#that makes it so that them having a conversation in my head feels utterly alien

[eldritch-spouse]

Relax, I know he's big and the phalluses are uh, intimidating but the subject is extremely docile. Who knew aliens would be so–why is he out of containment?

You're frozen. Catatonic.

You remember watching videos of animals in the wild becoming completely unresponsive when approached by predators, how the only thing you could see were their eyes, wide and frantic, and their chests heaving as they seemed to be praying to survive.

Those videos were so funny, right? Well, you're not laughing now...

The lifeform, the alien, the creature you had yet to see, that they'd been easing you into the idea of meeting so that it wouldn't be a colossal shock- Just effortlessly tore down the pressurized, extremely high-tech door to its cell. You didn't even know those doors could come flying off like that.

In seconds, mere stunned moments, the entity you can't even call a monster is staring you down. He's giant, truly, but gaunt like a beanstalk, all flowing limbs and unearthly elegance. You can't count the tentacles that comprise his lower body, you can't focus on the fins of his extremely human arms, the bizarre depressions on his chest area, and the only reason you know him as male is because of the mention of phalluses.

Curiously, he doesn't look hostile.

But he's very much focused on you, and that's not ideal.

It's as if he sensed you through the cell, somehow, and that caught his attention.

A large, water-filled glass dome envelops his head, but you can still very much sense those glazed eyes studying you from top to bottom. Like any human would, he procures eye contact before attempting to communicate.

But unfortunately, he doesn't converse in a language you can gouge.

A myriad of croons envelop the room, these soft tingling sounds that feel just barely within reach of your eardrums. The... Appendage, sprouting from the top of his head sways, an assortment of warm hues gently fading in and out.

Pink. Orange. Pink. Maroon. Pink. Shock pink. White. Pink blinking.

What is this, Simon Says?

He leans down, and trembling, you glance at the intern beside you in a desperate plea for help.

They look utterly fascinated by the interaction. Panicked, but amazed. You have no idea whether or not that's good for you.

Finally, they seem to come to their senses and realize that you are probably seconds away from pissing yourself if nothing is done.

" Okay. Okay- Listen to me. " They start murmuring, an audible gulp follows. Your eyes twitch to the worker, but you don't dare stare at them long enough to lose track of the literal alien.

" Like I said, he's very docile. There's no reason for him to attack you right now. In fact he's... Nevermind. "

What the fuck do they mean nevermind?!

" I need you to not move too suddenly, and don't scream, okay? "

You nod quietly, looking at the still pink-flashing light above their head. He dangles it in front of his face, as close to the glass as he can, as if to make sure you're getting the message. You hope pink signifies friendliness.

" What- What do I do now? " You whisper.

The intern looks at you like they themself aren't quite sure.

" U- Uhm... Let- Let me contact my- "

Out of nowhere, what you can only call a bark of noise rings out through the room.

This extremely loud sound that immediately frightens you, sharp and rough like a branch cracking but amplified a thousand times. Even now, it feels like it's still echoing within your eardrums.

Did he do that? Did something in the building just break?!

You shrieked, because of course you did, eyes nearly bulging out your skull when you realize the employee told you specifically not to scream.

They're looking at you with a tight-lipped grimace, finger poised over what you presume is a contact on their phone.

There isn't even time for you to say your last words, some kind of message for your family or even just a plea for help.

The alien reacts to your agitated noise quickly, but not at all in the way you'd expect. Instead of perhaps lunging to crack your neck like a twig or slashing your face off, the entity grabs you with both arms by the chest, lifts you into the air, and slides inside the cell it was previously contained in. The clutch is what prevented you from screaming again.

Once again, you channel the wisdom of prey animals in nature documentaries by staying absolutely stock still, and allowing the foreign lifeform to do whatever it wants. He keeps flashing colors at you in patterns you don't recognize, but involve a lot of pink tones. Purple now. Long and pudgy looking digits start poking at your outfit here and there, and you spot something rippling under the mass of his front, along that large opening you had never given much thought to until now.

It looks like something's bursting out of him...

Oh God, oh fuck what is that-

You blink, open-mouthed, at what has to be a dick. Some kind of wriggling, prehensile appendage tipped with a much too human-looking phallus. It flattens against your midsection, and you shudder in confusion. Confusion that soon grows into barely contained hysteria as more bizarre and unique extremities keep slithering out of his insides- What is he, made of cocks?

" S- Some help here?! " You finally manage to nearly sob out.

The worker is frantically trying to appease someone on the other end of their phone, picking at their collar while they watch you get vaguely harassed by an excited extraterrestrial.

" No, no sir he's never done that before- I-... No, I didn't- Sir, he tore the whole door off I can't just lock- " Their eyes widen as more hues of purple keep being flashed your way, like something horrendous is about to happen. " Get- Please get here quickly, I'm begging you! "

By the time they hurriedly mash the end call button and try to stuff their phone into a tight uniform, the alien already gently pried most of your shirt off, cooing some kind of melody that fails to lull you into calmness, which is understandable when a variety of reproductive organs are hovering far too close to your bare skin. Some of them are so... Strange. There's no stopping the thoughts of how they might be used.

Footsteps sound, and as soon as the worker tries to get within grabbing range of you, an already ballsy move in your eyes, the subject makes another powerful sound, the depressions in his chest vibrating while you groan in pain.

The filament in the alien's head swells significantly, blasting a color that your brain simply fails to comprehend, seeing it as a flash of pure black that momentarily blinds you before you have the wisdom to look away, trembling in his grasp.

The employee makes some kind of pained noise, you can hear the squeaking of their shoes as they run out the room and...

Leave you to your own devices.

Lord help you.

#Tetrils oc #tce rp ask

[ramshacklerumble]

Fun fact: Cookie cutter sharks will eat their own teeth for the nutrients

So now imagine Gia punching Finn (for some reason or other) so hard he loses a tooth, but then he just picks it up, stares at it, then pops it in his mouth

i can't quite think of a reason why gia would punch him-- it's usually saved for people who strike first or are giving their close friends a particularly rough time-- but the look on gia's face...

i'm not quite sure how to describe it, because it looks like their usual non-expression, but there's a splash of 'i don't know what i was expecting actually.'

and they'd walk off because really what else is there to do after seeing that.

(props to finn tho if he still managed to stand after getting a full on punch from gia, they're kinda known for their one shot k.o)

#gar speaks #i have many...many asks to get through #i wanted to doodle for replies but after...what a month? i had to resign to the fact that yeah that's not happening #so text only it is sorry #idk what it is about finn but he's got a similar 'weird little quiet kid' vibe gia has #that makes it so that them having a conversation in my head feels utterly alien #i feel like they'd just stare at each other #gia yugo #finn clearcove

[authortobenamedlater]

Oh, and even tho I know nothing about b5, Half baked B5Halo has me INTRIGUED.

(Hey @infinityactual you might find this interesting re: our conversation this morning.)

Send me WIP asks.

So. This got LONG. Sorry not sorry.

This not-story has the working title “For Such a Time As This” owing to a scene in my head where Delenn says “Perhaps the universe has brought us all together for such a time as this.”Appropriating Bible verses for the Minbari, oh yeah.

Right now this document is just a collection of ideas about how these universes might interact, and a few scenes/ideas. Such as:

- Infinity’s communications officer falls and breaks her nose when they crash out of slipspace. Lasky is shoving gauze at her when Babylon 5 makes contact. He shows up on the station with blood all over his uniform and his first conversation with Sheridan is something like “Do you have laundry around here? Also, what year is it?”

-Garibaldi and Palmer have to chase Halsey around the station. They bond over a shared love for Loony Toons. Palmer is a Roadrunner and Coyote girl, change my mind.

