#that being said: unless stuff comes across my dash about him and his story i likely won't be talking much about it

[amaraudermind]

Connor Hawke being asexual is the best thing I have ever seen on page. I cried reading his story in DC Pride. Genuinely cried in front of my mum over it.

#connor hawke #that being said: unless stuff comes across my dash about him and his story i likely won't be talking much about it #i planned to just go through and reblog stuff from the tag but i am now crying for a completely different reason #because i can't deal with people being aphobic over this right now. immediately after entering the connor hawke tag that's what i saw #and i really can't do that right now. #so yeah. this is the best thing to ever happen. don't try to start shit with me right now btw #anyway #asexual

[house-of-laminations]

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?, 24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?, 32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

Hello Carim! Hope your day is going well 💛 thanks for the ask!

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

For me, being "haunted" by a piece of writing is to always have it in the back of your mind, and it inspires and intimidates you in equal measure. I can't say any of my writing has ever haunted me per se, unless you count that constant niggling in the back of your mind telling you to finish your WIPs.

But as for other people's writing? There's a few that have stuck with me over the years. One in particular I reread recently and highly recommend is a Star Wars fic called Shape-Changer, by Fialleri on Ao3 (and all subsequent works by them in that continuity). Its a beautiful piece of world building, dealing with oppression and reclaiming of culture from the perspective of a slave (Darth Vader, in this fic, but also others in later stories). The language and stories (and how those stories are told) they create for the slaves of Tattooine really just. get me every time. Story telling as escapism and empowerment my beloved.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does this look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

I put the same prep work into my fiction writing that I put into my academic writing - that is, I’ll have a few dot points or maybe a stray thought written down, do a ton of research that takes me entirely a different direction, and then just improvise the rest. Typically I’ll have section/chapter/character/topic headings written up, then I’ll do a big research deep dive. For example, in Evolutionary Biology with Prof MC, that included doing a ton of diving into the timeline of evolutionary emergence for different species, and a little anthropology (though the latter I already have a background in). Then I kinda just. Go for it. It’s hard to explain how I actually write because it’s not really linear, and that’s why prep work is more about doing research than creating a solid structure.

There is only a single exception to this and that is a massive epic of a fic that’s the brainchild of myself and one of my close friends (shout out to jorts if this comes across your dash). It’s a massive MDSZ fic with a bunch of timeline stuff and worldbuilding plotted out linearly, but again, it’s because it’s a beast. That looks like a massive google doc with a gazillion dot points in chronological order for a story.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc do you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

From the same fic I linked before (Shape-Changer) there's an exchange between a young Anakin Skywalker and his mother: "Vader remembered asking his mother once why there were so many stories about Ekkreth as a slave. She’d looked at him very seriously and said, “Oh no, Ani. They aren’t stories about Ekkreth the slave at all. They’re stories of how Ekkreth becomes free." "

And even though it's a fanfic that's about fictional slavery, it always reminds me of how storytelling is all about perspective. Story telling is intimate and personal and creates connections between humans. And that's why I love it, and I love being a writer. Stories are why I love humans.

#carim #sorry if star wars isnt peoples thing - its just that that particular fic has stuck with me for *years* #ask games #i talk to a real human

[calpalirwin]

Mosaic Broken Hearts

Summary: More secrets spill out the more your relationship with Bucky grows

Word Count: 4.4k

And away, and away we go!

__

Bright flashes of light, explosions, blood spattered everywhere, pain, indescribable pain. You screamed for it to stop.

“Hey,” a voice was calling out, a hand nudging at you. “Hey! Y/N! C’mon!”

You screamed louder as your eyes snapped open, scrambling to get out of bed, and promptly face planting on the floor in the process. “You have exactly five seconds to explain who the hell you are, and what the fuck you’re doing in my room before I kill you. One!” You made your voice as threatening impossible, as you pushed yourself up into a sitting position. Where the fuck was a prosthetic when you needed it? Could you kill this guy from the floor? Well… It’d be messy, but you sure as hell would try.

With your mind racing, it took a minute to register that your intruder was laughing. Why the fuck were they laughing?

“Two!”

“It’s me! It’s Bucky. You had a nightmare.”

Different flashes went through your head. Screaming in the lab for a knife. Bucky offering to carry you to your room. You asking him to stay. “Oh…”

“C’mon,” he said softly as he appeared in front of you. One of his arms went around your back, the other hooking under your left knee as he picked you up and set you back in bed. “Do you wanna talk about it, or just leave it?”

“I- Gimme a minute,” you told him, taking a series of long, slow deep breaths as the adrenaline pounding through your veins slowed. “Fuck… You’re just seeing every ounce of vulnerability I have, aren’t you?”

“Could have just as easily been me having the nightmare.”

“Only you wouldn’t have face-planted out of bed in the process. Or at least you would have been able to get up by yourself if you had,” you replied bitterly.

“Can you not play that tough guy role who has it all together all the time?”

“I dunno, let’s ask my pride.”

“I’m not going to judge you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Or think less of you, or whatever else your head is telling you I’m gonna do. You can’t scare me off, Y/N. The only thing you’re fighting here is your own pride.”

“Yes, I’m well aw-” you started, then sighed. “Thank you. I’m, uh… not used to this. So I’m probably gonna be bad at it for a while. But thank you. For staying and stuff. Now… if you wanna go ahead and be the vulnerable one for a bit, that would be fantastic.”

Bucky chuckled, his arm snaking across your shoulders to hold you loosely at his side. “I’m sure it’ll happen eventually. I’m pretty broken myself. And rumor has it you have a soft spot for broken things.”

“Aw, he pays attention, how sweet,” you teased, squishing his cheeks in your hand.

He chuckled again, and you admired the throaty sound of it. “So, the nightmare?”

You let out a sigh. “It’s always the same one. Two car accidents. Two explosions. Lots of blood. Lots of screaming. Which is ridiculous to me because one of the car accidents I wasn’t even there for. It was my parents, and I was just told about it. But I still dream about it like I was there.”

Bucky stiffened, and you assumed it was in sympathy to having nightmares about memories that weren’t your own. “And then the other accident is yours and Tony’s?”

You nodded. “Yep. My family should just stay away from cars. We don’t exactly have the best track record with them.”

“How old were you when it happened?”

“When what happened? My parents, or my leg getting blown off?”

“Both? If you feel comfortable. It’s fine if you want me to shut up.”

“No, it’s fine. I was… Let’s see… I was 11 when my parents died. And I was 28 when I lost my leg.”

“You said after your parents died you went straight into the Army. How could you do that if you were 11?”

“Okay, so I left out some steps. My parents died. I finished school. Went to Westpoint, became an officer, then got shipped overseas. All the while Tony did whatever the hell it is Tony does.”

“And you were 28 when you had your accident, which means…”

“That I’m 36, yeah. Still younger than you, even though all that time spent frozen and whatever magic in that serum slows the aging process makes you look about 32.”

“I was going to say it means we were the same age when we had our incidents. But thanks for reminding me that I’m technically 99.”

You snorted. “God, my boyfriend’s old.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Shit… Jumped to conclusions… Fuck, sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I, uh, it’s fine. It’s more than fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I happen to like you quite a bit, Y/N. In case I haven’t made that obvious.”

“Good. Cuz I happen to like you quite a bit as well.”

~~~

Waking up in the morning with Bucky’s arm thrown around you was nice in a way you didn’t expect. While your friendship with him up until this point had already made you feel better than you had in longer than you could remember, the dating part was already adding to that feeling, even though it’d only been a handful of hours since you made the change from friends to boyfriends, most of which had been spent sleeping through the night. Bucky made you feel seen in a way you weren’t used to, and while it scared you, it also thrilled you. And it was more than just being able to see you. He understood you. He understood your pain. And it didn’t scare him. It was a relief to not feel so fucking alone, or have to put up a front.

Your problem now was not wanting to wake him up. He looked so peaceful, the long locks of brown hair acting as a curtain in front of his face. You knew if those fluttering eyelids flashed open, you’d find the most stunning pair of blue eyes, which was quite the statement considering you’ve known Steve for five years. Was it an unspoken requirement that you had to be god-level hot to be a super soldier? Or did the serum do that? Either way, it was grossly unfair.

You were awake, and your stomach was growling, and now you were in a predicament. One, despite your hunger, you didn’t want to leave your bed. There was a hot man in it with his arm flung around you. Two, getting out of bed when your prosthetic limb was still in the lab wasn’t going to be an easy task, unless you woke up said hot man sleeping in your bed. Which you didn’t want to do, because A.) he looked so peaceful and B.) you knew how hard peaceful sleep was to come by, so you didn’t want to be the one to ruin it for him. But god damn, you needed food. And to get to the lab to build a new leg.

It was fine. You could do this. You could get across the room to your closet where you had a pair of crutches without waking Bucky in the process. You were the king of stealth.

Through some small miracle, you managed to make it out of your room without waking Bucky, leaving behind a small note as to where he could find you.

As you made your way to the giant kitchen area, you remembered why you usually either hid in the lab until you made a new leg, or used an office chair to scoot about the place. These crutches were a pain in the ass, beads of sweat forming on your face by the time you got to the kitchen, where you came face to face with what could possibly be your worst fucking nightmare: the full team of half awake Avengers staring at you in shock.

“Morning,” you greeted, making it the rest of the way to a countertop, and leaning on it.

Mumbles of “hey”s and “morning”s chorused back at you, with the exception of Tony who went “Kid, get a chair. With wheels.”

Peter looked up from his bowl of cereal. “Got it, Mr. Stark,” he replied before dashing off.

“Tony, that’s not really necessary,” you started. “I’m just gonna grab something and head to the lab.”

“Don’t play the stubborn hero act. It’s annoying,” was all he replied with as Peter reappeared with an office chair. “Thanks, kid. Sit, Y/N. Toast?”

“Thanks, Peter,” you smiled gratefully, easing into the chair, leaving the crutches leaning against the counter. “And yeah, toast or whatever’s fine, Tony. Thank you.”

“So cordial, are you sure you’re a Stark?” Steve teased.

“Ha-ha,” you deadpanned, scooting your way over to the table.

“Your leg okay?” he followed up with genuine concern.

“Which one?” you asked sardonically.

“Yep, definitely a Stark.”

“So hanging around the Manchurian Candidate helping you embrace amputee life finally?” Tony asked, setting a plate of toast before you.

“Actually it was an explosion that made me embrace amputee life. You were there, remember?”

“My brother, the comedian,” he said with an eye roll. “You know what I meant.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I mean I guess. It’s still not something I’m gonna go around mentioning for the hell of it. Kinda like how you don’t go around mentioning certain things.”

“Mentioning your business isn’t my business, Y/N, it’s yours.”

“I appreciate the discretion.”

“I’m sorry,” a man spoke up. “Is anyone else lost, or just me?”

“Scott, this is,” Tony started, but thought better of it. “Fuck it, it’s your business, you tell it.”

“Y/N Stark. Tony’s younger brother. Ex-military. Not an Avenger, I just live here,” you rattled off the basics. “Oh, and my right leg below the knee is fake thanks to yours truly,” you pointed at Tony. “Well, right now it’s non existent because I had to stab the prosthetic I did have. Different story, different time.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tony interjected as people stared at him with their mouths open in shock. “I did not blow off your leg. Stark weapons did.”

“Same difference. And it wasn’t meant maliciously. Just a fact. Anyway, I’m pretty easy to find if you need me because I’m usually in the lab. Speaking of, do you need me today, Tony?”

“No, we’re fine.”

“Cool. Cuz I gotta make a new leg.”

“Aw,” Bucky’s voice pouted from behind you, “and I was starting to like carrying you around.” He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. “You could’ve woken me up,” he murmured.

“Um… what is this?” Tony asked, waving a finger between you and Bucky.

“None of your concern,” you replied bluntly.

“Bullshit it’s not. Hanging out with him is one thing, Y/N. But whatever that is, shut it down, and shut it down now.”

“I’m going to say this as respectfully as possible 1.) because we’re family and 2.) because I don’t want my morning to become more of a spectacle than it already has been. But you don’t get a say in how I live my life. You had your chance to be involved after Mom and Dad died, and you ran away from that chance. And I try really hard not to hold a grudge against you for that. And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me since our accident. But I’m a grown ass man, Tony. Who I chose to involve myself with is none of your concern.”

“Oh, so you’re fine with your new boyfriend being a mass murderer?”

You laughed. You laughed so hard you doubled over in your chair, your sides aching and tears forming in your eyes. “That’s the best fuckin’ joke I’ve ever heard!” you kept howling with laughter. “Mass murderer boyfriend, do you hear this shit? Cuz the rest of us in this room are so innocent, right? Cuz our hands aren’t covered in the blood of someone else? Oh, God! Yeah, you’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that, Tony.” You snorted. “Mass murderer. Yep. That’s a good one.”

Your brother’s eyes flashed darkly. “So, you’re aware that part of his mass murder history includes our parents? Or did Sergeant Barnes conveniently leave that out?”

You stopped laughing as you glanced upwards at Bucky. His hands were gripped tightly on the back of your chair, the knuckles on his right hand white from the force of the grip. His body was rigid, eyes screwed shut. “What?” you croaked out in a barely audible whisper.

“Yeah. The reason you got robbed of a childhood with Mom?” Tony clicked his tongue, pointing at Bucky. “Right there.”

You continued to look up at Bucky who stayed in his frozen state. “Tell me he’s lying,” you pleaded quietly. When Bucky still didn’t move, you shoved a hand into his chest. “Tell me he’s lying, Bucky!”

Slowly Bucky opened his eyes, his face, his gorgeous face, a painting of pain and sorrow. “I’m sorry…”

You hated this. You hated Tony for blowing up your life a second time. You hated Bucky for not telling you this himself. And you hated yourself for daring to believe that for once you could be happy. But you’d be damned if you’d let them see you break. You took a slow breath, sealing yourself off, the walls building around you. “I have work to do,” you said, starting to push away in your chair, but Bucky’s grip still held you in place.

“Y/N,” he said in a cracked voice. “Y/N, please.”

“You have exactly five seconds to let go of my chair, Sergeant Barnes, before I break your hands. One,”

“Y/N.”

“Two.”

“Please, let me explain.”

“Three. I swear I’ll break those hands. Metal or not.”

“Love, please don’t do this…”

“Four,” you continued to count, feeling your voice start to shake at the way he called you “love.”

He let go, and you pushed yourself quickly out of the room, not daring to look back.

~~~

In the lab, you tried to distract your brain, but it still raced. There were so many swirling parts, and you were so angry that you couldn’t pinpoint what was actually making you angry.

Footsteps and a throat clearing had you snapping up your head, body tense, not ready to face either Bucky or Tony. So when you saw it was Steve, your defenses fell. “Hey, Steve,” you greeted half-heartedly.

“Hey. How you feeling?” he asked, testing the waters as he slowly made his way to you.

“I’m not gonna bite your head off if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Don’t think I could blame you if you did. What happened back there was… intense. Tony was out of line.”

“When isn’t Tony out of line?”

“Fair point. But hey, I’m here if you want someone to scream at. Someone to help answer any of the thousand of questions running through your head.”

“I don’t want to scream at anyone. Kill Tony, maybe. But I’m kinda used to that feeling. I just… Fuck, I dunno, Steve. I don’t know what to be mad at, or about. I just know that I’m mad. Hurt. I’m hurt.”

“So start at the beginning. Work through it.”

“It’s true, right? What Tony said about Bucky?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“How long did everyone know?”

“It came out when we brought Bucky in. So a few months now. Obviously Bucky knew longer.”

“Obviously,” you snorted, then sighed. “Well, that explains Tony’s feelings towards Bucky.”

“But it’s still not an excuse for how it came out. There was a way to handle that situation and that wasn’t it. So if you want to be angry with Tony for that, you’re well within your right.”

“Oh, I’m livid. Like don’t trust myself alone in a room with him, livid. And I hate the position it puts me in. Being mad at him for telling me the truth. Sounding like an ungrateful, spoiled brat.”

“You can appreciate what Tony’s done for you while hating the circumstances that led to it. It doesn’t have to be black and white.”

“I deal in absolutes, Steve. It’s what makes the most sense to me. Facts. Fact: my parents died. Fact: Bucky caused their accident. Fact: their death shaped the way I lived my life, and the way Tony lived his. Fact: Tony’s actions ruined my life, not once, but twice now.”

“And where does that leave you with Bucky?”

You sighed. “That’s where things get convoluted. Fact: he was brainwashed as the Winter Soldier. So I can’t hold that against him. And I don’t. Me knowing Bucky caused their accident doesn’t make them less dead. So as stupid as it seems, I’m not mad about that. I’m mad he didn’t tell me himself. But even then? Part of me can still understand why he didn’t. I mean, there were things about my past I kept from him. And at what point do you drop a bomb like that?”

“So where does all of that leave you?”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem. Part of me wants to clock Tony for running his mouth. Part of me is screaming that this is exactly why I don’t let people in. And part of me is still stupidly head over heels in love with Bucky, even though I feel like my trust in him got betrayed.”

“In love with him? Does Bucky know?”

You shook your head. “We barely started dating. And I mean barely. Like it happened last night barely.”

“And now it’s already potentially over.”

“Yup…”

“Well. And you can do whatever you want with this advice. But, it sounds like the real issue is with Tony, not Bucky. So try not to confuse the two.”

“But how do I trust him, Steve? I laid everything out on the line, and he couldn’t do the same for me.”

“Sounds like you trust him just fine if you’re able to do all that. So is your real hurt, with Bucky at least, in the fact that you feel he doesn’t trust you back? I mean, and correct me if I’m wrong, but this is just my observations. You don’t let that vulnerable side of you show often, if ever. I mean, everyone back there expected you to rip Tony’s head from his shoulders and you barely raised your voice. You have a very tight control on your feelings. You have a very tight control on what you let others around you in on. So if you allowed yourself to be vulnerable to Bucky, I can understand how that powershift makes you feel out of control. I can see how any indication of him not trusting you back is a huge act of betrayal in your mind. It’s like you loaded the gun, and handed it to him yourself.”

“Have I ever told you how much you scare me with how observant you are?”

Steve chuckled. “I knew Bucky a long time before he was the Winter Soldier. He’s not gonna be the guy to let you down. But me telling you that, and you believing it are two totally different things.”

“So what do I do, Steve?”

“You gotta figure that out for yourself. But talking might be a good place to start.”

“Thanks. Seriously. This helped me a lot.”

“Anytime, Y/N.”

~~~

Your next visitor was Tony. “So…” he started, peering over your shoulder at the leg you were halfway finished with. “Break up with him yet?”

“So… find a new way to blow up my life yet?” you fired back.

His jaw clenched. “Blew up your life by telling you the truth?”

“Blew up my life by fucking ruining everything, actually. I was happy, Tony. Actually fucking happy. And you let me have that for all of what? 30 seconds?”

“So you’d rather your happiness be fake? Be a lie then?”

“It wasn’t fake, that’s the thing! Look, I get that you hate him. I get that you and Steve were at odds with each other because of Bucky. And I get that hearing the news that he’s the reason for our parents’ death doesn’t make you exactly keen on being his friend, or having him around here. But, God, Tony! There were a million different ways you, or Bucky could have clued me in on things. And of course, you went with the one that would hurt him the most, not even hesitating long enough to think about how it would hurt me in the process. I knew you were a spiteful bastard, but this is a new low, even for you. Whatever happened to ‘it’s not my business to tell’?”

“That’s why I’m here to apologize.”

“That was an apology?”

“It would be if you let me get there.”

“Well, go on then.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I let my issues with Dad get in the way of me being there for you after they died. Not that at the age I was in any way ready or capable of taking on the responsibility of looking after a kid. And I’m sorry that it led you down a path of eventually getting caught in the crossfire of my mistakes with the company. And I’m sorry for how I handled the news of you and Barnes and the subsequent fallout.”

“Wow,” was all you could come up with to say. Tony wasn’t exactly the apologetic or remorseful type. He was the “throw money at the situation in hopes it went away” type, a classic Howard Stark trait Tony had been unfortunate enough to inherit, alongside the arrogance. And yet, here he was, apologizing to you for everything. And all you could say was, “Wow.”

“Yeah, great talk. If you connect those two wires, you should be good,” he said, nodding his chin at your leg.

You looked at it, “Oh. Thanks.”

“Yep.”

“I mean it,” you said as he started to walk out. “The apology? Thanks.”

“Yeah, if we could not mention it, that’d be great.”

You let out a small laugh. “Works for me.”

~~~

Your final visitor was Bucky. “Been wondering when you’d show,” you said, as you walked around the lab, testing the newest prosthetic.

“Yeah, I, uh… would’ve been by sooner but I got caught up in a few things.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I might have gone off on Tony after you left. And then Steve might have banned me from seeing you until I calmed down. And by the time I did that, he had already talked to you, and Tony was in here. So I talked to Steve. And… yeah.”

“You mean I missed out on another fight between you and Tony? Damn.”

“Heh, yeah… And look, I’m not here to act like an apology is going to magically make this all okay-”

“Good,” you cut him off. 

He sighed. “But I am sorry.”

“I don’t want your apology. I don’t need it.”

“Then… Could you yell at me, or something? This eerily calm thing is really freaking me out. Yell at me, Y/N. Tell me you hate me. Tell me I’m the reason you’re broken. Something. Anything.”

You paused in your small laps around the lab, looking at him in confusion. “Why would I do that? I’m not the starry-eyed prince who cries when his knight in shining armor isn’t real.”

“I- What?”

You winced at your words. “Bad analogy. I meant that I’m not the type who’s going to cry and scream every time my feelings get hurt. So if you’re waiting for that to happen, it’s not going to.”

“Y/N, please… I don’t know what to do here. I want to make this right. Tell me how.”

“There’s nothing to make right. I’m not mad at you, Bucky.”

“You’re not?”

“No! You were fucking mind-controlled for half of a god damn century. And Howard wasn’t exactly winning Dad of the Year Awards. Fuck, I can’t even find it in myself to be mad that you didn’t tell me. I’m hurt, Bucky, but I’m not mad.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you, that’s the thing. And I know. I know I had so many chances to tell you, and I didn’t. But how do you tell someone that without hurting them?”

“God damn it!” you snapped, your temper flashing before you could reel it back in. “That’s not why I’m hurt, Bucky. I’m hurt that I trust you, and you feel that you can’t trust me back. I’ve trusted you with parts of me I don't let anyone even get near. Hell, I’ve known the original crew of Avengers for five years, and today’s the first time they figured out I’m an amputee. That’s how hard it is for me to let my walls down. And I let you break them like they were nothing. And as great as it is to feel chosen for once, I cannot fuckin’ stand that it’s one-sided. Trust me back, Bucky. Let me choose you back!”

He took a step towards you. “Love, I-”

There it was again. “Love.” God, did he know what he was doing to you when he called you that? “Can’t do it? Think you’re too broken, and you’re gonna scare me off?” you asked.

“No, that’s not what I was going to say.”

“Then what were you going to say?”

“I...don’t know actually.” He took a few more steps until he was mere inches from you.

“Well, you know where to find me when you figure it out.”

You turned to leave, but his hand wrapped around your wrist, twisting you back around the strength and suddenness of the movement causing a splintering sound in your newest prosthetic while you collided into his chest, both of your eyes wide. “Shit!” Bucky swore. “Okay, that was not supposed to happen.”

“Bucky…” you growled, both in agitation that your new leg was already broken, and in slight desperation of if he didn’t hold you steady soon, you were going to face-plant into the floor.

Thankfully, he understood the hint, and more. His arms snaked around you, holding you upright while his head tilted down, his lips crushing into yours. “Please choose me back?” he whispered desperately against your mouth.

“Not choosing you back was never an option, Bucky,” you assured, your arms wrapping around his neck and deepening the kiss.

__

Tag List

@cxddlyash​ @stanofalotofthings​ @philthepegacorn​ @youngblood199456​ @binxiboo​ @creator-appreciator​ @felixtok​ @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof​ @jessalyn-jpeg​ @lilyoflower​ @mychemicalimagines​  @milea​ @partiesandblurrypolaroids​ @summerdaughter​

#mosaic broken hearts #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #male reader #male stark!reader #marvel #avengers #calpal irwin

[averykedavra]

Ever Slightly Out of Reach

So it’s been a hot second since I wrote anything, thanks to finals, and I wanted a quick warmup to get myself back in the groove. And that quick warmup may have turned out not-so-quick. That’s partly thanks to the great base prompt by @fanartfunart​, which I fell in love with. I hope I stayed true to the spirit of the AU, and I hope you all enjoy this rambling plotless ghost fluff.

(Title from Still Here by Digital Daggers. This fic is on Ao3 here!)

Pairings: platonic Creativitwins

Words: 8068

Warnings: death mentions, injury mentions, possession (but a very consensual and low-key kind), arguing, some gross-out humor, and thunderstorms

It was a dark and stormy afternoon, and Remus was preparing to be possessed.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Roman said, floating in his favorite position above the foot of Remus’ bed. One of his legs dangled towards the floor. The other was nowhere to be found. “We should really do something else.”

“Don’t be a quitter,” Remus said. He combed his hair with his fingers. “It’s fun!”

“It’s not.”

“You like it,” Remus complained. “Last time, you squealed about getting to eat an apple.”

“Yeah, but--” Roman winced. “You feel all greasy. It’s like I’m stuck in a--really dirty oven mitt.”

“Hey!”

“You probably haven’t showered for days.” Roman flopped upside down and his mist tinted red. “Did you even wash your hands after lunch?”

Remus looked down at his hands. His nails still had dirt stuck under them in little crescent moons. Yesterday, he’d dug up weeds from the garden and brought them to show Roman. The mess was always part of the fun.

“I didn’t wash my hands,” Remus admitted, “but it’s no biggie--”

“Ew!” Roman interrupted, folding his arms until they blended together. “And I knew it! You never wash your hands! You don’t even do it after you pick your nose!”

Remus grinned and shoved his finger into his nose, just for fun.

“Ew!” Roman yelled louder. “Grow up!”

“I’m already nine,” Remus said triumphantly, poking the finger a bit further to see if he could feel his brains. “Nine and one whole quarter.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “I’m way older than you. Shut it, doodoo head.”

“You shut it!” Remus yanked his finger out of his nose and wiped it on his sash. Roman cringed. “You’re gonna go inside this doodoo head and you’re gonna like it.”

Roman huffed. But Remus knew he wasn’t really mad, ‘cause when Roman got real mad, the furniture wasn’t on the ground anymore.

“Come on,” Remus pleaded, flopping onto the carpet. He gave Roman his best give-me-candy-I’m-a-good-boy look. “You know you wanna. We’ll only do it for like six seconds and it’ll be hilarious.”

“It’s not funny,” Roman said.

“Prove it.” Remus popped back upright and kicked his bare feet in the air. “Possess me.”

“No.”

“Come on! You’re worse than Mom!” Remus rolled his eyes until the whites showed. “I’m gonna go back to school tomorrow and I wanna do this now! Before I’ve got homework and stuff. And if you practice, you’ll get really good, and we could go all sorts of places together!”

Roman shivered. “I don’t want to go anywhere in your gross head.”

“I’m awesome for possessing,” Remus said. He tried to imitate the commercials on TV and in-between videos about car explosions. “I’m cool, I’m smart, I have cool hair, I’ve had a whole entire boyfriend--”

“That was in kindergarten,” Roman said. “It doesn’t count.”

“It does too!”

“Does not!”

“And I’m awesome,” Remus said, forcing himself away from an argument. “And I have ten whole fingers and ten whole toes. You have, like, five. Tops.”

Roman counted his currently-visible fingers. “Seven.”

“See?” Remus pointed at him. “And--and! And I have a cool outfit. So I’m the best for possessing.”

Roman gave Remus a look. An I-don’t-want-to-be-mean look. Remus knew that look from teachers who didn’t like his drawings. And classmates who thought he was freaky. And his parents when they tried to tell him again that Roman wasn’t real, Remus was just making up an imaginary friend, and shouldn’t he try to go play with some kids his own age?

Remus knew, though. He knew he wasn’t making Roman up. Two years of being besties wasn’t made-up, and just because nobody else could see Roman didn’t mean Roman wasn’t there. Sometimes things stayed in houses without people noticing. Like stains. Or the slug Remus kept in a shoebox. If his parents didn’t know about the slug, it made sense that they might not know about Roman, either.

Typical grownups. Thought they knew everything.

Roman was nice, because he actually did know stuff. Not stuff like how TVs worked--Remus had tried to explain it, Roman just didn’t get it--but other stuff. Stuff he wouldn’t tell Remus sometimes.

“How’d you die?” Remus asked, instead of trying to remember what he’d just been talking about. He hadn’t asked yet today. Maybe this time it’d work.

“Quicksand,” Roman said.

Could be true. “How?”

“I fell into it.” Roman was definitely telling a story now. He got all dramatic whenever he made something up. “It was a sad, sad day.”

“Why’d you fall into quicksand?” Remus asked, sitting on the carpet and pulling at the threads. “Seems kinda stupid if you ask me.”

“Hey!” Roman said. “I didn’t fall, I was pushed.”

“You said you fell!”

“I said wrong!” Roman huffed, and red flickered around his eyes. “I got pushed because my uncle wanted the kingdom for himself. Quicksand is really cold, actually. All my bones got filled with sand one by one, and it tasted super gross.”

“Did your eye sockets get filled up too?” Remus asked.

Roman nodded. “And my ear sockets. And then I died.”

Remus decided that was a good enough story, and accepted it at face value. “That does sound real gross.”

“It was.” Roman snickered. “Almost as gross as being in your head.”

“Hey!” Remus jumped up. “Look, if you don’t like my head, you can go sit in the living room and talk to all the grownups. But we’ve done this before! You possessed me on accident--”

“I said I was sorry,” Roman mumbled.

“--and then you did it on purpose a couple times, and it was really cool, it was like--” Remus waved his hands and smashed them together. “Bam! You and me all in one brain! And I wanna do it again, so we can figure out how it works, and we can do it for longer!”

Roman raised an eyebrow until it disappeared. “Why?”

“So you can--” Remus gestured at him. “We could do stuff together!”

“We already do stuff together.”

“No, like--” Remus glanced out the window. He could just see the road in the distance. The bus stop was right across the street. He’d have to stand there tomorrow, even if it was still raining. “I know you never leave the house, but if you were me, we could--”

Roman’s eyes hardened. “No.”

Remus faltered. “I just thought--”

Roman immediately looked guilty. He shifted back and forth in midair, and for a few seconds, he almost disappeared altogether. Then he stabilized. Bright white, small, and still just Remus’ height--Roman never explained why they’d been growing together, and maybe he didn’t know. Or maybe it was just another thing Roman wouldn’t tell him.

For a best friend, Roman kept a lot of secrets.

But still. Maybe that was just how friends were. Remus didn’t really have a lot of experience.

“It’s okay,” Roman said to where his feet would probably be. “I just--fine. I’ll possess you, alright? If you really wanna. I’ll wear your weird outfit and everything. But you owe me a favor.”

Remus squealed and twirled around. He didn’t even care that Roman insulted his outfit. He didn’t care about the favor, either--Remus owed Roman like twenty favors by now, it was fine. Remus had time to pay him back later. Roman wasn’t exactly going anywhere.

“This is gonna be great!” Remus blurted out, gesturing for Roman to join him on the carpet. “Okay, you can do it whenever, and you can pop out whenever! But go ahead and try to do stuff while you’re me! So we can see how it works.”

Roman nodded a bit, floating just above the carpet. “So...now?”

“Now,” Remus said. “Unless you’re too chicken--I’m not a chicken!”

Roman’s voice, Remus’ mouth. Roman was gone from the carpet. Remus stood alone in his room.

Remus grinned. “Awesome.”

His grin twisted into an annoyed smirk, followed by an “If you say so.”

It really was awesome. Being possessed was like when you sat in one place for too long and your legs fell asleep. It tingled all over his skin. It made him kinda slow to move and slow to think, and it felt a bit like he was floating, just like Roman could. His head was dizzy and the room was deeper than it used to be, like Remus could see it from every angle, and the rain drummed louder and louder.

“This is so cool,” Remus whispered. It took a second for the words to work, even though Roman quickly let him talk. “You wanna try and move?”

“You can move,” Roman said back, seeming to retreat from Remus’ legs. Remus kicked his foot at the carpet. “I’m not good at walking anymore.”

“Practice makes perfect!” Remus concentrated and tried to shove Roman into the legs again. Go in there, go in there, come on--

“Don’t think so loud.” Roman huffed and rolled Remus’ eyes. “Fine. I’ll try to walk. Don’t grab control until I’m done, though, ‘cause you’ll make us both fall over.”

Remus mimed zipping his lips. The next second, he was pulled closer into himself and away from his skin. He felt his legs move. Roman walked with an awkward wobble--probably because he didn’t have legs most of the time--and a kind of glide. Remus tried very hard not to interrupt Roman. He sucked in his breath and watched patiently.

Roman had managed to walk them halfway across the room. He was picking up speed now, seeming to remember how it worked when gravity existed, and Remus felt his mouth twist in a smile. They walked past the window, Roman skimming fingers across the pane and leaving water on Remus’ hands. Around and around. Roman knew this place, Remus started to feel--he knew where the door was and how many steps it took to get there. He knew how to dash around corners, he knew where to kick the doors, he knew the creakiest floorboards. He’d just forgotten.

“You wanna go downstairs?” Remus asked, trying his hardest to keep his control from spreading to his legs. “We could get a snack.”

“Good idea!” Roman sounded excited. He always sounded excited. Why did he complain about possession stuff anyway? He clearly liked to be in Remus’ head, and he liked to be able to walk around, and he was good at it. Remus didn’t even have to worry, ‘cause Roman knew where to go--

And they both crashed into the wall.

Remus fell onto the floor. His knee banged something on the way down, and it started to hurt, especially when he grabbed it to see what was wrong.

