a simple deduction that was thankfully proven correct."

"So, if that’s the case...will he remember what happened tonight?"

"Most likely not. I predict he will either remember nothing at all or have a vague memory of us assisting him to return to bed. The Fates vision was pointless either way. Lost in a mix of repressed memories."

"The Fates are pointless in general."

"You don't believe in their warnings, Roman?"

"I don't believe in them all together." Roman stroked Virgil's hair and relished the sigh of content that escaped his lips at the action. "As far as I'm concerned, they are manipulative liars that use fear so they can feed on the belief of their followers."

"Interesting viewpoint from a royal." Logan stood and poured more tea into a cup. "Considering you will receive their visions monthly soon enough."

"They can feed me their lies all they like, but that doesn't mean I will trust them." "What did they say tonight?" Logan waited, but when no response came, they decided to lead the conversation themself. "I saw a wolf with fur as dark as the night sky alongside a grey deer. Their heads touched and my heart was filled with love and adoration before arrows rained from the sky. The wolf stood over the deer and protected it."

"Sounds like utter nonsense."

"I agree that it sounds ridiculous, but that is only because I cannot yet comprehend what they are trying to tell me. In time, I will come to understand the meaning behind it and-"

"Trying to understand the meaning behind their visions is what drove my grandmother to her death." Roman snapped.

Virgil stiffened and whimpered in his arms, before Roman softened his voice and started stroking his hair again.

"Forgive me, your highness," Logan bowed their head and ignored the pained look in Roman's eye at their sudden formal tone. "I spoke out of line. I shouldn't have tried to force my own beliefs onto you. I will take my leave." "Logan." The physician stopped at the door but refused to turn back around. "I appreciate what you have done for us, and what I hope you will continue to do."

"I will be here whenever you or Virgil need me." Logan turned their head; eyes appearing ablaze with the lamp lights reflection on their glasses. "I believe I am the wolf after all."

   The door clicked shut and Roman was left with Virgil once more; shifting lower onto the bed so they could lay side by side. Lamplight slowly fading after Roman's hand brushed the rune and he settled down to find a few hours of rest before the sun rose on a new day.

    ******************** 

   A soft knocking on the door caused Virgil to stir; his body so relaxed that he didn't flinch as the door creaked open.

"Well aren't you just precious."

Virgil's eyelids were still too heavy to open as Val came inside and he let out a grunt at her words. Mind slowly waking, he became aware of just how warm and comfortable he was; unusual for his generally cold living conditions.

"Look, I'm glad you two reconciled after last night, and as much as I would love to let you both sleep, you need to get up before suspicion spreads."

"What are you-"

Finally opening his eyes, Virgil came to his senses and woke up fully when he realised he had been curled up against the Prince's chest.

"Roman! What the fu-"

Val managed to catch Virgil before he fully slipped off the bed; blankets tangled around his feet in his rush to move away. Reacting just as fast, Roman sat up and held his arms out in surrender as he saw the panic in his friend’s eyes.

"It's okay. Your fine, Virge."

"Like hell I am! What are you doing here? WHEN did you get in here?"

"Well I guess that means Logan's first assumption was correct, you don't remember anything, do you?"

Seeing the red blossom on the Prince’s cheeks, Val cut in before Virgil could answer.

"I'd love to let this continue, my Lord, but I'm afraid your absence will soon cause suspicion."

"My absence?" Roman blinked and ran a hand through his bed-hair as Virgil scrambled over to check the time. "

"Shit, Roman, it's almost 10. I was meant to be on duty over an hour ago."

"Holly went to cover for you." Val assured, as Virgil raced to grab clothing for the day. "She said you would know her price."

"Great. I imagine I am going to love it. Ro," the Prince was still sitting cross-legged on the bed despite the nervous energy in the room, "you need to get back to your room before someone else finds you here."

"Of course, but Virgil, I need to expla-"

"Tell me later, alright?" His voice came out harsher than he intended, and Virgil took a breath to calm himself before speaking further. "Let's just get through the morning without anyone jumping to conclusions, okay?"

With an affirming nod, Virgil slipped out to the bathrooms while Val helped Roman sneak back to his room without detection.

   ******************** 

   The informal dining room filled with natural light as the sun rose higher into the sky, and Iris scrubbed the windows to calm her nerves. The Prince still hadn’t called for breakfast and the morning was inching away, meaning her schedule of chores was extending further into the evening. Silently begging the spirits to hurry the tardy man along, she jumped in horror when Roman burst through the doors a moment later.

“Good morning, Iris. Sorry I’m late, but a prince must have his beauty sleep.”

“No apologies needed, my lord. I will fetch your breakfast immediately.”

Iris slipped out the door before Roman could reply and he was left alone in the silent room; staring out the freshly cleaned window. While the scenery was great, he tired of it. It was always the same view of the same part of the market, with the same indistinguishable bodies pushing past one another. Training his eyes to a guard tower, he imagined Virgil settling into his watch position and fretting over what price Holly would have him pay. Checking the suns position, Roman sighed, realising he would have a few hours to himself before Virgil would join him in the library for study.

   ******************** 

   Dodging one fist and backing out of reach of another, Virgil kept his expression void of emotion as the replacing guard cackled.

“I haven’t had the privilege of punishing the outsider for a while.” Desperate fists came forward again; feet shuffling against stone to maintain distance in the limited space. “Bout time I put you in your place again.”

“Unlikely.” Virgil retorted, allowing himself to reach the back wall. “You’re the slowest purist I’ve come across. You won’t lay a finger in me.”

   He would never admit it out loud, but Virgil enjoyed the look of false hope that flared in the guard’s eyes as he saw Virgil’s back  touch the wall. It was the moment when the predator believed it was about to capture its prey; only in this case, the prey wasn’t as cornered as he appeared.

Using magic in unregistered fights was outlawed within the city walls; which had saved Virgil a lot of hurt in the long run. Adara had sadly said it was one law that worked in his favour and was the reason why Holly trained him exclusively in hand to hand combat from a young age. However, activating strength runes on your clothing wasn’t illegal in any way, and Virgil knew how to use it to his advantage.

   Pulling his arms up to shield his face, Virgil brushed his hand across the faint rune on the cuff of his shirt; the fabric stiffening on his back. The moment he felt the fabric change, Virgil let his legs buckle, sliding down the rough wall as the guard jabbed his fist forward. Rewarded with the satisfying sound of knuckles on stone, he rolled to the side as the guard stumbled back and clutched his hand to his chest; springing to his feet and fleeing before any further attempts were made against him.