- Franklin is utterly furious when he finds out about the Spartan program. And that’s just the IVs. He doesn’t even know about the IIs.

- Lasky is insanely envious that B5’s computer can turn the attitude OFF and that cryo is not widely used in their world.

- Ivanova and Palmer become besties and give their respective captains a few headaches.

- Garibaldi wants to keep the Spartans because WOW are they useful for security.

- Various Halo characters grappling with the “who are you/what do you want” questions (I have ideas about this I will save for another post).

- What a fight with the Shadows might look like with Infinity in the mix. Seeing as Infinity is more powerful than anything in the B5 world. Sheridan and Lasky would make a fascinating team, too.

- How the Shadows would end up using Halsey, because even she couldn’t outwit them, and the trouble she could make in another universe.

- Lasky muses at some point how Babylon 5 gives him hope that one day humans and aliens can all work together peacefully; maybe the UEG should give something like this a shot. Palmer tells him, “You know they’d want you to run it” and Lasky is like F—- NO.

Now, all my reasons for why this epic will never make it out of my head:

Altering the B5 storyline (namely having to scrap the tensions with Earth for simplicity’s sake) would feel to me like sacking the Jerusalem temple.

I’d need to know even MORE about B5 lore than I already do, not like I’d have a problem with that research project, and a whole lot more about Halo than I do. On that last point, I am married to a walking Halopedia who would gladly tell me everything and then some.

There’s also the matter of having to make several OCs for the Halo side. Aside from Lasky, Palmer, and Roland, we don’t meet many of the Infinity crew. Does Lasky even have a first officer? I mean, he obviously does, but does he ever talk to this person? We got through all of Spartan Ops and Halo 5 with nary an XO in sight.

Finally, silly as this may sound, I’m no Straczynski and don’t trust myself with his characters and universe. I have no problem taking a sledgehammer to Halo because it’s great and fun and sometimes just mind-bogglingly stupid. But B5 is so brilliant I can’t bring myself to touch it. I would be scared of incurring the wrath of my fellow fans and also probably feel like I had to write JMS a letter of apology.

—

I WAS going to post a snippet from this mess of an AU but I’ll put it in a reblog later to keep this post from getting even longer.

#halo #Babylon 5 #fanfiction #fanfic wip #wip asks #jms #j michael straczynski #John Sheridan #Thomas lasky #Michael garibaldi #Sarah palmer #susan ivanova #stephen franklin #Catherine Halsey

[theredheadednightmare]

im exhausted.

Constantly, utterly exhausted. I can't put this anywhere else other than here. I've not used this account in two years. But I've got no idea where else to post. I feel like I'm unhappy about 75 percent of the time. My job doesn't feel like it has purpose and I don't even feel like I'm doing it for anything anymore. I don't do much I like, at all. I spend my weekends cleaning, or looking after the animals, or going to my partner's gigs, or trying to find time to spend with us together.

I don't regret where I am in life from the last year. I feel like I had pretty much no choice moving, it was either that or constant panic attacks. But since my two best friends for pregnant, I feel so isolated here. I miss Cardiff. I hate it here. I love this house but it feels like his. I feel constant imposter syndrome in this life and the last time I felt like an individual was so many months ago I can't even count. Everyone's too busy for each other all the time. My partner's always working, and we don't even have the same sleep schedule. And when we are up, he can't do the things he loves because I hate it like watching sport and listening to old music, and I can't do what I like because he hates everything I love. My music, the shows I love, any games I've liked, the food I like, a lot of the stuff I loved doing was based in Cardiff and I feel like we always go to places he knows, I feel like an alien here. Its always his car we take, his food we eat, his places we know. I feel totally lost and that would be balanced out if I could see any of my friends. But ones always at the gym or working a million miles away, two are always away and two are pregnant. And all of them are over 40 minutes away. Everyone has their own life. And I feel like I'm drowning in mine.

I've developed this weird obsession with cleaning the house. Like everything has to be perfect because I can't control anything else. Like everything will feel more mine if I clean and change it.

Even my rabbits feel different. Being in a different room to them breaks my heart and every time I see them I feel guiltier and guiltier about Chester being alive with her head tilt and splayed leg and Robun not moving much because of it. Going to the radio station feels like a chore, my finances are in the bin and yet I'm still constantly trying to spend money on other people to make them happy. I just don't feel right in my own life. I don't even know how to explain it to anyone I've had so many conversations with my partner and it's like I can't even explain it. I adore him so much but it's like we are the same and get polar opposites. I feel on the same page as him but a totally different book. All my friends say I look tired. I have nobody who I can actually talk to anymore.

He's trying so hard. And I feel so rubbish because I know that. I just can't shake this imposter syndrome feeling. That maybe I'm just not letting myself be happy, or maybe something is wrong, or maybe it'll take time. I have always detested change. I know that. But this feels so weird.

I've always been stuck on the past I know that. And I definitely feel like at least a part of me still lives there. But I didn't feel like that last year. I don't know when I started feeling like this again. I feel disposable. I feel like a housewife, and nothing else. Like somehow in the last year I've aged 10 years and suddenly everyone else has too. Maybe it's something to do with coming out of uni and feeling a lack of purpose again.

Maybe it's that I miss cycling down the taff trail twice a day and seeing the sun gleam off the river, talking to people every night, curling up with my housemate on his bed in fits of laughter, drinking with people and genuinely having a laugh during it, waking up and feeling like my life was mine.

I don't miss being on my own, not by any means. I mean I spent like 6 of those months talking to my other half every night anyway, but I do miss feeling like I had control over my life. I miss feeling at home in a place, in people. I'm living a life that doesn't quite feel right. Like there's so much perfect but so much feels weird. I constantly feel out of sorts. Like I'm in a dream and just about to wake up

I'm always looking for more to do, more to buy, or change, or fix, and hoping that I find the bit that makes a clock and suddenly I just feel like me again.

But I haven't felt like me for a long while now. I'm angry, and snappy, and tired, and I feel like I'm making everything. Sometimes I want to close my eyes and wake up in that bed again, turn to my left and see the rabbits, turn to my right and see the sun rising. And not have to worry about waking anyone up, and just being able to throw the curtains open at 6am and sit by my window with a book and play my music, or even just sit in bed and watch tv.

The days feel like they're flying and like they're so slow. I feel like I'm waiting for something and I don't know what.

Maybe I felt like this before I went to uni, maybe this was my perpetual state but I didn't realise until it felt better. Maybe it's my job, maybe it's my home. I don't know.

I don't feel like I'm getting what I need. I'm happy, but I'm not content. I feel like I'm half a person right now. Like I found all this wonderful stuff about me and the people I love and all this energy and it's disappeared. Its all gone now.

Its exhausting going places and being the girl who works a 9-5 when your partner is some crazy good musician. Everyone wants to chat to him and find out what he plays or what he does or tell him how great it is being so creative. And then there's me. Just, in an office job. The lackey, the groupie. That's how it feels. Its why I don't go to his gigs as much. I love watching him play, but I hate feeling like an NPC in my own life. Like the free time I have is spent as a sidekick. My head is so full of stuff. Just all the time. And I can never say any of it. Its so hard to say any of this and not sound like I'm complaining.

I should be happy with all this, surely. Surely I should, I've come so far. I've done so much and I got out of hell. Even my fucking ex said I sound like I've got a good life. So why do I feel like I'm screaming inside my own head all the time like there's something missing.

Katie says I'll get bored. She says she called it about a year ago. She's happy I'm happy with my life but she's said it's not enough for the girl she knows of me.