“Ow!” Remus complained. The words hit no barrier. “Ow, fudge-popsicle-muffin-nugget, what the frick?”

“Sorry!” Roman was crumpled next to him, adjusting his sash. The stupid muffin probably left as soon as things started to hurt. “I didn’t mean to!”

“Why’d you lead us into the wall?” Remus inspected his knee. It wasn’t quite scream-for-Mom worthy--no blood--but maybe he’d put a bandaid on it, just in case. “That hurt, stupid.”

“There wasn’t a wall there!” Roman complained.

Remus pointed at the very obvious wall.

“I mean there didn’t use to be one.” Roman drifted upright. He did look sorry about it, which made Remus less annoyed. “That’s where the door used to be. I got mixed up.”

“It’s been at least two years.” Remus pulled himself to his feet. His knee still stung, but not that bad. “Get used to the new door, weirdo.”

“I never have to use it!” Roman floated halfway through the wall as an example. The wallpaper curled slightly, like he’d lit a fire next to it. “Not my fault that you guys put all the things in different places. I never know how to get anywhere anymore!”

Remus blew a raspberry at him. “Maybe look around you, weener. It’s your house, you gotta know it.”

Roman glared at the wall. “Doesn’t feel like my house.”

After a second, Remus clapped his hands. “Can’t have you walk around in my body if you’re gonna ride it off a cliff, so--guess we’re done?”

“We’re done,” Roman said, looking relieved. “I’m spared your terrible fashion sense.”

“Hey!” Remus grabbed his sash protectively. “I made this outfit myself and I love it and you can shut your hole.”

“Okay, okay.” Roman drifted over to the bed and stretched his arms. “What do we do now?”

Remus hummed, looking between Roman and the door. It was still raining. It was the last day of summer vacation--not the last last day, but tomorrow Remus was gonna get a new backpack, and that was fun but it didn’t have Roman. Roman never came shopping with him. So Remus got one day before Roman would be stuck in the house all alone.

He could try to get Roman to come along, but he didn’t wanna waste the afternoon.

Remus looked back at the door. Had it really been in a different place? Remus knew that all the furniture was different now, especially in the living room, but he didn’t know about the doors. He didn’t know much about the house at all. It was too big--good for hide and seek, bad for understanding. Sometimes Remus wished he had a house GPS.

Actually--

“I’ve got an idea,” Remus said. “Do you wanna make a map?”

“A map?” Roman asked. He already looked interested. “Like a treasure map?”

“No, a map of the house! From bottom to top!”

Roman tilted his head. “Why?”

“So we don’t get lost!” Remus hopped in place. “You can know the way around, and so can I! It’ll be fun, come on, come on come on come on--”

“That does sound like an adventure,” Roman said slowly.

“Yeah!” Remus nodded his head as fast as he could. “We can make a whole big map and we can both draw on it! It can be like a treasure map, except it’s just the whole house all the way through!”

Roman smiled. “We’ll need a lot of paper, right?”

“Woo!” Remus cheered. He always felt great when Roman liked his ideas. “Let’s go-go-go!”

“Paper,” Roman said as Remus threw open the door. “And pencils.”

“I bet Mom has some!” Remus waved his hands. “Come on, Ro, don’t waste time!”

“I’ve got all the time,” Roman teased, but he followed Remus into the hallway.

Remus was really good at getting places fast. Why wait and walk somewhere, if you could get to the cool place in half the time? He kicked off the edge of the carpet, slid and sped down the hallway, jumped past the other bedrooms, and barely paused at the staircase. Up onto the banister, a little push, and then down!

The rooms spun past him in a spiral, his feet flying, and he giggled wildly as he slipped towards the first floor. Whenever he tilted too hard in one direction, the wind pushed him back into place. Remus could go as fast as he liked, because Roman was there to keep him on course. He could never fall without Roman catching him.

When the banister tapered off in a swirl, Remus catapulted himself off the edge, rolling onto the carpet and springing back up. Roman grinned at him when he solidified enough to have a mouth. Remus didn’t wait for the rest of his face. He barreled across the tiles, skidded around the corner, and burst into the kitchen.

“Mom! Mom-Mom-Mom!” Remus darted over and tugged at her arm. “Mom!”

“What is it?” she asked. She’d been leaning on the counter, checking her phone. “What do you need, Remus?”

“Do you have paper?” Remus spread his hands wide. “Like, super big paper?”

“There should be some in the attic.” She frowned. “What are you up to?”

“Nothin’.” Remus glanced over to Roman, who was curiously poking at the window boxes. “We’re just gonna draw something, is all.”

“We--” Her mouth worked for a few seconds, like she had a lollipop stuck to her tongue. “Oh. Are you sure you don’t want to do something else for your last day of vacation? Go for a walk? It can’t be good for that brain of yours to be cooped up inside.”

Remus knocked on his skull. “It seems fine to me. And it’s raining out!”

“I think it’ll stop for a bit later,” Mom said unconvincingly. “I--I’m just not sure if you want to run around in the house all day. You spend too much time inside it already.”

“I do not.” Remus pouted. “I like it here!”

“I’m glad you do.” She drummed her fingers on the counter before sighing. “Maybe you’ll make some friends at school.”

“Don’t need any friends,” Remus said. “I’ve got a friend.”

“Right. Right.” Mom rubbed her eyes. “Like I said, the paper is in the attic. You might want to ask your father for help with it. And don’t get into any trouble, okay?”

“I won’t!”

“I know how much that’s worth.” She slipped her phone into her pocket and grabbed a spatula. “Holler if you need me.”

“I will!” Remus gestured to Roman, who reluctantly floated away from the window. “Come on, Ro, we haven’t got all day!”

Accompanied by a long sigh that melted into the wind, Remus and Roman left the kitchen.

“You’ll have to go back in, if you want to make a map,” Roman pointed out.

“I know what the kitchen looks like.” Remus scoffed. “Stove, oven, fridge, things I’m not allowed to touch. Easy-peasy.”

He hopped up the stairs two at a time. Roman drifted along the banister and peeked at the rooms below. Whenever he flipped upside down, his hair pooled around his face like a cloud of smoke. Remus idly batted at him. Roman felt like nothing. Nothing and warm.

“She said the stuff’s in the attic,” Remus said, hopping off the stairs and barreling down the hallway to the other stairs. “And that’s got the fun trapdoor, right?”

“We broke the trapdoor,” Roman said. “It’s just a hole now.”

“Not my fault it can’t handle paintballs.” Remus scrambled up the other stairs. “But Mom said that’s got the paper, so you and I can go get it.”

“She also said you have to ask your dad.”

“She’s stupid.”

“I can just get the paper.” Roman flickered and appeared farther up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t--” Remus didn’t even manage to finish the sentence before Roman was gone. A bit of mist curled from the landing. It drifted to the window, slipped through the glass, and disappeared into the rain. So Roman’s mist could go outside, but Roman couldn’t? What kind of rules were there? Why did Roman never get to go where Remus could?

Remus shivered. It got cold easily in the house. Something about drafts. He felt very small on the staircase, alone, scuffing the red carpet with his toes.

Roman would be back soon. He always got back soon. Roman used to go all sorts of places without Remus, until Remus got tired of trying to find him every time he woke up. Ghosts were better than people, but ghosts were harder to find when they got lost. Remus used to worry that Roman would get really lost. So lost that Remus wouldn’t be able to see him anymore, and he’d forget that Roman was real. And he wouldn’t have any friends, and he’d just be alone in the cold stupid house.

Remus didn’t worry that anymore. At least, he thought he didn’t. Now, with the gray light shining through the windows, he felt ants in his intestines.

“Wait up!” Remus called, and ran after Roman.

He caught up right beneath the attic. Roman was right--it was still a hole. A square hole above the bookcase, with foldable stairs squeezed next to the books.

“Ro!” Remus yelled.

A thump or two, and a misty face reappeared. In the dark, Roman glowed, like glow-in-the-dark shoes. “What?”

“Can I come up?” Remus asked.

“I’m almost done!” Roman disappeared. Another few thumps shook the ceiling. “Catch!”

A pad of paper fell through the hole. Remus tried to catch it, failed, and grabbed it before Roman could notice.

“That’s all I could find.” Pencils and pens rained from the hole, followed by a smaller notebook. “Does it work?”

Remus frowned at the paper. It was small, only about the size of a poster. “Can we fit the whole house on here?”

“We could go room by room.” Roman drifted down to Remus, aimed wrong, and stuck his arm through Remus’ shoulder. Remus laughed and swatted the air. Roman adjusted himself. “Make one map for each room.”

“I guess.” That wouldn’t help with finding rooms, but this was about Roman knowing where the doors were. Remus didn’t want Roman to get lost while Remus was gone. “That works.”

“Fantastic!” Roman looked around. “Which room first?”

“Top to bottom?” Remus pointed at the ceiling. “Let’s start with the attic.”

It took several tries for Roman to lift Remus through the hole. Remus almost hit his head on the side, making Roman drop him out of panic, making Remus almost hit his head on the floor. Roman caught him, of course, but it took another minute for Remus to get Roman to try again. Finally, Remus squeezed through the hole. Floating felt like going up an elevator. If the elevator was wobbly, invisible, and complained a lot.

The attic was a nest of boxes. Every piece of cardboard was labeled, some in writing that Remus didn’t recognize. Old photos. Old jewelry. Old spiderwebs. The stuff in front, Remus knew. Holiday stuff, and extra silverware, and Mom’s favorite Passover sweater. Beyond that, though, was a sea of boxes that hadn’t been touched in years. Remus had explored a few of them, and he’d seen all kinds of old stuff, the kind that was probably worth a lot online. Maybe Mom and Dad should sell it. Roman might get upset, though--Roman didn’t like it when stuff got lost.

Remus cleared a space in the center of the attic and unfolded a piece of paper. He handed Roman a pencil. Roman dropped it by accident. Remus gave Roman another pencil.

“Okay, so we’re gonna draw a square like this.” Remus drew a square as neatly as he could. “And then we add the windows and the doors, and then all the stuff inside the room, and we can label it so we know what’s what!”

Roman nodded. “Can I add sparkles?”

“There aren’t any sparkles in the room.”

“There should be.”

“Add sparkles or whatever.” Remus grinned. “I’m gonna add poop. And lots of spooky ghosts with big pointy teeth.”

“Except I’m saving you from them,” Roman corrected, “since I’m the knight! They’re no match for me.”

“No, they’re my friends too!” Remus waved his hands. “They’re my army! I’ve got a ghost army and they give me cookies and think I’m cool.”

Roman pouted. “I already do that!”

“You’re a dork.”

“Am not!”

Remus snickered and started drawing some of the boxes. Roman doodled around the edges, crossed out some of Remus’ lines, and wrote labels in shaky handwriting. Remus made the room too small on the page, so there was lots of room for extra drawings around the edges. Remus drew three frogs, five rats, and seven ghosts with pointy teeth and blood in their eyeballs. And an octopus, but it didn’t look right.

When they’d managed to fill the whole paper, Remus checked the map against the room. All the boxes were there, plus the one small window at the other end, between slopes of wood. It was still raining. Remus couldn’t move without the floor creaking, and he could barely stand up all the way.

“Where next?” Remus asked, rolling up the map.

“Downstairs,” Roman said, “one room at a time.”

The first bedroom. Most of the bedrooms on the top floors were empty, and the dust made Roman look smudged. This bedroom had a small raggedy doll in one corner and a faded pink bed. When Remus kicked the carpet, it came apart at the edge. The windows overlooked the backyard, which sloped past the gardens and shed before hitting the woods with a crunch. They labeled the map ‘Bedroom’ and Roman drew flowers in the margins. One of the pencils rolled under the pink bed and Remus almost bumped his head trying to get it back.

The first bathroom. It didn’t have a sink anymore, and the toilet was still clogged from the time Remus tried to flush lasagna down it. The whole place smelled like lasagna. Maybe Remus should tell Dad about it, but that’d mean getting in trouble, so he plugged his nose and drew a map. Since there wasn’t much floor, and the tiles looked like barf, Remus put the map against the mirror. The mirror had a long crack in it that made his lines go skewed. He labeled it ‘Lasagna Bathroom.’ Roman drew stink waves coming from the toilet.

Another bedroom. The bed used to have a canopy, but the fabric was gone, leaving a little roof of wood. Remus tried to climb it. He almost got to the top until Roman yanked him back down. Party pooper. Old coats were in the closets, and the drawers were lined with lace. When Remus tried to open the window, the rust yelled. Remus labeled it ‘Canopy Bedroom’ and Roman told him that he spelled canopy wrong. Remus chucked a pen through Roman’s forehead.

Office. Probably where someone did their homework. Remus sat in the chair and kicked at the legs, and Roman ruffled the papers until they flew all over the desk. There wasn’t any ink, or any quill pens, which would have been cool. Remus liked this room because of the clock in the corner. It was broken. Roman said the hands showed the time as two-thirty. Remus wondered what happened at two-thirty. The desk made the map easy to draw on. ‘Clock Room.’ Doodles of dragons in the margins, because Roman got distracted.

They skidded down the stairs and hopped into Remus’ own bedroom. Remus had fought tooth and nail for a bedroom on the third floor, ‘cause he didn’t want Mom and Dad hearing when he brought cool stuff into the room. That map was easy to make. Then was the nursery next door, where babies were probably made, and then the other bathroom. This one didn’t smell like lasagna, which made it better, but the bathtub was yellow, which made it worse. The final room was stripped of furniture. It made for a quick map.

The maps were piling up now. Remus kept them in one tube of paper under his arm. Roman had managed to lose half their pencils. When they scrambled into Mom and Dad’s room, Remus began to poke at the closet before realizing Dad was already there. He dragged Roman back out and proceeded to make up the rest of the map. Roman said it would ruin the accuracy. Remus said that they didn’t need to go in that room anyway, and that if they wanted to finish the maps before dinner, they’d have to hurry.

“How much different is it?” Remus asked in the second bedroom, trying on an old bathrobe. It made him feel like a duke. Maybe he would cut it up and put it in his outfit later. “What’s new about the house?”

“The furniture you brought,” Roman said, drifting above the wardrobe with a pencil in hand. “And bits of the third floor have been changed, because of water damage, I think? They added electricity, and all the bathrooms used to be closets.”

“What? Really?” Remus didn’t know that. “Where were the bathrooms, then?”

“Outside!” Roman laughed at Remus’ face. “In the outhouses, obviously.”

“You pooped in the forest?”

“Not on the forest floor.”

“You pooped in forest toilets?”

“No!” Roman laughed harder. “We didn’t have toilets! We’d poop in a hole!”

“Ew!” Remus said gleefully. “Ugh, I wish I was alive back then, I wanna poop in a hole.”

“You really don’t,” Roman said.

Remus still drew poop-holes on the edge of the map. Roman stuck out his tongue and called him “Revolting.”

“Is it weird?” Remus asked as they mapped out the living room. Big green couch, several lamps, Dad’s recliner, pile of junk on the table. “To have no poop-holes? Or no doors?”

“I don’t always notice,” Roman said. “I can just walk through walls where the doors used to be, and I don’t need to poop. But--yeah, it’s strange.” He tugged at the hem of his shirt. Clouds came away in his fingers. “I suppose everything’s changed a lot since I--got eaten by an alligator.”

“Alligator?” Remus asked.

“It’s a painful tale.” Roman dramatically screwed up his face. “I can hardly bear to recall.”

“Oki-dokey artichoke-y,” Remus said. “And yeah, things have probably changed all over the place. I’m gonna go to fourth grade, but it’ll be nothing like your fourth grade. We’ll learn different things.”

“I suppose so.” Roman doodled small circles in the margins of the map, circles and circles, like a million tornadoes stuck together. “You’ll have to tell me what it’s like.”

“Or you could come and see?”

The circles grew closer together. Tornadoes circling the map. Remus wondered what a tornado would feel like. Didn’t they just pick stuff up and drop it again? Would it be like getting picked up by Roman--tingling and stomach-dropping, everything in limbo?

“It’s really not so bad,” Remus said, falling into his old job of convincing Roman to do stuff. Usually, it was easy. Roman liked having things to do, even illegal ones. “Sometimes the teachers give us candy for the right answer. If you poke an eraser with a pencil, it gets little gray holes.”

Roman looked about to make little gray holes in the paper. Remus tugged the map away from him before he could ruin it.

“I’m just saying,” Remus said. “You could possess me or whatever, or you could just float around and hang out. It’d be fun!”

“I can’t leave the house,” Roman said firmly.

“Who says you can’t?”

“Me.”

“Then say you can!”

“I’m not going to.” Roman tossed the pencil at the map. “You should erase the couch. It’s on the wrong side.”

Remus scribbled out the couch and put it in the right place, but now all the other bits of furniture were wrong. “Friends go to school with each other.”

“Human friends do.” Roman was flashing red all over now, and Remus didn’t know whether he was upset or angry or just in the mood for red. “Thought you liked ghost ones better.”

Remus was pretty sure that meant ‘I thought you liked me better.’

And he did. He liked Roman way better. But--there were perks about human friends. Parents didn’t make fun of them behind their backs. They were easier to shove when they were being jerks. And they didn’t go missing so easily. It was harder to lose a person, because they were all flesh and blood and heartbeat. Ghosts were easier to lose. They were just sky with eyes and a nose. Just air.

Playing hide-and-seek was fun, but only when it was a game they agreed on. Only when everyone knew the rules. Only when Remus could give up and Roman would float out of a closet with a pie-eating grin. Hide-and-seek wasn’t fun if someone just kept hiding. It wasn’t fun if someone had to get left behind.

Ghosts were better than people. So far, ghosts had been nicer, and cooler, and better at drawing. So far, ghosts had stuck around.

But ghosts couldn’t go to school. Ghosts couldn’t go shopping. Ghosts couldn’t eat potato chips or a latke or a really good cookie. Ghosts disappeared and Remus had to go find them. Ghosts needed maps or they’d get lost in their own house.

Remus liked Roman. That made things hard sometimes.

Circles and circles, a tornado all around the living room. They were almost done with the maps, unless they wanted to map out the yard as well, and it was raining too hard for that. Plus, Roman never left the house.

Remus stared at the maps. Maybe Roman was worried he’d get lost.

Maybe a map would help with that.

“We’ve just got a few rooms left,” Remus said. “And then we’ve got the shed, and then we’re done!”

“Great!” Roman looked happy at the change of topic. “Do we really need the shed, though? It’s not inside the house.”

“It’s still a building.” Remus gathered up the map and led the way to the dining room. “We can go outside and sketch the shed, just to get all the maps we need.”

Roman looked outside. “The weather’s bad. You’ll need your rain boots.”

“What’s the fun if you can’t splash in the puddles?” Remus set a new page of the map on the dining room table. Roman began to draw food around the edges. “And once we’ve gone to the shed and back, we could make this into a huge book, if we wanted. Color the pages and everything.”

Roman hummed, occupied with shading the edge of a blueberry. Remus checked the window. The rain actually seemed to be stopping. Definitely a good sign!

The dining room drawing was quick. After the entrance hall, the closet, the back room, and the kitchen--which they drew from memory, to avoid Mom--the maps were almost complete. A dozen pages of color and line, a true masterpiece, with several bad words written very small under the doodles. Remus tried to high-five Roman. For obvious reasons, the high-five did not work.

“Just the shed now!” Remus tucked the roll of maps under his arm and bounced to the back door. “Okay--raincoat, boots, umbrella? No room--”

“It isn’t raining so much,” Roman said. “Still, be careful, there could be lightning.”

“Nah, we’ll be okay, just in and out!” Remus tugged on his rain boots. They had little ducks on them. “And ghosts can’t get hit by lightning anyway.”

“You can.”

“I’m not a coward.” Remus pulled his raincoat over his shoulders. It felt like wax. When the back door opened, rain dripped from the doorway and dampened the mat. “Oh, those are some wicked puddles! Maybe I can go puddle-stomping later.”

“Don’t get the maps wet.” Roman motioned to the doorway. “Go ahead.”

Remus stepped through the doorway. A small path led past the boring plant garden, through the less-boring flower garden, and down the slopes of grass. The shed was nestled by the edge of the woods. It had a tin roof, and Remus could already hear the ping-ping of raindrops on it.

“Come on,” Remus said, wiping droplets from his hair. The rain was manageable enough. The grass squelched under his boots. “Ro?”

Roman looked confused. “I’m not coming.”

“You’re not?” Remus’ face fell. “Why not?”

“It’s outside of the house?” Roman sounded like he didn’t get it. “I don’t go outside the house.”

“It’s barely outside,” Remus said. “It’s, like, still in the yard.”

Roman moved away from the door.

“Come on.” Remus didn’t want to beg like a baby, but Roman needed to get out here, he needed to go outside. “I can’t do the map without you. You need to draw on it!”

“I can doodle when you get back!”

“No!” Remus yelled. “No, that’s not the right order!”

“Well, I’m not going!” Roman yelled back at him. “Leave me alone, Remus!”

Remus screwed up his face. “You’re being stupid! It’s just a stupid yard. I’ll be with you the whole fricking time. What’s the big deal?”

“I don’t leave the house!”

“Why can’t you?” Remus almost screamed. “If you want me to get it, actually tell me what you know! Stop being so vague and tell me stuff!”

Roman looked about to cry. Could ghosts cry? Did Remus want to find out? “I said, leave me alone!”

“Fine!” Remus turned on his heel. “Fine, I’ll do the rest of the stupid map on my own. I’ll go to school on my own and leave you here to sulk, just like you want. Have fun. See if I care.”

Roman might have said something. Remus decided not to hear it.

The yard was muddy. In a better mood, Remus would have smeared some mud over his face. Instead he just kicked at it. Kick, kick, kick, all the way past the stupid plants and the still-stupid flowers. All the way down the stupid grass to the stupid shed. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It was cold outside. Remus felt cold in his rain coat, and wet, even though his skin was dry. The maps crinkled under his arm. The sky boiled with dark clouds. When he glanced back, Roman was still standing in the door, a flash of white and red against the coats and the darkness. Remus stuck his tongue out. Stupid ghost. He wished he couldn’t see Roman, like everyone else.

Remus didn’t waste time making the shed map look nice. No point, if Roman was never gonna use it. ‘Shed.’ No doodles. A wonky square with some sticks for the garden tools and some circles for the sacks of hay. It all looked stupid. It wasn’t a good map. Didn’t matter, though, ‘cause Roman never went anywhere.

The shed was cold and empty. It was dark, too, lit only by a lightbulb. The rain ping-ping-pinged at the roof. The wood shivered. Remus’ face felt very red and very hot. Count to ten, Mom always said when he got mad. One. Two. Three. Four. And he knew the rest.

Maybe he’d learn more numbers in fourth grade. Third grade had been up to a hundred or two hundred. Maybe they’d make it even further. There were infinite numbers, right? They’d never run out of numbers. They’d just run out of time.

Fourth grade was gonna be no fun if Roman wasn’t there.

Remus rolled up the map and stuck it under his arm. When he opened the shed door, the wind rustled the edges of the papers. His fingers felt cold and wet, like bits of popsicle. The house teetered on the hill. He could see all the windows, all the rooms they’d went to--the bedrooms, the bathroom with lasagna in the toilet, the stairs, the living room. Remus’ own bedroom. It all kind of made sense when he looked at it from the outside. It was like a tier cake. Room on top of room.

It looked like a haunted house, with the trees around it black and shadowy, waving in the wind. With birds flying across the wild grey sky. It was a haunted house. Roman was still there, a smudge of white, and Remus wondered why he got to see him. Why they stayed the same height and looked the same age. Why Roman had gotten stuck here in the first place, with no one to keep him company.

If Remus died, he’d want to see the world. He would never want to stay just where he’d started. What was the point of being a ghost if you didn’t do anything new?

Maybe he should ask Roman that. Maybe this time it’d work.

Remus climbed up the hill towards the house.

The wind picked up, blowing at his back. He adjusted the map and kept moving. It took all his strength to keep his boots from sticking in the mud, and all his self-control not to face-plant into the mud. The trees blew behind him, and when he looked back, he saw he’d left the shed light on. It glowed yellow next to the woods. It made him feel even colder.

Rain was starting to fall again. It was going to storm again. Of course it was. Remus was going to have a rainy, wet, no-good last day of summer. Stuck inside the house. It couldn’t be good for him.

It couldn’t be good for either of them.

But here they were.

“Hi,” was all that Roman said when Remus reached the doorway.

“Got the map.” Remus’ nose was starting to run. “It’s cold out there.”

“Close the door.” Roman poked curiously at the papers, avoiding Remus’ eyes. “Can I see it?”

Remus handed Roman the stack of maps. Roman leafed through them, pausing at the shed one, then skimmed the rest. The rain began to pick up outside. Water dripped from Remus’ boots onto the floor.

“Where’s the bedroom?” Roman asked.

“What?”

“I can’t find the map of our bedroom.” Roman looked confused. “Did you leave it in the house somewhere?”

Remus felt cold again. “I--I don’t think so.”

Roman looked past him. Remus turned around to see rain beginning to fall on the grass, and a long trampled walk back to the shed.

“I dropped it,” Remus realized. “Oh no, I dropped it--it’s gonna get all wet!”

“It’s okay,” Roman said, sounding like he didn’t know whether it actually was. “You know the way around your bedroom.”

“You bumped into the wall,” Remus said. He scanned the grass for any sign of the map. Nothing was there. It could have fallen into mud, or gotten crumpled, or blown away in the wind. “We need that! And I just lost it! I gotta get it back, Ro--”

“We’ll make another one.” Roman looked sympathetic. “It’s okay--”

“We don’t have time to make another one!” Humiliatingly, Remus felt his eyes burn. “‘Cause we’re eating dinner soon, and then I gotta go tomorrow for shopping, and then I’ve got school! And you gotta have the map by then, so you don’t get lost when I’m gone!”

Roman flickered red. “What?”

“I gotta get it.” Remus shoved the rest of the maps towards Roman. They fell through him and hit the floor. “If you’d been there, I wouldn’t have dropped them.”

Roman looked hurt. “You might have anyway.”

“Yeah, I might have anyway, shut your hole. No one cares.” Remus made a frustrated noise. “Fine, it’s all my fault and I got the map ruined. Shut up. I gotta go get it.”

Before Roman could argue, Remus stepped into the rain. It was coming down faster now. The map would probably be halfway ruined already. If he could find it, though, he’d be able to dry it. And Roman would know where the door was.

But he’d lost the map. It was lost somewhere in the backyard, stuck somewhere between grey skies and grey grass and grey rain. Remus couldn’t see it. He squinted and he cupped his eyes and he blinked the water from his eyelashes, but he couldn’t see it. There wasn’t a single flash of white.

A rumble of thunder in the distance.

“Get back inside,” Roman called. “This is dangerous.”

“I can’t find it!” Remus yelled back. He sounded panicked. Was he panicking? “I can’t find it, Ro, I need to find it--I don’t wanna leave it here--”

Another rumble of thunder. Remus was cold. He didn’t even want to walk deeper into the yard. The woods were dark and the shed was flickering and he felt frozen in his boots. His skin tingled. His breath froze.

And then the world deepened.

Two sides to everything. Like he’d grown extra eyes. It always felt like this--like a video with more pixels, or cooler colors, or binoculars attached. He could never pinpoint what he could see. He just knew it was--more than usual.

The world was a riot of color and darkness, swirling like a tornado, and Remus laughed.

“Thanks,” he said as he took a step forward.

Or tried to. “Don’t,” he hissed back at himself in Roman’s voice. “I am not going to try walking again. We’re just looking right now. Look around.”

Remus looked.

Hide-and-seek. If he was a map, where would he hide?

Color. Darkness and scribbles and circles going around, but that was all in the margins, that didn’t matter. Thunder rumbled. He didn’t jump. The rain seemed to go right through him.

White.

A piece of white, like a flag, stuck in the boring plant garden.

Remus whooped. Or maybe it was Roman who did. Who knew?

“Can I walk now?” he asked, and Roman groaned in response. Remus’ boots loosened. He ran through the rain and grabbed the map with one hand, swiping at it with a wet hand, until he realized that did no good. The colors were running. He tucked it into his raincoat, and the raincoat smeared across his hand as well, the paper leaking white and red.

Too much. Way too much. Maybe there’d been a reason that Roman didn’t want to do this. Everything was double, switching and colliding, holes opening and spinning dizzily in the air.

“It’s okay,” Roman said with Remus’ mouth. “Close your eyes, I’ll find our way back.”

Remus squeezed his eyes shut.

And Roman guided them back to the door.

When the rain stopped, so did the dizziness. Remus almost fell against the wall. Roman collapsed against the opposite one, running his hands through his hair and pulling at his sleeves. The door slammed shut. Maybe that was Roman, or maybe it was the wind that began to howl at the house. A bad storm. They’d been lucky to avoid it.

“Is the map okay?” Remus opened his eyes and peeled the paper away from his raincoat. “Oh frick, it’s all smeared.”

“It looks fine to me.” Roman drifted over and traced the edges. “All my doodles are dry, and I can see where everything is.”

Remus blinked the water out of his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, so can I.”

“Good job,” Roman said, and Remus looked over at him. “It’s a nice part of a nice map.”

“Thanks,” Remus said awkwardly. People didn’t give him compliments very much. Maybe that was a ghost thing. “You did good with the art.”

Roman beamed at him. Red and white, a warm blanket around his shoulders.

“And--uh--” Remus motioned to the door. “You went--”

“I don’t like thunderstorms,” Roman said simply. “And I wanted to help you find it.”

Remus found himself smiling. “So you can go outside.”

“I can.”

“Why don’t you?”

Roman ruffled the edge of the map. It was already drying. “Because there aren’t good maps like this one, so I’m not sure if I could find my way back.”

“You made it back without a map today.” Remus kicked off his rain boots and shrugged off his coat. “Plus, if you went to school, I’d be there. I’d make sure you got back alright.”

Roman chewed his lip.

“It’d be okay,” Remus said. “You’d see me the whole time. And--you wouldn’t have to be alone in this house all year. You spend too much time in it already.”

Roman laughed a bit. “I don’t mind. You’re there.”

“I’m not gonna be.” Remus rubbed his arms, and the chill began to fade. “It’s the house or me, bro. And I’m pretty sure you like me better.”

Roman’s smile was smaller now, but still just as bright.

“I could make you a map,” Remus finally offered. “Of the way to school and back. Just in case?”

“I’d like that.” Roman paused. “I...it might be a while before I decide to go that far from the house. You might have to torment your teachers on your own.”

“Oh, I’m great at that.” Remus led Roman into the living room. He could already smell dinner. Mom waved, and he waved back, and Roman waved, too. Mom couldn’t see him, but Roman was polite like that. Maybe she’d even wave back at Roman one day, if they were lucky. “And--yeah, take your time. We’ve got a lot of it.”

“True.” Roman drifted along, a few feet above ground. He glowed like lightning, and red flickered in time with the thunder, impossible not to see. “I’ll find what works, okay?”

“Okay!” Remus spread the maps on the table. The lines glistened--a tornado of doodles and a house of scribbles. Maybe not much of a map. But it was fun to make, and helpful to find, and a good haunted map for a haunted house. “Are you gonna stick around to staple these together?”

“Of course,” Roman said, pencil already in hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” Remus smiled. “Neither am I.”

General taglist (ask to be included or removed!):

@the17thmeatball

@most-likely-fandom

@csi-baker-street-babes

@caffeinated-cryptid

@thefivecalls

@ollyollyoxinfree

@the-gay-is-back

@dramaticsnakes

@stoicpanther

@chaospersonified

@thatoneloudowl

@jungle321jungle

@mistythegenderqueermess

@k1ngtok1

@joylessnightsky

@elizabutgayer

@ohheavenlylord

@enby-ralsei

@remy-the-lemon-berry

@drarrymalecsolangelo

@riptide-123

@fander-fic-recs

@multi-fandoms-posts

Taglist from @the-taglist-repository:

@kieraelieson @i-am-not-a-dinner-roll @cottonwoolsocks @aceawkwardunicorn @somehow-i-got-an-account @10moonymhrivertam @evoodo123 @idont-freaking-know @enby-phoenix @a-fandom-trashdump

#sanders sides #remus sanders #roman sanders #ghost au #creativitwins #sanders sides fic #averywrites #yeahh this got really long again and i don't know how #i swear it was just going to be today's warmup fic #anyway here kid!side content i have homework and i must go

[sapphirelass]

Two Peas in a Pod - Harry PotterxSister!Reader

Please note:

1: I don’t own any of the gifs used, nor any already established characters, so credit to the authors and original creators - You have done a phenomenal job :)

2: English is not my native language, as I was born and raised in Sweden. I have, however, studied English for almost a decade, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem, I just thought I’d let you know ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For this one-shot I have taken inspiration from both the book and the film, as well as left out parts of the original dialogue that, for the purpose of this story, felt irrelevant.

Word count: ≈ 2400

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You probably already knew this, but still XD

(Y/N) - Your name

(Y/N/N) - Your nickname

(Y/H/C) - Your hair colour

(Y/H/L) - Your hair length

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Two Peas in a Pod

Harry Potter and his twin sister (Y/N) were like two peas in a pod. Always had been. Supposedly, that was what happened when young magicians had to grow up with muggles, especially if those muggles were named “Dursley”. Harry was always more impulsive, whereas (Y/N) took on the role of the rational one, yet they had both been placed in Gryffindor house by the sorting hat four years prior.

It was now the first of September 1995, and last year had been a rough one. Lord Voldemort, the dark wizard who had killed Harry and (Y/N)’s parents, had just come back and despite their efforts, this holiday had been more miserable than any of the previous ones. Dudley and his friends, dementor attacks, and a general lack of communication with the wizarding world left the twins in a particularly bad mood. They arrived at Kings Cross, and after pulling Harry away from Draco Malfoy, (Y/N), her brother, Ron and Hermione boarded the Hogwarts express, and found a place to sit.