   Exiting the tower, Virgil stopped and looked up to the guard tower above; the torture chamber he would have to return to soon enough. His shifts didn’t always end in a fight; most guards were reasonably pleasant or indifferent towards the young ward, but others were still unaccepting of an outsider receiving royal privileges and achieving the title of weapons master. The view of many was that only those of an appropriate bloodline should be allowed to train as weapon masters; though Virgil thought that belief stemmed from their own jealousy and incapability.  

   Leaving the tower in his shadow, Virgil headed into the market to collect a well overdue breakfast. He handed a few extra coins to the baker for his new child before he stuffed one savoury roll in his mouth and bagged the other for later. Satisfied with the purchase, he quickened his pace to reach Roman in the library before he missed any more of the session. Logan watched from afar as Virgil scaled the stairs and disappeared inside the castle; glad to see him moving without a limp or sign of injury. Feeling relieved, Logan continued their journey into the outer town to make house-calls at their father’s request; bag packed for a trip to the forest when they were done.

   ******************** 

   Quills scraped against paper as the scholars spoke; eager learners taking vigorous notes of their every word. English letters and runes filled pages of roughly bound notes of every student but one; Roman’s page was a mess of inked scratches that formed a shaky landscape the more he added. His complacency was hardly due to arrogance, more frustration at his inabilities. For years Roman had been similar to the others; notebooks filled with information and messy runes that read as nonsense. While his English handwriting was immaculate, Roman struggled to understand or record even the simplest of runes alone. When he tried to write them, he couldn’t recall the ancient lettering beyond the elements; even looking at them had the lines rising from their positions on the page and blurring together before him. It was an anomaly that no one could explain, and the only support they offered the Prince was more lessons and the instruction to try harder.  

   “Looks good, Ro.” Virgil said quietly as he slumped into the chair beside him. “Though I don’t think you’re going to manipulate flames with that.”

“I could too,” he whined in reply. “If I put it on a heat rune, I could make it burst into flames.”

   The scholars, Luka and Cole, ignored the royal pair; rolling their eyes at their muffled laughter. Luka watched knowingly as Virgil set about his normal routine of getting Roman back on track; turning back to the board when he saw they were ready. Though offers of private lessons had been given, the Prince had turned them down in favour of normal lessons. It was to the scholar’s great relief that he didn’t however turn down Virgil’s assistance. Since completing his own studies, Virgil could now focus exclusively on Roman; slowly stepping him through runes in a far more simplistic manner.

   “Please turn in your parchment for assessment,” Luka instructed at the sessions end.

Chairs scrapped against the floor as the other students lined up to have their work assessed; Roman joining the back and practically bouncing in anticipation.

“How did he do?” Cole whispered to Virgil as he packed up the table.

“Three are usable.” He said, keeping his voice low. “He’s improving, but many of his strokes are off.“

“Perhaps if you both attended extra lessons, he wou-“

“I don’t think he’s lying when he says he can’t see. This isn’t as simple as him studying more.”

“You know that is impossible. Physicians have tested his sight and Roman’s handwriting is without fault normally. The only logical course of action is to increase his lessons. He’ll never graduate otherwise.”

“Strange that we live in a land of magic and a person’s inability to learn is the thing that seems illogical. Perhaps there is more at play and we just haven’t discovered it yet.”

Cole looked deep into Virgil’s stormy eyes and pondered their words. Though they didn’t agree; they nodded in acceptance and moved aside so Virgil could meet the now whooping Roman.

   “I passed, Virgil! I actually achieved a pass today!”

“Proud of you, Ro.” Virgil gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze as they made their way out of the library. “Now, lets get a snack before going to the training field. I’ve got some exercise to make up for.”

“Not today my bleary-eyed friend, we have a date with the outside world.”

Virgil stopped dead in his tracks, causing the Prince to look over his shoulder in confusion.

“Virge? You okay?”

“You want to skip training? Today?”

“Well, yeah.” Roman laughed as the answer seemed very obvious to him and he could hardly believe he had to explain himself to Virgil. “You’re healthy again, I just passed a runes lesson, and we finally have permission to go out without a pack of guards following us; why wouldn’t we go out?”

“How about the fact that I owe Holly a favour and I’d rather pay sooner rather than later.”

“Aw, don’t you worry about Holly.” Roman took Virgil’s hand and began pulling him down the hall towards the kitchens. “It won’t be the first, or even the last time we’ve skipped out on her and Sir Dolt. It’ll be fine.”

“Easy for you to say.” Virgil mumbled, allowing himself to be pulled along the rest of the way.

   Holly and Andrew were excellent trainers; both worthy of their titles despite Roman’s nicknames. Virgil imagined the look of annoyance on Andrew’s face as he waited under the tree for the pair to arrive. Holly on the other hand would be hacking at a block of wood with her blades or shooting arrows to form patterns on the trees. Ignoring them without reason always ended in pain eventually, and Virgil was not in the mood for that after the few days he’d had.

Reaching the kitchens, Roman released his friend’s hand and went inside to sprinkle the chef with enough praise to earn a specially packed basket of goodies. From his position in the doorway, Virgil caught Val’s eye and gave her a pleading look. Excusing herself from the wash trough, the serving girl stepped out to speak with her friend.

“Judging by those puppy-dog eyes, you need something.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” He held out his hand and Val accepted the small array of coins he offered. “Take some for yourself and offer the rest to Holly with an apology. I’d rather she doesn’t beat me to death the next time I see her.”

With a small laugh, Val pocketed the coins. “I wish I could say you’re exaggerating, but knowing Holly as I do, she sure would beat your ass into the ground.”

Without further explanation, Val headed off down the hall and left Virgil in his solitude.

    It took 15 minutes for the cooks to finish the basket; Val returning just as Roman dragged his wary friend away. In a further 15, the pair were on their horses and heading towards the outer wall. Though they rode side by side, Roman repeatedly turned to check over his shoulder, happy to see the path behind them void of following guards.

“Where are you headed, sire?” Damien called from his position at the outer towns gate; scratching absently at the scars on his hand.

“To a suitable picnic area.” He smiled at Virgil; eyes gleaming with joy, before returning his focus to the guard. “We’ll return well before sunset, you needn’t worry.”

With than, Roman encouraged his horse ahead; Virgil following close behind for their first solo journey outside.

    ******************** 

   Running water from the stream soothed Virgil’s nerves as he lay back on the blanket, belly full of the meal they had brought. The ride had been uneventful, besides Roman’s random whoops of joy as he encouraged his mount to quicken her pace and charge along a long-forgotten path. The Prince looked out over the water and watched a pair of birds’ dance around each other; flying and landing to a beat only they could hear. Virgil would have happily continued to enjoy the tranquillity of the afternoon, but Roman unfortunately had things on his mind that he had to get out.