I'm so fucking scared she's right. I'm so afraid to spend my life like my mum did. Constantly from job to job, person to person never settling down and being content.

Its not like I'm going round painting a smile on or anything. But I feel like I'm about 65% of me, all the time. Like I've had to shut down bits of me.

I don't know what'll happen. Or if in a couple of years I'll think I was stupid for thinking all this.

I just want to be as happy and content as I am grateful.

I feel like I miss people that don't exist anymore. A home that doesn't exist anymore. And a life that doesnt. And maybe even a version of me that doesn't exist anymore. I don't like myself right now. For the first time in a long time.

I'm tired.

[c-optimistic]

Idk if you’re taking requests but I can’t stop imagining Lena casually mentioning something gay (e.g. a past relationship or saying she fancies a female colleague etc) and Kara being so shocked because she had no idea and omg Lena was gay all along?! Lena just can’t believe it... “You didn’t know I’m a lesbian?!!!” It’s so too funny to me and I feel like you’d write it brilliantly.

If there was anything Kara did really well, it was getting herself in very sticky situations. 

For example, there were all the times she’d nearly given away her secret. There was the time, when she was sixteen, that Eliza specifically told her not to touch the desserts, and yet she’d been found several hours later with chocolate at the corner of her lips, all excuses about alien metabolism and needing calories immediately going ignored. 

There were the several instances she’d been trapped by the villain of the week, the odd conversations with Cat Grant (which felt very much like being trapped in a verbal snare), and one memorable instance of getting stuck in an elevator with her incredibly mean neighbor. 

But none of those (some literally) sticky situations compared to the romantic mess she’d gotten herself into. 

Namely, developing feelings for someone who wouldn’t be able to return them.

(Now, look. Kara was very good at falling for people. She fell in love with possibility, with the concept of love itself. She’d connect with someone, and she’d give it her all—desperate to feel some of that love mirrored back at her.

But with Lena, well. It was different. She didn’t love consciously, it just was. She didn’t expect any sort of reciprocation, she was just happy to let it be. 

Love, in Kara’s experience, was an all consuming fire—raging and powerful, capable of turning her to ash. But with Lena it was more like an ever-present flame, burning brightly and hotly in her chest, keeping her warm and yet posing no danger to life or limb.)

Sticky situations, Kara thought to herself as Lena gestured with her hands, lost in recounting a story about some research mishap that had occurred earlier that day. 

(And, like every time Lena allowed her walls to briefly come down, Kara was utterly distracted by just how much she loved this woman.)

“—I actually can’t believe I went out with her. Three whole dates! With a woman who absolutely doesn’t take lab safety seriously,” Lena finished, shaking her head in what seemed to be incredulity at her dating decisions. 

Kara, however, was no longer focused on the little flame in her chest or the story that had brought a smile to Lena’s lips. 

“Dated women?” she said, her voice sounding strained to her own ears. One of Lena’s eyebrows began to rise slowly, her smile shifting into what could only be described as a smug grin. 

“Yes, women,” she said, apparently very amused by Kara’s singular focus on one part of her story. “Is there a problem?”

“You’ve dated women.”

“Yes, love, I have.”

“More than one woman?”

“Yes. Not at the same time, though,” she tacked on helpfully, looking like she was about to laugh when Kara could do nothing but choke a bit on air. 

“You were in a relationship with women? Like...romantically?” 

Lena’s brows furrowed, as if she was unsure where Kara’s confusion was coming from. “I’m a lesbian, Kara,” she said matter-of-factly, letting out a laugh when Kara’s mouth just fell open a bit in response. “You know, this actually makes me feel better. All this time, I figured you ignored my flirting to let me down easy. But you ignoring my flirting because you didn’t know it was flirting is much better for my ego.” 

Kara’s brain short-circuited. The little flame in her chest burned as hotly as ever, warming her from her head to the tips of her toes. It felt a little like cocooning in a blanket: safe. 

Then she registered what Lena had actually said.

“Wait. You’ve been flirting with me?”

#supercorp #fanfic #hope this is what you were looking for anon! #thanks so much for the prompt it made me laugh

[saurexhas]

Love is Blind - Part 4

Time for couple drama! Nightmare doesn’t want anything to hurt his precious little moon, but how does said moon feel about the special treatment?

PS: Make sure you go to the end to find a special surprise that I’ll be doing for this series!

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

Adjusting to blindness is never something you thought that you’d have to do, but it was the unfortunate reality you found yourself in. There certainly wasn’t a manual to it either, but you were managing thanks to everyone’s help. There were several days first spent on bedrest while you recovered from the initial incident, and it gave you a chance to come to terms with your fate and what your actions had brought. You still didn’t regret them though, because your sight was truly a small price to pay for Nightmare’s life.

That didn’t mean that the adjustment period was easy, and you probably would’ve succumbed to despair more than once if Nightmare hadn’t been by your bedside almost the entire time. Your bedroom was quickly turned into his temporary office, allowing him to continue his work and further his plans while offering you the reassuring touch of a tentacle that always lingered on your arm as proof of his presence.

When your partner was finally comfortable with the idea of you leaving your bed, it was… well, difficult would be putting it mildly. You never once realized just how much you relied on sight for almost everything. It took a day and a bit of you simply wandering around your room to not bump into everything, and even longer to actually be able to navigate by touch. Thankfully, nobody in the castle really cared about your appearance, so you weren’t judged by what clothes you were able to find and put on by yourself.

Your room was about the only place where you could safely be allowed to wander on your own at first. The castle was a confusing labyrinth of pathways and corridors that were already difficult to navigate. Attempts to explore the castle in the past had led to you almost getting lost in some abandoned part of the castle, so there was no way you were even going to try such now. But even the areas that were once familiar to you were now alien as you relied on sound and touch to guide you instead of the sense you so heavily relied on.

For the first while, Nightmare personally escorted you on any walks outside of your room. This was mostly to and from meals, a time where you could practically feel everyone’s eyes on the two of you. Your seat had also been moved towards the head of the table, just to the right of Nightmare. The dark god claimed that it was so that he could assist you should you need help with your meals. Killer was quick to point out how any of them could help you though, teasing that the real reason was simply to stick next to you like “an overprotective boyfriend”. According to Cross, the look on Nightmare’s face had been one of pure murder… even if everyone at the table knew that the idiot was right.

One thing that Killer also nailed was how protective your boyfriend suddenly was. Gone were the days of you having free reign over the castle. Instead, in the instances where he couldn’t personally escort you, one of the others was chosen to be your guide instead. Even as you grew more comfortable heading to the areas you often frequented, the rule didn’t let up. He’d also put a stop to any training or sparring plans you might’ve had, insisting that it was too dangerous to continue when you couldn’t see an attack coming.

While you understood that he did it out of love, that didn’t change how frustrating it was. You already couldn’t read, play cards, or even really cook, the last of the three likely being on the dark god’s ban list had there not been enough obvious difficulty to deter you. Sparring with the guys, while rough, was one of the only hobbies you had left, and you trusted that none of them would seriously hurt you. But Nightmare refused to listen to any arguments you put forward, and none of the others would entertain the idea for fear of their lord’s wrath.

So on top of learning to navigate a world of utter darkness, adapting daily chores to your new limitations, and being treated like you were fragile, you were utterly bored. And as days turned to weeks, your frustrations grew. You were used to everyone simply treating you as one of the crew, albeit one that Nightmare favoured. When you first arrived here, you had to fight for your right to remain and not be turned into dinner. The others had respected you for the most part, and if you wanted to engage in any of their usual antics, they didn’t hesitate to include you. Now though, everyone seemed intent on treating you as if you were some doll, one to be sat on a shelf and never touched. Everyone was suddenly afraid of hurting you, and you were no longer one of the crew. You were something else, above the others now that your relationship with the god of negativity had gotten out. Pyre had even stated that if Nightmare was their king, then that made you their ‘queen’ in a sense. Suddenly, you were set to be a ruler over the dark god’s future empire, and everyone’s views of you shifted because of it.