During the start-of-the-year feast, the small group of friends quickly realized that something was wrong. Their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor - Dolores Umbridge - was a ministry employe, which was weird on its own, but the way she spoke, acted, and kept interrupting Dumbledore with shrill, irritating *hum hum*’s made them all feel queasy.

After a quiet discussion in the common room (and quite a bit of loud arguing between Harry and Seamus Finnigan), they went to bed, yawning, and not exactly looking forward to that year’s first period of DADA.

***

They entered the classroom, and to their surprise, Umbridge actually wasn’t there yet. Harry and (Y/N) shared a confused look, but went to sit down, Harry with Ron, and (Y/N) with Hermione. Eventually though, the professor did arrive, her unnaturally high-pitched voice bringing them all back to reality.

“Good morning, class!” she said cheerfully

There was a quiet murmur among the students, and Umbridge shook her head.

“Good Morning!” she said again, this time more sternly. “I expect you to answer me when spoken to.”

A slightly louder “Good morning professor” could be heard, and though Umbridge didn’t seem too pleased, she decided to move on with the lesson.

“Ordinary Wizarding Levels - OWLs” she started. “Your previous teachers in this subject have all been quite questionable choices, however this year things will be the way they were meant to. Open your books on page 4.”

A few minutes had passed before Hermione raised her hand and said “Professor, there is nothing in here about using defensive spells.”

“Using spells?” Umbridge asked, laughing nastily

“We’re not to use magic?” Ron asked

“You will be learning defensive magic in a safe, risk-free environment”

“But”, said Harry, rather angrily, “what good would that do? If we were attacked that wouldn’t be risk-free!”

“Ha!”, laughed Umbridge, “And who exactly do you think would want to attack a helpless child such as yourself? Besides, the education you will receive will be more than enough for you to pass your OWLs, and that is after all just what school is about.” She finished with a smirk, looking rather satisfied with her speech.

(Y/N), who had sat quietly this whole time shifted slightly in her chair, and exclaimed: “It’s not though!

“Sorry?” Umbridge asked, dumbfounded

“School isn’t solely about receiving good grades! It’s about preparing the students for life, and supplying them with the tools and knowledge necessary in order to succeed and improve. If we’re not going to do that, then why, may I ask, is this a mandatory course? It’s already starting to seem rather pointless to me.”

Harry was perplexed. How his sister always managed to, 1: use her words in such a remarkable way, and 2: remain calm through the most infuriating of situations was a mystery to him, however he turned his gaze back towards Umbridge, waiting for her reply.

“Nonsense” She said. “This course is compulsory, and rightfully so!”

“How though?” Inquired (Y/N), pushing it further than she probably should have. “Can you name any situation, apart from the exam, where your teachings will be of any help to us? Or didn’t the ministry consider that?”

That was the top of the iceberg.

“DETENTION!!” shouted Umbridge. “My office, 8:30 would you be so kind, Ms Potter.”

(Y/N) flinched. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, however detention was not something she had to endure very often. That was more Harry’s thing. She sank quietly back onto her chair, and Umbridge continued with her boring, unnecessary lesson, reciting facts and procedures they had all learnt about 4 years earlier. (Y/N) could feel her brother staring, practically burning a hole in her neck, but somehow, probably thanks to Ron, he kept quiet for the rest of the class.

An hour later, class ended and none of the Gryffindor students wasted any time getting out of Umbridge’s classroom. (Y/N) threw her stuff into her brown, leather bag and dashed out of the room without making eye contact with her brother or friends.

“(Y/N/N)!” Harry shouted. “Wait up!”

He caught up with his sister on the stairs leading down to McGonagall’s classroom.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Looking up at him with an annoyed stare she said “Yes Harry! Just brilliant!” with a sarcastic tone in her voice. She kept on walking, but Harry grabbed her shoulder. A few years ago, they had been roughly the same size, but Harry had grown A LOT, and was by now almost seven inches taller. All the quidditch training had apparently paid off too, and (Y/N) knew instantly that she would never be able to escape his firm, yet gentle grip. He glanced down on her with a worried look on his face.

“I’m serious!” he said. “Stop”

She turned around and faced him. “What?” She spat at him, suddenly noticing her icy voice.

“Sorry…” (Y/N) mumbled, “she just pissed me off. I’m fine.” Her facial expression softened and she met Harry’s eyes for the first time since class ended. He let go of her shoulders, and was just about to say something when a tall ginger came running at full speed and gave (Y/N) a supportive pat on the back.

“That was bloody brilliant!” Ron exclaimed. “(Y/N), did you see the look on her face? Bloody hell, she was angrier than Malfoy after Harry beat him in his first quidditch match!”

“Yes” stated (Y/N) simply, as Hermione made her way down the stairs, “I saw…”

“Oh cheer up!” stated Ron, “an hour or two of detention isn’t the end of the world. If you ask me, it was totally worth it!”

Hermione gave him a disapproving stare as (Y/N) sadly stated, “It might not have been the cleverest thing to do” Both Harry and Hermione blinked at her with a sort of “you-don’t-say?” kind of look as she kept on speaking. “But you must admit that it’s the truth? Defence against the dark arts has never been as important as it is right now. We are all going to die before the end of the year unless we learn and improve?!”

“You’re right.” Hermione muttered, and surprisingly, she smiled slightly. “But we’ll have to talk about that later, otherwise we’ll be late for transfiguration. Come on!”

***

The rest of the day went by rather quickly, and the quartet soon found themselves in front of the fireplace in the common room. It was about 8:20 when (Y/N) stood up, grabbed a jacket, and left for Umbridge’s office.

“Good luck!” Harry said, frowning deeply, “I’ll wait for you here.”

(Y/N) turned around quickly, “Haz, you don’t have to. I’ll be fine. You need your sleep and I have no idea how long this is going to take.”

Harry gave her a sort or irritated look, to which she sighed and left without a word.

“What do you think she’ll have her do?” Hermione questioned.

“I don’t know” Harry hissed, “but I’m sure she’ll tell me when she gets back...”

The remaining three looked at each other. Ron threw Harry a chocolate frog, and then - they waited…

***

*knock knock*

There was a slight clinking noise, like metal on china, followed by a repulsing “come in”. (Y/N) took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

“Ah!” chirped Umbridge, “Potter, sit down, will you?”

(Y/N) apprehensively made her way across the room to the chair her so-called “professor” had pointed at. She sat down and looked around nervously.

“You will be writing some sentences for me today, no” Umbridge said, as (Y/N) reached down to her bag to pick up something to write with. “no, not with your own quill. You’ll be using a rather special one of mine.” She smiled evilly, and pushed a black, pointy feather across the table.

(Y/N) grabbed it carefully and asked in a silent, trembling voice, “what should I write?”

“Oh, right! How about… ‘I must obey my superiors’?”

***

It was about three hours later, when (Y/N) slowly made her way back to the common room, red, hot blood dripping from her left hand leaving a small trail through the corridor. The pain had intensified, and was by this point almost unbearable. She took a quick detour to the girls’ bathroom, hoping to be able to clean herself up a bit before having to face her friends and brother. She had told him to go to sleep, after all, it was almost midnight by now, but she knew him all too well. The odds of him being in bed were absolutely zero.

She watched the thick, red liquid disappear down the sink and let a few tears fall, before grabbing some paper making sure no tears or blood could be seen. She had to make it through the common room up to the dormitories quickly though, since she was sure Harry would be able to tell she’d been crying, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. Sure, she could just tell him, but something inside her argued against that. He had been rather angry and distressed all summer, and she knew he wasn’t feeling much better now. Harry had enough to deal with without handling her problems too.

Entering the common room, roughly four seconds had passed before her brother was by her side.

“Hey,” he said gently, “everything okay?”

She nodded and mumbled a quiet. “Yes. ‘m tired though, night Harry”

She walked the stairs up to her dorm, leaving Harry behind. He simply stood there dumbfounded. What had just happened? “Oh… okay, night (Y/N/N)”

She didn’t answer…

***

The following morning, he found her at the breakfast table, slowly digesting a tiny portion of porridge. She was wearing one of his old quidditch jumpers underneath her cloak. He knew, because it was far too big for her, and the sleeves reached down to her fingertips.

“Hey,” he said, ruffling her (Y/H/L), (Y/H/C) hair, “Feeling better?”

“Sure, “ she murmured, slowly pulling the sleeves even further down. He gave her a supportive hug.

“But come on now, “ he urged her. “You can’t be sad forever. What did she have you do?”

“Nothing…”

“(Y/N/N)!”

“Just write some sentences. It was fine, rather dull to be honest with you.” She threw the spoon into the bowl, and pushed it away. “How are you feeling? Any bad dreams?”

“Always…” he muttered, shaking his head at the milk that had splashed out on the table, “could have been worse though.”

Harry made himself some toast, as Ron and Hermione joined them in the great hall.

***

A week or so later Harry had had enough. It was in defence against the dark arts, on a rather cold Tuesday afternoon that he finally snapped, and shouted at professor Umbridge, who seemed almost too happy for a reason to give him detention.

The gang sat, yet again, around the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, when Harry suddenly left and climbed through the portrait hole. He came back a few hours later, a downright furious look on his face, and walked straight up to his sister without even noticing the ghost he had stumbled through. He looked down at her smaller frame, his quidditch jumper yet again pulled over her head.

“Let me see, ” he said through gritted teeth, causing (Y/N) to look up at him, trying her best to act confused.

“Wha…”

“(Y/N) - let. me. see.” he repeated firmly, his emerald eyes penetrating the mental wall behind which she had been trying so hard to hide her troubles.

She closed her eyes and pulled her sleeve up to her elbow. The blood had naturally dried, however five heart wrenching words were etched into her still red, irritated skin.

I must obey my superiors

No one said a thing. (Y/N) was staring at the floor, not daring to meet her brother’s eyes, all while Harry felt madder than he ever had before.

Madder than when Dudley had been pushing him around the school yard.

Madder than when Malfoy had taunted him because of the dementors.

Madder than when he had found out that his aunt and uncle had lied about their parents true fate for almost 10 years.

This was his sister, and it was far from okay.

Without thinking, Harry was just about to shout at her for keeping something like that from him, when he noticed that she was crying. Soft, quiet sobs that she were clearly trying to hide. It felt as if all his anger simply washed away, and he crouched down and took her hand in his.

Harry’s hand was still covered in blood. He hadn’t had time to clean it, but had instead taken the shortest way to the common room, after realizing what had happened. Raising his right hand, he pulled her closer and felt her lean her head on his chest. They sat like that, arms wrapped around each other, for hours and slowly started drifting off to sleep.

Were they okay? Not at all. Would they be? Absolutely! Because they had each other, and when it really came down to it, that was all they needed, as the Potter twins were just like two peas in a pod.

~ L

Masterlist

#harry potter #harryxsister #harry potter x twin #harry potter x sister #harry potter x sister!reader #harry x reader #harry x sister!reader #umbridge #detention #hp #hp imagine #stories #sister #siblings #twins #harry x sister

[sunlightdances]

Safe Place to Land (Modern!Bucky x Reader)

Author: Katie @sunlightdances​ Pairing: Modern!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Rating: PG-13 for swearing. No trigger warnings except some alcohol use and drunkenness, and if awkwardness makes you feel weird, which-- SAME. Slow burn. Two idiots. Words: 8K+ aka HOW DID THIS GET SO LONG Summary: Modern!AU. You and Bucky are both standing up for Steve and Peggy’s wedding. Checking in at the hotel for the weekend, you’re horrified to realize there’s been a problem. A big problem. Prompt Filled: “Only one bed” Author’s Note: This is for @fanfictionaries​’ Classic Trope Challenge! Congrats on 300 followers, and thanks for hosting! This was so fun to write. Special thanks to @writeyourmindaway​ for the divider at the beginning and the flower divider throughout the post! Disclaimer: I don’t own Bucky Barnes or Marvel. I also don’t own the song “Dance with Me” by Kelsea Ballerini, which is where the title comes from. The plot is mine! Please don’t repost my work on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my permission. If you like what you read, please reblog to help share my work!

You’re late.

It’s truly a scene from a movie - you dashing through the airport, your rolling suitcase clicking behind you as it hits every line in the tile. People are staring, and you’re embarrassed, but you don’t have time to be.

Peggy will kill you if you miss this flight.

You’ll kill you if you miss this flight. Not for the first time, you curse Steve Rogers and his romantic streak for having a destination wedding. Especially because it’s going to be small. An exclusive wedding that could have just as easily been done in New York… you stop yourself.

You’re happy to be going to London. You’ve never been before, and you’re even happier to be going to celebrate the wedding of two of your closest friends.

It’s been over a decade since the first time you met Steve Rogers, alone and out of place in New York City, and at first you didn’t bother him - he was clearly going through something, and through your nosy neighbor, you knew he was recently back from a tour in Afghanistan. You were unable to stay away for long though, especially when you could hear the nightmares through the apartment walls, and could hear the grief he was struggling to control.

A casserole outside his door and a late night coffee break later, the two of you were fast friends. He trusted you with his story, and the look on his face when you introduced him to your coworker Peggy sealed your friendship for good.

Finally arriving at the gate, you nearly knock over a very tired, very irritated looking Bucky Barnes, and roll your eyes to the heavens, because of course you’re on the same flight. Why wouldn’t you be? You suspect foul play by your conniving best friend, but you don’t have time to complain about it.

Bucky’s already glaring at you. “You’re late--”

“I know. How did you even know I was going to be on this flight?”

“Steve mentioned it. Said to make sure you didn’t get left behind.”

You roll your eyes, collapsing into a chair near the gate as the boarding process begins, out of breath from your sprint through the airport. “He worries too much.”

“You are late, though.”

You glare right back at him, but can’t help but give him what you hope is a subtle once over - right from the top of his baseball-cap covered head to his Nike-covered feet. It’s really not fair that he still manages to look like a runway model at four in the morning.

Finally you’re called for boarding, and you push past Bucky to get on the plane, where you have plans to promptly fall asleep and hopefully be out for the next several hours.

“Me again,” you hear his deep voice before you open your eyes, and you’re treated to the truly amazing sight of Bucky Barnes’ abs when his shirt rides up as he puts his bag in the overhead bin.

“Terrific,” you mutter, and he snorts.

“Go to sleep.” The heat practically radiates off him as he sits down next to you, him in the aisle seat and you in the dreaded middle seat.

You really are tired - there was a reason you were running late. You have a habit of working too late and not getting enough sleep, another reason you were looking forward to this wedding. Ten full days in England. No work, just rest. And a wedding. But besides that--! No obligations. You can practically feel the stress melting off you.

Almost as soon as the plane takes off and you start to doze, the man on the other side of you starts talking. At first you think he’s talking to Bucky across you, but it becomes clear he wants to get to know you better when he starts asking about your job, and finally, if you’re single.

You crack open an eye in disbelief, and open your mouth to respond before Bucky leans over and says quietly, but firmly, “No, she’s not. Sorry, dude.”

Bucky’s forearm is pressing into yours, and you scowl at him before the other guy replies.

“Oh, sorry. Should have guessed.”

“Don’t worry, it surprises a lot of people,” you tell him. Including me. You look back at Bucky with a what the hell look on your face, and he shrugs.

Shifting, he lifts the armrest between you and leans in, whispering. “Unless you wanted him to hit on you for the rest of this flight?”

You groan internally, because there’s nothing you hate more than when Bucky has a point.

It’s not like you hate Bucky. He just-- he knows how to push your buttons. Being Steve’s best friend in the entire world, it was a packaged deal. Bucky came home a year after Steve. He was injured, and angry, and wanted nothing to do with the same type of optimism you tried to supply Steve with.

You were okay with that. Not everyone is wired the same, and you had no business butting into Bucky’s life just because you were able to help Steve adjust to life after the Army.

He warmed up eventually, after he and Steve both started going to VA meetings and were slowly working through things, though you knew there was a chance that the Bucky Barnes you were going to get to know would be nothing like the Bucky that Steve told you stories about.

Still, it has always seemed like there’s something else there. Something under the surface that makes Bucky wary of you.

You’re civil and have come to accept the facts: you and Bucky will never be friends.

That’s why you’re so suspicious of his behavior on this flight. You figured he’d be rather amused by you getting hit on at 20,000 feet.

Right before you fall asleep, you put that thought safely into the box labeled Reasons You Will Never Understand Bucky and leave it at that. 

You wake up to turbulence, and Bucky’s elbow jamming into your ribs.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and when he steadies you, you realize you were leaning into him while asleep, and feel your face turn hot.

You don’t say anything - too worried you’re going to put your foot in your mouth. “What time is it?” You ask instead, and he blinks at you.

“No idea. I was asleep.”

“Oh.”

The silence that settles between you is a little awkward, but you try your best to get over it. It’s dark on the plane. Your left leg is asleep and your neck is so tense you wonder how you managed to sleep at all. Probably because you had the world’s most attractive body pillow, you think.

You pull your tablet out of the seat-back in front of you and turn the brightness way down. Opening a book you’ve been reading, you check the time. Seeing you still have a few hours before you land, you try to get comfortable before you start reading.

You can feel Bucky’s eyes on you off and on for the next few minutes and you try to ignore the feeling it gives you - the hair on the back of your neck standing on end, and when you catch him before he can look away, you feel the jolt through your entire body.

That’s new.

Finally, the announcement comes that you’re landing in fifteen minutes, and everyone around you starts to gather their things and get restless. You feel the excitement building in you like a live thing, and roll your eyes when you see Bucky smirking at you.

“Leave me alone; I’ve never been to England before.”

His smile falters, just the tiniest bit. “It’s nice. You’ll like it.”

It’s a weird comment, but you don’t say anything else. You have a vague memory of Steve telling you Bucky was airlifted to Germany and then to London before coming home after his accident, and you don’t want to say the wrong thing. Contrary to what he thinks, you actually don’t want to argue with him all the time, but especially not on this trip.

Heathrow is a madhouse. It’s even busier than when you left New York, and you’re a little overwhelmed, plus jet lagged. A great combo.

You and Bucky get your bags from baggage claim and then he turns to you, looking a little worse for wear. “I’m assuming we’re at the same hotel.”

“Hopefully not the same hotel Steve and Peg are in.”

Bucky looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but still remains stoic.

“Oh come on,” you say as the two of you head to try to find a cab. “You know if we’re in the same hotel they’ll be calling all hours of the day to get us to do last minute stuff for them. I agreed to be a bridesmaid, not the wedding planner.”

Like the sun finally breaking through, Bucky actually smiles at that, and not for the first time in your sort-of-friendship, you’re struck by it, by how it changes his entire face and makes him look like a completely different person.

“Steve’s been driving me a little crazy, I have to admit.”

After verifying you are both staying in the same hotel where the majority of the wedding guests are, you fall silent as you take in the scenery zooming past in the cab.

Soon you’re approaching the most beautiful hotel you’ve ever seen, and you stare, open-mouthed, because this cannot be the place you booked. You were given the name of a hotel that Peggy said was nice and reasonably priced that most of the other guests were using, and you expected it to be-- well, not like the place she and Steve were staying.

Still: this is-- too much. Opulent doesn’t even cover it.

“Wow,” Bucky says next to you, uncharacteristically awed by the sight.

In the lobby, you’re even more convinced this is all a scam. Which is why when the concierge tells you there’s a problem, you’re almost not surprised.

“I’m so sorry - we have names for both of you on the reservation list, but it seems like they’ve put you both in the same room.”

A pin could be heard dropping for how quiet you and Bucky get.

He’s the first to speak. “I’m sorry?”

“There must have been a mistake… we’re full the next two weeks with several wedding parties and whoever booked it must have made a mistake.” She’s perfectly apologetic, in that British way, but you’re having trouble getting past the idea that you’re going to have to live with Bucky Barnes for 10 days.

“Can I just get another room?” You blurt.

“I’m sorry - we’re booked. There aren’t any other rooms.”

Bucky turns to you. “Look, it’s fine. Where else are you going to go?”

You feel something like panic welling up inside you. You and Bucky, sharing a room for ten days. How are you going to survive what’s sure to be the most awkward thing you’ve ever had to do in your life?

Better yet: how are you going to live with the teasing from Steven Grant Rogers when he finds out you have to be roommates with his best friend?

You sigh.

“The same room it is.” 

This can’t be real, you think. It’s too cliche.

“Um,” you say out loud, elegantly, “There’s only one bed.”

“Appears that way.”

“Well? What are we going to do?”

Bucky looks at you, blank. “We’re grown. I feel like this isn’t that big of a deal.”

You feel semi-hysterical laughter bubbling inside you, because this is very much a big deal. Especially when you’re just sort of admitting to yourself that your tiny crush on Bucky hasn’t waned over the years. You’ve always found him attractive and had no problem acknowledging that, but this? This is just too rom-com, even for you.

“It’s ten days. You don’t have a problem sharing a room with me for ten days?”

He shrugs. “What else am I going to do? Can’t bunk up with Steve. We’ll be busy with wedding stuff for the next two days anyway, and then afterwards… I don’t know. I figured you’d be sightseeing?”

You stare at him. “Okay, but… what are you going to be doing?”

He looks down. “Hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. You assume I’m here as long as you are,” he points out.

He’s right - you have no idea how long Bucky booked this trip for. Without wanting to pry, you’re again reminded that he has a small history here, and probably one that he doesn’t want to re-live.

You’re interrupted by Bucky’s phone ringing, and you busy yourself unpacking while he answers it.

“Hey, Steve.” He says, his voice entirely different when he talks to his best friend. “Yeah, just got to the hotel.” A few beats. “I was probably just going to crash for the night…”

You get a text from Peggy almost at the same time, asking if you want to meet her and Steve for dinner, and meet Bucky’s eyes. You must look as tired as he feels, because he makes another excuse.

“If Katie’s not going to be there, I don’t want to be third wheel with you two lovebirds.” Another beat. “Yeah, let’s do breakfast. I’ll call you in the morning.”

You tap out a response to Peggy about jet lag and already being in bed (and it’s not like you don’t want to see your best friend, you’re just-- there’s too many things happening right now for you to even think about going out for a late dinner), and toss your phone towards the bed.

Yet another reminder of the fact that you’re going to be sharing with Bucky Barnes as soon as you’re both exhausted enough to sleep.

When he hangs up, you look at him curiously. “You didn’t mention anything about our living arrangements.”

He sighs. “Look, Steve’s stressed out enough. He doesn’t need to worry about this mixup too. Besides, it’s fine. It’s just sleeping.”

You hate yourself for the heat you feel at the thought of sharing a bed with him, even though it’s a fleeting feeling that you force away. “Yeah. Just sleeping.”

Bucky says he wants a shower and you offer to order room service. It’s almost 10pm, but you both know you won’t be able to sleep on an empty stomach.

When Bucky comes out of the bathroom, you feel like a teenager. Even he looks a little flushed, but you think it’s from embarrassment. “I-- forgot a change of clothes. Sorry.” He looks so chagrined, you can’t help but snicker.

“Buck, you’re offending my delicate sensibilities.”

His eyes go a little wide and you realize you’ve never called him by that familial version of his nickname before, but it just -- you’ve known the guy almost as long as you’ve known Steve. It just slipped out.

He recovers quickly, winking at you. “Honey, we all know there’s nothing delicate about you.”

You both freeze, both taken aback by the sultry lilt to his voice as he teases you, and again, you’re saved by an interruption - this time a knock on the door saying room service has arrived.

Bucky heads back to the bathroom to change, and you gulp in a few deep breaths before answering the door to get the food.

A whole night of this. You have no idea how you’re going to survive. 

Your alarm goes off way too early. In reality, it’s eight in the morning, but you still feel like you’ve been hit over the head with something heavy after a day of traveling.

Moreover, you feel like something heavy is actually on you, and you peek open a bleary eye to see Bucky over your shoulder, his arm slung across your waist like it was always meant to be there.

“Shit,” you whisper, hoping you don’t wake him, but also wanting to get out of this situation as soon as possible. You scramble for your phone, the groan leaving him as he wakes up a noise you try to convince yourself you don’t want to hear again.

“What time is it,” he asks, his voice rough with sleep. You shiver.

“Eight,” you reply, finally reaching your phone and sliding a thumb across the screen to turn the alarm off.

He realizes his position and rolls away from you casually, so you mentally decide to pretend you weren’t cuddled up to him for most of the night.

You already have a text from Peggy asking if you want to join her, Steve, and Bucky for breakfast, so you have no choice but to get up and shower, trying to forget the warm feeling of being held by Bucky Barnes.

In an hour, you’re both waiting on a busy street for the almost-newlyweds, and you see them before they see you, Steve’s broad form and Peggy’s impeccable posture unmistakable. You smile unconsciously - they look so happy. You feel a pang though, because you don’t think you’ve ever been with someone who made you feel so carefree.

“Short stuff!” Steve calls, and you roll your eyes, muttering under your breath about how you’re not that short while Bucky snickers next to you, but before you can berate Steve, he’s gathering you into a hug, nearly lifting you off the ground.

Over Steve’s shoulders you see Bucky give Peggy a kiss on the cheek and a shy smile as they hug, exchanging quiet words.

You and Peggy might have known each other first, but she and Bucky bonded right away, making you wonder (not for the first time) why it seemed to be only you that Bucky had trouble getting to know. You brush off the thought - this week was about your friends and their wedding, and you were going to stop worrying about anything that wasn’t making sure this wedding was perfect.

“Missed you,” Steve whispered, “Did you get in okay? Bucky said you were late.”

You roll your eyes again. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He smiles. “Go say hi to Peg. She’s excited you’re here.” He gives your shoulders a squeeze before passing you off to Peggy, who hugs you so tight you can barely breathe.

“You look so--” you sigh, unable to find the words, “Happy. You look so happy, it’s like you’re already married.”

She grins. “I’ve been dreaming about this day for years. I’m excited.”

The four of you sit down to eat and you have the best breakfast you’ve ever eaten. Around a mouthful, you tell the table, “I never want to eat anything but these potatoes for the rest of my life.”

The rest of the meal is spent talking about the wedding and any last minute items that need to be done before the rehearsal dinner later that night. It sounds like everything is going as planned, which doesn’t surprise you when it comes to Peggy Carter.

“And so far everyone has arrived, we think. Have you run into anyone at the hotel?” Steve asks, and you and Bucky both freeze, before he speaks.

“Not… no. Haven’t seen anyone else yet.”

Steve looks between the two of you, eyes narrowed. “What? What happened?” He puts down his fork. “You can’t be fighting already, it’s only been--”

“They gave us one room.” You blurt. “There was a mixup and we have to share a room.”

Bucky steps on your foot hard, because you’ve forgotten his warning about not telling Steve and keeping the groom from stressing out the day before his wedding.

“It’s fine,” Bucky says, waving a hand. “It’s just sleeping.”

You want to scream. Was it just sleeping when we cuddled all night? There wasn’t even alcohol involved!

“Right.” You say brightly, “It’s fine. No big deal.”

Steve is frowning. “I can call--”

“No!” You and Bucky both exclaim.

“Please don’t worry about this. It’s a non-issue,” You say, looking to Peggy for reassurance.

“They’re adults, Steve.”

“Adults who always seem to want to rip each other’s heads off,” he mutters, reaching for his coffee. Over the rim, he meets your eyes, and you shake your head minutely. Don’t you dare.

Breakfast is a little subdued after that, but soon it’s time for Steve and Peggy to go to the venue to make any last minute changes, leaving you and Bucky to your own devices for a few hours before you have to get ready for the rehearsal dinner.

Before parting ways, your phone buzzes.

Steve Rogers: You sure you’re going to survive this?

You: I will murder you.

Across the sidewalk, Steve snorts.

Steve Rogers: I’m just saying. Your crush is kind of obvious, you know?

You: Lucky for you, Bucky literally pays no attention to me. It’ll be fine.

Steve Rogers: That’s what you think.

You meet Steve’s eyes, trying to figure out what he means, but he just shrugs and puts his phone back in his pocket.

The four of you say your goodbyes, and then you and Bucky are left standing on the street awkwardly.

“I was going to go to a museum--”

“I might check to see if Sam is here yet--”

You both speak at the same time.

Bucky clears his throat. “Right. Well, I’ll go check on Sam and you go to your museum or whatever. You have a room key?”

You nod. “Yep. All set.”

“I guess… have fun. Don’t get lost.”

You scowl. “Great, thank you for your concern.”

You’re halfway down the street when you hear him call, “Don’t be late!”

You flip him off over your shoulder and pretend you don’t hear him laughing as you keep heading down the street in the complete opposite direction. 

You get back to the hotel in the early afternoon so you can shower and start getting ready for the rehearsal dinner. Outside your shared room, you hear voices, so you pause. You can tell one is Bucky, and soon you recognize the other voice is Sam.

“Really, dude. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” Bucky’s voice is gruff. “Do I want to be in London? Not particularly. Can I separate my issues from celebrating this wedding? Yes.”

A sigh, but you can’t tell who it comes from.

“It’s okay to have mixed feelings about London.” Sam says. “The last time--”

“I know what happened the last time I was here.” Bucky interrupts, voice firm and icy. “Sorry. I just-- I don’t want to talk about it.”

A pause. “Okay, then let’s talk about your other issue.” Sam says, and even through the door, you can tell he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on! You’re sharing a room with--”

Not wanting to overhear something else you shouldn’t, you hurriedly put your key in the slot and push the door open.

The two men are silent, staring at you, and you can feel the guilty look all over your face, so you try your best to school your expression into nonchalance.

“Long time no see,” Sam says, standing up to give you a hug.

“Hi, Sam.”

You make some small talk and try not to notice how quiet Bucky is being. He can’t really hate this situation that much… right? Or is it just this place in general? You’re too afraid to ask.

After another hour or so, Sam leaves the two of you to get ready himself, and you race to the bathroom to shower and start doing your makeup.

You’re very conscious of the fact that Bucky is getting changed in the room just beside you, so you take your time getting ready, making sure you’ve done every last thing you can think of before you emerge.

You’re not prepared for the sight of him, more dressed up than you’ve ever seen him. A dark blue button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbow, showcasing part of a tattoo that snakes down from his left bicep. His newly-shorn hair is artfully styled, the watch on his right wrist glinting in the late day sun streaming into the room.

God, how are you going to get through tomorrow? Seeing him as one of the groomsmen? You’re going to die.

“You look nice,” you manage, not wanting to stare at him any longer.

He looks like he doesn’t know what to say. You’re not sure if it’s the compliment he’s having trouble with, or what. “Thanks,” he says eventually. “You do too.”

The rehearsal dinner is like a fairytale, just like you knew it would be. The food is great, the company is even better, and even Bucky looks like he’s having a good time. There’s lots of toasting the bride and groom to be, and that involves a lot of drinks. A lot.

By the time you’re walking back to the hotel with Bucky, you’re a little unsteady on your feet, but he’s not doing much better, your hips bumping every few feet as you walk.

“You’re a lightweight,” he laughs, and you attempt to glare at him, but you think it comes off more like you’re leering at him. He reaches for your elbow gently and tugs you into the elevator with him, and it’s a challenge to stop thinking all the inappropriate thoughts that start clouding your mind.

Safely in your room, you sit on the edge of the bed and watch as Bucky starts to get ready for bed. You need to get your makeup off and into your pajamas, but you can’t bring yourself to move.

“You’re staring.”

You grin, “Just enjoying the show.” Instantly horrified, you clap a hand over your mouth. “I didn’t say that. You didn’t hear it.”

Bucky’s a little pink around the ears, but he looks smug. “So you think I’m hot?”

You groan. “Shut up. You know you’re hot.”

He looks surprised for a half second, and you fall backwards onto the bed.

“Stop it, stop asking me stuff. I can’t be trusted.” Apparently you can’t take your own advice, because you start thinking out loud, “It’s too bad you hate me. We’d be like, the hottest couple of all time.”

It’s silent, and when you finally look up, he’s staring at you, a frown on his face. “Is that what you think?”

“I know we’d be the hottest couple of all time--”

“No,” he interrupts, exasperated. “You think I hate you?”

“I think--” you suddenly clamp your mouth shut. “I think I need to go to the bathroom.” Bolting past him, you make it there in time, and barely register him coming in a few seconds later, holding your hair back.

God. How embarrassing. Love this journey for you, your brain helpfully supplies.

The last thing you remember before falling asleep is Bucky helping you out of your dress, and a cool hand on your forehead. Then it all goes black. 

Your alarm goes off early again the next day. Wedding day. You’re due at the venue with the rest of the bridal party at nine to start hair and makeup.

Your mouth feels like it’s made of cotton, and you curse everyone involved in the dinner for doing so many toasts.

“God,” you groan, and when you open your eyes, you see Bucky on the chair in the living area, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. “What--”

“Here,” he says, tossing you your phone, alarm still going off.

There’s a text from Steve asking if you’re alive, and another from Peggy’s bridesmaid group chat with a million love-themed emojis.

“Thanks,” you grumble, bits and pieces of the night before coming back to you. Startled, you look up, “Bucky, I am so sorry--”

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves a dismissive hand at you.

“I didn’t mean to drink so much. I’m such an annoying drunk. I--”

“Really,” he interrupts your apology, “It’s okay. You weren’t that bad.”

He’s quiet, which isn’t that different, but he looks… more intense than usual. Contemplative. It makes you nervous. Especially because the night before is still coming to you in pieces.

“Have you been up long?” You ask.

His eyes shutter. “A bit. Had trouble sleeping.”

An awkward silence settles. “What time do you have to--”

“You probably need to get going--”

You both speak at the same time, and strangely, your throat feels tight as he won’t meet your eyes. How badly had you screwed things up the night before?

“Right. I do have to get going. Just going to--” you gesture to the bathroom, and he nods. You make your escape into the shower and spend a little longer than necessary in there, trying like hell to figure out what you could have said to him.