   “Do you mind if we talk?”

“I assumed that was why you wanted to come out here.” Virgil kept his eyes closed, focusing on the sound of the water to keep himself calm. “What’s on your mind, Princey?”

“I wanted to talk about last night.”

“Which part? The one where you refused to accept my own beliefs, or the one where you let yourself into my bed and made me oversleep?”

“Hey, I said there was an explanation for that.”

“I’m all ears.”

A breeze shifted the branches above them, causing shadows to dance across the Virgil’s seemingly calm face. Roman shifted closer; his face warming as he looked at his peaceful friend.

“The fates sent out a message last night.”

“Didn’t think you believed in them.”

“I don’t!” Roman snapped; immediately regretting it as he saw Virgil go tense. “I… I know they exist…I just don’t believe in what they say. The point is, I woke up and felt something was wrong. Turns out I was right because when I got to your room you were having a full-on panic.”

“I was?” Opening his eyes, it was Virgil’s turn to experience guilt from Roman’s solemn look.

“It was scary how upset you were. I would have been lost if Logan hadn’t turned up out of the blue and helped me calm you down. I… I never… I never fully understood your nightmares until last night.”

   Virgil sat up and hugged his knees to his chest, desperately trying to remember the evening and get some hint of what Roman spoke about.

“Logan thought the fates had tried to speak to you. Tell me honestly, Virgil… do you remember anything from last night? Or any of your dreams?”

Breathing deeply through his nose, Virgil closed his eyes and did his best to hold the impending tears at bay. Roman shifted slightly closer, but still not enough to physically touch his friend just yet.

“I… I’ve never lied to you fully, Roman. I don’t…I don’t remember my dreams, but I-“ his throat tightened as he continued to hold back the emotion that threatened to bubble out. “I often hear… screams before I wake. A-a-and there are feelings… feelings that I cannot explain.”

“What about last night?”

“Nothing. I don’t remember anything. The last thing I remember was reading Logan’s book on rune marked animals and being angry with you. Honestly, waking up in your arms was the last thing I expected.”

“Wasn’t exactly what I was expecting either.”

   Arms snaked around Virgil’s body as Roman shuffled right up behind him; resting his chin on the smaller man’s shoulder, bodies coming closer together. Virgil’s heart ached, wanting to lean back into the safety and warmth of the Prince’s arms; but another part of him screamed to move away.

“I know we don’t agree on everything, Virgil.” Roman whispered; breath warm against the others cheek. “It frustrates me to no end sometimes. Regardless, I can’t stay mad at you.”

“Ro-“

“Especially not when you need me.” Sensing Virgil’s body relax at his words, Roman pulled him close and guided them both back down to the blanket. “And I… I need you too.”

Virgil rolled over so he was laying on Roman’s chest; part of his mind still screaming to move away. Fingers started gently stoking his hair and Virgil’s mind went blissfully silent; fully accepting the sanctuary of Roman’s company. Virgil felt freer than he’d ever felt in the Queen’s gardens; while on the other hand, Roman was overwhelmed with the feeling of success. He’d passed a class, gotten out unguarded and now had the man he loved willing accepting his embrace. No panic attacks. No fresh nightmare. Just the two of them alone in the forest.

   “We shouldn’t be doing this.” Virgil eventually mumbled, opening his eyes as he registered that he’d been gently stroking the Prince’s chest. “Someone could see us and make assumptions.”

“Let them look. I’m not ashamed.”

“It’s not a good look, Ro.” Sitting up slightly, Virgil looked at the Prince with eyes full of concern. “What would your suitors think if they heard about this?”

“Let them think what they want;” he reached up caressed Virgil’s cheek, “I don’t care.”

Leaning into the touch, Virgil’s mind was once again screaming the negative implications; face contorting in frustration as he finally began moving away.

“We can’t do this, Princey. It’s not right.”

“Says who?” Roman whined, sitting up but making no move to close the gap Virgil had quickly established.

“Your responsibilities and royal traditions.”

“Screw that. I don’t have to listen to any of that if I don’t want to.”

“Don’t be a moron, Roman.” Standing, Virgil looked down at the slightly dejected royal. “I won’t come between you and your right to the throne.”

“And what if I said I didn’t want the throne?” The Prince stood and faced the other with determination.

“Then you’d be lying to me and yourself.” All fire drain from Roman’s eyes, unable to argue with the truth. “I know you, Roman. I’d never forgive myself if you gave up your dreams for an outside like me.”

Silence returned to the area as Virgil moved to check on the horses, leaving Roman alone with his thoughts. He’d hoped his boldness would have been rewarded; instead he was left feeling lonelier than before watching his love move away.

____________________

End Note:

Hey *waves awkwardly* Looks like waiting a month for an update is gonna be a thing…I should have seen that coming. Unfortunately, I can’t plan writers block or mental health relapses; but I can plan for my approaching report writing to take away every ounce of free time I have. So, lets be honest…I’ll probably see you all in late December. 

(Though I will still be trolling around on here because, lets be honest, I’m a major procrastinator) 💜🐌

——————————

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[theeternalspace]

In Memoriam 19

Summary: The metal tree had always fascinated the Prince.

Only, it wasn’t a tree.

And, as it turned out, he wasn’t really a Prince. Instead he was… a side of someone’s personality? He doesn’t remember Thomas, or the other sides, those who call themselves his friends. He doesn’t really remember anything, not even his own name, no matter the efforts of Patton, Logan or Virgil. He must venture back into the Wardrobe door, back to the metal tree in an attempt to recover his missing memories and regain everything he has lost.

But perhaps some doors are best left closed for a reason. And perhaps some personas should remain in the ground where they have been buried.

Story Warnings: Sympathetic/Grey Deceit Sanders. He is trying his best you guys. Anxiety. Self doubt and self loathing. Fantasy fighting. Verbal fighting. Threatening behaviour. Blood and injury. Memory loss. Drowning. Near death.

Previous || Next

The very world seemed to be holding its breath. Or maybe that was just Roman, being overly dramatic again. 

He was still holding Virgil’s hands, fingers still curled around the cooler, paler digits. Roman couldn’t quite bring himself to look at the other side in the eye, opting instead to gaze at their interconnected fingers and the contrast they presented. 

“I saved you because of this.”

Virgil’s words were soft but sure of themselves, a confidence that was normally so sadly lacking in his words. It was enough to make Roman lift his head, staring at him. Virgil stared steadily back, a small, barely there smile lurking on his lips. Just for a moment at least, there was that smile, a hint of one before he was speaking once more. 