One choice, one that seemed so infallible before, had turned your whole life upside down. You expected to be injured in place of Nightmare, but not blinded. And while trying to deal with such a severe change of lifestyle, you were now being placed on a pedestal and nobody would treat you the same. Part of you wanted to take your frustrations out on the nearby wall, but that would likely only bring someone running to tend to your hand as if it were broken. No, you needed to go to the source of the problem.

While navigating the halls by yourself was more difficult than you could’ve ever guessed, it was made easier by your forethought to create a mental map through touch whenever you were being escorted about. The subtle change in the sound of your footfall let you know when you’d left the solid foundation of the hall your bedroom was on in favour of the landing for the grand staircase. Following the railing with your hand, you found where the hallway changed directions. To go downstairs would take you to the common room and the kitchens, while upstairs led to the library and Nightmare’s office. With your goal upstairs, you carefully shuffled along the steps, shoving your foot forward until it came in contact with the next. When your feet slid freely along the floor and the railing straightened out, you knew that you’d made it to the third floor where you’d find your partner.

After a bit of difficulty gathering your bearings and navigating the third floor of the castle, you came to Nightmare’s office. The door was open only a crack, enough to give others the hint to leave him be while allowing him to hear if any chaos should erupt from the lower levels. Ever so slowly, you pushed the door open, only to cringe as a painfully loud squeak of the hinges alerted your boyfriend to your presence. “MC? What are you doing up here? Whoever brought you here should know that I didn’t wish to be disturbed.”

“Oh, nobody brought me here, I came up here myself. Wasn’t that hard,” you shrugged, lying a bit at the ease of which you got here but determined to make the dark god see that you weren’t helpless. “We need to talk.”

A sigh emanated from Nightmare’s direction, and you could imagine how he was pinching the bridge of his nose as he often did when annoyed or frustrated with something. “First off, I thought I made it clear that you are to have someone escort you around the castle to minimize accidents. And secondly, can whatever conversation you want wait? I have plenty of-”

“No actually, it can’t,” you cut him off, mustering your confidence as you stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind you. “I need to talk to you now, not later.”

Being unable to read his body language was frustrating, leaving everything to your imagination with no way to know if you were interpreting things correctly. You knew that he didn’t like taking orders from anyone, not even you, leaving you to wonder if the silence was due to your demanding tone. Perhaps you should’ve worded things better, but before you could worry too much, Nightmare responded to your demanding request. “Very well, for you little moon, I will make time. Please, take a seat and share what’s on your mind.”

It took every ounce of focus you had to find one of the plush chairs on the other side of his desk, sinking down into it once you found it and being thankful that you didn’t have to fumble around too much. It wouldn’t do your argument for more independence any good if your actions showed a need for more support. “Alright…” You’d thought long and hard about how to get your point across to someone as stubborn as your partner, but now that you were here, it was almost a struggle to get your thoughts out cohesively. “I… I’m tired of everyone treating me differently ever since the incident, including you.”

“My dear, I’ve done nothing of the sort.”

“Yes you have!” Forcing a breath through your nose, your efforts to calm your temper are marginally successful as your unintentional fists relax and grip the arms of the chair. “Everyone is treating me like I’m suddenly delicate, like I’m unable to take a punch or take care of myself. True, it’s been hard to adjust to being blind, but I’ll never get better at accepting things if you all keep coddling me!”

“No one is coddling you!” Nightmare growled in return, his voice growing more agitated as he tried to argue against you. “The others are simply doing their part to ensure that you can rest and heal in comfort!”

A growl built up in your throat as well as your partner continued to deny your claims, your fingers digging into the chair to keep them in place. “That comment brings up another thing. Ever since our relationship got out, everyone’s been treating me as if they’re serving me, like I’m something special that needs to be protected.”

“That’s because you are, little moon. You are my chosen partner, and you knew from the beginning that the title would carry some weight. I am a god my dear, and the ruler of any mortal within this castle. But you’re no longer some random mortal. Now you stand beside me, equal to me in power and authority. They have merely been instructed to show you the same respect and care that they show me.”

To hear it spelled out like that, like it should’ve been obvious to you from the beginning, left a lump in your throat. Was this always what would happen to you? Were you doomed to be lonely up at the top with nobody but the god of negativity himself to be your supposed equal? “I… I-I don’t want that…” Your words came out mumbled, eyes burning as your damaged tear ducts tried and failed to produce any tears. When prompted to speak up, you were practically screaming. “I don’t want that! I don’t want to be so… so alone! You might be fine with being above them, but for the longest time, they treated me as a friend! Now, it’s as if our friendships meant nothing, whenever I reach out all I get is coldness. I want to be able to joke and play around with Killer, I want Butcher to call me names and tease me! I want Pyre to rattle on about how great he is, or to spend time reading with Dust! I want to be able to go up to Cross, hug the stupid fluffy marshmallow, and not have him feel like a freaking statue!”

Your yelling left you short of breath, your chest heaving as you calmed down from your emotional tirade. For a while, your heavy breathing was the only sound echoing in the room, shoulders eventually shuddering as tearless sobs broke from your throat. Your own arms wrapped around yourself, as if trying to keep yourself from truly falling apart. What you weren’t quite expecting though was for a pair of cool, slimy arms to join them as Nightmare hugged you as well, the god having moved around the desk while you were distracted with your own emotional turmoil.

“I’m sorry little moon,” he started, one hand gently petting your hair while a tentacle took to stroking up and down your back in a soothing manner. “I grew so used to my underlings being just that, and I never considered what your views on the matter would be. Let me make this clear though, they treat you special because you are special. No other entity in the entirety of the multiverse has made me feel an emotion as positive as love since my childhood five hundred years ago. While many of the worlds out there fear me, and even those that serve me do well to avoid angering me, you had no such hesitation my dear. As we grew closer, you grew bolder. You would speak your mind freely, even if to criticize my actions or leadership. While it was downright infuriating at first, I grew to respect your courage and tenacity, but also the fact that you accepted me for who I am and not what I once was several lifetimes ago.”

As he spoke in such a calm and soothing voice, you felt your breathing settle as you snuggled into his chest. After he paused for a bit, Nightmare’s tentacles quickly scooped you up into the air, allowing him to settle in your chair and place you on his lap. The comforting gestures continued, serving to keep you calm without the use of his abilities. “You are special MC, never forget that. But also remember that you are my partner, and I will see you treated with the same respect as I receive, nothing less.”

You couldn’t help but tense at his words, about to go off again about how that flew in the face of your wishes. But before you could reiterate the entirety of your emotional rant from before, he shushed you with a gentle finger against your lips, and you could practically hear him smiling through his voice. “Your voice is as powerful in this castle as my own, and if things are not to your liking, then let your voice be heard. They are so used to hearing my voice that those idiots assume your voice will speak the same requests… even I made that poor assumption, and for that I am sorry. If you wish for them to treat you as they always have, then you need only tell them and I can promise you that you will receive what you ask for.”

“You… you mean it?” It seemed too good to be true, but Nightmare was often true to his word with you and the other residents of the castle. Still, it felt like it was too easy to simply ask for them to treat you as if you weren’t any different.

“Little moon, I swear it upon my name that you will be treated as you wish to be in this castle.” The dark god nuzzled you a bit as he made his promise, pulling a soft giggle from you despite the dry feeling in the back of your throat. It wasn’t often that you shouted so much, and you were definitely glad that you closed the door on your way in.