It’s hours later before you see Bucky again. You and the rest of the bridal party are helping Peggy with finishing touches, and the photographer is taking action shots, the entire room a mix of blush pink and gauzy white.

Peggy is a vision - her hair curled and pinned in an old-fashioned style befitting a princess, and her lips painted her signature cherry red.

“Steve’s going to die,” you say, grinning at her, and she winks.

“Almost ready, girls?” She asks everyone else, and there’s a cheer before everyone begins to head out into the hall, gathering with the groomsmen to begin the walk down the aisle.

You’re blindsided by the sight of Bucky in his tux. You take a moment to be thankful you’re walking with Sam, not with Bucky, because surely he’d be able to hear the way your heart is pounding just looking at him.

He looks similarly awed, and your ego takes a moment to soak it up before you can feel embarrassed at the attention.

“You’re… you look great.” He says quietly.

“Thank you. You too.”

The smile he gives you is so soft, you can barely stand it.

“Okay Barnes, hands off my date.” Sam interrupts, linking your arm through his.

Bucky rolls his eyes. Before he can say anything else, the procession is starting, and you’re swept up in the romance of this moment finally happening.

Steve cries.

You do a little, too.

You catch Bucky looking at you with those intense eyes during the ceremony twice, and you’re suddenly more nervous than you’ve ever been, because you still have eight days left of your trip. Possibly eight more days rooming with Bucky if he doesn’t leave before you.

If the tension doesn’t kill you, sleeping in the same bed with him again will, for sure.

The reception space is even more beautiful than the ceremony, and even as you sit there, chin in your palm watching Steve and Peggy dance, you think you’ve never felt more romantic in your entire life.

You dance with Sam, and then Steve finds you, his eyes already a little glazed over.

“Come on, you can’t sit there all night.”

You huff as he finds your hand and tugs you out of your seat. “I haven’t been sitting here all night.”

“You’re not going to deny your best friend a dance. That’s that.”

You smile, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

It’s quiet for a few moments as the two of you sway slowly, and when you look up at Steve, he’s only got eyes for Peggy, who’s dancing with Sam on the other side of the room.

“I’m happy for you, Rogers.”

He grins down at you, “When are you going to start trying to make yourself happy?”

You groan. “Steve, don’t.”

“I’m serious! Look… I know Bucky is… he seems serious sometimes, and it can be hard for him to open up, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one notices.”

The thought of it sends butterflies straight to the pit of your stomach, but there’s just no way that could be true. No matter how much of a romantic Steve Rogers is and how much he would love for his best friends to get together, it’s just not going to happen.

“Incoming,” Steve whispers, and you turn over your shoulder to see Bucky there, looking a little sheepish.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Steve steps away from you, and your eyes widen at him, panicking. “No problem,” he says to Bucky, “I’ve got a bride to get back to.”

Bucky takes a step closer. “Dance?”

As if on cue, the DJ plays something soft and slow, and you’re left powerless to resist Bucky and the way he’s looking at you - a little guarded, but still open and vulnerable. You feel like you have no choice but to take his hand, a shock working its way up your arm at the contact.

May my hands be the hands you hold onto When you let go of everything else May my arms be the arms that you fall into When the night gets too heavy to hold by yourself

You feel so self conscious as you dance with Bucky, his touch gentler than you ever allowed yourself to imagine it might be. He holds you close, your clasped hands resting over his heart, and you force yourself to enjoy this quiet moment with him.

If you're looking for a safe place to land I will guide you home And if the levy of your life breaks all your plans You'll never be alone

You think about the first time you met him - he was so different then. The same stoic Bucky Barnes you know now, but less quick to crack a joke or a smile. He stuck close to Steve and Sam, but it was clear to you that there was so much more to him than his outward appearance.

There’s the loyalty he shows to his friends. He’s smart - probably the smartest person you know, and so driven. He’s fiercely protective and is observant to a fault, the result of Army training he’ll probably never get rid of.

And -- you hate to admit it, but there was a time when you thought Steve was right. You’d catch Bucky staring out of the corner of your eye and think maybe, maybe there’s something there. And then like a switch flipped, he was quicker to argue with you, every little thing turning into a reason for the two of you to fight.

Now though, the gentle way he’s holding you and the scent of his cologne flooding your senses… you can almost trick yourself into thinking your feelings are reciprocated. That Bucky was just as nervous around you as you are around him.

The song comes to an end, and so does the moment.

If you dance with me Feel my heartbeat through your body to your feet If you dance with me Hold me in the dark now, until both your eyes can see And if it's you and me against the world If I'm your man, you're my girl We'll win you'll see, if you dance with me

Steve and Peggy are leaving in the morning for Paris for a few days, and then to Spain. You feel a pang of jealousy watching them leave the reception, hands and eyes locked together as if nothing could tear them apart.

For a moment, you so desperately want that kind of affection with someone else. You take a deep breath and force yourself to get it together.

“Share a cab back?” A deep voice behind you asks, and you’re surprised to see Bucky. He made himself scarce after your dance and you didn’t see him again for the rest of the night.

You nod, not trusting your own voice.

The cab ride to your hotel is nearly silent. Every small noise is amplified, like you shifting in your seat, and Bucky loosening his bow tie.

“Have you decided how long you’re going to stay?” You ask, finally, the one question that’s been plaguing you.

He looks at you, eyes impossibly blue in the streetlight glow. “A few days, I think. I have some… I have some stuff I want to see before I go home.” He shakes himself out of whatever memory he’s in. “You? The full ten days?”

You shrug. “If I can keep this room, yeah. I can’t remember the last time I took a vacation.”

Bucky nods, turning to look back out the window again. At the hotel, he helps you out of the car and pays for the cab despite your protests, and when you get inside the elevator, you’re struck again by how handsome he looks, flushed from alcohol and a little more tousled than usual; his bow tie hanging loose around his neck and his top two buttons undone.

He catches you looking once again, but you can’t look away. You know you’re not imagining this time how his eyes darken a shade, and you watch with rapt fascination as he licks his lips, leaning down ever so slightly -- the elevator dings and the doors open.

The spell is broken.

“Bucky?”

He shakes himself out of his thoughts almost physically, and then he’s walking away from you, heading towards the room without a backward glance. 

The next morning, you and Bucky are tangled together so much that there’s no way you can get up without him waking up first. Your first thought is embarrassment, but then you just… give in. You let yourself enjoy it, only feeling guilty for a few minutes.

You’re so warm and you feel so protected… you once again curse Steve Rogers for making you think about your persistent crush on Bucky, because now you can’t get it out of your head.

“Morning.” Bucky’s voice is rough, and you jump, because he’s still got his arms around you. And he’s awake.

“Morning,” you say cautiously.

“Sorry,” he slowly pulls away from you, the tips of his fingers lingering on your arms. “I’ve been told I’m like an octopus in my sleep.”

Something about Bucky seems different first thing in the morning. His walls aren’t up.

“It’s okay. I’m not complaining about free cuddles.”

He smiles, you can feel it where his stubble scratches your temple. There’s something like giddy excitement brewing in you.

“Can I-- I have a favor to ask.” He says. “I have to go somewhere today… I-- if you don’t have plans, would you come with me?”

You crane your neck to meet his eyes. He looks nervous.

“Okay,” you say simply, because you think if he keeps looking at you like that, you’d follow him anywhere.

He tells you to dress casually, so you opt for a simple jeans and t-shirt outfit with a cardigan thrown overtop. You pack whatever you think you’ll need for a day in your backpack and follow Bucky out when he’s ready. He seems to know where he’s going, and you walk with him in comfortable silence.

He starts fidgeting the closer you get to a massive hospital, and when you get close enough to read the sign, you realize this must have been where he was taken for part of his recovery.

“Bucky--” You breathe, because this is too much. He’s trusting you with too much, and you’re not sure you deserve it.

“I--” He swallows hard, “The doctor who saved my arm still works here. I try to write as often as I can, but I thought a face-to-face visit was probably overdue.” He looks down at you, “I just-- I haven’t been here in years. I don’t think I can do it alone.” His words are measured and careful, and you realize how hard it must be for him to be here in the first place, let alone trusting you with something like this.

You feel tears pricking your eyes and you fight to keep them back. “Okay, Bucky. Yeah. Let’s do this.”

He smiles shakily at you, and on a whim, you reach for his hand. When he freezes, you realize you’ve gripped his left hand, the one with the scars encompassing his wrist and three of his fingers, the hand connected to the same arm that was nearly blown off in Afghanistan, the one that nearly cost him his life.

He doesn’t let go. If anything, he squeezes your hand tighter, and you feel another tendril of affection curl around your heart.

Inside, he introduces himself to the woman at the reception desk, and after a few questions, you’re directed towards an elevator and given directions to the floor the doctor’s office is on. You think Bucky has memories of this place for the way he leads you there with almost no words.

A quick knock on the door, and then he’s shaking hands and exchanging broad grins with a young woman.

“Sergeant Barnes!” She exclaims after letting go of his hand. “It’s about time you showed your face around here.”

Bucky is blushing and you’re so enamored with him you can barely stand it. While he’s talking, you dig your phone out of your pocket and text Peggy.

I know you’re on your honeymoon, but SOS! I need help.

Bucky turns to you, and you realize he’s trying to introduce you.

“This is Shuri. She’s the one who operated on me and helped me with PT after my injury.”

“It’s really great to meet you,” you tell her, trying to ignore her curious look.

“You as well.”

She and Bucky start talking again, and even though you can tell Bucky’s still a little nervous to be here, you’re enthralled by the sibling-like relationship he has with his former doctor.

“I want to make a donation,” Bucky says quietly. “I didn’t know who to go to about it. I want to give it specifically to this ward, to the work you’re doing.”

You feel like you’re intruding, but he keeps looking to you like he needs reassurance, so you smile at him.

“I’ve-- I’ve been putting money away over the last few years and I’m at a place now where I want to help.”

You send another text to Peggy.

Seriously, SOS!!!!! If you don’t call me soon, I’m going to do something I regret.

A minute later, your phone rings, and you excuse yourself to the hallway.

“Thank God.”

“Darling. I love you, but what could possibly be so important that you had to call on the first day of--”

“I think I’m in love with Bucky and I have no idea what to do about it.”

A choked noise comes from behind you and you whirl around, mortified to see Bucky there, eyes wide, pale.

“Oh, shit. Peggy-- I have to go.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Bye, love you.” You hang up quickly, and take a step towards Bucky before you even register you’re doing it. “Bucky--”

“Are you-- I heard you were talking to Peg, I thought something was wrong.”

“I’m-- oh God, Bucky, I-- I have to go.”

“Wait--”

Your tears are overflowing now. You’re so embarrassed, you have no idea how you’re going to look him in the eye, let alone sleep in the same bed as him.

Vision blurry, you decide to take the stairs two at a time instead of waiting for the elevator, and you’re gone before he can catch up to you. 

Bucky’s ears are ringing as he stares after you. He feels like he has shell shock again - unable to comprehend anything that just happened.

“Need a chair, soldier?” Shuri asks him, clearly having overheard the entire thing, and he nods dumbly, basically collapsing into a chair near her desk.

I think I’m in love with Bucky.

Your words echo over and over in his mind, and he honestly can’t believe what he just heard.

Your friendship has always been complicated, but the way Bucky feels about you is simple. He’s crazy about you. Crazy for you, and terrified that he’s not good enough for you, so he’s pushed you away time and time again, despite all evidence pointing to the fact that you might like him too.

Sharing a room -- a bed -- with you has been every one of his daydreams come to life. (A lot less kissing, sure, but whatever)

Now this-- this revelation, it’s too much.

“All the most important events of your life seem to take place at this hospital, Bucky.” Shuri says, gentle teasing in her tone.

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky groans, “What the hell do I do?”

“You’re going to go after her.” Shuri says simply, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. She rolls her eyes. “It’s obvious you’re in love with her too.” Bucky thinks he must look horrified, because she continues, “You’ve never brought anyone here before. I couldn’t convince you to come back even for a tour of the new labs. And the one time you do come of your own free will, you bring her. What does that tell you?”

A half hour later, Bucky has called you three times and has checked at the hotel twice, and now he’s at a park near the hotel, on a bench, having no idea what to do.

Of course that’s when Steve calls.

“I hear you’re having a crisis.”

Bucky groans. “‘M not having a crisis. A moment, maybe.”

“She told you she loved you?”

“She told Peggy she loved me, and I was eavesdropping, and she ran away crying.”

Steve is silent.

“Right? It’s bad. It’s so bad. Maybe if I’d just been… I don’t know. More talkative during this trip? Or maybe I should have just gotten my own room and saved us both the trouble.”

“Look, no offense, but you’re both so dense.”

Bucky scoffs. “Thanks.”

“I love her like a sister and love you like a brother, but everyone knows you two have a thing for each other. Why else did everyone steer clear of the two of you at the wedding? It’s obvious, dude.”

Bucky has never felt so stupid in his entire life. All these years, he tried to distance himself from you, sure that he was only going to get hurt if he put himself out there. He liked you too much to risk ruining a friendship, even if it was barely a friendship to begin with. Quick to argue and stubborn, you were also generous and kind, beautiful, and passionate about your work and your friends and your family.

You’re everything he’s ever wanted, and you terrify him.

And you love him.

Apparently.

He’s on his feet again.

“I have to go,” He tells Steve. “I’ll text you later.”

“Good luck.” 

You’re back at your shared hotel room, trying to pack up and leave before Bucky finds you. It’s childish, sure, but you can’t take this anymore.

You’re going to get a new room at a different hotel, and try to salvage the rest of your vacation.

The door opens before you can finish zipping your bag, and you turn to see Bucky storming in, his face unreadable and a piece of paper in his hand.

“What the hell is this?”

You turn away. “It’s a note.”

You assume he’s noticed your bags. “Were you really going to take off and just leave a note that says you’re sorry?”

His hand on your elbow forces you to turn around, and you feel like you’re going to cry again.

His face softens. “Talk to me. Please.”

You bury your face in your hands. “I’m so sorry, Bucky. You were-- you were trying to do something for you, and my loud mouth just had to ruin it. I never meant for you to find out--”

“You were never going to tell me you’re in love with me?”

You blanche. “God, I mean-- I don’t know! It’s not… this isn’t easy…”

“You still think I hate you.”

You freeze, thinking back to your drunk conversation from a few nights ago. “I don’t think you hate me.”

“Good. Because I don’t. Far from it, actually.”

You try to squash the little seed of hope blooming in your chest.

“You know, when we first met, I was jealous of you. You were closer to Steve in a year than anyone else, and I didn’t know where I fit anymore. I didn’t understand what made you so special.”

Frowning, you try to turn away, but he won’t let you.

“But then I got to know you. I got to know how you care about people, and how you looked after Steve when he first got back. I learned how you do everything you can to make other people happy, but don’t try to do the same thing for yourself. I learned that you’re a lightweight and you’re a flirt when you’re drunk, and I learned that I--” He stops, catches his breath. “I learned that it only took me a few months to fall in love with you so deeply that I can’t see my way out.”

Your insides feel like mush. The touch of his hand slides up to your shoulder, and you feel more alive the closer he gets to you.

“I pushed you away, because you’re way too good for me, sweetheart. You always have been. You don’t need someone like me weighing you down. And when this room mix-up happened, it was both the best and worst thing to happen to me.”

“Don’t you dare,” you whisper, and his brows furrow, confused, as you continue. “Don’t you dare say you’re not good enough. You’re-- I’ve never met a better person than you, James Barnes. I think I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

You’re both silent, staring into each other’s eyes, the room crackling with the energy of confessions and tension.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you’re kissing, Bucky’s hand moving to the back of your head as his free arm slides around your waist to haul you against him. Fire licks through your veins as he deepens the kiss, barely letting you break for air before dragging you in again, consuming you entirely.

It could be minutes or hours that you’re kissing him in the middle of your hotel room surrounded by your luggage, but when you break apart, your legs are weak and he chuckles as he keeps you upright, a smug smile growing on his face.

“Shut up.” You say weakly.

“Don’t leave.”

You sigh, forehead leaning against his collarbones.

“I haven’t had a vacation in a long time either, now that I think about it.” He offers, head tilting to one side as he looks you over. “You think you could stand to room with me for another week?”

You can’t stop touching him; hands gliding over his shoulders as he noses at the spot behind your ears where you’re the most sensitive. “I might be able to be talked into it.”

He smiles, and it’s blinding. “I love you,” he whispers, right before he kisses you again.

Later that night when you call Peggy on speakerphone and tell her the entire story, Steve takes the phone and says “told you so,” before hanging up.

Bucky’s arms around your waist, you’re already thinking of writing the concierge who made the room mix-up a thank you card.

End

#FanFictionariesClassicTropeChallenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

[imaginesupply]

Homecoming - Chapter Four

(Gif's not my own.) 

Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.

Genres: Romance, drama.

Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).

Notes:

-It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.

-This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.

-English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.

-Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies.

-Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.

-Finally: This will be a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.

Chapter Four starts after the cut. (Chapter Three can be found here.) Let me know if you wish to be tagged in future chapters or if you wish to be removed from the tag list.

Chapter Four

Chapter warnings: PTSD, angst (or as much angst as I’ll ever write), couple’s fight, outdated expectations of marriage (is that even a warning?), mentions of masturbation.

This chapter is a little different from the previous ones and it’s stitched together weirdly. Also, there’s no smut (which is unusual for me!), but Chapter 5 will be more humorous and lighthearted.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

“When’s your next leave?” Harper asked from behind the wheel, knowing better than to take his eyes off the sand road. He had been transferred to the Special Forces after the whole water pumping station incident, with Sy’s approval.

They were at the very back of the convoy, like always. It was the only way Sy was able to keep all the Humvees in sight and look out for everyone.

“Not sure I’m gonna be seeing home before July.” Sy replied, blue eyes scrunched up as he tried making something, anything out in the darkness surrounding them. Doing this scouting mission at night hadn’t been his idea, but the order had come from higher up and it was when the guards were at their lowest.

Harper smiled, a short huff escaping his chest. “Ah yes! What are you going do once you’re home for good?” The soldier asked, the tiniest hint of teasing in his voice. “Give your wife a small army of Texan babies?”

Sy scoffed, his chest shaking beneath the heavy protective vest. “Eyes on the road, soldier.”

“Yes, captain.” Harper chuckled even as he obeyed the command.

The rest of the drive went by in silence. The whole point of doing it at night was to be unseen and unheard. Confirm it was an armory so that an airstrike could later destroy it. Quick and easy.

Sy absentmindedly rubbed his finger through the thick glove, trying to feel the wedding band beneath. He never took the thing off, but it still somehow eased his mind to make sure it was there – make sure she was there across the ocean. They had talked on the phone the night before and he could still hear her shriek as she stubbed her toe on the doorframe whilst pacing around the house as she spoke to him. She wanted to order new tires for his pickup truck because she was afraid the current ones would be expired once he got back. He told her not to worry about any of that, but she insisted and then asked about Aika, changing subjects. No matter what they talked about, he always slept better after hearing her voice.

The landscape changed ever so slightly. They were there, right outside the deserted town’s walls. Sy gave everyone the order to pull up and get ready. It was only when he stepped out of the Humvee, his feet landing swiftly on the soft sand and the cold night’s air hitting his face, that he realized that Sy had been there already. He was dreaming again.

He had been there hundreds of times, taken the same steps, given the same orders and run away from the same explosion. After having the same nightmare night after night, the shock and the surprise element had lessened, but the dread remained unchanged. Sy was cursed to relive the same scene again and again, for moments even wondering if he lacked imagination so much that his mind was unable to come up with anything else.

Still, every night, he'd try changing the outcome, attempt to take control of his past self and make different decisions: refuse the mission, take a different team, catch Lieutenant Wilkins before he had a chance to run into the trap. It never worked. The result was always the same with him shouting for everyone to retreat and grabbing on to the back of Wilkins' uniform, trying to drag him out of the building, unsuccessfully. Then the telltale detonation followed, the building shook and they were thrown backwards with the explosion. When Sy landed on the concrete, there was a corpse - or what remained of it - on top of him. It was what had shielded him from the worst.

He once tried to warn Wilkins about the child's voice asking for help, to tell him it was a trap and that they needed to ignore it, but he was unable to speak. They were there, on the exact spot, a large room right down the stairs with no windows or lights, only three parted doors. Unlike the first time, the real time, he knew what was about to happen, through what door the grenade would be thrown out of before rolling on the dusty ground. And he went through it all over again.

It was the noise that alerted him the first time, the impact as it hit ground and then the rolling sound on the uneven surface.

"Retreat!" Sy heard his own voice shout loud enough for the rest of the team behind them to hear, then an echo of hurried, heavy footsteps followed.

He knew what happened then. Sy waited for the faint, unidentifiable cry for help and for Wilkins to blindly bolt towards the voice, the grenade.  He knew he'd unable to stop him this time just like all the others. What was the point of making him relive the same failure over and over again?

"Help!"

Sy froze on the spot, unlike all the other previous nights. This time it was not a random infantile voice. It was Ada's. She was crying out for help, for him.

This time it was him who dashed after the voice, the grenade exploding before he could reach her.

°°°

Ada thought that they had dodged the bullet, that they had somehow managed to avoid all the stuff she had crammed her head with when she had found out Sy was retiring from active combat sooner than expected. The notes she had taken, the websites she had visited, the therapists she had researched and ranked according to online reviews; she had started to think none of these would come in handy. Apart from that small incident when grocery shopping and the whole thing with Tom, Sy was okay, they were okay. Or so she thought.

It only took maybe eight days of Sy being back home to find out that wasn't true. It was almost like when you took a plane and fly halfway across the globe. The first days you’d eat dinner at 3am and go to bed three hours later and nothing felt real. Then it settled in. But this wasn't a spontaneous holiday or a mid-life crisis, this was an honorable discharge. Sy wasn't leaving behind an unsatisfying career, he was leaving the war.

He came home. They reunited, caught up with each other, basked in other's presence. Ada had to keep reminding herself that she could fall asleep at night without the anxiety of feeling like she was wasting away his leave with something as frivolous as sleep.

Only sleep wasn't frivolous, Ada soon came to realize. Sy slept well the first few nights back home. The exhaustion helped, so did sex. Sy would kiss her, roll over, pull her into his arms and fall right asleep after it.

That changed quickly. On the eight night, she woke up to pee hours before dawn only to find his side of the bed empty. She found him downstairs playing on his new console. It was the jetlag that made him unable to sleep, he said. Ada knew better, even as she acquiesced.

The following night, after making love and taking care of her, Sy didn't even bother pretending he was going to bed. "I won't be able to sleep anyways and I don't want to keep you up," he claimed, putting on a t-shirt and some sweatpants before going out for a run. It was past midnight.

After going two days with barely shutting his eyes, Sy did finally fall asleep in bed with her. Ninety minutes later, he was awake again.

"You okay?" Ada groaned softly, forcing her eyes open but it was too dark to see anything. She had woken up with his tossing and turning.

"Yeah, just go back to sleep," Sy replied dismissively, turning on his side and facing the window away from her.

Ada was about to do just that, believing his words in her incoherent sleepiness, when her hand touched his clammy back. He had managed to sweat through his t-shirt, but his skin remained icy.

"You're not okay," she whispered to herself before switching on her small bedside lamp and sitting up.

"I told you to go back to sleep, Ada," Sy protested, still facing away from her.

She shook her head softly and tried to pull him into her arms, but he was too heavy, and she couldn't move him without his help. "If something's wrong, you can tell me, you know."

She waited in silence for him to answer, to say something, anything at all. She had planned on watching podcasts, meeting with veterans and whatever she could do to help, but Sy had come home several months earlier than planned and she didn't know what to do, what was expected of her as a wife, as his partner, as his support person.

"Alright, you don't have to talk if you don't want to," she attempted quietly, sliding back into bed and moving in behind him, doing her best to be the big spoon for once. "We can just cuddle until you fall asleep."

Apparently, that turned out to be the wrong thing to say. Sy jumped out of bed as if her touch had burnt him. "I'm not a fucking child, Ada. I don't need your cuddles."

She flinched at his tone, taking a deep breath but her voice still came out strangled. "I was not implying you were a child, Sy. I just thought - no - I just hoped that you would find some comfort with me," she admitted but he was already getting dressed, sweaty skin and all. "Clearly I was wrong."

His face was red behind his full beard. He was pissed, she could almost feel him buzzing as he tried to restrain his anger and not - she didn't know what he was keeping himself from doing. Whatever it was, Ada was sure his next words hurt just as much as whatever he was initially going to do.

"I don't need you to fucking comfort me, woman!" He spat out, putting on a pair of boots. "I don't need anyone's help and certainly not my wife's!"

With that, he marched to the bedroom door, forcefully throwing it open. "I'm going out for air. Don't wait up for me."

They barely saw each other the next day. Sy texted that he was going to spend some time with his mom. Still hurt and offended, even though she knew this was not about her, Ada left for the day without telling him her whereabouts.

She took her car and drove to the animal shelter to help out. No one was expecting her there, but they gave her some work to do and it did help her feel better for a couple hours at least. But it was barely noon when she was done and she refused to go home, meeting up with friends instead. None of them asked why she wasn't at home practically glued to Sy. They were used to their friend pretty much vanishing off the face of the Earth whenever Sy came home for two or three weeks, but they were wise enough not to question it.

His words had stung. Ada was aware he had been mad, and that people always said dumb stuff when they were mad, but she did find some truth in his words. Why would he need her comfort? Her help? Or even a wife at all?

Sy had lived thirty-three years without knowing her and then three more married to her but living continents' apart. He could command soldiers, lead missions, plan attacks and whatever it was that he also did back in Iraq. The house was his, his mom would be overjoyed to cook for him and do his laundry again if he didn’t want to do it himself and Ada didn't kid herself - if he wanted sex, all he had to do was walk into a bar.

So, technically speaking, she knew Sy didn't need her. He was a grown ass man who could survive on his own better than ninety-nine percent of the population. What had hurt her was that he didn't want her, nor her help or her comfort. And if he didn't want her to try and make his life a lil' bit better, what was even the point.  Ada didn't know and all the cocktails she consumed didn't provide an answer either, but they did end up forcing her to eat almost her own weight in food to soak up all the alcohol before driving back home at ten.

She was still fishing out her keys to open the front door, when Sy pulled it open with so much force, it almost flew off its hinges.

"Where the fuck have you been?!" Sy shouted as soon as she set a foot inside.

"I was out with friends.” Ada took off her shoes by the door. "How's your mom?" She looked up only long enough to find him staring down at her with his thick arms crossed in front of his chest.

"I sent you a dozen texts and called you just as many times, but you never picked up." Oh, his tone had switched to that unsettling calm before the storm.

"I apologize, my phone was on silent," Ada replied. It was true, though she had still noticed his calls and texts. "Look I am tired, and I am going to take a shower." She said before walking upstairs to their bedroom.

To her surprise, Sy followed her up, stopping only at their room’s threshold as if he weren’t allowed inside without her forgiveness. "I am sorry for yesterday," he sighed, leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s okay.” Ada shook her head, undressing rapidly and balling up her dirty clothes to throw them in the hamper. She smelt like a whole bar and she was desperate for a shower.

“I didn’t mean it, what I said,” he added, finally walking inside the room but still keeping his distances.  

“It’s okay, don’t worry.” She reassured him, disappearing inside the en-suite. This was just a fight. Couples had them all the time. Sy had even apologized. “I am sorry too. For today.”

His voice startled her, Sy was closer than she had expected. “Do you have need for me?” He asked, making her still as she bent down to fetch some fresh towels from the drawer. Did she have need for him? Ada frowned even though he couldn’t see her face. She heard him sigh again behind her.

"I felt useful back in Baqubah. I ran that city, commanded soldiers, gave my country something and then an explosion happens, two of my men die. And you know what they do? They send me home. Not to punish me for fucking up; they send me home because they thought I had witnessed enough shit and deserved an honorable discharge. Whatever the reason, my services weren't needed there anymore."

"Then I come home to my wife, to you, Ada. And you know what?” He asked before providing the answer himself. “The doors don't screech, the mirror has been replaced and my wife doesn’t even need me to take her out on dates or to the movies because she already has someone for that. So really, what's my goddamn purpose here? The house doesn't need me. You don't need me. Even my mother doesn't need me what with her new boyfriend. So why the fuck did I come back?"

He paused and Ada took it as a chance to stand up and face him. She didn’t know what this was. His voice wasn’t loud, he wasn’t shouting, and his posture didn’t appear hostile. They weren’t arguing, this was something different. “That’s not-” Sy cut her off.

"Then, last night, I realize that while you don't need me, I sure as hell need you, Ada. And that's not how I imagined my marriage would be. I should be the provider. I should be taking care of you, not the other way around."

"This is not the 1950s, Sy," Ada chuckled faintly despite herself.

"That don’t matter. It's how I was raised: preside, provide and protect. I don't care about the presiding part; I knew from day one that I'd never be able to boss you around and I didn't want to. But I still very much believe in providing for and protecting what's mine, and instead, you're the one doing that. So, not only did I fail my men back in Iraq, but now I’ve failed you too."

“No. Stop right there.” Ada interrupted him, more forcefully than intended. "Okay, first, you never failed me. Don’t you ever say that.” Sy huffed from his spot by the door, clearly unconvinced but she was determined to get this out. “Second, I... I think you need to stop settling for being needed and instead accept that you are loved, at least by me."

Sy stiffened against the doorframe, his face taking over an unreadable expression beneath his beard. Shit. Did she mess up again? "Did I say something wrong?"

He didn’t reply right away. Ada took a few steps to him when his words took her by surprise. "You said you loved me."

She stopped in her tracks, opening her mouth and closing it again a few times, stammering. Confusion was evident on her face. "Well, yeah."

"You've never said it before," Sy explained, the hint of a smile on his lips.

Ada frowned, a little unsteady on her feet as she thought back. "Are you certain? I'm pretty sure that is what I ended all our phone calls with."

He shook his head. "I meant in person.”

"Oh, I never realized.”

The cold bathroom tile floor was not the place either of them would have picked out under different circumstances, but it was where Sy finally allowed himself to be cuddled into the warmth of her embrace for the first time, his head resting against her naked breast with her slow heartbeat lulling him into a different kind of peace. “I do love you, Sy.”

Ada was no fool, this wouldn’t soothe all his troubles, but for now, it was a start. And that was all she could ask for.

°°°

Sy sat down on the chair in their study. Most walls were covered with Ada’s textbooks from floor to ceiling. He huffed at the sight. If you’d told him five years ago that he’d end up with an academic wife, he’d have laughed in your face. Now, he tested touched the shelves, watching them wobble slightly and decided he ought to build her something sturdier.

First, he had to take care of some administrative bullshit for the new job he'd be starting at Camp Marbry in January. He had always hated bureaucracy but there was no escaping it. He had learned it the hard way as a private. Maybe it was also time he started going through their utilities folders. Ada had taken over all of it when they got married, managing their bank accounts and paying the bills. Sy hadn't taken of that shit in years but he probably should relieve her of some of those chores.

His eyes wandered over to the neatly organized shelves under the office desk, trying to find the correct binder when his attention landed on what appeared to be a fancy silver notebook. Was that the one Tom had mentioned?

Sy knew he shouldn't go through her stuff, but he was curious and it was not like she had hidden it or anything. Ending his hesitation with a shrug, he picked up the notebook only for stray bits of paper to immediately fly out and land on the carpeted floor. "Shit!"

He bent down and gathered them all up quickly in his hand, lest Ada find out he was snooping and chide him like a soldier. He sat back on the chair and started reading through some of the bits and slips of paper he had caught: "shaving gel not cream!", "dog treats (the fancy ones)", "boxer briefs in L"... They were all dated too. Sy figured they were just old shopping lists until he opened the notebook.

The first part appeared to be a logbook of sorts with notes about each and every one of their calls for the past year. Sy went over some of them, grinning despite himself. He never imagined Ada took notes during their weekly phone calls.

"Sy says it's really cold at night in the desert."

"He seems a little down..."

"Aika has a sweet tooth." Damn, he missed that dog!

“Explosion. Two men dead.”

He skipped over the next few pages, remembering it all too well. After the logbook part, came a set of lists, all dated. "The monthly care packages," Sy realized, reading through them and concluding that this was where the bits of paper had fallen from.

All the care package lists were cross-referenced with the calls logbook. Sy had never understood how she always managed to send him exactly what he needed. He wasn't even aware that he had mentioned most of these small things to her. Most of the time, he didn't even understand how she managed to fit so much stuff into those small USPS boxes. Whenever he tried putting everything back in the cardboard box for safekeeping, half of it didn't fit back inside.

He flipped through a few more care packages before landing on a particularly long list. The date was highlighted, it was the package he had received on the month of his birthday. Ada had made him promise not to open it before the 18th. “You can open the box, but I will know if you open the present before your birthday, Sy,” she had warned him on the phone, trying to sound very stern.  “And if you do, I’ll come to Iraq just to whoop your ass.” He had laughed so loudly, Harper had knocked on his door to make sure he was alright.

Sy laughed again as he went over the list, remembering how the private from the deliveries and postal department kept on complaining because packages this big were 'not usually authorized' and that he was getting 'favor treatment' because he was captain and that Ada shouldn't even have been allowed to ship a box exceeding the maximum dimensions. Sy had taken the package from the soldier and asked if he fancied a trip to the infirmary. That had shut him up quickly.

There had been candy (no chocolate because it had melted through its packaging once when she had tried sending him some), gum, the two first James Bond novels, dog treats, a new photo of his niece and nephew, underwear that was way too fancy for him and a handwritten letter from Ada.

What had immediately caught his attention was the very neatly wrapped gift box with a big red bow and a small card that reminded him once more not to open it until his birthday and only when he was alone.