“Because you’re good Roman. You always have been.” Virgil’s voice was intent, honest, a blistering honesty that Roman couldn’t deny, no matter how much he wanted to. 

He couldn’t understand how Virgil could say such a thing after everything he had done over the years.  Roman wanted to be good, he so badly wanted to be the Prince, not only of the mind, or for Thomas, but the Prince for everyone. He wanted to be noble and courageous and every dramatic trait that he associated with heroes of old. 

It was hard to think he was that good at times. Hard to maintain the mask of perfection he worked so hard on. Yet Virgil, the one he had wronged perhaps more than anyone, seemed to honestly believe it. The denials, the protestations died in his throat. Now it was Roman’s turn to stand in stunned silence, his eyes wide in shock and awe. They stung a little, tears gathering in the corners but it was the good type of tears, because he felt impossibly happy.  

“I knew you were worth it. You’re a good side and maybe you don’t always come across in the best possible light but then neither do I. Everyone falls Roman. Everyone.” 

When had the roles become reversed? When had Virgil managed to flip the script to effortlessly? Roman was supposed to be the one comforting him, making everything better, and yet here they were with him clinging to the anxious side and letting him make it all better. Virgil was being the protector again. Was being the hero again. Roman hadn’t been joking when he had called Virgil his hero - and he didn’t use that word lightly. 

Hero was the greatest title he could think to bestow on anyone. Virgil had more than earned it. It hadn’t been easy and it hadn’t been quick but Roman couldn’t imagine a world now where Virgil wasn’t his hero. He couldn’t imagine a world without Virgil in it period, couldn’t imagine going through the rest of his existence without his company. Roman didn’t want to have to get through another minute with things being how they had been these last few days. 

He hadn’t even realised how much he had come to rely on Virgil until that steady support was gone. Roman wasn’t sure when they had managed to slip so casually from enemies to friends that supported each other completely. It was after the Hogwarts video but there didn’t seem to be a defining moment in his head, nothing that signified the change. It had been far more gradual than that, Virgil slowly sneaking into his life more and more until Roman felt incomplete without him. 

“I fall with style though,” Roman offered, trying to make a joke and some days it felt as if he did nothing but fall. 

“You do,” Virgil readily agreed, not at all put off by his words, another flash of a brilliant smile before his expression turned serious once more. “But you get back up and that is what matters. You never stop fighting, doing what you think is right. That is what counts Roman, that is what I see when I look at you. Not the person I fought with when we were younger, but the prince that just wants his family safe and happy. The side that will do anything to make sure Thomas is achieving his goals, that he is happy. You’re awesome Ro, and I’m so lucky to have you as a friend.” 

Roman moved forward at those words, hands slipping from holding Virgil’s own to wrap around his back. He wasn’t thinking about anything other than the sheer rush he felt at knowing that Virgil felt like that too, that he hadn’t been alone in his thinking. Virgil wanted to be his friend still and nothing could compare to that. Admittedly, there had been a lot of moments recently where ‘nothing could compare’ but that was only because he was so very lucky in his family and friends and the way in which they were supporting him. 

In his embrace, Virgil froze for a long, awful second. Long enough for Roman to regret making the choice, long enough for him to realise that he hadn’t actually asked permission before going in for the hug and he should have asked, he should have made sure that Virgil was okay with it. Consent was important, and touching without permission, without warning was one of the worst things you could do to someone with anxiety. Roman knew this and he still let his passions get the better of him. He thought with his heart and not his head. That was just what had gotten them into this mess in the first place and had he learnt nothing? 

Roman had messed up, he had ruined eve-

Then Virgil exhaled, a long, shuddering noise, sinking into the hug, his arms lifting to press strongly around his back in turn, clinging on for dear life. Roman could feel his fingers bunching up in his tunic as he clung to him. Virgil was... Virgil was hugging him back.

Oh wow. 

He was hugging him back. Forget Virgil calling him his friend, this was the moment where nothing could compare because Virgil was actually showing affection and willingly hugging him. He was so close that Roman could feel him breathing, choppy, awkward breaths that were too long one moment and then too short the next. He might have been worried except Virgil’s fingers had relaxed slightly. Not enough to imply he wanted to let go or anything, but just a fraction to make Roman feel that he was settling into the hug and had no plans to move anytime soon. 

All he had to do now was solve the breathing, somehow calm Virgil down without stopping the hug. Roman certainly wasn’t going to be the one who ended it first, his whole body was screaming for more of this, more contact, more heat bleeding into each other until it felt as if he would be perfectly happy to stand here for the rest of time and just hold Virgil. Just, so long as he could get him calmer. Roman closed his eyes, just breathing in the scent of the world around them, the flowers which were winding their way around some of the pillars, fragrant notes of freshness. 

He held the air in his lungs for a second and then breathed out through his mouth, keeping the movement steady. Another moment and back in through his nose. Over and over. He felt as patient as the rocks themselves, as if he would stand here and let the world pass them by without complaining, for as long as it took until they were both settled. 

Roman didn’t say a word, didn’t draw attention to the fact that he was doing this. He knew enough to know that Virgil was probably feeling self conscious enough about it as it was. The last thing he needed was thinking Roman was pitying him, even if that wasn’t the case. How could roman pity him when he thought he was the bravest side in the whole mind? 

Moment by moment, Virgil started to copy his breathing, mirroring the deep, even breaths. 

Until Roman was no longer breathing to try and calm Virgil down, but simply breathing himself, the two of them in perfect sync to each other. This was the best hug Roman thought he had ever had. And if either of their hairs got a little wet from falling tears then neither mentioned it. They were both as bad as each other in this moment after all. And after everything they had been through, Roman felt as if they deserved a little cry, a little come down from all the pent up emotions. 

It was impossible to measure time and know how long they had been standing there. It could have been hours and he wouldn’t have known. Roman didn’t want to end the hug, but at the same time, he still had things to say. They had come so far already, but it wasn’t enough. Roman knew that Virgil wasn’t keen on confrontation, on talking about feelings. Neither was Roman, because it just opened up too many avenues which could lead to getting hurt. It was better they did it all in one go though, got through all the pain now rather than having to keep coming back and back to the issue like a series of scabs to be picked at. Roman wanted them to be able to start fresh, to move on. They couldn’t with the clouds that were still lingering over the pair of them. 

A lot had been cleared away, but more still remained. Another battle to fight and wasn’t there always another battle? Just like Virgil had said, he kept getting back up no matter how many times the world knocked him down. If his friend believed that, then Roman couldn’t fail him now. He couldn’t ignore those clouds because they would just grow bigger and bigger until they were back out here and it was another frantic battle just to be heard. 