Deciding to push your luck a bit, another request found its way onto your tongue. “Then… if I asked you to stop forcing me to have an escort everywhere, would you respect my wishes?”

“MC, you know that I am just doing that to protect you-”

“Night, we’re in your domain, aren’t we? You know everyone who enters and leaves, making this castle literally the safest place for me. I’m getting better at navigating without my eyes, and I really think that I’d be fine!” When he still didn’t sound convinced, muttering about potential accidents that could happen, you merely threw more options at him. “Look, I’m far from the first blind human. If you’re that worried about me bumping into something or falling down the stairs, then get me a… blind person stick? Cane? Or a seeing-eye dog! One that Butcher would definitely not eat!”

“Is… this your way of asking for a dog?”

“Not my intention, but I certainly wouldn’t complain if you did actually get me one that can help me.” Reaching up, you cupped his cheek with your hand, thumb rubbing just under his good eye. “I’ll never have the same freedom as I did Night, but I know that I can learn to live with the consequences of my actions. And don’t you dare blame yourself for what I decided was a good idea in the spur of the moment.” Even now knowing the consequences of your choice, you’d still make the same call a hundred times over again, enduring the pain each time, if it meant that you didn’t have to see the one you loved suffer.

The god of negativity must have felt your conviction, because he didn’t try to talk you out of it or turn the blame around to be on himself. Instead, he merely sighed as one hand came to hold the one on his face, pulling it away to place a skeletal ‘kiss’ against your palm. “Very well, it seems that you’ve convinced me. I seem to have chosen quite the precocious human as my mate, you seem to be naturally born for commanding and convincing others. From now on, you are free to roam the castle by yourself, on two conditions. The first is that we give you a means of contacting me directly, should you find yourself lost or injured alone. The second is that you will still accept an escort for any trips outside of the castle, no matter your past familiarity with whatever world. Do we have a deal?”

Honestly, Nightmare’s requests were completely fair and reasonable. While you did have your phone, it was still extremely difficult to navigate it, and you likely wouldn’t be able to use it reliably in an emergency. If your boyfriend had an alternative method, then it would be good to have the freedom to go wherever, but with the safety net of knowing that someone will come if you need them to. And as embarrassing as an escort might be outside of the castle, it was still smart. It took you quite a bit of time and practice to navigate the castle on your own, despite your past familiarity with it, and a new space would require such with the aid of someone who could see. There was also the fact that, now that your relationship was public, it was only a matter of time before one of the idiots that you called your friends would let word get out. Then, you’d have a target on your back, a weak spot to be used against Nightmare. It was honestly for the best if you didn’t leave the castle alone anymore, not with several capable fighters that could protect you. “Those requests both seem quite reasonable to me, so I accept.”

“Good, I am glad that you can see I only want what is best for you, my dear. Keeping you safe is just as important to me as my goals.” After a moment more of cuddles, he eventually set you back into your chair alone, his footfalls indicating that he was going back to his own behind his desk. “I’ll see to the creation of a totem of sorts, one made of my own magic. It will allow you to contact me and call me to your side, no matter where you are. Between this, and my assurance that you will be treated as you wish to be, have I dealt with the issue you came to speak to me about?”

“Mhm, I honestly feel a lot better too, so thanks. I can’t see it, but I’m sure you’ve got plenty of work to get done. I’ll leave you be so that you can get it finished.” When he didn’t try to stop you, you got up from your seat and wandered back towards the door. Just as you opened it though to step back outside, you turned back and sent him a wide smile. “Thank you for being so understanding and accepting Night, I really appreciate it.”

“I can tell,” he chuckled as the sound of pen scribbling on paper echoed through the otherwise quiet room. “You go enjoy yourself my dear, I shall speak with you again at dinner.” With his dismissal, you left the door in the same barely open position that you originally found it in before heading back to the stairs. It was about time for you to do what Nightmare told you to do and make your voice be heard. Then maybe your friends would go back to how they used to be and stop treating you differently.

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

Alright, so if you didn’t read my post earlier this week about getting you readers involved, you can read it here because I’m not repeating myself. (aka I’m lazy XD)

And since nobody commented on that post, it made it pretty clear to me that relying on Tumblr comments isn’t a good idea and that I should go with a poll website. So... here ya go!

https://strawpoll.com/634w9bq42

In the next part, Nightmare will be away running important errands, so MC will have to find some way to entertain themselves! Where they go is up to you, as are the result benefits from your choices. I’ll be looking forward to seeing what you all choose!

First | < Prev | Part 4 (Here) | Next >

#mc #x reader #nightmare sans #established relationship #tw blindness #mc doesn't like being treated like they're fragile #mc is honestly just trying to hold themselves together #depression not making an appearance this time but likely soon #is mc gonna get a puppy? #nightmare would totally get them a puppy #you better vote or I'll steal your kneecaps /j #seriously though please vote #you guys need to participate for this idea to work and be fun #it'll be worth it promise #saurex works

[manonblaqkbeak]

Dating and Goodreads

Back for Day 8-Blind date (how the hell do u guys come up with good title fics i struggle so bad lol). I wasn’t really going anywhere with this one, but when i read all of the others and saw how fun the fics were, i decided to finish this one.

also for Summertime and Fresh Strawberries, I deliberately left it blank but I can’t hold onto the secret bc two people were curious as to what happened, so i’ll let the rest of you know that aelin and rowan decided to keep summer and be a cute little family, bc im a sucker for happy endings lol (unless its angst, it’s safe to assume that all my rowaelin fics have happy endings bc they’ve all ready been thru so much and even in alt fics i need them to be happy lmao)

anyway, on to the next one. hope you enjoy!

1.8k words

cw: none

Aelin was a confident woman, something that she was proud of. But that didn't mean that there weren't times she didn't feel self-conscious or awkward and full of doubt.

Because right now, all those negative feelings were swimming inside of her.

And those feelings were just magnified today, especially since she had gotten fired only a few hours beforehand. It was utterly unexpected, she had never received any prior warnings, and while she was a fighter, Aelin didn't feel like stepping into the ring for this one. Not when her boss was a demon from hell that made life unbearable and she had to physically push herself into entering the work building.

Aelin told herself that it was for the best. She was miserable there and hated working in an office typing up the worlds most boring reports and working in a space that was entirely too drab.

But she wasn't looking forward to job hunting. Aelin was aware that she could ask her friends for favours, but if Aelin did something wrong, she didn't want it reflected back onto whoever helped her.

And she was still a little peeved over the damned argument she had online again with that haughty prick on Goodreads. Aelin wasn't sure why those arguments kept going, but each time she would post a review, White Tailed Hawk would respond, telling her that she read the book wrong and this and that and blah blah blah.

Aelin repaid the favour each time, telling him how he was wrong and he had no reading comprehension skills. And on and on it went until Aelin or whoever the fuck that guy was went back to their own lives.

Depressingly, it was the most fun she had some days.

Shaking her head, Aelin forced herself to think of the now and not of her shitty day. Still she sighed, not quite believing that she had agreed to this blind date. Couldn't believe that she had let Aedion convince her it was a good idea.

Aelin had said no at first, after Aedion had voiced his offer, and her cousin left it at that. But days went past, and he would bring up the topic of Rowan, about the things he had said that day, how his dry sense of humour took some time to get used to but once you figured it out, he was actually pretty funny, how he had finished a project perfectly and this and that.

But it got to her, annoyingly. So the other day when he was helping her out with some housework that was a two person job, Aelin told him to set up this date. Aedion cheered as if it was the best thing he had ever heard, telling her how she and Rowan were the perfect match for each other.