Sy laughed, remembering how giddy he was to open that damn box. They'd gone on a recon mission on his birthday and when they got back, everyone was exhausted and dirty. He had hurried to the showers, cutting off some soldiers and then rushed to his private room to open the gift.

In all his adult life, Sy could only remember blushing three times, two of them the same day. First was when Ada said 'I do’ and he tried sliding the ring on her finger, but nervous and tipsy like he had been, the damn tiny thing slipped off his hand and fell on the carpet. Second was when the limo supposed to bring them back to their hotel was caught up in traffic, and the two of them decided to get it on in the chapel's storage room while another couple was getting married. Not only did they promptly – and accidentally, might he add – knock over all the props, he literally ended up fucking her through the cheap and unstable dry wall. The look on the couple’s face had been priceless!

The third time was on his birthday. Inside the box, he had found a handful of professionally made photos of Ada in lingerie and sometimes not even that much. If that didn't have his mind spinning and his dick throbbing after so many months away, he certainly couldn't believe his eyes when he found a small tube of lube and a transparent fleshlight.

It was not the gift as such that made him blush. The photos had him beyond excited and he was all too eager to try out the fleshlight. No, the embarrassment only settled in afterwards. More specifically when Sy remembered that despite having a private room as a captain, the washrooms where shared and he found himself cleaning the fleshlight in the sink with the little water they had, hoping no one would see him.

"Oh shit!"

Sy jumped in his chair at her voice, he hadn't heard her get home, let alone upstairs.

"Fuck. You weren’t meant to see that, Sy.” Ada babbled, quickly walking up to him with a sheepish look on her face.

Sy smiled, interrupting her as he seized her hips and pulled her down to sit on his lap. "It’s okay, darlin'."

Ada's eyes widened incredulously. "Really? You’re not even mad at me for meeting with a therapist to get advice?"

Sy closed his eyes, nostrils flaring for a moment. Right. Admittedly, he had not yet made it to that part but while he wasn't exactly keen on discussing his private life with strangers, he felt no anger at finding out that Ada had tried to look after him. Her words from last night had somehow made it through his thick skull.

"No, I'm not angry, not even for that. I know you were just trying to-"

Sy opened his eyes again at her silence only to find his wife grinning like the Cheshire cat as she looked at the open page on the notebook.

"You didn't even make it that far, huh?" She chuckled, pointing at the list. "Nope, you were still stuck with that ridiculous birthday gift I gave you!" While her tone was accusatory, Sy could see that she was trying not to burst out laughing.

Rolling his eyes, he pried the notebook from her hands and set it down on the desk. "It was not a ridiculous gift. I kept it all," Sy reassured her, pressing her body closer to his. "Well, not the lube. That was gone in weeks. And the photos are definitely a little used now but-"

Ada kissed him out of the blue, shutting him up. "Sy, I really love you but you're giving me secondhand embarrassment right now."

The bear of a man laughed, holding ever impossibly tighter before kissing her forehead. "I love you too, wife." Then, another thought crossed his mind. “Do you think it’s possible to send a care package to a dog?”

@colourmeinblue​ @hail-horror-queen​ @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl​ @kmuir1​ @madbaddic7ed​ @coffeebreathy​ @purplelove75​ @summersong69​ @helenaellie​

#henry cavill smut #syverson smut #henry cavill x reader #syverson x reader #henry cavill x ofc #syverson x ofc

[autumnslance]

MiqoMarch 23: Love

(This is not the usual happy-go-lucky PunchyCat story. Sorry not sorry. Discussion of mental health/disability below. Also on Ao3 in “Slices of Light.”)

Hamon watched the girl next to him chew her bottom lip and shift her weight on her feet like she was getting ready for a round in the ring, not about to walk into her childhood home. It was overall uncharacteristic for her, but he fully understood why. Before he could say anything, C’oretta spoke up.

“Are we really sure this is the right thing to do I mean she already gets so confused.”

“That confusion is part of the trouble,” Hamon reminded her. “She near set fire to the place.”

C’oretta sagged. Her cloudy demeanor didn’t fit the cherry highlights in her gold hair, or the blindingly bright pink dress she wore. Her usual smile was missing from her sweet face. If he looked, he could pick out exactly which traits she’d inherited from each parent, his friends almost since they had been her age now. It only made her conflicted expression harder for him to see.

She squared her shoulders and skipped up the steps to enter the house, Hamon following at a more reasonable pace.

The sitting room was low lit, some furnishings and items on one side tossed about as if someone had been in a frenzied search. C’leiha sat at a small table, primly sipping her tea. She wore one of her old dancer outfits with shaky cosmetics on her face and her grey-streaked auburn hair loosely styled, a favorite pin--one of Khell’s first gifts to her--threaded into a sidebraid.

The young midlander nurse wrung her hands. “I’m sorry, Miss C’oretta, I haven’t been able to clean since her...episode earlier. But we had a nice time dressing up this afternoon, didn’t we, Miss C’leiha?”

“It’s all right I know it’s a lot hello Mama how are you doing today?” C’oretta knelt by her mother’s chair.

C’leiha’s distant look focused, then brightened, and she touched her daughter's hair. “Oretta! Did you leave school early again, kitten? You can wait for Papa with me, but no sweet ice for you!”

“Just go along with it,” the nurse urged quietly. “Trying to make her remember aught else will only cause distress.”

Which was what had happened earlier. Some well-meaning fool of an old friend had become frustrated and tried to remind C’leiha that her beloved husband was dead for years now.

When the Calamity had happened, C’leiha and C’oretta had watched Khell fall in the rioting crowds, trampled by terrified and angry mobs. Something in the older woman’s mind had snapped during those tumultuous events and she had never recovered, her despair turning to full on delusion. Something about the Calamity and the aetheric shifts it had caused across the realm had prematurely brought on a condition she would have been susceptible to in her old age, according to the chirugeons and conjurers examining her over the years since. They had no other explanations, aside from her grief and the trauma of that day.

Whatever it was, Hamon thought it wasn’t fair to see in a woman decades his junior who ought to still be enjoying her life. But Khell had been her everything, and without him C’leiha was lost.

He kept an ear to where C’oretta made non-committal responses to her mother’s jabbering as he spoke to the nurse. “We’ve made arrangements to get her in Saint Popoli’s. If you like, they’ve agreed to let you keep working with her, since you’re familiar. At least until you find something else, while their staff learns her quirks.”

The nurse nodded. “Thank you, Master Hamon; I’d hate to just leave her. As long as Miss C’oretta’s fine with everything.”

“She ain’t, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s about what’s best for C’leiha.” He looked at the pair of miqo’te. C’oretta was convincing her mother in a careful, roundabout way to go on a walk with her--a walk that would end at the hospital they would leave the woman in. “I’m having some of the boys come by to help pack up her things for her room there; the fella in charge says for her condition that’ll help keep her calm and from trying to find her way out.” He chuckled. “My back won’t let me help with none of the heavy lifting!”

The nurse smiled in response. “I understand, and I do think that’d be best.”

He briefly thought of suggesting the young lady could nurse him later, but this wasn’t the time or place. Perhaps once they had C’leiha settled.

“All right I think we’re ready,” C’oretta said. She was standing next to her mother, arms and hands linked. C’leiha was just an ilm or two taller, but seemed smaller and thinner than Hamon remembered; his recollection of C’leiha in her dancing days was a lusciously curvy woman who seemed to fill a room with her sparkling laughter and quick speech, her bright garments teasing the eyes with what they hid and revealed.

This dolled up shadow clinging to her daughter’s arm made his old heart ache.

C’leiha looked up, noticing him for the first time. “Master Hamon! How lovely to see you, are you coming with us to meet Khell too?”

His smile felt tight. “Aye, lass, we’ll all go together. You know I’m always happy to spend time in the presence of such lovely ladies, hehe!”

“Oh Hamon, you’re always such a flirt,” C’leiha teased. She kept up the conversation as they left the house and made their way through the streets. Nevermind her talk about a show she was performing in was well over a decade out of date. They listened and nodded and responded politely. Hells, Hamon thought he vaguely recalled having this exact conversation with her before, but it was like a hundred others lost in the fog of his own memories.

Funny how C’leiha could remember it so clearly, but nothing in the years since.

They reached Saint Popoli’s, and he feared there would be another scene, but the nurse--godsdammit, what was her name? His own mind really was going too, he’d have to ask Chuchuto later as she always remembered these details--stepped in smoothly. “Let’s wait inside Miss C’leiha, while Master Hamon sees to Miss C’oretta.”

“Oh yes, Melly, that’ll be nice, it’s so hot out here,” C’leiha replied, walking with the young woman.

Hamon was certain the nurse’s name was not Melly; that had been one of C’leiha’s friends in her old dance troupe.

C’oretta sighed heavily as her mother was escorted inside. “I hope I did the right thing.”

“I think so,” Hamon said, patting her shoulder. “It’s what’s best for her, and you’re a good girl for doing what she needs, even if it’s hard.”

“She doesn’t even see me anymore like for awhile I thought she was doing better and she seemed so excited for all the dances I was learning and the adventures I was having--I never told her about all the really dangerous things of course--but now she doesn’t even remember and acts like I’m still a child and waits for Papa all the time like he’s still here.”

“Maybe your Scion friends can think of something, given all the other outlandish stuff they pull. Rumor says they’ve even found a cure for tempering. If they can do that, then who knows. Not this old man, hehe.”

She only nodded absently. “I suppose I can ask and see if there’s a way to adjust the process that could make for an interesting study at least but it’s not like she’s been tempered either unless you consider a love like my parents had to be similar to it with the way she’s been.” C’oretta frowned--a wholly alien expression on her face, as she looked up at the building once more. “I hope I never love someone so much.”

Something in his own heart broke. “C’oretta, you know that ain’t how it works—”

“Thanks for the help Master Hamon I really appreciate the support but I gotta go now before Iyna makes bacon outta Violet and strings me up by my tail for being later than I said I’d be I’ll stop by the guild later for some sparring practice all right?” She smiled brightly, fakely, as she waved and dashed off before he could respond again.

Hamon let out a frustrated breath and stretched his aching back. He was really too old for all of this. He spared no further look to the building behind him, his watery eyes instead tracking the bright pink blur weaving through the street until she vanished around a corner.

Too many others just weren’t old enough.

#Final Fantasy XIV #MiqoMarch #Seeker of the Sun #Backstory #Hamon Holyfist #Family #Lyn Edits #Lyn Writing #C'leiha #C'oretta Khell #I got a line in my head and the whole fic came out of that #I borrowed Dark's house for this

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Five

Chapter Five: All My Memories Gather 'Round Her

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

He ruffled her hair.

Again.

It was a mistake letting her hair grow back out, now clocking back in at impressive two inches Jane was growing used to the platinum blonde locks. Sure, there were some off-handed comments, but a stern attitude dissuaded most of the direct jokes. Well, for most, it did. Roy was always an exception when it came to her.

Annoying geezer.

But was it a sense of direction or trust that guided her to follow through his every command? It was true Jane had been wary at first- she had seen first hand what the power of being made a defacto leader could do to someone. Abuse, rape, and murder. Here, at least for the time being, Roy kept his head. Even begrudged the position. Not that he shared it pubically, only mentioning it in passing to her, but she understood the burden all the same. Jane had lived it: rejected it. It was a strange sense of comfort to follow, better that the man leading was becoming a dear...

She couldn't; she had to reject that notion.

"I know you're there."

The whir of the door a dead giveaway when it came to being followed. Jane's hypervigilance had only increased with her time spent outside active combat. Sure, she still found herself battling at least on a biweekly routine, but it was nothing compared to her time on the Normandy. That person spent more time in cover than under covers.

The mousy-haired girl stared up at her, brown eyes hard and unyielding. Hell, this kid was scary.

"Do you need something, Evelyn?"

The girl harrumphed, "what are you doing?"

Leave it to the lady carrying a dying plant around to be the most suspicious thing going on in the compound, "Spectre business."

Evelyn's, not Eva's, glare worsened. Her cheeks and nostrils flaring.

"What are you doing?" Jane replied in the same smarmy tone.

"My job," she returned matter-of-factly, "even if I don't like it, and even if Papa says you are sick."

"What, are you like, three? You don't have a job."

"Seven. And yes I do! Pater gave me one," the kid smirked, sticking out her tongue.

"And what's that? Being precocious?"

"Pre- what?" Evelyn stammered.

"Being a shit," the swear already escaped before it could be altered. Thus, reinstating the belief that children did not belong around her in any capacity.

Her furrowed brow gave way to a secretive smile, "Pater said someone needed to watch you. Seems stupid, but Papa said we all have to do things we don't want to right now."

Of course, Roy would.

"You're weird," the girl stated plainly, "your face is kinda glowy, and you spend a lot of time with those aliens."

Back on Earth, it wasn't hard to forget that First Contact was a meer thirty years ago. Not that it was blame for their attitudes, but most of the humans had a hard time trusting the aliens. It was only made worse when the squadron of Turians joined them, piling them on top of the loud and aggressive Krogan; most of the natives were uncomfortable. Already the Turians and Krogan had old beefs to settle, and the dash of human fear for the Turian species quickly started a lopsided triangle. At least the Krogan adage of 'seek the enemy of your enemy, and you will find a friend' came to the humans and krogan developing a tenuous alliance.

"Those aliens are nothing to be afraid of," Jane chided gently.

The kid neither gave up nor responded, instead following the woman through the hall and into the open atrium. The place had boomed in population, the mall teeming with signs of life that would have echoed its days before the war. Voices, distant music, and the general clatter of movement greeting them from outside the confines of the sealed hallways. Once Jane could walk through here without watching a step, now she dodged other people, weaving through the crowd with ease and speed intended to dislodge her charge.

Evelyn was spry, knocking into the lady as she unexpectedly stopped. She peeked around her, watching as the red Krogan started to cheer loudly. Another alien, smaller and with a grey carapace charged at his elder, the two rather than colliding ended the charge with a weird arm hold. For a moment, the two crests rested against each other, sharing a few soft and private words.

Even weirder was The Recruit, looking over the scene sadly, a hand held over her heart. Her jaw flexed, another sharp and illuminated line flaring vertically up her cheek—another note to add to the log.

"They look so mean," Evelyn complained, unsure why Jane would be watching this sadly. It was frightening, to her they were great brutes that usually ended up destroying something.

"They really aren't," Jane countered softly, a slight crack in her voice, "if one gives you an attitude, a head butt will set them straight."

She did like that this grown-up did not treat her like a child, unlike the rest.

Both of them tensed at the appearance of a green-shelled krogan; the arrival of the male ended the short embrace between the red and grey one. Then, as usual, the aliens returned to their fierce and violent natures, turning the greeting into a shoving contest.

"Don't fu-," the adult caught herself this time, "leave him alone. He's trouble."

Jane strode forwards, picking up her pace. It was no longer weaving through the crowd, as so much a straight charge across the atrium and to the access corridor that leads to the western parking lot- deciding they wanted to stay out of the way for practicality and ease. The Turians chose to take up the ramp as their headquarters. And this is where Jane headed for her errand.

Yeah, make me, make friendly with the Turians. Screw that they respect the chain of command more than a friendly face, all arguments Jane had tried in vain against the LT to get out of this assignment,  watch me fuck this up over a plant. Jeez, why not let them grow their own garden? Fuck if I know what I am doing.

But he did have one counterargument that made complete sense and was entirely of her own fault. She was the known member of the humans in residence to have any formal diplomatic training. She was still kicking herself for that slip of knowledge.

"You should head back home," she murmured to her back, "boring adult stuff. You won't miss much."

The baggy military rags were not enough protection from the spring chill, but she would press on. Clipping up the three-story climb to reach the perched Turians. The 'outpost' could overlook the entire mall with well-placed postings, which the military-minded turians had already accomplished within hours of selecting this area as a base of operations. The forward guard used to seeing the Recruit hardly blinked, only balking in their subtle way at the package tucked into her arms.

"Recruit," the LT wasn't the only one called by their moniker, the pinkish hued Turian gave something equivalent to a grin eyes wandering down to the plant the human carried, "another issue?"

Jane pushed the plant on the turian, "pretty much. I don't know shit about these plants."

"I grew herbs in my kitchen, I'd guess too much sunlight?"

"Makes as much sense as anything else. We've learned they can't be next to potatoes, now they hate the sun," Jane glanced down at her arms, "and I forgot to wear gloves. That's disappointing- I had plans for those hands tonight."

Silva's mandible vibrated, "there are other ways to relieve tension."

So begun the dance. It always started clean, water running over her arms, a quick quip about the luxury of running water, and the application of ointment. The all too gentle rub of talons across the top of her knuckles, a lingering glance Jane couldn't quite bring herself to notice, and finally a cocky declaration of future victory.

The Commander enjoyed the relaxed regulations of the Turian military, not that Alliance would have ever forbidden forbidden a friendly sparring match it felt much better to let off some steam without fear of repercussion. One didn't have to play nice. Fringe pulling, blows below the belt, untamed aggression was all too welcome in the turian fighting cage. While today wasn't a dirty fight day, Jane was all too eager to move.

Silva made the first jab, and the Recruit absorbed it with a smile.

"The LT is going to have my head one of these days," the Turian went in for the next blow, this time the human dodged, "I'm even going soft on you."

"Come on, Shepard," Garrus mocked, weaving below her fist, "stop dancing around."

Roy didn't appreciate the fighting, even after learning they were all in good sport. The punishment of latrine duty was now part of her chores, for how much she heeded his grumbling. He blamed the bruises for too many things- headaches, sideways glances, the lack of respect she commanded for herself. Why did he care? She never asked, never expected it. But he never told her to stop, so she wouldn't.

"I can't always make it take easy on you, Vakarian," Mary retorted, sweeping out her leg to purchase at a braced turian.

The female turian's claws grasped into her arm, but she was ready, twirling around and planting her elbow into a painfully rigid chin sending the offender reeling back a couple of steps, "that's one advantage of an exoskeleton."

"Or are we afraid to bruise our pretty face in case the Major struts on by," Garrus teased, barely inching past the biotically charged fist going for his scarred mandible, "unless he doesn't know about our little fight club?"

"At least I can roll."

"I wouldn't worry, Shepard," if the Turian were human, his eyebrow would be cocked and a flashy grin across his face, "it's so much better when they are angry."

The turian cackled; today the hits were much easier to connect. Or was the human not trying? She could be like that, destructive. Silva kept the hits low and softened the severity in which she delivered them. Jane struggled to keep her hands where they belonged, one threading and rubbing through her hair each time they disconnected to reset their stances.

"Like I care what the M-" her friend's stern glare shut her down, "don't jealous Gar-Gar."

Jane tumbled to the ground, nose trickling the strange red color. It was time for this fight to be over, the human shook underneath her grasp. But the too expressive species wore a brave face, "Jane."

"Two hundred years later, and still nobody talks about fight club," Mary after close inspection, did notice that the Major strutted, "I'm disappointed I wasn't invited." The handsome human specimen winked at the Commander, his sideways grin all-knowing.

"It's fine, probably enough for the day."

The female moved out of her grasp, turning around to wipe at her face. Silva pretended not to notice Jane went for her eyes first.

"Well, that was quick," the turian was a little disappointed, "you're different for a human."

Jane deaned to turn her head back for that comment, cocking an eyebrow at her, "you must not have left Palaven, or whatever your colony was, much."

"No, ma'am," the turian hesitated, "at least, the rest of your group doesn't seem interested in us."

"How would you feel if this was Palaven?"

Her mandibles vibrated.

"Now add your species being attacked thirty years ago by this species you suddenly have to get along with," Jane smiled softly, she was too harsh, "plus we're a bunch of cranky jerks."

Silva laughed deeply, "and add a war that has crippled an entire galaxy, it is a wonder we aren't all fighting."

"It's the krogan," Jane mused.

"Spirits bless, the krogans being the most level-headed."

"After Tuchanka, they probably feel at home," damn her words, "it was the Salarians all along."

"I mean, that's some deep level conspiracy, but it checks out," her companion tried to keep up the fading mood.

"Just give us some time; we're people of action only that really means something," to which race the words were meant for was moot.

#shenko #fshenko #mass effect fancition #mass effect #female shepard x kaidan #fanfic #mass effect spoilers #take me home

[ahkaraii]

tov postgame drabblefic (3343 words)

“Raven?! Hey, Raven!”

Raven turns to smile at the little shrimp—who’s really more a jumbo shrimp now, with all the acne that comes with puberty—and waves. “Heya, Boss-man!"

Karol’s embrace draws a startled ‘oof!’ out of him, his blastia-heart creaking against his ribs. “You’re in town!” Karol exclaims. “And you didn’t say?!”

“I just got here, kiddo,” Raven says, patting Karol’s back—it used to be a pat on his head, but his head’s just about level with Raven’s now. “Damn, you’re getting tall!”

“You should’a said you were coming,” Karol grouses into his neck. “I’ve got a client I’m already late for across town.”

“Aww, that’s awright. I’ve got some time-sensitive stuff to get ta, too. We can join up after! Brave Vesperia’s still at the same place, yeah?”

“West corner across Saggitarius, yup!” Karol beams. “See you for dinner, then?”

“I’ll whip you up a Sashimi,” Raven promises.

“That’s a promise, pops!” Karol says, and dashes off. Raven scratches his messy hair and abruptly feels very self conscious about it. It’s just a casual nickname, old man, he don't mean naught by it. Relax.

After a fast-tracked meeting with Harry results in a tussle — poking gentle fun at the boy’s attempt at a beard earns him a “Your ass is grass, old man!!” and a surprisingly competent sword duel ensues — the young Master is turning into a proper Don, now — Raven subtly lets Harry disarm him and sprawls on the floor, dramatically defeated.

“Ohhh, these old bones!” Raven mimics being out of breath. “You’ve finally bested me, Master Harry. Do with my ass what you will.”

“Ugh! You’re so disgusting!” Harry is actually out of breath, so he still needs a bit more practice, but it’s leagues better than he was just a year ago. “A duel is an honourable exchange between men! Stop desecrating it with your jokes!”

“I don’t joke with my ass,” Raven says in his Serious Voice, enjoying Harry’s startled look before he dons his jester’s grin again. “Anywho, this old man’s got places to be, so! Toodles!”

“Wait! Raven! What the hell did you come here for!” Harry’s baritone is quite impressive when he gets proper angry. “Did you just come here to waste my time!”

“Never intentionally,” Raven promises. He’d dropped Flynn’s wax-sealed letter on Harry’s desk during their fight, and points to it as he nimbly leaps up to his usual open window. “There’s your homework, Master Harry! I’ll come by to collect it tomorrow at dawn, ‘kay?”

He leapfrogs out in time to hear Harry’s yelps of protest. “When did you put that there! God damnit, Raven!”

Raven’s grinning as he parkours his way away from Altosk’s headquarters and towards Brave Vesperia’s. If he sharply detours into Saggitarius tavern to catch up with the ladies (and the latest, juiciest gossip — who knew Heliord’s newest guild ambassador was trafficking drugs and possibly underage escorts? he did, now), then that’s just Raven being Raven, right? Karol’ll understand.

“I almost thought you wouldn’t come,” Karol says faux-lightly, when Raven finally makes it back a few minutes past midnight.

Aww, shit.

“Heeey, I promised, didn’t I? Business just stretched out a little.” Raven dithers at Karol’s knowing stare. “C’mon, you still up for a good ol’ Raven’s Special Sashimi?”

“Fish isn’t really fresh by midnight anymore,” Karol says drolly. “Unless you wanna go fishing at this hour?”

They’d only get sewer trash in Dahngrest’s polluted rivers, and the next best thing’s thirty minutes out, at the very least. “Ehhh—how bout a Beef Bowl?” Raven says. “Surely you got some cured meats in your pantry. C’mon!! I’ll teach you!”

“Aw, okay. I am pretty hungry.” Karol’s so easy to please, it’s both heartwarming and kind of sad. “I’ve tried making it before but I can never get mine to taste like yours did.”

“’S all in the seasoning, kiddo. Here, watch the master and learn!”

It’s well past two when they finally call it a night, bellies full and hearts warm; it’s solely because of this that Karol succeeds in wrestling a promise out of Raven that they’d talk more in the morning. See, Raven’s got orders to pick up Harry’s response to Flynn’s letter and hussle back to the Empire ASAP, but even he doesn’t have to heart to deny Karol this simple thing.

Ever since Brave Vesperia saved the world by ruining it, everyone’s been struggling to adapt to life without blastia and Raven’s somehow found himself smack in the middle between the two remaining powers: the Empire and the Guild Union. Former member of both and trusted by all due to his role in stopping the Adephagos, Raven’s got the privilege of being messenger boy between the leaders in lieu of formal meetings, due to the fact that a lack of blastia has made travel…immensely more time consuming.

He’s worn down all the possible routes between Dahngrest and Zaphias for over a decade; the presence or absence of blastia has not really affected Raven’s efficiency and timeliness, which, naturally, has made him an attractive player for both sides. It just sucks that this means he’s always on the go, never really spending much time in one place or another. The first six months couldn’t be helped, it was imperative that everyone get their shit together and master the essentials necessary in order to provide basic living to their respective citizens: barrier blastia had to be replaced with rotating squads of knights and guildsfolk trained to fight; food previously preserved by blastia now had to be kept refrigerated with imported Zophier ice, dominated by the Empire, which had to be kept from melting with salt from Weasand mines, dominated by Guilds; everyone had to coordinate and organise to secure trade routes and avoid conflict, etc, etc.

The next six months after that were peace talks and negotiations between what was quickly becoming independent kingdoms in separate countries. Sea travel had slowed the fuck down overnight, because blastia-fueled engines had become obsolete and everyone now had to rely on wind power, so every passing day each country was slowly but surely becoming more and more isolated from each other, and therefore gradually but surely more hostile.

Emperor Ioder ruled over the continent of Ilyccia with his aristocracy of nobles and meritocracy of knights, struggling to keep the Empire’s global standing while lacking the technology to enforce it; Tolbyccia was pretty much owned by Altosk, ostensibly headed by Harry, who was presently overrun with infighting due to the fact that the Union was composed of many, many guilds all clamouring for leadership, if not democracy; East Desier was dominated by the strong-spirited Palestralle guild and its current leader, Natz, whose militant-minded navy had quickly expanded toward West Hyponia now that the Union’s presence was months away by treacherous sea; East Hyponia was an oddly peaceful blend of both Guild and Empire, unique in its joint origin and therefore vocally neutral, though that was quickly becoming contested, and, hence, required Raven-the-Pageboy’s timely arrival to avoid it becoming a full out war. Ugh.

The Schwann part of him that still lived felt heavy resignation at the inevitability of violence—the first one to fall would be Raven, he knew, as no messenger could truly remain neutral in a tug of war between such powerful masters—but the more upbeat part of him was like, stop sweating the small stuff and just go with the flow. Shit always resolves itself one way or another, right?

Right?

“You leaving already?” Karol mumbles into his pillow when Raven rises at dawn; kid’s no longer the type to sleep deeply, it seems.

“Just visiting the young Master to collect his response letter for Flynn,” Raven promises quietly. “Go back to sleep, Karol. I’ll be back to make you breakfast before I’m gone.”

Karol eyes him tiredly but he manages a wan smile. “Okay, pops. I trust you.”

Raven feels goosebumps up his arm. Stupid blastia heart runs too damn cold. He heads out at a jog to warm himself up, since Dahngrest runs both chilly and damp at this hour.

Raven no longer sneaks into Altosk’s headquarters like he did when the Don was alive and Harry was a boy; for one, Don is no longer alive to vouch for his slipperiness and for another, Raven represents the Empire here as much as he represents the Guilds in Zaphias, and no one tolerates his antics as they did before, not with the threat of conflict so close to the horizon. He walks in through the front door and waves at all the folks waiting in line—Pecan, Cactus, Lima and good ol’ Walt; all familiar faces turning sour, as usual—and knocks politely on Harry’s door.

“Master Harry,” he sing-songs. “It is I, Raven the Great, come ‘round at last!”

“It’s been barely ten fucking hours,” Harry’s pissed off voice rings loud and clear through the door.

“Shall I come back at noon, then?” Raven asks diplomatically.

An explosive sigh. “No,” Harry mutters. “Get in here. And call Cactus in, too, would you?”

“You heard the Young Master,” Raven says, nodding at the aptly-named mercenary, with his spiked up armour and sharpened teeth.

“You don’t order us around anymore, traitor,” the prickly fellow spits and shoves past him, to whom Raven mockingly bows to as he passes.

Saviour of the world or not, it's no secret now Raven was a triple agent. The official story Harry graciously gave him is that the Don always knew about Raven’s split loyalty (which is true, probably) and trusted him anyway (which is true, too), so Harry and Altosk will continue to trust him as well (which is flattering, but increasingly doubtful). Harry's a good kid shoved into a position of leadership he's not very well suited for, but even Raven can't deny he's trying and doing better every day.

“Cutlass Cactus, I want you to deliver this to Sirena of Siren’s Fang as soon as possible,” Harry says shortly, handing the man a wax-sealed letter. “Wait for a response, but I await it at most a fortnight.”

“Understood, young Master,” Cactus says, thumping his chest at the honour. He takes the letter, glares at Raven, and makes his way out.

“As for you,” Harry says, “I have a question to ask you before I hand this reply over. A serious one.”

Raven feels his age and more. “Yeah?”

“Ioder is a good man. His dog Flynn is, too. I know this personally.”

There is no question here yet, and there are a fair amount of insults between the compliments, but Raven knows the heart of Harry, and he means well.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “They are.”

“But,” Harry continues, coldly. “Two kind heads on a hydra do not make it any less a monster.”

Raven hides a grimace by scratching at his sideburns. “The same can be said of the Guilds,” he says lightly. “Or of any organization grown large enough.”

“Stop twisting my metaphors,” Harry says shortly. “The question I wanted to ask is: what do you think the Empire's end goal is?”

And what is the Guild’s end goal, Schwann wants to counter, when the Guilds’ very existence rose out of violent rejection of the Empire? Raven, for his part, takes a deep breath and exhales it out as a thoughtful hum.

“I think the Empire was built to protect and manage blastia,” Raven muses. “And I think the Guilds were built to reject the Empire’ monopoly of them. But, well, there ain’t no blastia left, so… the Empire wants to micromanage what remains. And the Guilds do, too. Yeah?”

“So there can be no peace?” Harry concludes, tiredly.

“Harry,” Raven says, firmly. “Your grandfather, the Don, united the Guilds back when they were just a bunch of rowdy, armed assholes. Y’know how he did it?”

“By fighting the Empire?” Harry says dully.

“By uniting against a common enemy,” Raven insists. “By uniting against a common threat. The Empire is no longer the enemy—hell, think of the Empire as yet another guild. It’s just a group of rowdy, armed assholes. But you and they got a common enemy now, too.”

Harry looks at him sharply. “The Adephagos is no more,” he says, carefully, “right?”

“Not the Adephagos,” Raven says. “The lack of blastia. The lack of technology. The lack of creature comforts all of us got real used to. That’s our enemy now; the thing we all gotta pitch in together to fix.” Raven bows low to Harry, as low as he would to the Don. “I beg you, young Master: do not war with the Empire. Not now. See them as a business partner, instead.”

“Business, huh,” Harry says heavily, and then flicks his sealed letter in Raven’s direction, who catches it just before it smacks him in the face. “All right. Tell your Master we can’t afford a war, anyway.”

Something uncoils in Raven's chest. “You are my only Master, Harry,” he says, cheekily. Just like Flynn is his only Commandant, now.

“Ugh, the way you say it, you make it sound so gross,” Harry complains. “Get the fuck out of my room, old man. And call in Lima!”

Raven sends him a lazy salute and hops his way out, placing the important letter in his robe’s inner breast pocket. His heart blastia emits a small barrier shield of its own, using his life-force; this letter will remain pristine come rain, sleet, or snow, as long as he still lives.

“You’re up, Lima bean,” Raven chirps.

“You call me that again and I’ll break more than just your nuts,” Lima snarls, spits in his direction, and stomps off.

“And we used to have such fun together,” Raven laments. “What happened to us, O expert in nuts, Pecan, my man?”

“Careful, Raven,” the aforementioned Pecan murmurs. “Your jests are no longer in good taste.”

“Your fruit cocktail, on the other hand,” Raven says. “Mmhmm. Top notch, as always.”

Pecan gives him a wry smile. “I saw you buttering up Madam Teal and her girls, last night. They talk about Heliord?”

“Oh, you know me: promise me a free night of drinks and I’ll spill my guts,” Raven winks suggestively.

“Hmm…your costs run too high these days,” Pecan declines politely. “You’ll drink me out of business.”

Raven feels a mild pang of loss; he and the third-waiter-from-the-right Pecan used to be pretty tight. Schwann thinks it’s just how things go. Suck it up, buttercup.

“Next time I’m in town I’ll do you one free, fer old times’ sake,” Raven compromises. “Lemme know what info you want and I’ll get it for ya fer a Mabo Curry and a Don’s Special. Within reason, ‘course.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Black Bird,” Pecan murmurs. “But I’ll be waiting for you.”

Raven walks home with a heavy heart and on lighter feet. He makes a quick detour to the fish market, already bustling with a freshly caught haul; he haggles reliable ol' Fin for a kilogram of merflesh and charms Romelle out of a bottle of soy sauce and pays full price for a sack of white rice before finally making it back to Brave Vesperia’s HQ, just in time to catch Karol in the kitchen about to make morning coffee.

“Raven!” Karol’s smile is brilliant, and very welcome. “You’re back!”

“I promised you my world famous sashimi, didn’t I?” Raven says. “Can't have you saying this old man’s a liar!"

“I’d never,” Karol says honestly, and that, more than anything, is what makes Raven want to noogie Karol and maybe cry into his hair or something likewise unmanful. He settles for making that kid the most delicious dish of fish a Weekend Chef is capable of, and if he finds himself also making Karol his special Pork Stew to eat later, he tells himself it’s ‘cause the boy’s a growing man and not because Raven’s a sap at heart.