He would pick up his metaphorical sword in a moment, he would charge back into the battle in just a second. First though, first he had to savour one more thing. 

“Thank you Virge,” Roman whispered into Virgil’s hair, wishing he could say or do something larger, more dramatic. Something like lighting the world with fireworks so that Virgil could see how much he was loved with every splash of colour. Or letting a band spring into existence, playing one of his favourite songs, a concert just for the two of them. Something that was creative, like his role implied. He was meant to be the one who did that sort of thing. 

“Cool,” Virgil whispered back, and it might have only been one word but it was filled with so much emotion, so much power that Roman forgot to breathe for a long second. He felt as if he was floating in the air, as if all those birds he had heard in the woods were suddenly bursting out into synchronised singing. The hills were alive with the sound of music. 

Maybe he didn’t need to be over the top dramatic to prove his point. 

Maybe this actually was perfect after all. 

Just the two of them, hugging beside a sacrifice table. Not that it mattered. They could have been hugging anywhere and it wouldn’t have mattered, all that would have mattered would have been the fact that they were embracing at all. 

What mattered was that they had found their way back to each other, that despite the mistakes that were made along the road, they had still reached this point and that was incredible. That was more than Roman had dared to hope when he had passed through the Wardrobe on his way to find him. 

Virgil sniffed, pulling back slightly, breaking the hold. Roman let him go without any fuss or protest, watching as the darker side took a step backwards and wrapped his arms around himself. Roman couldn’t help but feel a little cold now, his body begging him to close that gap once more and draw Virgil into another hug. He had a feeling that the anxious side wouldn’t actually protest. A series of hugs wouldn’t solve everything but it would really pretty good. Still, there were other things to talk about. 

“Did... did Deceit really make you go to tea with him? That was seriously his price?” Roman asked and as much as he didn’t want to bring up the other side he had to know for sure that was what had happened. He had to know if Deceit had been telling the truth or not. For his own sanity, he had to know that Virgil wasn’t hurting because of any deal he had made on Roman’s behalf. 

Roman still wasn’t really sure how he felt about Deceit. He had been the cause of this whole thing, he had stolen his memories and if it hadn’t been for Virgil, Roman doubted Deceit would have chosen to give them back out of the kindness of his heart. Yet he wasn’t sure if the actions had actually been malicious or not, if Deceit had really meant to cause all the trouble that had arisen out of it. 

Before all of this, he would have said yes, absolutely. Before he had seen the tea set or the expression on Deceit’s face as if Roman had honestly stumbled upon something very private and personal. It made him wonder just what went on in those corners of Thomas’ mind and perhaps if the Dark Sides, as he called them, were perhaps not so very different after all. 

“Yeah,” Virgil admitted with a small cough. “I think... well, we used to be close. Very close, he was like my brother before, um, before things changed. I think he kinda missed that?” 

Roman didn’t quite understand what Deceit missing Virgil had to do with the deceitful side messing with his memories. His motives seemed as opaque as ever and while his end goal had been to apparently get himself back in Virgil’s life by whatever means, he didn’t quite get the thought process that led to that. How could Deceit have known things would have turned out this way?

Not to mention he shouldn’t have brought up this subject. It had been a mistake, one that Roman was only to willing to admit to. Virgil no longer looked happy, all that hard earned relaxation vanishing and leaving him standing there with his shoulders almost up to his ears. He was hunched up and stiff, expression closed off once more. Roman should have just gone with his gut instinct and pulled him into another hug like he had wanted. 

“No, I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to Virgil. I know your past is uncomfortable for you to talk about and I shouldn’t have asked. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and I guess I wanted to ease my own conscious as well. I didn’t want you to hurt anymore because of me. I’ve hurt you far more than I ever wanted to.”

“Nah, it’s fine Roman,” Virgil insisted, uncurling an arm enough to lift it into the air and give a little dismissive wave. “It is good to talk about it. I should have done years ago. Deceit and I, didn’t exactly part on the best of terms. It was more... explosive than that. I think he had my best interests at heart. Maybe? But it was all rather a mess and then we avoided each other for years after. I think he was desperate, which is no excuse of course.” 

“No, it’s not,” Roman agreed and maybe he wasn’t furious with Deceit, not really. That certainly didn’t mean he was fine with what had happened though. Deceit had hurt him, perhaps more than he had intended but intent doesn’t always translate into reality. Or so Logan said. It had still hurt and at some point when he wasn’t so busy with fixing his relationship with Virgil, he might look into that. 

Virgil nodded seriously, all traces of playfulness vanishing from him.

“I think I need to talk to him again too. Clear up a couple of things. This was all my fault, I’m just sorry he used you to get to me. I should have known that he would try something stupid and just cause mayhem along the way. I never expected anything like this.” 

“What was he after? I mean, really? How could messing with my mind help him get you back?” 

Virgil exhaled heavily, giving another shrug and it was unfair, Roman knew, to ask him those questions. It wasn’t Virgil’s responsibility to pick apart how Deceit’s mind worked and translate it for him. It certainly wasn’t his fault, and he shouldn’t be digging around to try and make sense of this. Deceit operated to his own rules, his own music, just like they all did. It would be equally unfair for Virgil to expect Roman to translate say Logan’s thought process. Only the side themselves could explain what they were really thinking or what they had hoped to achieve. 

To expect otherwise, was the way that madness lay surely. 

“He wanted to... he said he wanted to make things better for me, he wanted to give the two of us a second chance by taking your memories away. I don’t think he intended it to end the way it did, I think he was just trying to make things work, like he could just put the clock back and nobody would notice. I’m so sorry Roman. In his own weird, warped way I think he thought he was actually helping. That’s what he said anyway and maybe I’m mad but I believed him. I don’t know what I did or said to make him think that I would welcome that.” 

Virgil was sounding increasingly distressed as he spoke, Roman feeling his heart clench tightly together in sympathy. He took that single step towards Virgil but instead of drawing him into the hug that he so badly wanted to do, Roman simply let his hands rest on his shoulders. He needed Virgil to hear this, not to be distracted by a hug. 

“Hey, none of that. You’re not Deceit’s keeper. You’re not responsible for anything he does, he is a big boy and he makes his own choices. Okay?” Roman said and he was going to have to talk to Deceit too, once things had calmed down. Explain exactly why what he had done was not okay and make sure he didn’t have any other tricks like that up his sleeve. Perhaps Roman could appeal to his wants, to the fact that he seemed to honestly want Virgil happy and this latest stunt had done the opposite of that. 

All that was much later in the future.  

Virgil didn’t look convinced but he nodded anyway. It was a start and something that Roman would take for now. He wasn’t running away from him or rejecting him after all. And that was the important thing. That was the start of something, a true foundation to build upon. 