Aelin rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything of the assessment.

She had only agreed because it was getting frustrating being asked at every family event if she was dating someone, when she was going to give her parents grandchildren (that question pissed her off the most, as if Aelin was nothing but a birthing machine and that was all Aelin could contribute to society), and who was going to look after her when she was old if she didn't have children (because apparently carers didn't exist).

Aelin was also lonely—she could entertain herself just fine, but she did like the idea of coming home and talking to someone that could respond. She loved Fleetfoot and her enthusiasm when Aelin came home, but human companionship would be nice.

But Aelin didn't have high-hopes for this date because the universe liked to kick Aelin's ass from time to time, she suspected that they were going to hate each other.

Taking a deep breath, Aelin got out of her car, smoothed down her romper and went inside the restaurant, head held high.

X X X X X X

Rowan couldn't believe that he was about to go on a blind date. That Aedion had convinced him to go out with his younger cousin. He hadn't dated anyone since Lyria and he knew that his dating skills were going to be rusty as hell. He had been with Lyria since they were nineteen, married at 23 and divorced at 31; he had been single for the last two years.

It had been...fine, a little strange, after being with someone for so long to find himself a bachelor. Rowan never thought that he would apart from Lyria, but their relationship had just faded. Long before the divorce, it had been more like a housemate relationship than a marriage. He wasn't surprised when his ex-wife had come home after work with divorce papers. He had only stared at the paperwork for an hour before he signed the forms. Truthfully, Rowan was just glad that he was still on good terms with Lyria, that they could still talk to one another from time to time.

Rowan had almost called her earlier today, to ask how the hell dates went, but felt that it would have been crossing some invisible line, so he didn't call and instead had Googled the questions instead.

They didn't really help.

Rowan drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, telling himself that if things went wrong, then it wasn't the end of the world. That if he had to be a bachelor for the rest of his life, then that was fine. He had plenty of ways of keeping himself busy—he had a good career, a nice house, plenty of books to read and to argue online about them with.

He had one earlier today, actually, with Queen of Wildfire about a new release that Rowan had eagerly read within days of its release. And once again, he ended up with an argument with the woman about the messages and themes within the book.

It was stupid, he knew, to be at his age and to be fighting online with a stranger, but something about this woman just had his fingers flying over the keyboard.

Some days he looked forward to it, as embarrassing as that was to admit. He didn't really want to look into himself to figure out what it all meant.

Eyes drifting to the dashboard, Rowan realised that his date was about to start. Popping a mint into his mouth and smoothing out his clothes, Rowan took a deep breath and left the car and went to his first date in twelve years.

Hopefully, it wouldn't be too bad.

X X X X X X

The date had started out a little awkward, but that wasn't a surprise to Aelin, because what blind date started smoothly?

It picked up after Rowan admitted that he was divorced and that he had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do. Aelin appreciated that stark honesty and admitted that she too had no idea what to do.

Since then, the conversation went well, the food was good and Aelin had even swiped a few bites of his dinner because it just looked so much better than hers. Rowan had playfully grumbled underneath his breath, but smiled as he said it.

It was going really well. Maybe the universe had decided to give her a break for the rest of this evening. There was a part of her that maybe wondered if they would have sex, because the man did look fucking fantastic, but at the same time, she didn't want to rush anything in case this actually turned into something more.

“What's the dumbest thing that you've done recently or in the past?” Aelin asked. There was no such thing as small talk between them—Aelin had all ready asked if he believed in aliens and was glad when he said yes, because “it's ridiculous to think that we're alone in this wide universe of ours. It makes sense that there'd be other lifeforms out there.” Which was pretty damned close to Aelin's reasoning as well, so asking him about stupid moments felt like nothing in comparison.

Rowan smirked at the question and took a moment to think before answering. “I engage in online arguments.”

“Really? About what, exactly?”

“It's stupid. But my all my arguments occur on Goodreads of all places. Not Facebook, or YouTube, or Twitter, but Goodreads. It's never anything insulting but just arguments about how wrong some people's in depth reviews are.”

“Fair enough,” Aelin said, “I've been known to do the same thing as you. There's this one user on there, White Tailed Hawk—a stupid name if you ask me—and he just never...” Aelin stopped when she noticed that he stopped eating and was just looking at her weirdly. “Rowan? Are you okay?”

“Do you, by any chance, go under the name of Queen of Wildfire?”

Aelin blinked, and then blinked again, and once the pieces fell into place, she knew right then and there that the universe really hated her. She let out a harsh laugh, the sound echoing throughout the space. Aelin wasn't really sure what to say, because it was true what he said; it had never been insulting, but ending up on a date with the man she had regularly arguments with was just...she had no words, other then, “It really is a stupid name.” She took a sip of her wine, needing to do something other than wanting to bang her head against the table.

“I couldn't think of anything else to write.” And it wasn't also his favourite animal, he had told her that earlier.

They lapsed back into the awkward silence of earlier, both picking at their food.

But Aelin didn't want this night to go to waste. “It'd be stupid to let something as small as this get in the way of whatever this could be,” Aelin said, deciding to be blunt.

Rowan nodded. “It would be. Although I have to be honest, you really have no idea what you're talking about when it comes to Call of the Wild Winds.”

Aelin just about stormed off when she noticed his playful smile, his eyes sparkling bright. Laughing, Aelin threw a bread-roll at his handsome face, and once he caught it and split it in half for them to share, they went back to their earlier conversation.

And when Rowan walked her to her apartment door and kissed her on the cheek goodnight with a promise to text her later, Aelin couldn't help herself by telling him that all his opinions sucked and that he had no idea what he was talking about—all with a big smile on her face as Rowan sputtered as she closed the door on his face.

They spent the rest of the night texting, and all of Aelin's earlier woes faded away. And she looked forward to tomorrow, despite the horror of job hunting. Maybe the universe will finally let things turn around for the better for her.

Aelin went to sleep with a smile on her face, all because of White Tailed Hawk.

And on the other side of the city, Rowan also fell asleep with a smile on his face.

#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelinmonth #my work

[guqin-and-flute]

Modern 3zun/A-Fu Verse--Baby Acquisition Continuation

[Part 1] [Modern A-Fu Verse] [AO3 Series]

[Crediting @little-smartass​ with a lot of the characterization/story beats because I’m positive we’ve had a conversation about this at some point]

“He really is as bald as a little cue ball, isn’t he?”

It took Meng Yao several seconds to register that words had been spoken, another to parse the words, then another to tear his gaze up from the pile of early childhood development books he was accumulating in his lap, color coded tabs bristling from the edges. Da-ge was sprawled in the corner of their enormous sage green couch in his slacks and undershirt, bathed in the ghostly, swimming glow of the TV on mute. He was looking down fondly at the newborn tucked into the crook of his arm, fast asleep with his fist shoved up against his face.

A newborn that was, in fact, very bald. And so very tiny.

“Is that normal? Is that a sign of something?” Meng Yao began to anxiously dig around in the plush crevices of the armchair he was folded into for his phone, preparing to search something along the lines of ‘is baby baldness bad??’

On the other half of the L of the couch from Mingjue, Xichen sucked in a shuddering breath through his nose, making them both freeze and look over. But all he did was sigh in his sleep and return to his motionless sprawl where he had collapsed about an hour and a half ago when Mingjue forcibly removed the baby from his arms and insisted he lay down. “Just for 5 minutes,” Meng Yao had also reasoned in a two pronged attack. “No one says you have to nap. Just close your eyes for a bit, then you can take him again while Da-ge makes dinner, if you want.”