“So where ya off to now, Raven?” Karol asks, after they’re done eating and making the kitchen less of a mess. “If, um, you can tell me, that is.”

“Atherum,” Raven says honestly. “Flynn said his girl Sodia’d be there to collect whatever response Harry might have on the new moon, so, there I'll be.”

“The new moon?” Karol stares at him. “But that’s in no time at all!”

Raven gives him a wan smile. “Don’tcha worry, kiddo. I always get ta where I need to in time.”

“We should call Ba’ul,” Karol insists. “You’ll never make it otherwise!”

Raven doesn’t have the heart to tell Karol that it probably doesn’t matter how fast or slow his response arrives; in the end, it’s Harry actions from now on that will be his real response, regardless of what his letter says.

“Judith darlin’ probably has better things to do than be an old man’s cab,” Raven says lightly. “I’ll jes' hop on a merchant ship headed toward Atherum tonight; should make it just in time, if the weather stays fair. This time o’ year, the northern wind’s in our favour.”

“But what if merfish ambush you!” Karol protests. “Or if a storm’s brewing—“

“Tempest!” Raven sing-songs, flicking his hand. “Aw, man, I miss being able ta call up storms willy-nilly. That made me feel God-like, it did.”

Karol frowns at the interruption, but then his face turns thoughtful. “Can’t you still, though? Your blastia’s powered by your life-force, right? So your arts should still be working just fine.”

“Shavin’ a year or two off my life fer a light show is a bit too vapid, even by my standards,” Raven says sardonically. “Plus, I ain’t keen on folks realising blastia’s still useable if you use a human fer a battery.”

He can very easily see it happening in the future: folks trafficking humans for energy. Or, fuck, claiming prisoners of war for it—hell of a good reason to go to war, really, if it’s to dehumanize the ingredients you need to fuel your creature comforts. You justify your atrocities by framing it as necessary or even righteous; Alexei and Schwann used to do that all the time, no brainer. Honestly, this fear is one of the many reasons he’s made Rita promise not to share that part of Hermes’ research, despite the fact that human-powered blastia could solve a lot of the world’s present problems. Schwann’s too jaded to avoid thinking of all the ways it can go terribly wrong, and Raven’s too fucking tired of the parasite that is his heart to think of its more beneficial applications.

“People’ll find out eventually,” Karol insists, at once innocent and wise beyond his years. “Desperation breeds creativity, right? You should tell people about it so they know the risks involved, before someone invents it and says it’s a cure-all or something.”

“Ehhhhh,” Raven drawls. “I’ll think about it.”

He most definitely will not.

Karol drops it, thankfully, but then picks up the old tangent of, “I still say I should call Ba’ul for you. I’ve got the whistle and I was thinking of asking Judy to fly me over to Yumanju, anyway, since my next job’s over there. We could drop you off real quick, no worries.”

“The spa?” Raven perks up. The idea of running off to relax there after all this nonstop political bullshit is extremely appealing. “Really?”

“Really really,” Karol says, smiling knowingly. “So, you wanna come with?”

“Boy, do I,” Raven says excitedly. “Okay, kiddo, you’ve convinced this old man to defect to Brave Vesperia once again.”

“You never left, pops,” Karol says without hesitation, which warms the cockles of ol' Raven's heart. “C’mon, then, let’s head to the usual clearing. Ba’ul’ll show up within fifteen minutes after I call for him.”

“Wait wait wait! We should get Judy a gift first,” Raven insists. “The lady’s coming all the way over here for our sorry hides, we gotta say thanks proper-like!”

Karol blinks. “That’s a good idea! What d’you think she’d like?”

“I know just the thing,” Raven winks. “C’mon, kiddo, we got places to be!”

#karaii fic #tales of vesperia #still figuring out my raven voice and such #i wondered what the boy was doing after the game and here we are #=noodle shrugs= dunno where i was going with this

[whenihaveyouromione]

When I Have You - Chapter 27

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3 if you’d prefer!

Follow this story’s Instagram account whenihaveyou.romione

------------

Chapter 27

Dublin. 

That was where Ron and Harry found themselves on their very first mission on Christmas Eve. They'd been given their destination only hours earlier, told to take with them only what they would need and nothing more. Then they'd been given the coordinates to a dainty wizarding pub in the heart of the city, where they'd be sharing a room for the next two nights. 

It wasn't the fanciest of places, nor was it the cleanest, but it would do for their first time away. 

"Not bad," Harry said. "Not what I expected, but —"

"Not bad at all," Ron agreed, throwing his bag onto one of the beds. It creaked in a way it shouldn't have with something so light on it. He grimaced. "Though, my own bed is looking very tempting at the moment."

"Ha! Yeah." Harry sat on the second bed, which also creaked, sinking so low it almost touched the ground.

Ron laughed. “I s’pose we have to get used to things like this.”

Harry stood up again, eyeing the bed reproachfully, then looked up at Ron. “When do you think we’ll hear the next instructions?”

Ron shrugged. “I guess when everyone has arrived. Do you think we’re all staying here or around the city? Or… do you think we were all partnered up and sent to different locations?” The allocation of places and partners had been very secretive. Ron felt lucky that he’d been put with Harry, but he had barely had time to wish the others luck before they were all separated and told to Apparate away immediately. 

“No idea,” Harry said. “But I doubt we’d find out where the others are, even if they are here.” Noticing Ron’s quizzical look, he added, “Well, if this were a real mission, and we ran in to Dark wizards, they wouldn’t hesitate to torture us to reveal the things we know. So the less we know, the better, right?”

“Yeah, makes sense.” Ron took in the small room. There were many cracks and leaks in the ceiling, which could be fixed by a simple spell, but the owners seemed to think it was not worth their time. “You think we really are chasing people or it’s something else?”

“Possibly,” Harry said. “I mean, the dates were planned, but not the location. But it’s all part of the training, either way.”

“I just want to get out there and do the thing,” Ron said. “Get on the field. I mean for real. Not just training, not these ‘fake’ missions. It’s all been great, but it will be better when we’re fully qualified Aurors and none of this is planned.”

“Restless?” Harry asked, smirking. 

“A little,” Ron confessed. “I mean, we’re doing a pretty prestigious job, but it’s been eighteen months, and we’re still just trainees.”

“Which we knew when we accepted Kingsley’s offer,” Harry reasoned. “Surely you’ve worked out by now that there’s a lot we don’t know and need to learn?” 

“Yeah, I know that.” Ron sunk onto his bed. It wasn’t as bad as Harry’s, but it still dipped fairly low. “I understand it. And it’s fine. I mean, it was fine, but… look at Hermione.”

“What about her?” Harry asked, frowning. “She’s doing alright in the Magical Creatures department, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, and that’s what I mean,” Ron said, and he averted his eyes to the ground. He’d not spoken of this to anyone — not even Hermione — but it had bothered him ever since Hermione had said it. Just a trainee. Her words had stuck more than he cared to admit. “She’s been there for a few months and is already writing laws, trying to change the way wizards view magical creatures and all that. Which is great!” he added hastily at Harry’s expression. “She’s doing amazing work, and I’m really proud of her…”

“But?” Harry asked. 

“But, well, we’ve been Aurors a lot longer, haven’t we? But we’re just trainees.”

“Just trainees?” Harry said. “We’re not —”

“It’s what Hermione said,” Ron mumbled. 

“What? Hermione said that?” The information seemed to surprise Harry. He even sounded slightly angry. 

“Well, we were in the middle of a fight,” Ron said. “And she did apologise, but… is she right?”

“No,” Harry said, and he definitely sounded angry now. “Hermione’s wrong. What we’re doing is one of the most important jobs in our world. You told me that yourself, more than once. It’s like the Muggle version of police. Really important in maintaining law and order in society.” He paused, and Ron felt Harry’s eyes on him. “Her job is no more important than what we’re doing. There’s a reason ours requires training and hers doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “I just… I don’t think she meant it as it sounded, but it just made me feel a little pathetic, you know? Maybe a bit like I wasn’t living up to her expectations or something. Like… I’d disappointed her something.”

Harry said nothing for a moment, then, shifting from where he was once again sitting on the bed, said, “You two okay? I thought you’d sorted things out. Mostly, at least.”

“We’re alright,” Ron said with a sigh. “I mean, it’s not like it once was, but I think that’s just the nature of a relationship, right? Living together, becoming more comfortable with one another, learning things about them... but Hermione’s home a lot more now, and — it’s not really us, but me just dwelling on what she said, I guess. It’s just me wondering if all this training is worth it. Whether she thinks it’s worth it. You know, what if she gets sick of me always training, never having a ‘job’ as such?”

“I don’t think that’s going to bother her, mate,” Harry said, and he was now laughing. “Besides, even if she did have an issue — which she doesn’t — why does it matter? You enjoy it, don’t you?”

“I love it,” Ron said. “I just don’t want her to be disappointed in me, or anything.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to be disappointed about in going out with an Auror — trainee or otherwise.” Harry stood up and walked across the room to clap Ron on the back. “I think you’re thinking too much into it, to be honest. But you probably should tell her it’s bothering you, so she can tell you you’re being an idiot and you can move on from it. She’d probably be happy if it made you happy to be cleaning up after all the elite Ministry workers.”

Ron snorted, smiling. “Not likely. But, I’d probably be a teacher at Hogwarts before I took on something like that, so she has nothing to worry about there.” His smile widened, and Harry returned it. 

“You fret too much, you know? About what Hermione thinks about you. She loves you, and she’s just as proud of what you’re doing, as you are of her — even if her hours frustrate you sometimes. Even if things aren’t perfect at the moment.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Ron said. He shrugged. He looked at Harry and smiled. “Anyway, how are we supposed to find out about the next steps? Will it even be today, or do you think the orders will come tomorrow?”

“I think I heard something about them being delivered by Patronus,” Harry said. “That is the most common way for Aurors to communicate, isn’t it? Can’t be intercepted as easily.”

“Well, while we wait, why don’t we explore?” Ron suggested. “I’ve never actually been to Dublin before.”

Harry agreed, and they dressed in warmer clothes and left the small inn.

Their location was situated somewhere in the north of Dublin, hidden from Muggles by the standard Muggle-repelling spells that all places like this were. Muggles simply walked past, their eyes going from the building Harry and Ron were staying in to the left, and then to the right, as if it didn’t exist. 

Being Christmas Eve, the streets were busy. People were dashing in all sorts of directions, determined to get their last minute shopping done before everything shut up for the holidays. 

Ron watched as a family of Muggles hurried past them, carting bags of toys and food. 

“They look like enough gifts for ten kids, not two,” Ron said to Harry.

Harry shrugged. “Maybe they have extended family?”

“I hope Hermione likes what I got her this year,” Ron then said as they continued walking. “She’s really hard to shop for, unless you want to get her a book or something. But a book’s really impersonal. And to think I have many more years of ideas to come up with, not to mention her birthdays as well.”

Harry smirked. “What did you get her?”

Ron hesitated, his face going red. “A book,” he murmured. “But a good one!” he added quickly. “A nice one. She’ll like it.”

“You can’t go wrong with a book for Hermione, I’m sure,” Harry said. 

“Well, I hope not. Do you have the same trouble with Ginny?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I resorted to asking her what she’d like.”

“And?” Ron asked. 

“She said she wanted something to take with her whenever she was away with all this Quidditch stuff, to remember what she was leaving behind.”

“What, so you doubled yourself?” Ron asked, sniggering. 

“No, I got her a photo of me.”

Ron stopped walking, Harry almost colliding with his back. 

“What?” Harry asked. 

“Over there.” Ron pointed down a dark alley where a silver light reflected against the wall. He thought he’d seen the corporeal form of a lynx disappear. 

“That looks like a —”

“Patronus, yeah.” Ron indicated for Harry to follow him, and they snuck down the alley. Any Muggles who walked past seemed none the wiser to a silver, glowing, transparent lynx sitting in a dumpster alley. 

When Ron and Harry approached it, the lynx looked at them and then walked away, rounding a corner so they were out of sight from any curious passersby. 

Immediately, the lynx spoke in Kingsley’s deep voice, “Newbridge Avenue. Your goal is to identify and deal with the issue taking place there.”

The lynx vanished, and Ron and Harry looked at each other.

“Is that it?” Ron asked, unable to contain the disappointment he felt. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but a quick message like that wasn’t it. 

“Well, we know where we have to go,” Harry said. “Newbridge Avenue.”

“Where’s that?” Ron asked.

“I dunno,” Harry said, “but let’s Apparate there and get started on what we have to do. I hope it’s obvious.”

Ron nodded, and turned on the spot, thinking of his destination. 

Newbridge Avenue was primarily residential, running along a river where a sports stadium sat opposite. Ron looked around, searching for anything out of the ordinary, but nothing immediately caught his eye. In fact, being Christmas Eve, all seemed quieter than usual. People were either out doing their last minute shopping or holed up at home, out of the cold. 

“What should we do?” Ron asked Harry. 

“Maybe we’re supposed to keep an eye out for anything unusual?” Harry said, and the words had barely left his mouth when a scream echoed down the street. 

Ron and Harry immediately drew their wands. 

“It came from that house over there,” Harry said, pointing to a single-story cottage down the road from where they stood. 

The scream came again, this time sounding more terrified than it had before. Ron and Harry ran towards it, their wands out. 

On the third scream, they rounded the house to where a young woman was standing and pointing at something Ron and Harry couldn’t see. Her hand shook as she spotted Ron and Harry, paying no mind to their wands. 

“Th-there!” she said. “Inside my house.”

Lowering his wand slightly, Ron said, “Er, what’s in there?”

The woman, eyes wide and terrified, said, “A burglar!”

“What?” Ron asked. Surely this wasn’t why they had been sent to this street — to deal with a plain old Muggle burglar. That was something for those Muggle Auror people to deal with. 

Ron looked to Harry, who shrugged. Well, they couldn’t just abandon her when someone was in her house, but they wouldn’t be able to use their wands. 

They crept forward, stowing them away. There was a rattle of the back door, and Ron had to resist the instinct of digging his hand into his pocket. There were two of them after all, and only one burglar. They could certainly take him without magic. 

The door handle turned, and Ron readied himself to lunge, but when it flew open, he was caught completely off guard. There wasn’t some big, burly thief like he had expected. It was… well, it was Hermione, and she was hurt. 

“What the —” He went to go to Hermione, his heart constricting at the sight of her. She was bleeding heavily, she seemed to be in so much pain, clutching at all the gashes on her body. 

“No,” Harry said, sticking an arm out in front of him. 

“Harry, what are you —”

Harry turned to the woman, who was still standing behind them. “Is this who entered your house?”

“N-no,” the woman said. “I-I don’t know what she was doing in there. I-I don’t know who that is. Is she okay?”

Ron couldn’t take his eyes off Hermione, who was now gasping in pain. Her life was draining from her by the second, and for some reason, Harry wouldn’t let him go to her.

“Hermione!” he cried, and he broke past Harry’s arm. He made it to her, just as she collapsed into his arms; but she didn’t feel like Hermione. She was cold, icy — she barely felt human. And then… she vanished. 

The woman gave a startled gasp. The blood that had spattered the ground was gone, too. There was no sign at all that just a moment ago, Hermione had been there, dying. 

“What?” Ron looked at Harry, who seemed to know more than he did. 

“It was a Boggart,” Harry said. “I think, at least.”

“A… but, my… it’s a spider. Not…” Ron stared at the spot where the Boggart-Hermione had just been. “Did you use the spell?”

“No,” Harry said. “No, but, well, I think you got rid of it by facing your fear.”

“What?” Ron said.

“You thought it was Hermione, and you ran towards her — it — and you’re not supposed to face your fear. It’s gone, I think. Without magic.”

Ron once again looked at the spot where he thought Hermione had been dying, almost feeling stupid for not seeing it before. There was absolutely no reason why Hermione, who was back in London, spending Christmas with her family, would be here in this Muggle person’s house. 

“I guess you have greater fears than spiders now,” Harry said, and he smiled. “It was kind of disappointing, to be honest. Having gotten rid of it so quickly.”

The woman, looking both terrified and confused, stepped up to stand between Ron and Harry. “W-what was that?”

They looked at her.

“Er, it’s basically your greatest fear coming to life,” Ron explained. “But it’s gone now. You won’t need to worry about it anymore.”

“But the burglar —”

“Is gone,” Harry said. 

The woman looked unconvinced, eyeing her house sceptically. 

“We can have a look for you anyway?” Ron suggested. “Just in case, I mean.”

“Yes please,” the woman said. “I came home from work and there was a fair bit of snow in my garden, so I was shovelling it away when I just…” she shook her head. “It’s so silly, me being afraid of someone breaking into my house. I am a police officer, I deal with this every day, but —”

“We all have our fears,” Ron assured her, thinking of the great big spiders that still haunted his nightmares occasionally. “Nothing’s silly about being afraid.”

She nodded, looking between them. “Thanks,” she said. “But I think I’ll be alright. You sure he’s — I mean, it’s, she’s — gone?”

“Positive,” Harry said. 

She nodded again. “Alright. Well, I’m just glad you two were around to take him — her, it, whatever — on.”

“It’s our job,” Ron said. “That’s why we’re here.”

The woman nodded for a third time.

“And I am really sorry about this,” Harry said, and before the woman could respond he performed a simple memory-wiping charm on her. They were already gone, walking back down the street before she came to again.  

“So that was it?” Ron asked when he was sure they couldn’t be overheard. “A Boggart in a Muggle house?”

“Perhaps it’s the first of a series of tests,” Harry said, though he also sounded disappointed. A Boggart was something they’d dealt with successfully in their third year. It wasn’t exactly dangerous Dark magic. 

Not that Ron was hoping for anything seriously Dark. He’d had enough of that to last a lifetime, but something more challenging than a Boggart would have excited him a little more.

What did interest him, though, was the fact that his Boggart seemed to have changed. It wasn’t anything he consciously thought about — after all, he hadn’t even realised it was a Boggart — but it made sense, he supposed. He still didn’t like spiders, but he’d faced far greater things in his life than them, and he’d seen death. He’d lost a brother, whom he still missed a lot, and one thing he feared more than anything else was losing someone else he loved. And he loved Hermione the most out of anyone, and her screams in Malfoy Manor still haunted him. He never, ever, ever wanted to see her in pain again. He never wanted to lose her. 

“You alright, mate?”

Ron looked up. He’d stopped in the middle of the footpath without even realising it.

“Yeah,” Ron said. “I guess I was just hoping for something more than that.”

Harry smiled. “I’m sure our time will come. We don’t want to go in too deep straight up. Besides, they did warn us they were looking for ‘real’ things to let us deal with. Maybe that was all they could find here.”

“Hm, yeah,” Ron agreed. He looked up at the fading sky. It was nearing dusk and all they’d done was get rid of a Boggart, and without any magic at that. “Fancy another look around Dublin?” he asked Harry. 

Harry grinned. “I was just about to suggest that myself.”

#ronandhermione #ron and hermione #ronandhermionefanfiction #ron and hermione fanfiction #romione #romionefanfic #romione fanfic #ronxhermione #ron x hermione #hermionexron #hermione x ron #hermioneandron #hermione and ron #hermioneandronfanfiction #hermione and ron fanfiction #harrypotterfanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #ronweasley #ron weasley #hermionegranger #hermione granger #hermione #fanfiction #romance #slice of life

[calpalirwin]

You Will Be Found

Request: So... I have another story idea that I think you'll kill, and I might be too specific... you can always of course change details because it's your writing. ANYWAYS! Can I get a best friend!Luke x Reader where reader hasn't answered their phone in a few days so Luke goes by their house to find them on the floor in the dark in a major depression episode? He gets them off of the ground, and gets them to shower (not together). Reader is barely talking. After the shower, Luke braids their hair, and talks to them about anything that comes to mind. Gets them to eat. Then to bed where he cuddles them. Maybe even a confession of love? I mostly want the braiding hair scene. So let me know if it's too specific and I can change it up. I love you 💕

Word Count: 1.8k

And away, and away we go!

__

Your car was in the driveway when Luke pulled up, which he took to be a good sign. What he didn’t take as a good sign was how dark your house was when he walked in using the spare key you’d given him for emergencies. “Y/N?” he called out, carefully shutting the door behind him. “Y/N, it’s me.”

From where you were hidden in your bedroom, you could hear him making his way across the house in search of you, calling out your name every now and then. You worked your throat to call back out to him like some weird game of Marco Polo, but nothing came out. So you stayed put, waiting for him to find you. That was what you were supposed to do when you got lost, right? Stay put until somebody finds you? Well, you were about to be found. But you still felt so fucking lost.

“There you are,” he said, his voice much closer as he crossed into your room. Then, his face was inches from yours as he laid down on the floor beside you. “What are we doing on the floor for? Your bed’s right there. Wanna lay there?”

You shook your head.

“Are you hurt?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“How long have you been down here?”

You shrugged again.

“Can I help you?”

A third shrug.

“Okay, I’m gonna be right back.”

You blinked and he was gone. And even though you could hear him a few feet away from you in the bathroom, not having his face in front of you had you breaking inside. Then, his face was back in front of you, even though you couldn’t recall crying out for him. “Whoa, hey. I’m right here. Shh, it’s okay,” he reassured you, one of his hands rubbing softly up and down your arm. “C’mon, can you stand up for me?”

You shook your head.

“I’m gonna pick you up, okay?”

Before the words could register enough for you to nod your head, you were lifted up in his arms, cradled to his chest. He carried you into the bathroom, placing you on the counter. You whimpered as he pulled away, so he grabbed onto your hands as he stepped back. “I’m going to need you to get undressed for me, okay? Can you do that?”

Your cheeks flushed.

“I won’t look. I actually need to grab you clean clothes. So, can you get into the tub while I do that?”

You nodded.

“Okay, I will be right back.”

You focused on peeling your clothes off and making your way into the hot, inviting water that was still sloshing out of the faucet, causing the bubbles to rise.

“We all good?” he asked, clothes and a towel in one hand, the other shielding his eyes.

You nodded as you slid deep into the tub, before remembering that he couldn’t see you. “Y-yeah,” you croaked.

Luke dropped your clothes and towel on the counter before he sank to his knees on the other side of the tub beside you. “So, did I tell you about how I found Petunia in the cupboard again?” he asked as he started to wash your hair for you.

You giggled and shook your head.

Luke brightened, his fingers working against your scalp. “So, I came home from the studio the other day. And like normally she comes to greet me. Unless she’s asleep. So when she didn’t, I went to check her bed. Only she wasn’t there. So I was like ‘where the fuck’s my dog?’ you know. And I’m checking every room. I’m calling for her. Everything. And nothing’s working. I can’t find her. So I called Ash. Cuz like maybe he finally took her. Cuz like, I know he makes fun of her a lot. But the more Ash makes fun of something, the more he loves it ya know? Cuz he’s weird like that. So I called him. And he said he didn’t have her. Which was good, cuz I’d be mad if he took my dog because she’s my dog. But he reminded me of the time I found her in the cupboard so maybe I could try looking there again. And sure enough, there she was.”

“Silly piggy girl,” you mumbled with a small smile as Luke rinsed out your hair.

“Yeah, she must like it under there. Probably nudges it open with her nose, and just crawls right in.”

You hummed in response.

“Um, so if you wanna wash the rest of yourself, I can turn around. Or I can leave entirely and let you finish. Your call.”

“Shower.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can shower. I-uh… made the bath cuz I thought it’d be easier for you. But yeah, you can shower. I’ll um…” He placed his hands on the edge of the tub, pushing up onto his feet.

You reached a hand out to grab his arm, your eyes glancing over at the counter.

“Yeah, I’ll stay in here with you. I can tell you another story. Um, hold on, I gotta think of one. Oh! Got it. So we’re at the studio, right?” Luke launched into another story while the tub drained and you showered off. When he heard the shower shut off, he held out the towel for you to grab, his eyes screwed shut. “I’m not looking, I promise. So where was I? Oh, yeah.” He continued with his story of him and the guys at the studio while you got yourself dressed. “And yeah, I dunno. It might be one of those you had to be there moments for it to be really funny. Oh! Food’s here.” He flashed his phone at you. “C’mon, let’s go eat.”

You raised an eyebrow in question, but let him grab you by the hand and pull you into the living room.

“Yeah, I know you’re probably not hungry. But I ordered your favorite when I was running your bath. So, sit right here. I’m gonna get the food, and we’ll eat together, okay?”

You nodded, taking a seat on the couch, feeling conflicted. On one hand, you loved that Luke had come over. He had a way of taking care of you that wasn’t overbearing or forceful. But, on the other hand, you felt guilty that you had worried him enough into coming over to check on you in the first place.

“Alright, here we go,” he said with a soft grin as he placed the food in front of you. “You don’t have to eat all of it. Or any of it, really. But, I thought you might want to try to have a few bites at least. Um… yeah… was trying to think of another story to tell you, but I think I told you the good ones anyway. That’s kinda the hard part about having been friends with you so long. You know all my stories. Oh! I know! Can I braid your hair?”

You gave him a weird look.

“That’s what your mom used to do when you were little right? She’d braid your hair for you? I could do that. Probably won’t be as good. But I can try. So go ahead and eat. But also pick a type of brain, because I know that there are different types. And I’ll go get your hair ties and stuff!”

You took a bite of food, chewing slowly, deciding on what braid you wanted while he dashed off into your bathroom.

“Alright, you figure out which one you wanted?” he asked, coming back with your package of hair ties and your brush. “You can just pull it up if that works for you. I don’t mind that you’re quiet.”

You smiled at him, wanting to tell him how glad you were that he was here. That you were sorry for worrying him. That you were gonna be okay, but if he could stay with you until that happened that would be nice. Because you’d been doing this alone for days, and you didn’t want to be alone anymore. That you were lucky to have a friend like him. But the words got stuck in your throat and you felt tears well up in your eyes. So you blinked them away and showed him a picture of a Dutch braid on your phone.

“That one? Okay, let’s see what I can do.” Luke situated himself behind you, his legs on the outside of yours. “Can you feed me a bite?” he asked, opening his mouth and taking your hair in his hands.

You stabbed a bite of food on the fork, holding it over your shoulder to him.

“Thank you,” his voice mumbled around the fork, and you heard him chewing as he started to braid your hair. He hummed in concentration while you took a slow bite of the food here and there, offering him a bite anytime you heard him go “Ah!” You felt his hand run over your hair, smoothing it before clapping his hands together. “And done! Tada! And hey, you ate almost everything. Good job!”

You smiled sheepishly, not wanting to admit that he’d eaten a majority of it. But you’d gotten a few more bites than you thought you were going to have.

You heard the shutter sound of his camera, before his phone was being put in your hands. “So, whatcha think?” Luke asked.

There were a few escaped strands of hair, and it was bunched up in a couple of spots. But you didn’t care. You turned in his lap, flinging your arms around his neck. “Thank you!” you sobbed, body shaking.

“You’re welcome,” he chuckled, rubbing his hands up and down your back. “Shh, it’s okay.”

“No it’s not!” you wailed, finally finding your voice. “You’re taking care of me because I scared you! I got lost! I’m still lost! I’m not fine! Not even a little bit! Luke, I’m scared!”

“Shh,” he soothed. “Hey, look at me.” He waited until your eyes locked on his. “I’m here taking care of you, because I care about you. Have I been worried because I haven’t heard from you in a few days? Yes. Was I a little scared? Yes. But it’s because I- shit… It’s because I love you. I don’t ever want to see you hurt like this. But I understand that sometimes you are. And that’s okay. Because every time you get lost, I’m going to find you. You’re not ever going to be alone.”

“Luke?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you stay with me?”

“Of course. I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“You know I don’t mean as a friend, right?”

“I know. I don’t either.”

He chuckled in relief. “Is this the part where I kiss you?”

“It better be.”

__

Tag List

@aquarius-hood1996​ @creator-appreciator​ @philthepegacorn​ @myfavfanficsever​ @cxddlyash​ @youngblood199456​ @stormrider505​ @tarltongrl96​ @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof​

#you will be found #luke hemmings #luke hemmings fic #luke hemmings x reader #5sos #calpal irwin

[evening-starlight]

Chances {Chapter 3}

I have a problem and his name is Tom Hiddleston... midnight BABY

Master List

Edited in Grammarly

Not A Bot

Word Count: 1180

    This is the chapter you've all been waiting for, Tom FUCKING Hiddleston asking me out on a date through Instagram. If you follow me on any social platform, you know I bring this up a lot. It's my favorite love story of all time. I might be a little biased because it is my love story, but you all seem to enjoy it.

    Tom has also asked me to stop calling him Tom FUCKING Hiddleston in my book, so we all know that's the only name he will be known as now when I narrate.

    A couple of weeks had passed since I bumped into Tom on the streets. Maybe a month or two? We were making significant progress on our album, the single we were stuck on was in production, and we were all high spirits in the studio the day it happened.

    I laid with my feet in Naomi’s lap, head propped up on the arm of the couch we had in the studio, scrolling through Instagram mindlessly as Robbie recorded the melody to our third album song. We finished four songs, two of which are singles, off of our eight-track album. The last couple of weeks have been a blessing to us after our severe three-month block, and we had a lot of recording to do to make up for the time we lost.

    A notification pops up on my phone that some Tom Hiddleston fan account had followed me and was now requesting a message. I chuckle lightly. These Instagram bots were fast; I liked a photo of Tom maybe three pictures ago. Naomi taps my legs and gives me the questioning eyes she's known to do. "Nothing really, just an Instagram bot saying they're Tom Hiddleston."

    "Didn't you meet him like, last week?" Heather asks from her laying position on the floor.

    "That was longer than last week, Socks." She rolls her eyes at me. "I'll bet you they're saying they're using their 'other account' and need my money to fly me out to meet him," I say sarcastically. I open it up anyway, just for a good laugh.

    I can feel my entire body freeze at the message. It was not, in fact, a bot. I squeal, launching my phone across the studio floor, causing both girls to look at me in confusion. I can't bring myself to say anything. Instead, I stare at the phone on the floor.

    Robbie comes out of the booth, looks at my phone, and picks it up. "I swear to god if this is another dick pic, I'm submerging your phone in acid." He jokes, cautiously looking down at the screen. I can see his eyes go over the words again and again. Just like I did. "No. Fucking. Way." Both girls sit up quickly, looking at Robbie to tell them what has me in a silent panic.

    "Well, what is it, Dick Head? Stella won't tell us." Heather asks, getting irritated no one is talking to her. Instead of answering her directly, Robbie reads the text aloud.

    "'Hi Stella, I know this may be a tab bit crazy, but I haven't been able to keep you off my mind for more than a few hours, at most. I feel horrendous that I spilled your coffee and would love to make it up to you. Much Love, Thomas.'"

    The studio falls silent. Deafeningly quiet. Heather is the first to speak, "At least it's not a bot asking for your bank account information." She jokes. Naomi chuckles, slowly building into a full-blown belly laugh.

    "What?" I snap. She holds her hands up in defense, knowing I'm not truly angry, just overwhelmed with the thought that Tom Hiddleston wanted to go on a date with me.

    "Stella, you have to take this chance. It's not every day a god of a man asks you out on a date. It's Tom Fucking Hiddleston, for God's sake. That's not even once in a lifetime type stuff, that's," She pauses. "Once in a hundred lifetimes, type stuff." Robbie returns my phone to me. I stare at the message and the blue tick next to his name as Heather pipes up.

    "I think it would be good for you. Obviously, you made an impact on Tom when he spilled your coffee. So he's asking you out." I shake my head.

    "No, he's probably just being polite; that's who he is. It's not a date," I try to convince myself. Heather steals my phone, dashing into the booth with it before I can get my bearings.

    "Only one way to find out," She yells, typing furiously on my phone. I leap off the couch to chase after her when I understand what she's doing.

    "Heather, don't you fucking dare," I yell, yanking open the booth door. "You can't text for me, you use too many emojis, and he'll think it's weird." She giggles maniacally as she sidesteps me.

    "Too late," She singsongs, handing me the phone. I look over the message. 'Like a date?' followed by numerous pleading eye emojis. I go to delete it before he sees it but get the dreaded 'seen' at the bottom.

    "I'm going to murder you, Heather Long. Swear to God." I hiss, staring her down. She giggles and walks off, laying back in her position on the floor. She knows I'm all bark and no bite. But that doesn't mean she won't wake up with a dick on her forehead in permanent ink soon. My phone dings, telling me he replied. Everyone looks up when I gasp. Robbie chants, 'what did he say,' trying to get me to tell them what he said. "He said, 'that's exactly what I was hoping for, yes.'" The band cheers around me, Robbie shaking my shoulders in congratulations.

    "Say yes," Naomi cheers. "Say yes for me, Please." Robbie looks over his shoulder at her, faking a hurt expression.

    "Am I not enough for you, Naomi Bear?" He sniffles, making Naomi rolls her eyes.

    "You're more than enough, Pudding Cup. But, it's Tom Hiddleston. Even you said you were a little gay for him." Robbie shrugs his shoulders with a head nod. Of course, we've all heard his drunken tangents about how hot the entire Marvel cast is.

    My fingers shake as I type out the answer, taking my chance with this once in a hundred lifetimes type of guy.

    And that's the end. I'm kidding; no, that's not even close to the end. We're just getting started. Heather did wake up with the permanent dick the following week after she slept over at my apartment. I will never feel sorry for that part. But I have thanked her numerous times for helping me take that step with Tom that I needed.

    We still have lots of drama and toxic exes to talk about, so don't put the book down just yet. Unless it's past your bedtime, then go ahead. Or you're tired. Take care of you, Boo. But we have lots of pot-stirring coming up. And Tea piping hot from the kettle.  