“Yeah, sure... wanna go back? I bet Patton is missing us,” Virgil offered shyly, timidly. As if he somehow expected Roman to turn on him and suddenly announce that he had changed his mind and didn’t want anything to do with him. 

“Of course my dear emo!” Roman announced, allowing a hint of dramatics to sweep back into his voice. The eye roll he got from Virgil was more than worth it, Roman beaming brightly. He offered an arm to Virgil, intending to walk back down the hill arm in arm. They could cheat once they got to the bottom if they wanted but right now Roman was looking forward to just spending a little bit of time with Virgil. He couldn’t remember - no joke intended - the last time they had simply existed in the same space without some drama happening at the same time, be it Roman without his memories of the high emotions which had charged this whole conversation. It would be nice, for the want of a better word, to just be in his friends company and enjoy the walk.

Even Roman could find pleasure in the quieter moments of life now and then. 

Virgil gave a snort and another eye roll but he took the offered arm nevertheless, linking his own with him. The sight made Roman beam, his previous depression feelings easily swept away by the tide of joy that came with the now. It was much more pleasant to live in the now. 

“This place doesn’t look half bad without the snow,” Virgil commented idly, glancing around as he did, the pair of them taking the first step towards the winding path that snaked out from under a pair of the larger stones and curled down the hill. Roman followed his gaze, staring out over the fields and trees below them. In the far distance he could make out the now ruined remains of a castle that had quite literally melted from the sun. It was a potent symbol of how things had changed within Narnia after they had technically defeated the White Wizard. Almost as potent as the stone table itself... the... intact stone table and there was something important about that. Something Roman was supposed to be doing or saying. 

Roman paused, hand lifting to smack himself on the forehead and he had almost forgotten! It was important and he had nearly let a whole topic of conversation slip past them. They were literally standing in Narnia and he had forgotten to talk about the world, about the thing which had kicked this whole event off. Virgil twisted a little to look at him, a worried expression on his face. 

“Dude, you... good?” Virgil asked carefully, pulling his arm out from Roman’s own. That hurt as well, knowing that Virgil was withdrawing himself a little, physically and mentally, just in case something bad was going to happen. 

This painful conversation wasn’t over yet. 

“I’m sorry about Edmund too, that I didn’t explain what I really meant. I’ve not been very good at that lately have I? Actually using my words to tell you what I’m thinking. I just seem to kind of expect you to know all the gaps I didn’t say.” 

“What is there to explain? I’ve read the books Roman, its fine.” Virgil’s smile was warmer than the last time he had said that dreaded word and tried to fob him off with the claims of being fine. It still wasn’t enough though, not by far. Not when there was a slightly haunted look in Virgil’s eyes, one that hurt even more now that they had hugged and forgave each other. 

Virgil shouldn’t forgive him. Not yet. Not until he knew everything. 

“No, it's really not!” Roman burst out, unable to contain himself any longer and he had pressed down on those feelings for too long. He shrunk back down a second later, a guilty expression cross his features and he quickly forgot his own rules, his own plans. He was so close to ruining this by being too over the top and Virgil had already been far more forgiving than he had ever dared hope. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout. Another thing to add to the list.” Roman exhaled softly, fingers lifting to rub at his temples for a moment as he tried to marshal his thoughts once more. This was important, this had to be perfect. A performance of a lifetime. 

“I wanted you to be Edmund because Thomas is Edmund and I wanted... I wanted to let you play Thomas’ role. The most important role as far as I was concerned and I wanted you to have it. You, Virgil.”

“Oh...” Virgil trailed off, chewing on his bottom lip nervously. Roman waited a few moments but it didn’t seem as though Virgil was going to say anything else, the emo staring over his shoulder, jaw working as though he was searching for the right words to say but failing miserably. 

That was fine. This was just talking, this was more offering up his own heart. It had worked the last time and there was no reason why it wouldn’t work this time too. Virgil responded best to honesty and that was something Roman could give him. He just had to explain his own jumbled thought process and why he had done what he had done. Why it had mattered in almost literally the opposite way to how Virgil had thought. 

“It’s stupid of me, I should have known better but I didn’t even think of this part of his story until just now, I didn’t stop to even consider how you would react to me asking you to play him. All I was thinking about was Thomas and I was going to be Edmund because he was. But then I thought it might be fun to go on an adventure together and it seemed only right I let you be him, that you get to take Thomas’ role for once. After all, you help him with his acting just as much as I do. I just get all the credit and that didn’t seem very fair anymore.” 

“Really? You meant it like... that?” Virgil gave a small snort of laughter, eyes angled down to stare at his shoes for another few long, agonising moments. Long enough for Roman to wonder if that laughter had been something bitter, something hurt. Maybe he had been wrong and there was no right, no good way to play Edmund. Maybe the character was linked with betrayal to such a degree in Virgil’s head that he couldn’t actually separate him back. 

“I mean it,” Roman whispered intently and he wished there was a way for Virgil to see inside of his head, to know just how badly Roman meant what he said and how much he regretted confusing him like that. Being Edmund was supposed to be his way of showing to Virgil that he was truly accepted by the creative side, that he was his brother in arms so to speak. That he loved Virgil as a true and treasured member of his family and never wanted that to change. 

When Virgil looked back up, there was an honest smile on his face, Roman feeling the weight instantly rise off his shoulders. It almost made him feel a little lightheaded, giddy and he didn’t need Virgil to speak to know that things were going to be alright after all. That being thought, it certainly didn’t hurt to hear the words right out of Virgil’s mouth and be reassured just that tiny bit extra. 

“Well, I feel like a fool,” Virgil admitted. “You’re right, I saw it as... you thinking the worst of me. But really, it was me thinking the worst of us both.” 

“Not a fool,” Roman told him seriously, offering his warmest smile at him. “Just you. Of course you would see that, just as I would only see the fact it was Thomas’ role and nothing else. You are built to be on guard for things like that. My fault for not explaining myself better, your fault for not explaining what you felt... let’s just call it even hey?”

“I could live with that,” Virgil agreed. He reached out before Roman had a chance to, linking his arm back with Roman’s own. Roman’s smile, somehow, managed to grow, his heart all but bursting out of his chest in delight. “Home?”

“Home.” 

They managed a few steps this time, crossing the top of the hill and reaching the stone circle before a tremendous crack and groan suddenly echoed around the clearing, the pair of them jumping at the sound. As one, they turned, looking behind them and back to the flat stone table which dominated the space within. 