Of course, he had fallen asleep immediately as they all had known he would. But one had to give Xichen explicit permission and then a backup compromise and then incentive before he considered doing something so selfish as making sure he wasn’t dead on his feet, even after a day of running errands with an 7 day old who was still suffering from stomach upset from travel. Meng Yao and Mingjue were long since practiced in being able to maneuver around his particular aversion of self care.

When their eyes met again, Mingjue’s were crinkled and he teased in a lower voice, “Being bald is a sign of being an infant, A-Yao. You really know nothing about babies, do you?”

Meng Yao aggressively squashed back the automatic bridling that happened every time a flaw in his...anything was pointed out. Instead, he primly brandished a pastel yellow book with curlicue flowers around the edge. “I am learning.” It’s not my fault I obtained all my siblings after adolescence. Not for lack of trying...

“I’m telling you, most of those are gonna be useless. Everyone’s got something to say and it’s all going to be different. You’re better off just winging it,” Mingjue stage whispered dismissively, rolling his eyes. “It’s just until Xichen’s uncle gets the custody stuff all worked out, so he’ll be gone before you know it. Just enjoy the baby-head smell while he’s here.”

The what? He narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re making fun of me.”

For some reason, a grin spread over Da-ge’s face--a delighted, self satisfied grin. “Oh.” He got up--(”Don’t wake him up--” Meng Yao hissed, stiffening, remembering his disconcerting little mewling cries from Xichen’s return from the store)--and easily cupped the infant up to his shoulder as he crossed the thick cream carpeting.

“Make room, come on,” Mingjue whispered, grabbing a stack of books in one large hand and carelessly tossing them onto the basket of neatly folded throw blankets beside the armchair.

Lips pursed and fully harassed, now, Meng Yao neatly piled the remaining books down by the leg of the chair. “Why do you insist--” When he sat back up, he immediately almost fumbled the armful of baby that was thrust into them. But Mingjue seemed to have been ready for this, because he just kept pressing him into his chest until Meng Yao’s hold came up automatically to support him.

The baby was warm and very soft, with no tension in him at all as he slept. And so light--almost like some sort of doll. It was hard to believe he was a real, living human being instead of some sort of strange hairless animal. Baxia had more heft, for god’s sake and she was a cat.

For some reason, Meng Yao’s heart rate immediately spiked as if he were being chased. His palms and neck began to sweat. It’s not like he hadn’t held the child in the day that he had been here, he just...well, he actually hadn’t. He hadn’t held any child before--his nephew wasn’t quite born yet and he had never been in a foster home with a baby. All yesterday and last night, he had shadowed Mingjue while he changed the diapers, observing techniques such as ‘The Turkey Hold’ and ‘Tissues Before Wet Wipes’. He had noted the ease with which Xichen just palmed him belly down like a fragile little football while packing the lunches Mingjue had assembled for him and Meng Yao to take to work, or patiently maneuvered his little sausage limbs in and out of clothes like he wasn’t afraid of breaking him.

And they certainly weren’t keeping him from Meng Yao--but he was still researching and information gathering while they had plenty of experience. And the stakes seemed absurdly high to chance a failure with this particular subject He hadn’t been avoiding it, just...he was sure the opportunity would present itself. Eventually.

His face was round and slightly alien in its minute proportions; a perfect miniature of a proper nose, a fine dusting of eyebrows above completely smooth little eyelids, a tiny squinch of a mouth that had fallen open in sleep.  And he sort of smelled like...slightly sour milk and the floral baby detergent Xichen had bought. Nothing that special.

Cautiously, Meng Yao attempted a gentle joggle with his arms, then froze when those little fingers flexed and the baby made a noise, halfway between a snort and a grunt, but so tiny. How on earth did anything this tiny and helpless even exist? How was he allowed to hold something that had this much potential? This much importance? His father wouldn’t even let him touch his fountain pen at the office--how would he ever let Meng Yao hold his heir? “A-Yao, breathe,” Mingjue’s whisper was nearby and amused and when he looked up at him, Meng Yao saw his face was close, leaning down, hands braced on both arms of the chair. Blocking escape.

“I think you should take him back,” Meng Yao hurriedly whispered back. “I don’t think he likes me. He’s going to wake up and cry.”

Mingjue shrugged. “He might.”

Anxiety, old and choking, rose up in his throat like bile, like failure. “Then take him back.”

The asshole just raised his eyebrow. “No. If he does, it’s not the end of the world. Calm down, smell his head.”

“I can smell him just fine from here, I--”

“Smell his head, I’m telling you--”

“Mingjue--” he hissed, baring his teeth, instinctively looking over at the sleeping Xichen to be the tie breaker and peacemaker, but Mingjue just put the back of his fingers to Meng Yao’s cheek and (gently. Always gently.) pushed his face toward the tiny round head tucked to his shoulder.

Stiffly, he gave a grudging, perfunctory sniff, intending to follow the exact letter of the order and not the spirit, because if he was going to be forced--

Oh. Oh. What? Pressing his nose closer, he breathed in properly. What on earth...

His head did smell different from the old spit up and detergent. Warm and--and--almost sweet but not, somehow mild and calming? It felt familiar, even though it wasn’t. How was this unwinding something in his chest? Without intending to, he breathed out through his mouth in order to hastily draw in another breath, deep and slow. It smelled like... sleep and home and softness. Comfort. And he did have hair, actually--downy little fluff, close to the scalp, soft like velvet when he pressed his lips to it to take a third breath. How did the top of his head smell so good? Was it the baby soap they had used? No, it wasn’t, because he could smell traces of that, soapy and artificial. This was something completely organic that somehow exuded from his scalp?

Mingjue chuckled above his head and Meng Yao opened his eyes--that he didn’t even remember closing. He knew he should probably feel more annoyed at his partner’s smugness but the tension that had been humming through him seemed to have utterly bled away. “There, now, was that so hard?”

“What...is it?” he murmured against the baby’s head, unable to tear his nose away.

“Baby-head smell.”

“Baby-head smell?”

“Mm.”

“Do they--do they all smell like this?”

“More or less. It’s so we don’t eat them when they wake us up in the middle of the night, probably. Hormones and shit.”

“Has someone bottled this? Made it into a candle?” He whispered, affronted. “Is this known?” None of the early childhood development books he had read even alluded to the fact that baby heads apparently smelled like magic. “Does Xichen know?”

Mingjue snorted. “Of course you consider marketing. Yeah, most people who’ve handled babies know about the baby-head smell, so now you do, too. Instant stress relief.”

It was. It was like a drug, how instantaneously it worked. Meng Yao greedily breathed in again, cupping his tiny head closer to him. He could feel the thrum of his heart through his back against his forearms.

Mingjue huffed a fond laugh through his nose and smoothed his hand heavily down Meng Yao’s hair, swaying them both gently as one. “See? Not so scary. Now sit there and relax with baby. I’ll make us all dinner.”

Meng Yao could do that--and quite happily.

#modern 3zun #jgy #nmj #lxc #3zun #also yes the baby is A-Fu he just doesn't have a name yet #I wanted to give them a baby and give them a chance to name him because they don't have either opportunity in the other AU #ALSO GOD I MISS BABIES ;A; #Well it wouldn't be a JGY POV without the shadow of a panic attack but I FIXED IT QUICK #THIS IS A FUN AU. FUN FUN FUN #my stuff #my fic #'he's just here for a little while' suuuuuuure Mingjue >.>

[dizzydancingdreamer]

You're My Home Too | Loki Laufeyson

Hey lovelies happy Saturday! I hope you all have had a lovely day! Here is the first Loki "drabble" of the event, please do enjoy and make sure to take care of yourselves today!