#Chances #tom hiddleston #tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddleston fanfic #jared leto #Jared Leto imagine #jared leto fanfic #love #romance #fanfic #fanfiction #Original content #original character #tom hiddleston fanfiction #jared leto fanfiction #i got 99 problems and tom hiddleston could fix everyone of them

[sapphirelass]

Two Peas in a Pod - Harry PotterxSister

Please note:

1: I don’t own any of the gifs used, nor any already established characters, so credit to the authors and original creators - You have done a phenomenal job :)

2: English is not my native language, as I was born and raised in Sweden. I have, however, studied English for almost a decade, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem, I just thought I’d let you know ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For this one-shot I have taken inspiration from both the book and the film, as well as left out parts of the original dialogue that, for the purpose of this story, felt irrelevant. 

Word count: ≈ 2400

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Peas in a Pod

Harry Potter and his twin sister Lucy were like two peas in a pod. Always had been. Supposedly, that was what happened when young magicians had to grow up with muggles, especially if those muggles were named “Dursley”. Harry was always more impulsive, whereas Lucy took on the role of the rational one, yet they had both been placed in Gryffindor house by the sorting hat four years prior.

It was now the first of September 1995, and last year had been a rough one. Lord Voldemort, the dark wizard who had killed Harry and Lucy’s parents, had just come back and despite their efforts, this holiday had been more miserable than any of the previous ones. Dudley and his friends, dementor attacks, and a general lack of communication with the wizarding world left the twins in a particularly bad mood. They arrived at Kings Cross, and after pulling Harry away from Draco Malfoy, Lucy, her brother, Ron and Hermione boarded the Hogwarts express, and found a place to sit.

During the start-of-the-year feast, the small group of friends quickly realized that something was wrong. Their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor - Dolores Umbridge - was a ministry employe, which was weird on its own, but the way she spoke, acted, and kept interrupting Dumbledore with shrill, irritating *hum hum*’s made them all feel queasy. 

After a quiet discussion in the common room (and quite a bit of loud arguing between Harry and Seamus Finnigan), they went to bed, yawning, and not exactly looking forward to that year’s first period of DADA.

***

They entered the classroom, and to their surprise, Umbridge actually wasn’t there yet. Harry and Lucy shared a confused look, but went to sit down, Harry with Ron, and Lucy with Hermione. Eventually though, the professor did arrive, her unnaturally high-pitched voice bringing them all back to reality.

“Good morning, class!” she said cheerfully

There was a quiet murmur among the students, and Umbridge shook her head.

“Good Morning!” she said again, this time more sternly. “I expect you to answer me when spoken to.”

A slightly louder “Good morning professor” could be heard, and though Umbridge didn’t seem too pleased, she decided to move on with the lesson.

“Ordinary Wizarding Levels - OWLs” she started. “Your previous teachers in this subject have all been quite questionable choices, however this year things will be the way they were meant to. Open your books on page 4.”

A few minutes had passed before Hermione raised her hand and said “Professor, there is nothing in here about using defensive spells.”

“Using spells?” Umbridge asked, laughing nastily

“We’re not to use magic?” Ron asked

“You will be learning defensive magic in a safe, risk-free environment”

“But”, said Harry, rather angrily, “what good would that do? If we were attacked that wouldn’t be risk-free!”

“Ha!”, laughed Umbridge, “And who exactly do you think would want to attack a helpless child such as yourself? Besides, the education you will receive will be more than enough for you to pass your OWLs, and that is after all just what school is about.” She finished with a smirk, looking rather satisfied with her speech.

Lucy, who had sat quietly this whole time shifted slightly in her chair, and exclaimed: “It’s not though! 

“Sorry?” Umbridge asked, dumbfounded

“School isn’t solely about receiving good grades! It’s about preparing the students for life, and supplying them with the tools and knowledge necessary in order to succeed and improve. If we’re not going to do that, then why, may I ask, is this a mandatory course? It’s already starting to seem rather pointless to me.”

Harry was perplexed. How his sister always managed to, 1: use her words in such a remarkable way, and 2: remain calm through the most infuriating of situations was a mystery to him, however he turned his gaze back towards Umbridge, waiting for her reply.

“Nonsense” She said. “This course is compulsory, and rightfully so!”

“How though?” Inquired Lucy, pushing it further than she probably should have. “Can you name any situation, apart from the exam, where your teachings will be of any help to us? Or didn’t the ministry consider that?”

That was the top of the iceberg.

“DETENTION!!” shouted Umbridge. “My office, 8:30 would you be so kind, Ms Potter.”

Lucy flinched. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, however detention was not something she had to endure very often. That was more Harry’s thing. She sank quietly back onto her chair, and Umbridge continued with her boring, unnecessary lesson, reciting facts and procedures they had all learnt about 4 years earlier. Lucy could feel her brother staring, practically burning a hole in her neck, but somehow, probably thanks to Ron, he kept quiet for the rest of the class.

An hour later, class ended and none of the Gryffindor students wasted any time getting out of Umbridge’s classroom. Lucy threw her stuff into her brown, leather bag and dashed out of the room without making eye contact with her brother or friends.

“Luce!” Harry shouted. “Wait up!”

He caught up with his sister on the stairs leading down to McGonagall’s classroom.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Looking up at him with an annoyed stare she said “Yes Harry! Just brilliant!” with a sarcastic tone in her voice. She kept on walking, but Harry grabbed her shoulder. A few years ago, they had been roughly the same size, but Harry had grown A LOT, and was by now almost seven inches taller. All the quidditch training had apparently paid off too, and Lucy knew instantly that she would never be able to escape his firm, yet gentle grip. He glanced down on her with a worried look on his face.

“I’m serious!” he said. “Stop”

She turned around and faced him. “What?” She spat at him, suddenly noticing her icy voice. 

“Sorry…” Lucy mumbled, “she just pissed me off. I’m fine.” Her facial expression softened and she met Harry’s eyes for the first time since class ended. He let go of her shoulders, and was just about to say something when a tall ginger came running at full speed and gave Lucy a supportive pat on the back.

“That was bloody brilliant!” Ron exclaimed. “Lucy, did you see the look on her face? Bloody hell, she was angrier than Malfoy after Harry beat him in his first quidditch match!”

“Yes” stated Lucy simply, as Hermione made her way down the stairs, “I saw…”

“Oh cheer up!” stated Ron, “an hour or two of detention isn’t the end of the world. If you ask me, it was totally worth it!”

Hermione gave him a disapproving stare as Lucy sadly stated, “It might not have been the cleverest thing to do” Both Harry and Hermione blinked at her with a sort of “you-don’t-say?” kind of look as she kept on speaking. “But you must admit that it’s the truth? Defence against the dark arts has never been as important as it is right now. We are all going to die before the end of the year unless we learn and improve?!”

“You’re right.” Hermione muttered, and surprisingly, she smiled slightly. “But we’ll have to talk about that later, otherwise we’ll be late for transfiguration. Come on!”

***

The rest of the day went by rather quickly, and the quartet soon found themselves in front of the fireplace in the common room. It was about 8:20 when Lucy stood up, grabbed a jacket, and left for Umbridge’s office.

“Good luck!” Harry said, frowning deeply, “I’ll wait for you here.”

Lucy turned around quickly, “Haz, you don’t have to. I’ll be fine. You need your sleep and I have no idea how long this is going to take.”

Harry gave her a sort or irritated look, to which she sighed and left without a word.

“What do you think she’ll have her do?” Hermione questioned.

“I don’t know” Harry hissed, “but I’m sure she’ll tell me when she gets back...”

The remaining three looked at each other. Ron threw Harry a chocolate frog, and then - they waited…

***

*knock knock*

There was a slight clinking noise, like metal on china, followed by a repulsing “come in”. Lucy took a deep breath and pushed the door open. 

“Ah!” chirped Umbridge, “Potter, sit down, will you?”

Lucy apprehensively made her way across the room to the chair her so-called “professor” had pointed at. She sat down and looked around nervously.

“You will be writing some sentences for me today, no” Umbridge said, as Lucy reached down to her bag to pick up something to write with. “no, not with your own quill. You’ll be using a rather special one of mine.” She smiled evilly, and pushed a black, pointy feather across the table.

Lucy grabbed it carefully and asked in a silent, trembling voice, “what should I write?”

“Oh, right! How about… ‘I must obey my superiors’?”

***

It was about three hours later, when Lucy slowly made her way back to the common room, red, hot blood dripping from her left hand leaving a small trail through the corridor. The pain had intensified, and was by this point almost unbearable. She took a quick detour to the girls’ bathroom, hoping to be able to clean herself up a bit before having to face her friends and brother. She had told him to go to sleep, after all, it was almost midnight by now, but she knew him all too well. The odds of him being in bed were absolutely zero. 

She watched the thick, red liquid disappear down the sink and let a few tears fall, before grabbing some paper making sure no tears or blood could be seen. She had to make it through the common room up to the dormitories quickly though, since she was sure Harry would be able to tell she’d been crying, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. Sure, she could just tell him, but something inside her argued against that. He had been rather angry and distressed all summer, and she knew he wasn’t feeling much better now. Harry had enough to deal with without handling her problems too.

Entering the common room, roughly four seconds had passed before her brother was by her side. 

“Hey,” he said gently, “everything okay?”

She nodded and mumbled a quiet. “Yes. ‘m tired though, night Harry”

She walked the stairs up to her dorm, leaving Harry behind. He simply stood there dumbfounded. What had just happened? “Oh… okay, night Luce”

She didn’t answer…

***

The following morning, he found her at the breakfast table, slowly digesting a tiny portion of porridge. She was wearing one of his old quidditch jumpers underneath her cloak. He knew, because it was far too big for her, and the sleeves reached down to her fingertips.

“Hey,” he said, ruffling her long, strawberry blonde hair, “Feeling better?”

“Sure, “ she murmured, slowly pulling the sleeves even further down. He gave her a supportive hug.

“But come on now, “ he urged her. “You can’t be sad forever. What did she have you do?”

“Nothing…”

“Luce!”

“Just write some sentences. It was fine, rather dull to be honest with you.” She threw the spoon into the bowl, and pushed it away. “How are you feeling? Any bad dreams?”

“Always…” he muttered, shaking his head at the milk that had splashed out on the table, “could have been worse though.”

Harry made himself some toast, as Ron and Hermione joined them in the great hall. 

***

A week or so later Harry had had enough. It was in defence against the dark arts, on a rather cold Tuesday afternoon that he finally snapped, and shouted at professor Umbridge, who seemed almost too happy for a reason to give him detention.

The gang sat, yet again, around the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, when Harry suddenly left and climbed through the portrait hole. He came back a few hours later, a downright furious look on his face, and walked straight up to his sister without even noticing the ghost he had stumbled through. He looked down at her smaller frame, his quidditch jumper yet again pulled over her head. 

“Let me see, ” he said through gritted teeth, causing Lucy to look up at him, trying her best to act confused.

“Wha…”

“Lucy - let. me. see.” he repeated firmly, his emerald eyes penetrating the mental wall behind which she had been trying so hard to hide her troubles.

She closed her eyes and pulled her sleeve up to her elbow. The blood had naturally dried, however five heart wrenching words were etched into her still red, irritated skin. 

I must obey my superiors

No one said a thing. Lucy was staring at the floor, not daring to meet her brother’s eyes, all while Harry felt madder than he ever had before.

Madder than when Dudley had been pushing him around the school yard.

Madder than when Malfoy had taunted him because of the dementors.

Madder than when he had found out that his aunt and uncle had lied about their parents true fate for almost 10 years. 

This was his sister, and it was far from okay.

Without thinking, Harry was just about to shout at her for keeping something like that from him, when he noticed that she was crying. Soft, quiet sobs that she were clearly trying to hide. It felt as if all his anger simply washed away, and he crouched down and took her hand in his. 

Harry’s hand was still covered in blood. He hadn’t had time to clean it, but had instead taken the shortest way to the common room, after realizing what had happened. Raising his right hand, he pulled her closer and felt her lean her head on his chest. They sat like that, arms wrapped around each other, for hours and slowly started drifting off to sleep.

Were they okay? Not at all. Would they be? Absolutely! Because they had each other, and when it really came down to it, that was all they needed, as the Potter twins were just like two peas in a pod.

~ L

Masterlist

#harry potter #harryxsister #harry potter x sister #harry potter x twin #imagine #umbridge #detention #torture #siblings #angst #hp #reader #oc

[snowdice]

Finding the Time to Study Fic 2 [Day 17]

Here is my starting post for today’s study break stories session. See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far! I will reblog this post with the story as I write them today. I’ll be constantly looking for ideas of times and places for Janus to have missions, so feel free to send in any you can think of at any point!

If you are a new follower or just don’t want all of these posts clogging your dash, please feel free to block the tag “study break stories” as all posts and voting about it will go there. You can still see the finished product of the story even if you are blocking that tag as I will not tag the edited chapters with “study break stories” but with the tag “folds in paper.” See edited chapters below. Chapters 3-8 and what I have of Chapter 9 are under the cut.

My Masterpost Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted). It’s short, and not really for serious listening, but I had fun with it.

I have homework due Friday and it’s long so let’s go.

Chapter 4

Janus was frozen in surprise for a few long moments after Pat disappeared. Which had been, admittedly, his mistake, because, while their window had technically been until 11:17pm and it was only 11:10, the loud crack that whatever Pat had been using for time travel made, garnered the attention of someone else.

“Uh oh,” Remus said, likely hearing footsteps. “Hide.”

That snapped Janus into action, but instead of hiding immediately like a sensible human being, he chose to go for the only link to the man who’d just stolen time travel tech and waltzed away, the mask.

Which was why he ended up getting arrested.

 Remy tsked the moment they were all alone in the police car having come to ‘transfer Lee to another facility.’ Remus was already waiting in the front seat, and flashed Janus a smug smile. If Janus wasn’t still handcuffed, he’d slap him.

“Well,” Remy said. “At least you didn’t shoot anybody like I asked. I was joking by the way. I didn’t really want to pick you up from a 1920s police station period.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Mmm, nah, ‘cause Remus managed to not get arrested this time, so you defiantly screwed something up.”

“Oh, he defiantly wanted to screw something all right,” Remus said joyfully.

 “Remus,” Janus hissed.

“What?” he asked. “I’m not the horny one for once. Well, no, that’s a lie, but it didn’t affect the job this time.”

Janus groaned and leaned his head back against the seat.

Remy pulled into a seemingly random garage around 20 minutes later. “Alright,” he said. “Here we are.” He got out of the car and then helped Janus out before uncuffing him. “Here’s your ‘watch,’” Remy handed him the timepiece that had been confiscated when he’d been arrested.

Janus put it on and activated it. “Shit,” he said.

“What?” Remus asked.

“An appointment with cultural outreach has already been downloaded to my calendar for once we get out of decon.”

 “Oof. Going to baby jail,” Remy laughed. Remus was cackling.

“This,” Janus said, “was not a cultural faux pas. I did nothing that indicated that I was not from this time. I am not some rookie.”

“Don’t forget cell phones don’t exist in the 1920s,” Remus sang.

“The real question is whether or not my foot exists in your…” Remus disappeared before he could finish, a smirk on his face. Janus growled. “By Remy,” he gritted out. He selected the decontamination chamber from his queue, ignoring the appointment that came after it for now.

He knew exactly where Remus would be standing when he landed, which was why he stepped forward on reentry to ram into him.

 He yelped in surprise. “Sorry,” Janus said pleasantly. “I must have also forgotten landing procedures.

Remus laughed good naturally. “Aw, come on Jay,” he said, bumping Janus back, albeit much gentler than Janus had been. “It’s not a big deal. You just go talk with some crusty old college professor who is far too interested in spoons and then everything’s fine.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” he growled. “They’re treating me like I’m an idiot who accidently invented disco in the 1920s when I was conned by some free agent time traveler.”

“‘Conned,’ Remus said. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

 “I know where and when you live Remus,” Janus said.

Remus gave him a dopey smile as the decontamination cycle finished and the door unlocked. Janus’s wrist buzzed telling him that the coordinates to the cultural outreach office were now unlocked. Instead of pulling them up, Janus walked to the door.

“Um,” Remus said, following him. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to your appointment?” Janus just kept walking towards their office. “Uh… Jan?”

“It’s absolutely ridiculous that I have to go to cultural outreach,” Janus said. “In fact, no one can make me. If they want me to go have a discussion about the definition of ‘bushwa,’ they’re going to have to have me dragged there.”

 “Mmm, I feel like The Boss won’t be too happy about that, and I have a feeling she’d be 100% down to dragging you there herself.”

“Well, then, let her,” Janus said, stalking through the door to his office. “I’m not going to…”

“Ah, Agent Picani,” the woman standing next to his desk, clearly waiting for him, said when he came through the door. “Dr. Picani was informed that there were complications with your last mission and wishes to have a conversation with you and asks that you meet him in his office at the AMO.”

“Oh, um,” Janus said, stumbling a bit before plastering on a regretful half smile. “Unfortunately, I actually have an appointment right now at Cultural Outreach. It’s mandatory and very important, and I have to go now. So, I’ll have to take a raincheck on that.”

 “But-” she started, frowning.

“Remus, work on the report!” Janus said quickly as he waved his hand to bring up his timepiece display and jammed his finger at the glowing appointment card in his queue. A few moments later, Janus was at Cultural Outreach.

Cultural Outreach was not part of the TPI, though it often worked very closely with them. It was a collaboration between the government and multiple universities to help government workers, politicians, and other citizens understand and bridge cultural gaps. It had existed before time travel was invented but had expanded to also teach people who needed to time travel how to behave in unfamiliar times and cultures.

 After it had to be expanded to provide for the TPI, it had been moved to Silver Mountains University. The building had once just been a museum, but it had been thoroughly renovated and there had been add-ons for office space and some classrooms. It was still a museum, however, its purpose had expanded greatly and there were many areas that were off limits to the general public.

One of these areas was the fourth floor, where Janus’s timepiece had dumped him. This was the floor that was almost exclusively for TPI agents and staff of Cultural Outreach who worked with them.

 He immediately turned away from the reception area, hoping that he could escape and go sit on the university’s quad or something of the like for the next hour or so in hopes the woman his brother sent to fetch him would give up and go back to the AMO. Yet, the receptionist apparently saw him.

“Janus Picani?” he asked.

Janus grimaced and turned back towards him. “Yes,” he said.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You’re 5 minutes late for your appointment and seem disoriented.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Is your timepiece malfunctioning?”

“No.”

“Uh… okay. Well, if you sign in here, I can take you to your appointment.”

“…Fine.”

 He begrudgingly stepped forward and touched the screen he’d gestured to sign with his fingerprint, and then let the man lead him down the hall.

The door they stopped at was propped open slightly, but he still paused and knocked. “Professor Eran? Your 2:30 is here.”

Janus had just a moment upon hearing the name to think that maybe there was actually some sort of intelligent design of the universe and whatever being of ultimate power had crafted it was a dick.

The door opened and Virgil Eran’s eyes immediately narrowed on him. “Janus.”

“Virgil.”

“I see you’re still late for everything.”

“I see you’re still a bastard.”

 Janus saw the receptionist slowly back away in the direction they’d come.

“Why don’t you come in?” Virgil said faux pleasantly.

Janus did, because he really didn’t have much of a choice at this point unless he wanted to jump out of a window… or push someone out of a window.

Virgil turned back into his office and took a seat behind his desk. Janus unhappily followed him in and sat across from him.

He took his time pulling up whatever the TPI sent him and reading it over. “So, I see you failed your recovery mission and were arrested in 1923.”

 “It wasn’t like that,” Janus said. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Virgil gave him that same suspicious look he used to give Janus whenever Janus claimed to have not eaten his hot pockets out of the freezer in the middle of the night. He’d only been lying 80% of the time. Virgil had a tendency to forget what he’d eaten in a half-conscious state at 3 o’clock in the morning.

“I shouldn’t,” Janus snapped defensively. “Nothing went wrong with anyone from the time period. An illegal time traveler screwed up the mission details.”

“Well, it is still protocol to make sure nothing slipped when agents go off script. You weren’t prepared to be in a jail cell, and it is possible that you screwed something up.”

 “I didn’t screw anything up,” Janus growled.

“Alright,” Virgil said pulling up a document on his desk. “The mission started on July 27th, 1923 at 9:58pm, correct?”

“Oh, god, we’re not really going to fill out a time sheet. I don’t have time for that today.”

“It is protocol and best that the information is documented when it is still fresh in your mind. Besides, your schedule has been cleared for the rest of the workday.” The bastard was enjoying this. He knew how much Janus hated this stuff.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Janus said, “it was the damned illicit time traveler.”

“And I will be the judge of that,” Virgil said. Janus should have just bit the bullet and had coffee with his brother. “If you truly did nothing wrong, your supervisor will see that when I send this to her.”

 Yet, despite the fact that Virgil clearly relished in his suffering, he was charitable enough to do most of the actual filling out of the forms. He’d read out the questions and write down what Janus said instead of making him do it himself. Janus really only had to do a quick quality check and sign it at the end.

He still was an asshole about the details, but really he’d been like that about stupid thing like the settings for the dish washer and how the pantry was organized during their college days before they’d had their falling out, so Janus wasn’t particularly surprised. When they were finally done, Virgil sent it off to get filed by the TPI.

 Then, they were left staring at each other with nothing between them but almost a decade of radio silence and a whole lot of awkwardness.

“I should go,” Janus finally said, standing up.

Virgil tilted his head slightly to the side and gave him a half smile. “Don’t lock the door behind you,” he said. “Not that I’d expect you too.”

Janus took it for the clear attempt at a joke it was intended to be and puffed out a breath of amusement with a head shake. “No risk of that,” he said. Then, he turned and walked out of the office.

 Chapter 5

Janus stepped back into the reception area and booted up his time piece. Instinct said to go back to the office despite the fact that it was late enough that most people had gone home, but he hesitated. Surely Emile had given up by now, but considering he’d sent someone to ambush him in his office, Janus wasn’t sure if he should trust that. He could just go home, but he already knew his mind was racing too much to sleep tonight so he’d probably just end up staring at the lake for the next 6 hours. So, he decided on the only other legitimate option he had. He pulled up Remus’s home coordinates and selected.

 The home that Remus had chosen (after his long line of rejected requests) managed to somehow make no and absolute sense simultaneously to anyone who knew him. It was a small farm in the United States just west of the Mississippi in 1842 in what would be ratified as the state of Iowa in a few years. When asked why he would choose that time and place, Remus always responded with “I thought it was funny,” whatever that meant.

Unlike most time agents who simply used the identities assigned to them by the AMO as a cover, Remus actually lived his part time.

 Janus was… fairly certain he was cheating a bit to get everything done, but he maintained his small farm all on his own, growing most of his own food. The neighbors he had lived very far away, but he still spoke with them far more than Janus did his own.

Janus appeared inside the small home, his eyes already shut. “Are you hear and dressed?” Janus called. Something bumped lightly into his legs.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Janus peaked his eyes open and squatted to pet the cat at his feet. “That doesn’t answer my question!” he called back to Remus.

 “It’s a surprise!” Remus said.

“Remus.” Diesel Fuel the cat flopped to her side on the ground as Janus continued to pet her ears. He heard Remus’s footsteps, and saw cloth covering his legs, so risked looking up. He was currently not only dressed, but wearing an apron that Janus was fairly sure was not time appropriate judging by the fabric and cat pawprint design. He had a bit of flour on his hands, and it may have been a bit too white for the time and place, but Janus couldn’t be completely sure.

“What’re you doing here?” Remus asked.

 “My day has been an endless series of frustrations,” Janus said. “So, I have come to see the only tolerable being in the history of the universe.”

Remus snorted. “Since I know that isn’t me, I’ll assume you’re talking about the cat.”

“I still don’t understand why you tolerate this creature,” Janus addressed Diesel Fuel. She blinked slowly up at him. “To be fair, he was assigned as my partner. I didn’t have much of a choice in it. You could go always run away and become feral in the woods if you’d like.”

“So could you, technically,” Remus pointed out.

“I’m thinking about it after today.”

 “Would you like some bread?” Remus asked. “That’s all I’ve been making this afternoon. Some fresh should be coming out of the oven in a few minutes.”

“Do you have anything stronger made out of wheat?”

“Ew, no, but I do have vodka.”

“Vodka works.”

“Want me to mix it with something?”

“No.”

“One of those night then,” Remus said, easily. “Let me finish up the bread, so I don’t burn the kitchen down. You can go get the alcohol from the cellar while you wait if you want, or you can just flop down on the couch.”

He was going to just flop down on the couch.

 He did just that as Remus disappeared back into his kitchen. The cat hopped onto his stomach, proceeding to purr loudly and kneed at chest. Janus petted the cat and listened to the noise of Remus moving around in the other room, letting his mind drift. His mind drifted to Virgil for a bit and he steadfastly did not allow it to drift to his brother. Yet, the thing that most was on his mind was the strange man who had flirted and charmed Janus all night before mercilessly screwing him over. ‘Pat’ he’d said his name was, but surely that was not his real name.

 Janus sighed and scratched the cat’s ear. “He certainly wasn’t an amateur,” Janus mused to the cat. “With that amount of precision to get in before we did, he must have someone not on the ground feeding him information. Perhaps more than one.” He was part of a group of time traveling thieves perhaps or something worse. “I didn’t get a good look at his face since he was wearing a mask,” Janus said, “but I spent a lot of time with him, and I’m sure Remy swiped the mask from the police since it had been on me when I was arrested. It’s a good lead.”

 He continued to pet Diesel Fuel. Eventually, Remus came back in, noticed Janus hadn’t bothered to get the alcohol and went outside to the cellar. “I’m going to find him,” Janus told Diesel Fuel. “I’ll stop whatever it is he’s doing, and I’ll bring him in.” Diesel Fuel mewed her support, and Janus patted her on top of the head.

Remus came back in with the bottle of vodka and handed it to him without a word. He sat down on the couch near Janus’s feet and patted his lap so Diesel Fuel would come over to him and allow Janus to sit up.

 The bastard waited until he was approximately 3 shots in (he didn’t have a shot glass and was just taking drinks from the bottle) to ask the questions Janus really didn’t want to answer. “Are you mad at Emile?” Remus asked.

Janus groaned, trying to wash out the bitter taste of shame and grief with the sharp sting of vodka. It didn’t work. “No,” he said to Remus.

“Then why have you been avoiding him?”

“Shit, I’m here because I didn’t want to think about it. Can’t we just not.”

“Don’t want to think about what?

“It’s none of your business, Remus.”

 He could feel Remus frowning at him, but Janus stared resolutely ahead. At least, he did until a foot poked his face. He slapped it away, but it did the job of getting Janus to look at Remus.

“It is my business,” Remus said, foot still in the air. “I’m your partner and your friend.”

“If I’m your friend, you’ll drop it.”

“So, you’re not mad at Emile,” Remus continued, contemplatively. “Did you do something to him, then?” Janus bit his lip and looked away. “What?” Remus asked. Janus didn’t respond. “Look, I’m sure he’ll forgive you for whatever it is. He’s a good guy. Just talk to him about it.”

 “I can’t,” Janus said.

“Whatever it is, it’s probably been long enough that he forgives you. You literally just have to have a conversation, say you’re sorry, and everything will be A-OK.”

“I can’t,” Janus repeated.

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know about it.”

Remus paused. “So, as far as he knows, you just cut contact with him all of a sudden for no reason and have been avoiding him ever since?”

Janus looked at his shoes. “Yeah.”

“That…” Remus said, “is not fucking fair Janus.”

“I know.”

“Then why the hell are you doing that to him? He’s like… soft and feeling-y. He’s probably really upset.”

 “I know, Remus.”

“Tell him. Whatever it is.”

“I can’t.”

“Look,” Remus said. “You tell him and he either forgives you or he doesn’t. If he does, everything’s fine. If he doesn’t… well, it’s not like it would be any different from you two never being in the same room the last few years. Either way, you can’t just do this to him. He’ll probably forgive you. He’s your brother. Brothers don’t… brothers would forgive each other.”

Janus laughed softly and met Remus’s eyes. “That’s the problem,” he said. “He’d definitely forgive me.” He turned away and opened the vodka bottle again. “Now, if you’ll shut up for a few minutes, I’m going to drink until I black out.”

 Chapter 6

“Really, Khalid,” Janus said, storming into his boss’s office. “A yellow?” It had been about a week since the 1920s incident, and his incident report had finally been cleared. Sure, it wasn’t a red or a black and he wasn’t facing any reprimand, but it should have been a green.

She looked up at him, clearly unconcerned. “There was an incident,” she said. “You handled it well, but there was one. Therefore, yellow.”

“It wasn’t a time travel incident! It was a rouge time traveler.”

“Janus, you helped me make these rules,” she said impatiently.

“Which is why I know this is bullshit,” he snapped.

 She rolled her eyes. “If it was anyone else, you would agree with me. While you didn’t go against protocol and had no time related incidents, the fact of the matter is, you were still distracted by this ‘rouge time traveler,’ didn’t complete your mission, and were arrested.”

“He was good,” Janus said. “You can’t fault me for that. He also could be dangerous and you’re busy handing out yellows instead of working to track him down.”

She raised an eyebrow. “We are working on tracking him down,” she said. “We have done an analysis on the mask and found fibers dating to the 2010s and some DNA. Though it isn’t exactly a high priority.”

 “We have no idea who he is or what he’s planning to do. Why is that not a high priority thing?”

“At the moment?” she asked. “Because we have reports of a time bomb being activated.”

“What?” Janus asked sitting up. “When?”

“New Years Eve going into the year 3,000 in Brazil,” she said. “Which you’d know about if you’d bothered to check your integration port this morning before storming into my office.”

“It’s my mission?” Janus asked.

“The incident investigation is over and your active again despite the dreaded yellow,” she said, clearly making fun of him a bit. “So, yes, and it’s a high priority mission, so I’ll be running it.”

 “Who all is going?” he asked.

“Other than the two of us, Remus, Lena, and Fred,” she told him. “We leave in three hours, so, you might want to run off to Rhi before Fred gets to her and ties her up for an hour on details.”

Janus nodded and got to his feet. He turned back at the door. “I still don’t deserve the yellow,” he hissed.

She waved him off. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Picani.”

He ground his teeth a bit about the dismissal of his worries, but his resentment was slightly soothed by the fact that she’d assigned him to go on such a high priority mission and with only senior agents.

 He took the advice and grabbed Remus from the office, noting Lena hadn’t been able to wrangle Fred yet as she was still at her desk, and they both headed off to see Rhi.

A few hours later, they were all in decontamination together, decked out in truly god-awful costumes. The turn of the third millennia had been a wild event, and the best way to fit in was to look like you’d grabbed something from every century in recorded human history, dyed it in neon paint, and rolled around in a vat of glitter.

Remus had opted to stick his head in a vat of glow in the dark green paint that costuming had offered them, and it wasn’t even going to be slightly disruptive to their covertness.

 In fact, costuming had frowned when Janus had insisted he not get his hair dyed and instead wore a bowler hat. They had required him to have flowers made out of glitter on it.

There were five people waiting for them when they landed 6 hours before the turn of the millennia. Three were touchdown agents, including Remy, and two were on location tech support. Usually it would be overkill to have that many people there just for support even with five agents in the field, but today the TPI needed to be cautious because they were planning on instituting a time lock.

Time bombs were dangerous things that would ripple through time if not contained. Even if it did end up going off (killing everyone in its reach), the time lock would serve to prevent most damage outside of the city and, more importantly, the year it was planted.

 Janus had only been in two time locks before, and he was one of the most senior agents in the TPI, outranked only by the founder: Lia Khalid. Time locks were designed to keep all time linear in a certain fixed time and geographical area as well as prevent any time travel in and out. Once it was engaged, all forms of time travel would not work for the duration, bar the pin device. Khalid was already switching out her regular timepiece with the slightly bigger one that was designed to support the time lock.

There was a failsafe back at the TPI that could be engaged in an emergency, which was why tech support was here, but other than that, the only thing that could break the time lock was that timepiece, and it would break the moment the time lock ended.

 As soon as it was on Khalid’s wrist, she looked up at them all. “Our information says the time bomb was planted in the costume of one of the ‘Millennium Birds’ who are the organizers of the different events,” she said. Janus had seen a photo of the identical costumes in the mission details. They were all robe like garments with giant fans of feathers coming from the neck that coalesced in a peak a foot above their head to hold a fake bird egg. At least they’d be easy to find. “There are 25 of them throughout the city. We need to find each of them. So, we don’t double count, you’ll need to subtly,” her eyes touched on Remus, “scan each one you find for the bomb and tag them with a tracker if it’s not on them. You can view the already tagged ones, as well as the rest of us on your timepiece even once the time lock is engaged. When you find the bomb, call it in.”

 They all nodded, and Khalid looked over at one of the techies. She nodded at her and then the techie flipped a couple of switches. “Three, two, one,” the techie said. There was a slight shift in the air that most people would disregard, but Janus as a seasoned time traveler could feel the change even before his wrist buzzed. He glanced at his timepiece to see it had a big red ‘X’ across its display. He tapped it and was still able to bring up the map of the city with 10 green dots on it all clustered together in their current location.

 After that, he tested the scanner on his timepiece that he would use to search for the bomb, just to make sure the time lock hadn’t messed anything up with his equipment. He glanced up to see everyone else was doing the same.

“Keep in contact,” Khalid said before everyone split up. Janus and Remus started by going North while Fredrick and Darlene were to go South. Khalid was a floater who would tag any Birds she saw but was mostly there for backup and orders.

Janus and Remus stepped into the chaos of New Years Eve before the turn of the third millennia. The streets were already swamped with people and it would only be getting worse the later it go.

“Where should we start?” Remus asked.

 “Let’s go all the way North to the games area,” Janus said. “We can work our way back here.”

“Okay!” Remus said. “I wonder if they have those fun little genetically modified goldfish as prizes. I’ve always wanted to eat one and see if I end up getting whatever design was on the fish on my body.”