It lay in two, a jagged line splitting it in half as though it had been hit by a powerful bolt of lightning. The centre was slightly black, singed a little, a few wisps of smoke rising from the ruins of what had once been a corrupted symbol of the Wizard’s power. It was a dramatic break but then Roman would expect nothing less. All of them were dramatic in their own way, of course Virgil would be no different. 

“Well... how about that,” Roman muttered, hand lifting to idly brush his hair back from his face. 

“Wha- what was that?” Virgil sounded a little freaked out by the sight, eyes darting this way and that, trying to find the source of the damage. It seemed as though he didn’t even realise what he had done. Maybe all it had taken was Virgil accepting that he wasn’t a bad guy all over again. There was symbolism here, Roman was sure of that, but he was getting tired. 

It had been a long and exhausting day, and all Roman wanted to do was go back to the main part of the mind and collapse on the couch with Virgil, Patton and Logan. Maybe watch a couple of movies and fall asleep together. That sounded like heaven right about now. Virgil still looked undeniably freaked out by the destroyed table though, and Roman had to say something, forcing his tired brain to try and work one last time. 

“The world catching up with the story. You did it Virge. You broke the table and you stopped the Wizard. You deserve the role of Edmund. Edmund the Just.” He stressed, and Roman at least learnt from his mistakes. 

“Maybe I do. High King Peter. Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen, am I right? Let’s go back to the real world. I don’t need to mope here anymore.” 

This time, when the pair set off, there was no sudden realisations, no noises or changes to reality that delayed them. Nothing to stop a pair of friends walking arm in arm down the hill and back towards home. 

#sanders sides #in memoriam #aca writes #long post

[existing-on-cloral]

Brooklyn’s Night Terrors

A Steve Rogers X Reader fanfiction

Chapter Six: Run Fast

Pietro shows up at the Tower, just as the Reaper promised. However, you're not there to witness it. Peter arrives back at HQ, dragging a barely-conscious Steve behind him. Dr. Banner has some interesting diagnoses for him.

Wanda tapped Bucky on the arm as he passed. "I can sense him," she warned. "He moves fast."

"That's kinda his power," Bucky muttered, but took off towards the bottom floor nevertheless. Wanda turned to the window, scanning the street below. Without any warning, her hand shot out and a figure down on the sidewalk froze.

"It is him," she gasped, but maintained her hold. "Bucky! I've got him frozen. Detain him, both hands and feet."

"Roger that, Wanda," Bucky replied. Wanda could hear footsteps in his comms, then he appeared on the street and locked Pietro's hands behind his back. Bucky kicked Pietro to the ground to lock his ankles together and Wanda winced.

Still, if cognitive recalibration would work...

Bucky brought Pietro up to the floor she was on and set him down on a chair. Wanda stared at her brother, muscles tense, while Bucky tied him to the chair.

"You think this will keep me from running?" Pietro spit, glaring up at his sister with no sign of recognition.

"No." Wanda said, crouching down low and kneeling in front of him. "But I think this might."

She reached out her hand and Pietro screamed in pain. Bucky watched in awe as what were likely memories of the twins' past together flowed between them. "Why the hell didn't we get her down to Wakanda when my brain was split in two?" he wondered aloud.

"Perhaps it was because I was on the run... Due to... Your friend... Needing to prove... That he was right." Wanda gasped, managing to keep contact between her mind and her brother's.

"You've got a point," Bucky said. As Pietro struggled against the overload of memories, he went back to the window, confident in Wanda's ability. Scanning the street below, he spotted a kid in red spandex making his way through the streets. "It's Peter, he's back, but..." Bucky watched the crowd part like the damn Red Sea before Peter, and as he got closer, Bucky saw that he was carrying Steve on his back.

Without hesitation, Bucky headed right for the door. "Steve's incapacitated. You got this guy?" Wanda nodded. "I gotta go."

Bucky sprinted down flights of stairs, the elevator being too slow for him. He reached the bottom floor in about twenty seconds, a much shorter time than normal. (It might have helped that he swung himself into the empty space in the middle and let himself fall for a few floors before catching a railing and repeating the action.) When he reached the ground floor, he sprinted to the revolving door just in time to catch Peter trying to squeeze through.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, dragging Peter and Steve inside. "What's up with him?"

Steve's head lolled back and he muttered a few incomprehensible words, possibly in another language. Bucky dragged his friend over to one of the lobby's armchairs and left him there, turning back to Peter. "Talk, kid."

Peter shrunk back, but timidly said, "Well, we went into this underground maze and I went one way and he went the other. I got trapped in a room with... With Quentin Beck, and I had to fight him off. It was really scary cause he knew what I'd done to him because the Reaper showed him some footage or whatever, so he was out for... For my blood." Peter paused to take a deep breath, shoulders shuddering. "There was a screen in there, showing me what Steve was doing. He found Sam but then the Reaper showed up and she took Sam away and then she opened her hand and it had this powdery stuff in there and she blew it at him and then she..." Peter trailed off, eyes filling with tears.

Bucky relaxed immediately, hurrying over to Peter and guiding him to an armchair next to Steve. "Take your time, it's okay. But we need to know everything to form a clear plan of what to do next."

"Okay... okay..." Peter inhaled sharply, and tears started to roll down his cheeks. "The Blue Reaper had a... What's the stupid word... An aphrodisiac on her powerful enough to take down a super soldier. So she... She kissed him and he was kissing her back, and I remember just hauling off and kicking Beck in the head, then I ran back and got Steve and pulled her off him, and then Steve was still trying to get to her, and..." Tears were flowing down Peter's cheeks and he began sobbing, drawing in short breaths and then hiccuping them out.

"I think you're having a panic attack," Bucky said, offering a hand to Peter. "Let's get you and this lump of patriotism to the infirmary, yeah?"

Peter nodded, still trying to get his breath back, took Bucky's hand, and stood shakily.

"Peter?"

You entered the lobby through the door, still in your hospital gown and barefoot. "What's going on?" you asked.

Steve's eyes flew open and he scrambled towards you, on his hands and knees. The way he said your name made Bucky's skin crawl, like it was involuntary or drawn from his throat. "You don't like Sam, right? You like me. God, please tell me you like me."

You took a step back so Steve's hands fell short of your gown. "What the hell happened to him?"

"How did you get out of the hospital room?" Bucky asked.

"I don't remember. I think it was the Reaper or..." You trailed off, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead.

"Or Maximoff got his job done without us noticing," Bucky muttered. "I knew we caught him too easily." He dropped Peter's hand and hurried over to you. "You're burning up. What... What do you remember?"