Janus gave him a disgusted look.

“What?! People eat fish all the time!”

Janus shook his head. “We’re not playing the games anyway. We have work to do. Important work.”

“Boo,” Remus replied. Janus chose to ignore him as he spotted one of the Millenia Birds letting people into the gaming area.

 They walked over towards the entrance. Janus got in range first and moved to subtly scan the Millenia Bird, Remus doing the same the next moment. After a second, Janus’s timepiece buzzed and lit up red, meaning the bomb was within range. “Well, that was easy,” he said. “It was on the first one we found.”

“Uh…” Remus said. “Jan.” When Janus looked, he was holding up his wrist to show his green lit time piece.

“What?” Janus asked. He quickly moved to rescan the Millenia Bird, and his timepiece came up green as well. Which, meant the bomb was not in range, even though the Millenia Bird had not moved. “But…” He and Remus’s eyes met, and they quickly both started turning in a circle to look at the crowd around him. No one looked like they’d just stolen a time bomb off the Millennial Bird, but then Janus’s eyes caught on a man. He blended in perfectly to his surroundings. He was wearing the disgusting garb of the times, a large light blue piece that bubbled near his hips, and had most of his skin covered in rainbow neon paints. Yet, something about him, the curl of his hair or the way he moved, drew Janus’s eyes to him. He recognized the man immediately even in a completely different dressing style. Yet, what cinched it was the moment Janus’s eyes met his and they seemed to sparkle slightly in the afternoon sun. The next moment, the person Janus knew as Pat, turned to disappear into the crowd.

 Chapter 7

“Him,” was the only thing Janus said before taking off after the figure who had just disappeared into the game area.

“What?” Remus’s voice followed after him. “Janus! What?!”

Janus did not pause, just continuing to run after Pat, hopping over two barricades as a shortcut. Janus cursed when he lost sight of the man for just a moment near the prize table filled with colorful goldfish, but he was able to spot him once again walking into one of the tents. Janus blasted into the tent. It was a game where they raced rats, and when Janus entered, Pat was cooing at one of them.

 “Who’s a tiny little squishy precious baby?” he was asking one of them, wiggling his pointer finger at it.

“You,” Janus growled stepping up to him.

He turned and tilted his head at Janus with a frown. “Um, me?” he asked, pointing to his chest, all sorts of innocent, but Janus could see a spot of hidden amusement in his eyes.

“Where is it?”

His eyebrows drew together, but it was an act. It was clearly an act! “Where is what?”

“The…” he glanced around them at the people surrounding them. “Thing you just took.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Pat said with a frown.

 “Oh, no,” Janus said. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fooling me twice is not an option.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Pat said. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bull. Shit.”

Just then, Remus jogged into the tent. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s him,” Janus said pointing. “He took it. He has it.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about,” Patton said. He looked over to Remus with a confused frown.

Remus looked at Janus. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Janus said. “It’s him. It has to be him. He’s the mask guy.”

Remus squinted at Pat. “He is?”

“Whoever you think I am, I’m not. I haven’t worn a mask all night. I just did the face paint,” he pointed to his cheeks.

 Remus raised his wrist and his timepiece lit up green. He looked at Janus.

“I lost sight of him for five seconds. He must have stashed it somewhere,” Janus said. He turned on Pat. “Where did you put it?”

“…Are you,” Pat asked, his eyes going back and forth between Janus and Remus, “… the police?”

“We are, actually,” Khalid said as she stepped into the tent. Remus must have called her. She inserted herself between Janus and Pat. “Agent Khalid,” she said, offering a hand with a smile. Pat looked at it in surprise and then smiled back hesitantly as he took it. “Apologizes, one of the big game prizes was stolen by someone matching your description. Would you mind coming down to security for questioning? Just to clear it up.”

 “Oh,” Patton said, hesitant. Janus expected him to refuse outright, but then he said. “Uh, sure.”

“Thank you very much, Mr…”

“Jonas,” Pat told her earnestly. “Do I need to be handcuffed?”

“No,” Khalid said. Janus frowned at her, but she ignored him. “It’s just a talk for now.” She gestured to the tent entrance. “Come with us.”

He did without argument, and Remus and Janus followed behind the both of them. Khalid did not lead them back to the base, but to a little spot that said “security” near the center of the event. Remy was already there waiting for them at a desk.

 “Remy, would you please take Mr. Jonas to go sit down?” she asked.

“Sure, boss,” Remy said, standing up. He led Pat away.

Khalid turned to Janus and Remus once they were out of earshot. “What is going on?”

“It’s the mask man,” Janus said, “the one from 1923, and my scanner said the time bomb was on the Millenia Bird outside the games entrance, but then it was gone the next second, and I saw him, and then he ran away.”

“So, does he have it on him?”

“No. I lost sight of him, and he must have stored it somewhere, but I know he took it.”

10264

“He’s the man from 1923?” she asked.

“Yes! Remus, that’s him, right? You recognize him.”

“Well,” Remus said thoughtfully. “He was in a mask, and it was dark in the room with the necklace. Other than that, I only really saw his back, and he was wearing pants. Mr. Jonas is wearing a dress, so I can’t really tell if their asses match.”

“Okay, but I was with him for hours. I swear it’s him, and I swear he took it,” Janus just about shouted.

“We’ll question him,” Khalid placated, “and Fred and Lena will keep looking in the meantime.”

 “He knows where it is,” Janus insisted. “I swear.”

“Okay,” Khalid said, before leaving to follow where Remy and Pat had gone. She stopped Janus with a hand on his shoulder. “I think Remus and I will do the interrogation.” He opened his mouth to argue. “You know the most about him, so observe from the sidelines and see if he makes any mistakes that indicate you’re right.”

“That’s just to placate me and you know it.”

“Observation’s over there,” she said pointing.

He got a thumbs up from Remus as he walked by, and Janus glared at his back before walking off to the indicated location.

 He watched as Remus and Khalid entered the room, and Remy left it. Remy joined him in the observation room after leaving and leaned against the wall.

Pat was sitting at a table and watched Remus and Khalid with that same rubbish placid confusion that he had before. “So,” Khalid said, “Mr. Jonas.”

“You can call me Nick,” Pat interrupted.

“Lia,” Khalid replied. He smiled at her happily. “So, are you enjoying your day?” she asked.

“I am!” he replied. “It’s a big day. You only get to see the turn of a millennia once in your life.”

“Ah, yes,” Khalid said. “Doing anything special for it?”

 “Um, not really,” he said. “Other than the party. I’m going to meet up with my roommates after dinner. Kevin doesn’t like this sort of thing, and Joe couldn’t come.”

“Your roommates,” Khalid said, considering him. “Do you live around here?”

“Uh huh,” Pat replied.

“Do you have any ID?”

“I do, want me to get it?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Pat unzipped one of the bubbles on his waist and handed her a chip. “Remus, would you mind going out and getting the ID scanner?” she asked, even though her timepiece would be able to read it.

“Ah, shit,” Remy said. “Props. What do those things even look like?”

 As Remy scrambled to find something that would pass for an ID reader so “Nick” didn’t get suspicious of Khalid using her timepiece, Janus watched the two alone in the room like a hawk.

“I see you’re wearing a dress inspired by the 2770s,” Khalid noted, as Remus came to stand next to him.

“Yeah!” Pat replied. “Joe made it for me. He’s really good at fashion design!”

“Can I see?” she asked.

With a happy smile, he reached over the table to let her get a look of the sleeves. Janus saw her subtly scan the fabric, probably to make sure it was from the 2990s and not actually from the 2770s. Considering she didn’t mention it, Janus assumed it checked out.

 Remy came back with some sort of device then and handed it to Remus who saluted and wandered back into the interrogation room. Khalid pretended to scan the ID in her hand. She handed it back to him without comment. “So, you said you live with your roommates: Joe and Kevin?” she asked.

“Yep!” he replied. “We’re practically like brothers.”

“Would you mind calling them?”

“Erm,” he titled his head like he was confused by the question. “Well, like I said, Joe is a bit busy, but I could definitely call Kevin.

“Here,” Khalid said, “use my phone.”

“I have my own,” he said with a frown.

“Humor me,” she requested.

“Uh, okay,” Pat agreed. He took the offered 2999 phone and dialed a number on it. Khalid reached over to put it on speaker.

“Hello?” a voice asked after a few seconds.

“Um, hey Kevin, it’s Nick.”

There was a sigh on the other end. “Hello Nick, is something wrong? Why are you calling me from someone else’s phone?”

“I’m fine, I think.” He looked up at Khalid. “Why am I calling him exactly?”

“Hello, I’m Officer Khalid,” Khalid said. “I just wanted to confirm that you are Nick Jonas’s roommate, and he does live in Manaus.”

“Yes, we live together with our other roommate,” the man replied flippantly. “Officer? Is something wrong?”

“I believe there was just a case of mistaken identity,” Khalid said.

“Bullshit there was!” Janus hissed, though she could not hear him.

“No need to worry,” Khalid continued.

“I’m good Kevin,” Pat said.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Kevin asked.

“Don’t be Paranoid, Kevin. I’ll see you Tonight for the New Years Celebration. You know I Live to Party.”

“I am hanging up now,” Kevin said.

“No! Comeback.” The line went dead. Pat handed the device back to Khalid.

She took it and smiled at him. “Give us just a couple of minutes,” she requested. He nodded easily, and she and Remus exited the interrogation room. “I… think we’re done here,” Khalid said.

“No, he’s lying,” Janus insisted, and got a dubious look in return. “I know he is! Remus!”

“The alibi is pretty solid…” Remus said, “and he doesn’t have the bomb on him.”

“Oh, come on,” Janus said. “You can’t say there is nothing fishy going on here.”

Khalid and Remus shared a look. “Janus,” Khalid said. “I respect your intuition. It is usually very good, but you have been a bit intense about the man from the 1920s, and I think that may be blinding you a bit...”

“I am not imagining this!” Janus said. “That’s him and he took it.”

“You only met him once while he was wearing a mask,” Khalid pointed out with a frown, “and you didn’t see him take the bomb, did you?”

“No, but he looked at me and I knew,” Janus argued. They both gave him a skeptical look. “Oh, come on!”

“You know that’s a little weak, Jan,” Remus said.

“Let me talk to him,” Janus requested. “Just give me five minutes to talk with him.”

Khalid raised one eyebrow. “Fine,” she agreed. “You have five minutes, but after that, you have to let it go. We can’t waste any more time.”

 Chapter 8

Pat looked up as Janus stepped into the interrogation room. “Hi,” he said with an innocent smile that could cut steal.

Janus didn’t say a word as he took a seat; he just watched him intently. He leaned slightly over the table and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “So, your name is Nick this time?” Janus asked.

“Nicholas Jonas,” he said. “Always has been.”

“Stop it,” Janus said.

“Stop what?”

“Cut the crap. I know.”

Pat leaned forward, mirroring Janus as he leaned closer, interlocking his fingers and laying his chin on top of his knuckles. “What did you say your name was again?” he asked, pleasantly.

 “Janus,” Janus replied.

“No, I’m Jonas,” he said, pointing to his chest.

“Not Jonas,” Janus spat. “Janus.”

“Um,” Pat said, eyes alight with amusement. The bastard. “Those are the same words.”

“No, they’re not. It’s Janus. J-A-N-U.-S.”

“Well, that’s confusing,” Pat said with a frown, but his nose was crinkling. “It’s close to my name. You should go by a nickname instead.”

“What?” Janus said. “No.”

Pat hummed. “How about Love Bug?”

“What! No!” Janus sputtered, almost flipping the table, as Pat winked at him.

“BB Good?”

“What does that even mean?!”

“Mandy.”

“No!”

“Okay, okay, how about Macy Misa.”

11594

Janus stared at him for a moment. “Fine. Whatever. What was I even talking about?”

“Hmm. I Believe we were talking about my name and how you think it’s not my name.”

“Right,” Janus said. “So, Nick. That was your roommate, Kevin on the phone, right? He seemed a bit unhappy with you. Any reason?”

“Nah, we’re Cool” said Pat. “That’s Just the Way We Roll.”

“Not because you’re messing up a mission right now?”

Pat’s eyes crinkled together. “A mission?” he parroted. “I’m not messing up a mission.”

“Oh, really?” Janus growled. “Because you’ve been captured by the TPI, and I know who you are and what you’ve been doing.”

“I have no idea what the TPI is,” he claimed.

“Yes, you do!” Janus said, standing up. “You obviously do! Or you wouldn’t be playing this game!”

 “Game?” Pat asked. “Macy I ask you what you’re talking about.”

“This is all just a game to you isn’t it!” Janus said, slamming his hands down on the table in front of them.

“Whoa,” Pat said, putting his hands up. “Calm down. Your face is getting all red. You must be Burnin’ Up.”

“I’m not sure what, but something about what you just said pisses me off.”

“And that is five minutes,” Khalid said, bursting into the room. He felt a tug on the back of his shirt and glared back at Remus who was putting his own body between Janus and Pat.

 “There was no way that was five minutes,” Janus growled.

“It was five minutes,” Khalid gritted out. “Remus, get him out of here.”

“Come on Jay,” Remus said, dragging him back towards the door.

“Remus, I swear to god.”

“Just chill, Janus,” Remus said, slamming the door closed behind them.

Janus shrugged him off. “You chill!” he snapped. “He’s playing you all for the fool.”

“Wow, Macy,” Remy drawled like an asshole. “I’ve never seen you so fired up.”

“Oh, my gosh. No one is going to believe me, and he’s going to get away with this.”

“You’re not really helping your case, babe,” Remy said.

 Remus grabbed him by the shoulders again. “Here, let’s go get some water.”

“I don’t want water,” he said even as he let Remus lead him to another room to get a glass of water.

“Look,” Remus said. “I know the Mask Guy thing really sucked, but you have to look at the facts.

“I am looking at the facts,” Janus insisted, “and the facts are, he’s fucking with me.”

“You don’t know what mask guy looks like,” Remus said. “You didn’t see Nick take the time bomb, he has an ID from this time period and a roommate in this time he called on the phone, and he legitimately seems to not know what any of us are talking about.”

 “Did you even listen to our conversation?” Janus asked. “He was screwing with me the entire time!”

“Janus…” Remus said.

“What?” Janus said, narrowing his eyes at Remus’s tone.

“I know you recently had a bad experience, but not everyone who flirts with you is doing it out of evil.”

Janus’s mouth hung open for a few seconds. “That’s what you got out of our conversation?”

“He called you Love Bug.”

Janus felt his face heat a bit at the reminder. “That’s not… I. I’m stealing your cat and then never speaking to you again.”

Remus laughed. “Ah,” he said. “Young lust.”

Janus elbowed him roughly in the side. “No!”

“Yes!” he crooned, pleased.

 “You are the worst partner,” Janus hissed. “When I’m right you owe me 10 loafs of your fresh bread.”

“Branching out from poptarts?” Remus asked.

Janus shook his head. He still wasn’t happy about the state of things, but he could feel himself cooling down a bit.

Khalid came out of the integration room after a few minutes, leaving Pat with Remy. “What was that?” she asked him.

“He got under my skin,” Janus said.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said. “For now, we’re letting him go and then going back to looking for the bomb like we’re meant to be.”

 “Fine,” Janus relented. “Just do me the favor of tagging him before he leaves. Just that. I beg of you.”

“Sure,” she agreed. “If it will calm you down.”

He nodded.

“Then, let’s go,” she said. When they met back up with Remy and Pat, he saw Khalid make the subtle gesture that would tag Pat like they would have for the Millennium Birds. Pat sent him what could pass as a sweet smile if Janus didn’t know better. Then, they walked him outside, leaving Remy on clean-up duty for the make-shift security office.

“So, I’m free to go?” Pat asked. His bemused expression edged far too much on the side of amused verses confused for Janus’s taste.

 “You are,” Khalid said. “Have fun at the festivities.”

His hands went flapping about. “Oh, you too!” he said. “Well, I guess you’re working, but you can have fun anyway, I’m sure.”

“We’ll do our best,” she said.

He gave her a blinding smile and reached forward to shake her hand enthusiastically. Janus rolled his eyes and looked up at the heavens. “It was nice to meet you!” he said, “and you too, Remus!” He turned to meet Janus’s eyes. “Macy Misa.”

Janus pressed his lips together.

Then, Pat turned and walked away.

“Well, now that we’re done with that,” Khalid said, turning to them. “We have only a few more hours before midnight and we really need to find the time bomb.

 “Oh,” Pat called. He’d paused a few yards away and turned back to them. “Thanks for letting me go so easily by the way,” he said, “and just in the Nick,” he winked, “of time too.” Janus narrowed his eyes at him. He smiled back. “Wrist check,” he said holding up his arm to show off the timepiece there. Khalid immediately looked down at her own wrist just to see that the one timepiece that could move through the time lock was no longer there. Pat made a gesture and disappeared.

All three of them stared at the spot he’d been for a long moment.

Janus was the one to speak first. “I want. The yellow. To be erased. From my record.”

 Chapter 9

Khalid immediately called everyone back to base.

“What happened?” asked Fred when he and Lena arrived. The tech people were already scrambling to get through to the TPI and get the time lock broken from the outside.

“Remus, Remy, and Khalid got played by Pat or whatever his name is. It certainly isn’t Nick. He was just setting up a joke,” Janus told him.

“Stop being smug,” Remy said. “It’s not a good look for you.”

“Pat is…?” Lena asked.

“They guy who fucked me over in 1923,” Janus said, “and is currently in the middle of fucking us all over because he stole the pin timepiece, and by extrapolation, probably the time bomb too.”

 “It will be fine,” said Khalid, “because what he doesn’t know is that timepiece has a tracker on it. Wherever and whenever he went, we’ll have his coordinates.”

“Speaking of,” one of the techies said. “It’s about to break. You might want to hold onto something.” Janus grabbed for a support beam next to him as the techie put a device on the ground in the center of the base. It blinked once, twice, and on the third blink the ground rumbled. There were sounds of panicked yelps outside. The fail safe for the time lock was not nearly as gentle as ending it correctly.

 Everything settled after a few moments, and they all straightened themselves out. Janus’s timepiece buzzed to indicate it was now functioning normally. Khalid had returned her usual timepiece to her wrist and now used it to open a display they could all see. “The pin timepiece’s closest time/space coordinates are…” she trailed off. “Right outside?” She frowned. “That’s strange. Why would he still be here?” She turned to march outside, following the coordinates to a trash can. She pulled the pin timepiece out and stared at it. “Fuck,” she said.

“What just happened?” Remy asked.

“He ticked us,” Janus said. “Again.”

 “He was stuck in the time lock,” Khalid said. “That’s why he got our attention. He couldn’t leave with the time bomb unless he had the pin timepiece or we broke the time lock. Apparently, he’s smart enough to know that if he took the pin timepiece away from here, we’d probably be able to find him, but he knew we’d break the lock as soon as the pin went missing. So, he must have stashed his own timepiece and went back in time within the time lock to grab it while we were distracted with the past version of him. As soon as the time lock went down, I imagine he left.”

 “Probably with the time bomb,” Janus said.

“Probably with the time bomb,” she confirmed.

And everyone knew the only thing worse than a time bomb was a time bomb you didn’t know the location of.

They evacuated after that, of course, and time locked the location once they were out just in case they were wrong, but midnight 3000 struck without thousands of people dying in Brazil, so the time bomb had defiantly been removed from then.

The, they initiated a time travel lockdown for all nonessentials, not willing to let random history students get caught up in an explosion if Pat decided to set the thing off somewhere.

 Then, it was a matter of figuring out everything they could about ‘Pat.’ First, they checked the tracker data as Khalid had tagged him with one of the Millennium Bird trackers. It wouldn’t work outside of the zone they’d set up that day, but the record would show his behavior during the time lock after he’d escaped with the pin timepiece.

There had been many little green dots on the map that day as Fred and Lena had actually been doing the job they’d set out to do, but most of those were running around in the south. There had been one green dot, however, that appeared suddenly in the game area about 10 minutes before the time bomb had been stolen.

 They could see Janus’s yellow dot almost brush his when he’d been chasing the earlier Pat down, around when he’d lost him briefly. The earlier Pat must have all but handed it off to his future self.

“He doubled back,” Remus commented when they watched the recorded data. It was a ballsy move and one that most people balked at, because there were inherent dangers any time you interacted with yourself from a different point in the timestream. It was ripe for paradoxes. It made everyone at the agency even more worried, because if he was willing to risk that, then what else was he willing to do?

 Because of the lockdown of all nonessential time travel, people working for the TPI were not allowed to go home for the night. They were allowed to pick up anyone or anything dependent on them for care like kids and pets if there wasn’t someone in their home time to care for them, but other than that, they were unfortunately all sleeping in their offices for the foreseeable future.

“You are the only tolerable one,” Janus told the cat who upon being let loose in the office by Remus, immediately jumped on Janus’s lap.

“I have literally done nothing to you,” Lena said, but then added. “Yet.”

 “You exist. In my space.”

“Can’t we just all get along?” asked Fred. “It’s only been an hour past when we’d usually go home. I went and grabbed milk and I have my giant thing of different flavored hot chocolate under my desk. We can try them all and vote on which is better.”

“Fuck your hot chocolate, Fred,” Janus growled, having been one of the three who had chipped in to buy it for him on his last birthday.

“Don’t go after Fred, jackass,” Lena spat.

“He’s just testy because his boyfriend escaped,” Remus contributed.

Janus’s lips turned down into a frown and he cupped Diesel Fuel’s face. “We agree we’re eating him first, right?” he asked her.

 She purred her agreement.

“I’d have it no other way,” Remus replied.

“There is plenty of food,” Fred said, sounding stressed. “In fact, I was thinking we should all chip in on ordering take-out soon. “What does everyone like on pizza?”

“This is not a slumber party, Fred,” Janus pointed out.

“Shut it,” Lena snapped and turned to Fred. “I’m fine with almost everything, except…”

“Bananas and tuna salad!” Remus interrupted.

“…whatever Remus is about to say.”

Janus rolled his eyes as that started a debate about whether or not fruit and/or fish belonged on pizza. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, which was when there was a knock on the door.

 He froze when he heard the familiar voice. “Hello, hello,” said Emile, cheerfully. Janus looked up to see Emile standing at the open office door. Shit. Apparently, the man had decided to give up on sending lackeys to come fetch him and had decided to track him down himself when Janus couldn’t even escape without breaking a time lockdown. They met eyes briefly and Janus could see irritation if not anger in his eyes despite his otherwise cheerful expression and tone.

“Janus,” he said when he’d gotten their attention. “I’d like to have dinner with you.” The word choice told Janus everything he needed to know. Usually Emile was careful with how he said things to make sure people knew they had a choice. Typically he’d say something like, “I was wondering if you’d have time to have dinner with me tonight,” or “I’m about to go get food, would you like to come?” Today, there was no choice in the statement.

 Janus still dried to dodge anyway. “Uh,” he said. “We were actually about to order pizza.”

“Go ahead,” said Fred kindly. Janus wanted to strangle him. “We can order pizza with olives if you’re not here.”

“I…” said Janus. “Guess, I’ll be going with you.”

“Great!” Emile said. “Let’s go.”

“Oh,” Janus said. “Uh, now?”

“Now,” Emile said a bit of uncharacteristic steel to his tone.

#study break stories #not writing

[funky-boat-zone]

“stars”, but for all the wrong reasons

(based on the salty’s lighthouse ‘verse, with the pov character being adapted from the diesel tug character that never made it into tugs. cw for discussions of kidnapping, missing people (boats?), and implied character death.)

“Do you need any help?” Ten Cents calls from across the harbor. You shake your wheelhouse, since you’re more than capable of pulling your barges by yourself.

It’s strange, being the very first diesel tug in Snugboat Harbor. It’s even stranger that most of the tugs were so quick to accept you as not only their coworker, but their friend; with the way they were acting, it’s as if they’ve known you for years rather than just having met you a few days ago.

-

“Oh— heads up, the sun’s going down and the fog will roll in soon! Do you want to sleep here for the night?” He offers once you’ve finished your jobs for the day. That.. doesn’t sound so bad, truthfully. It’s better than getting lost while trying to navigate a harbor you know nothing about or bothering one of the tugs to try guiding you home, that’s for sure.

“You barely know him, he’s only worked here for a day, and you’re letting him stay here overnight?!” Zorran protests.

Sunshine rolls her eyes. “Well, why not? It’s better than letting him navigate the fog by himself, at least!”

Zorran casts a furious glance your way, but the sight of his unfortunately-named fleet returning to port for the evening stops him from saying anything else.

Zug looks at the three of you nervously, sensing that he’s floated in at a bad time. “Zorran, c’mon! Captain Zero’s waiting.”

ZB adds, “Yeah, leave ‘em alone!”

Zorran looks around, quickly realizing that no one in the vicinity is on his side. “Fine. But he’s not staying at our dock.”

-

You enter the Star Fleet’s dock, quickly recognizing your next-dock neighbors from earlier. Thankfully, there’s no sign of Zorran.

The one with the raspy voice is the first to speak up. “Don’t listen to Zorran, he’s spouting a load of bilge—“

“Zak! Remember what Captain said about language!” ZB admonishes him.

“Hey, I’m just saying that what he’s saying is a load of bilgewater, I’m not actually calling anyone that! Anyway, he thinks that just because of what happened to Otis—“ A set of pointed looks from the already-docked members of the Star Fleet immediately gives Zak the hint to shut up. He looks away, guilty. “It’s, uh— never mind.”

-

Despite their efforts to just make friendly conversation with you, it seems that the mere mention of “Otis” really put a damper on the Star Fleet’s mood. They’re talking about absolutely everything except Otis, and at one point you catch Ten Cents frantically glancing between you and the rest of his fleet to make sure you’re invested in what they’re saying.

“Look at that, the moon’s already up.” Hercules remarks. “Well, better get some shut-eye now. We’ve got work tomorrow—“ he gives you a quick look, “And you should probably be up early if you want to get home before work starts.”

“C’mon, can’t we stay up a little later?” Ten Cents complains.

“Yeah, I’m not even tired yet!” Sunshine adds.

“We have to wake up early tomorrow.” Warrior says with barely-restrained frustration, which, judging by the look of fear on the switchers’ faces and how quickly they close their eyes, you can only assume is code for “shut up, drop the subject, and go to sleep now”.

You stay awake anyway, wondering what’s going on with this fleet.

-

“Hey, you awake?” You feel ready to jump out of your hull when Ten Cents alerts you to the fact that he wasn’t asleep… and probably hadn’t been for hours.

“Y-Yeah, can’t sleep. Got a big day coming up tomorrow.” You laugh nervously, trying to keep your voice down so as not to wake up the rest of the fleet.

“Me either.” Ten Cents sighs.

“What are you guys doing awake?” Sunshine asks, and Ten Cents jolts from where he’s docked.

“Sunshine, this is a private conversation! Now go back to sleep!”

“We were actually just talking about how we can’t sle— Oh.” From the irritated look he’s giving you, you’ve dashed his hopes of keeping Sunshine out of this.

“Doesn’t sound like anything worth keeping private, then.” She huffs. “I mean, I can’t sleep either.”

“Well, at least we have that much in common.” You joke. A glance toward the Zero Fleet’s (you still can’t believe they willingly call themselves “Zeroes”) dock reveals that Zorran made it home after all, and he’s sleeping next to the rest of his fleet. “So.. What’d I do to make Zorran so mad at me?”

Ten Cents sighs again. “It’s nothing that you did, he’s just touchy about new boats in the harbor since..” He looks to Sunshine. “Should I tell him?”

Sunshine looks uncomfortable. “I-I mean, I think Captain wouldn’t want us just blabbing this to any boat who asks— no offense.”

“None taken.” You smile nervously.

She continues, “But.. I think he should know.” She turns her wheelhouse back to you. “It’s not okay for him to treat you like that, I’m gonna tell Zero about how he’s been so rude to you as soon he gets here tomorrow, but I think it’s important that you know why.”

“Alright.” Ten Cents hesitates for a moment before asking. “You’ve already heard of Otis, right?”

“… Yes.” You respond.

-

Ten Cents begins slowly, hesitantly. “About.. I wanna say about five years ago, two tugs came into Snugboat Harbor and told Captain they were famous movie producers. If you think that sounds weird, well.. it is, but nobody thought that at the time. Even Captain was bought their story.

“Anyway— they gave her a long list of movies they’d produced and said they wanted an old boat to star in their movie. And I don’t mean ‘old’ as in ‘grown up’, I mean ‘old’ as in.. well, old. They didn’t say much about the movie beyond that, but Captain didn’t think anything was off and gave them the go-ahead to look around for potential actors.

“Otis was an old tug who’d been with our fleet for.. I actually don’t know, but he was the oldest boat in the harbor. Old enough to still have paddles instead of just a propeller. I remember him being kind of fickle and cranky sometimes, but the rest of the time he was nice enough, a lot of the older tugs were good friends with him. Of course, even if he was the biggest jerk in the harbor, he still wouldn’t have deserved what happened to him.

“At the time, his engine was shot, there was no way around it. I asked him to go to dry dock and get himself repaired, but.. He kept saying there was too much work to do, he’d be fine if he put it off for a while.”

Sunshine chimes in with her side of the story. “Then Captain asked me to go get him so he could meet those producers. So I did, ‘cause I didn’t know anything was wrong at the time and it was Captain’s orders.” She looks saddened. “In hindsight, I-I wish I’d asked her first. Maybe none of this would’ve happened if I didn’t go to find him.” Shuddering, she adds. “I bumped into Zorran on the way, and he said he wanted to show off for them, maybe even get a movie of his own. He complained all day the next day that Captain Zero didn’t let him go, but..”

Ten Cents picks up where his sister left off. “And then Otis blew out his engine. Smoke and soot everywhere, he wasn’t going anywhere unless he got it replaced. Sunshine and I brought him over anyway, since it was Captain’s orders. The movie producers came over, started spewing bilgewa— sorry, a bunch of nonsense about how he was perfect for the job and how they were gonna make him a star. He didn’t want the time off at first, but Captain said he could go, and after the movie was done, he could come back to work with the rest of us.”

“Never mind that they never told us how long he’d be gone.” Sunshine huffs, though there’s genuine fury in her voice.

“Sunshine and I were gonna take him to dry dock for a new engine, but the producers said it’d be fine, that’d be ‘part of the expenses they’d cover’ or something like that. It convinced Captain, so we let them take Otis, got back to work, a-and just waited for them to come back with him.” His voice suddenly breaks. “I should’ve stopped them! I should’ve at least stayed long enough to get him into dry dock, maybe then I would’ve realized something was wrong and told him not to—“

“Shh, we can’t wake up the rest of the fleet!” Sunshine whispers to him, trying to distract him so he doesn’t start crying. The last thing any of you want is to make a scene, especially at this time of night.

He quiets down, though few stray tears roll down his cheeks and his voice still wavers. “W-We waited about six months, since that’s— that’s how long these movies take, right? But we were having a bit of a hard time with work without Otis around, so Captain wanted to call them and try to ask if he could come home for a while.. and that was when we all realized at once that those ‘producers’ didn’t leave her with any way to contact them if we needed him back.

“Captain talks to Captain Zero about it, and the next thing we know, Zero’s calling the Coast Guard a-and Cappy’s rounding us up and asking us all these questions. It turns out that they didn’t even have Captain fill out any paperwork or tell her how long they’d be keeping him, and if they were a real set of producers they’d have at least a few members of a human crew to do all the negotiation stuff. Of course, she expected that for people making movies about boats. She didn’t know what the policy was for boats filming other boats, I don’t think— Nobody did.

“Cappy says he and the Coast Guard were gonna set out and try looking for Otis, but said there wasn’t a lot of hope by this point. It’d been long enough that they could’ve been anywhere by now, and without anyone remembering what the producers’ flags or emblems looked like, they couldn’t even call up their company to ask if they’d taken an old paddle tug in the recent months. I remember he said that the Coast Guard usually only looks for a boat for the first few months; after a certain point, he said, it’s time to start looking for.. parts of the boat, if you catch my drift, just to confirm that they’re actually gone.

“Five years passed, and apparently the case went cold after about one. Of course, Captain tried getting Port Authority involved in that time, and they said they’d look into it, but.. they couldn’t do much, for the same reason the Coast Guard couldn’t. She never told us or anything, but Hercules took me and Sunshine aside and said he thinks they gave up. If Otis is still out there one way or another, he’s probably unrecognizable by now.” Ten Cents shuddered.

“Word got around the harbor real fast in that time, and all the captains took their boats aside and told them to be on the look out for any suspicious vessels. Our fleet’s story became something of a cautionary tale, so I guess in a way, we got our own fifteen minutes of fame..” He chuckles bitterly through his tears before catching himself. “Yeah, I know it’s not funny.”

Sunshine looks close to crying herself. “Captain said that those producers probably took Otis for scrap, since they saw he was old and.. I hate to say it, but Zero told us that old, worn-out, broken-down boats are easy pickings for scrap dealers.”

“What’s this have to do with Zorran?” Ten Cents asks rhetorically. “Well, he took ‘suspicious vessels’ to mean ‘any new boats in the harbor’. And he’s gonna have my hull if he founds out I said this, but.. I think he’s scared. The only reason he didn’t go with the producers is because Zero wouldn’t let him. If he hadn’t run the idea by his captain first, there’d be two boats in whatever scrapyard they took Otis to. Of course, I know you’re not here to scrap anyone, and most of us kind of calmed down once we realized that what happened to Otis probably won’t happen again, not without someone catching them.” He suppresses a sob. “I just hate that it took something like this for it to happen.”

Figuring that’s the end of his story, you close your eyes and bid the switchers goodnight, trying to tune out the sound of Ten Cents’ crying.

None of you sleep well for the rest of the night.

#saltys lighthouse #kidnapping tw #character death tw #ask to tag #fic tag #sad boats