You shivered. "I remember... waking up in a cold room, and this metal-sounding voice kept saying to me, 'Your Captain will pay, you will pay, and your precious Sam will pay'. Someone shot something into my arm and I passed out. I must have escaped somehow because next thing I knew I was on the streets of Queens, back at the place where I crashed the car. I tried to find my way back here but no one gave me directions." You laughed hollowly. "I guess I must look like an insane asylum patient."

Bucky pressed his metal hand to your forehead. It was blazing hot to the touch, and the little screen on the back of it read your temperature.

103.8.

He did the same to Steve and came up with 101.7. "Whatever she hit you guys with, it's increasing your body temperature dramatically. How did you make it back here without passing out?"

You shook your head. "I don't know. It's all a blur."

Peter, still shaking, ran for you and threw his arms around you. "I'm glad you're safe," he sobbed, shaking from head to toe.

"Is he having a panic attack?" you asked Bucky.

Bucky nodded. "Can you walk to the infirmary? I gotta carry Steve and I can't carry three people."

You bit your lip and gave him a quick nod, then directed Peter towards the infirmary. "Let's go, Petey. They're gonna tell us what's wrong. It's okay."

The walk felt longer with each passing second. To Bucky, it felt like it was taking hours to walk the short hallway to get the three of you medical attention. The instant you got in the door, doctors swarmed you, taking Peter over to where Wanda was sitting with a sleeping Pietro, and directing you and Steve through the doors to Dr. Banner's lab.

"Is he okay?" Bucky asked Wanda, hurrying over to the bed where Pietro lay.

Wanda nodded, squeezing her brother's hand. "I stopped the flow and he looked at me and said, 'Wanda, I'm sorry', and then he passed out. I brought him here, but it was hard. He is heavy."

"Most of that's probably muscle," Bucky commented. "He's pretty lean."

"He's a runner," Wanda said, and her tense form told Bucky that the conversation was over. He turned to Peter instead, sitting in the chair next to the kid's bed. A doctor put a ventilator over his face, forcing Peter to breathe slower. Bucky had to lean in to hear what Peter had to say since the mask muffled his words.

Peter looked up at Bucky, brown eyes wide. "Mr. Barnes, I'm scared." He lifted his hand and gestured vaguely to the doors. "They've both saved my life and I feel like it's my fault that Steve got hit with that stuff. I said we should split up."

Bucky shook his head. "It's not your fault, kid." He grabbed Peter's hand and placed it back on the bed. "Don't worry about it."

Peter turned to look over at Wanda. "Is that her brother?" he asked. Bucky placed his fingers on the inside of Peter's wrist and felt his's heart rate calm down. "Can I... Can I sit with Wanda?"

"Can you breathe normally?" Bucky asked. Peter nodded and Bucky helped him sit up and take off the mask. Peter slowly walked over to sit in the chair on the other side of Pietro's bed.

"What happened to him? I mean... How did he die?" Peter stared down at the boy's sleeping face, eyes flickering up to Wanda.

Wanda seemed more than happy to entertain Peter with stories about her and her brother, even if it was about Pietro's original death. Bucky flopped onto the bed Peter had just occupied, leaning his head into his hands and taking a deep breath in. It had been a very long day.

"The good news is, you're both fine," Dr. Banner told you. "But we took some blood samples and it turns out the Reaper, just like Peter said, does have an aphrodisiac strong enough to knock out a super soldier. Your temperature is higher because she used the same strength of the drug on you, so it's affecting you more." He set the Hulk-sized clipboard on his desk, occasionally glancing back at it.

"So we just wait it out?" you asked, pressing your hand back to your forehead. Already it felt hotter than a half hour ago.

Banner hesitated. "It seems that way, unless you find a way to get it out of your system faster."

You gritted your teeth, resigning yourself to sitting on a bed in the same room as a very attractive man until this passed. An idea struck you. "May I go back to my room?"

"That may be wise after a little while, but I think you and Steve should both stay here so I can keep you under observation. We don't know a lot about this drug, so we need to be able to learn more." Banner collected his things and left. The door locked behind him.

"Damn." You headed back to the cot that the doctors had left out for you. "If I could just go back to my stupid in-house studio I would be fine."

Steve coughed, drawing your attention. "I'm sorry for what happened in the lobby, I don't know what came over me." He scooted himself up onto his elbows and he glanced over at you.

You shook your head, moving to sit up against the wall. "I do. If it's the drug talking, I get it. I get whistled at on the street all the time." You put on a low voice, mimicking men that tried to catcall you. "'Hey, pretty lady! Cute lab coat, I wonder what's under it'."

"That's awful, I'm sorry," Steve said, sitting up as well. "Do you ever drive to work?"

"Don't have a car." You looked down at your hands, squeezing them together. Pain began to curl in your lower abdomen. "I can't... This is a high-paying job but... I'm saving for... The future." You gasped for breath, the pain spreading to your legs and chest. "Fuck!" Your head slammed into the wall and your breath came in short pants.

Steve's brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

"It hurts, it hurts, ah, fuck, it hurts!" You thrashed on the bed, screaming in pain. "Banner! Ah, fuck!" You could feel wetness gathering between your legs and decided to strangle Banner later, because locking you in a room with Steve Rogers while very high on a sex drug was a bad idea.

"Hey, take deep breaths," Steve tried to reassure you from the other bed, but you couldn't hear him over the ringing in your ears. "It's okay, just..." Steve trailed off as he realized he didn't know what to say. So instead, he just whispered your name as the pain started in his stomach too. "Fucking Christ!" His head slammed back into the wall.

You rolled out of bed, curling up on the floor and bursting into sobs. Dr. Banner's words came back to you as you looked up at Steve through the tears.

It seems that way, unless you find a way to get it out of your system faster.

"Steve. Steve, Steve." You scrambled over to his bed and grabbed his wrist. "Steve, look at me."

Steve looked down at you through glassy eyes. "Are we going to die?" he said, his voice strained. Looking over him, you saw, for the first time ever, true fear in his eyes.

"Not on my watch," you panted, climbing onto the bed with him. "You just got your life back, you are not dying." You straddled Steve, pressing your hands down on his shoulder. "Come on, Steve. Banner said that there might be another way to..." You breathed a sigh of relief as the pain eased. Your hips involuntarily pressed down into Steve and you both groaned.

"To fight it off," Steve finished. "God, if you want... I haven't since..." He looked away, beautiful blue eyes filling with tears.

You rocked your hips again, leaning down to press a kiss into his collarbone. "It's survival, Steve. I don't care if you're... Out of practice."

Steve lifted your head by means of pulling at your hair, tugging until you were hovering over him. "Say it, doll. Say it."

"Fuck me, Steve."

He tightened his grip on your hair and yanked you down into a kiss.