Appetizers (Tags): Angst, Fluff

Entres (Pairing): Loki x F!Reader (third person)

Sides (Prompts): 6: “You’re all I have.” “You’re all I have too, you know?”

Notes: None, Requested by Anon

Word Count: 2.2k

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

She watches as the black haired god tilts his head, eyes locked on his brother. It looks like he’s nodding along, agreeing to something Thor has said, but she can see it— the way his pupils dart across the blonde’s face, flitting over his shoulder before returning, latching on a different spot. It’s unnerving to watch him be so docile. So passive— not at all like the usual, fiery tempered, grinning god of mischief. She’s never seen him look so blank. Something’s definitely wrong.

She has a feeling she knows what it is, too. If she’s right then it’s the same reason she laid awake all night, curled on her side of Loki’s bed, listening to the sound of his steady breathing until the sun came up. She can practically hear the conversation— Thor’s been itching to go home for weeks now. Somehow they’ve always managed to get held up each time— saving the world and what not. Now, though, there’s nothing keeping them. No androids or aliens or wizards. Just her— the best friend— and that’s not going to cut it.

Loki’s eyes flick to hers, blue irises somehow vibrant even from across the room, and she forces the corners of her lips to turn up, an attempt at flaking off the frown that she’s sure has been plastered on her face all morning. If his frown is anything to go by, however, then she would say that it doesn’t work out. Oh well— she didn’t really expect it would.

He can sense lies and even if he couldn’t he would still be able to read her like a book. Half the time it feels like he’s more in her head then she is, always figuring out what she wants before she can think it let alone say it aloud. Usually that’s followed by him dropping whatever he’s doing to get it for her. Unless, of course, it’s a hug— then he’s dropping whatever he’s doing and pulling her into his arms.

Who’s going to hug her if he’s a galaxy away?

Is it even a galaxy? Surely it’s more. A dimension away. Her stomach tosses, the sting in her chest mixing with a wave of the nausea she’s been fighting all morning. A combination of not eating— not being hungry enough to eat— and sadness. No not sadness— grief. Sadness feels easier. It’s waving your best friend off to college— not to another fucking world. This isn’t sadness— this is losing everything she has come to need for an entire year. Warmth and protection and his sea-salt skin and elegant voice. Who else is going to speak so gently to her when he’s gone?

“Dove—” she blinks and he’s suddenly there, kneeling on the floor in front of the couch where she's been sitting for the past hour, legs curled under her and all the way numb— “what’s wrong?”

His dark brows crease together, his hand snaking from his side and reaching for hers. She offers him another pathetic half-smile, tangling her fingers with his long ones and shaking her head slightly. “Nothing, Loki. How’d your talk go?”

She doesn’t miss the way he winces. He tries to hide it, replicating her tilted lips with his own, but, like her, his eyes don’t follow suit. Instead they flash with something that looks too much like dread for her to keep her act up. When her mouth creases into a frown, so does his. It’s all she needs to know— he really is leaving her.

“My brother misses home.” The god reaches out his other hand and— like everything they seem to do— she copies him, meeting him halfway and lacing those fingers together as well. He runs his thumb over hers, his blue eyes intense— worried. “There are a few things we have to sort out. They’re getting impatient.”

They’re. That could mean so many things. It could mean his people— the asgardians. It could mean his family— it definitely means Thor, the god who she can hear pacing from the kitchen. Her eyes pool over the features of the man in front of her, landing on the circles under his eyes. Does it mean him too? Has she been keeping him from going home? The thought makes her throat sting— of course she has. She’s been so stupid, clinging to a literal god. Of course he would have to go home at some point. She was only fooling herself thinking he would stay with her. What’s upstate New York when you have a celestial castle or whatever the hell it is he has?

“Dove?”

She blinks again, zoning back into his even more concerned stare— shit.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, squeezing his hands if only to ground herself against slipping away again. “That sounds important. Your, uh, your kingdom needs you.”

I need you too, though.

It feels like her heart is lodged in her throat and that she’s speaking around it. When she swallows it doesn’t go away— if anything it grows, tears stinging at her eyes, threatening to fall. She hates how selfish she feels. He doesn’t belong to her— he doesn’t belong with her— and she should feel lucky to have called him her friend for this long. Still she can’t help but wonder what her days will look like without him. Empty. Boring. Terrifying. She has friends here but it isn’t the same. The connection isn’t the same— the warmth and smiles and laughter aren’t the same.

She isn’t just losing her best friend, she’s losing her home.

And she breaks.

And he notices.

God, he always notices.

She supposes with the tears now streaming down her face, though, that she can’t exactly blame him for that one. It’s a little noticeable. What she will blame him for is how he releases her hands, instead rising to his full height and settling on the couch, angling his lithe body towards her and wrapping his arms around her stomach. He waits— one beat, two beats— for her to turn as well, pushing up on her knees and throwing her arms around his shoulders. She holds him tight— tighter than she can confidently say she has ever held him before. She has to— it’ll very likely be the last chance she gets. She has to memorize it— him.

“I’m sorry,” she laughs bitterly. It’s more of a sob— the kind that catches in her throat, getting stuck between silent and booming. “I’m being silly.”

Loki shakes his head— she can’t see it but she can feel his jaw brushing her hair, his hands pushing her closer to his chest. She digs her fingers into his jumper, scrunching the green wool like somehow it’ll make this all okay. His hand runs up her back, curling it around the nape of her neck, hand cool and soft.

“No you aren’t.” He murmurs, face still pressed against her hair, and she fights back more tears— he’s too gentle with her.

She doesn’t say anything right away, she just sinks against him, biting her lip and forcing herself to just be in the moment. He smells like rain today. It’s always different— always changing— but today he smells like the summer pavement before a three day thunderstorm hits and it feels fitting.

After a few moments she finally pulls away, tugging against his hold and running the heel of her hand under her eyes. He doesn’t give her much leave, only a few inches to be able to look up at him, blinking away the blurriness of her glassy eyes and sniffling. His lips are pressed together, his head tilted again. Unlike with his brother, though, his eyes never stray from hers. As always, it makes her breath catch in her throat, her heart racing in the way only he can seem to do.

She finally brings herself to ask the hard question— the one that’s been hanging around them for weeks. “When are you leaving?”

His fingers on her spine tense— that can’t mean anything good.

“Today, dove.”

“Oh.”

She doesn’t know what else to say— that and if she says anything more she’s afraid she might start sobbing again. Sobbing or just stop breathing altogether. Today? She couldn’t have had one more night with him? You’ve already had ‘one more night’ for four weeks, the little voice in her head reminds her. It’s time to let him go. She slips her hands around his arms— easier said than done. She knows that once he leaves her life will change— and it might never go back to normal.

Loki’s eyes flash, the blue darkening, a crease forming between his brows. He opens his mouth but no words come out and soon he’s pressing his lips together again, the dejection in his eyes and aura tangible. She has to say something— she can’t leave it on this note. She just has no idea what to say. No idea how to say goodbye.

So she doesn’t.

“You should probably start packing then, yeah?” She pushes her lips into the tortured smile again, muttering the words.

She’s sure he would have forced himself to laugh—

“I want you to come with me.”

— were it not for him speaking at the same time.

Her heart stops when his words flit past her eardrums. “What?”

She must be dreaming— there’s no way he just said what she thinks he said. It has to be her imagination playing a cruel trick on her. Trying to protect her from the pain until the last second. But no, that’s not right, now when his cool hands move from her back to her cheeks, his thumbs running over her cheekbones and drawing her back to him. He leans down, pressing his forehead against hers and she gasps— she can’t help it. His skin is so soft that her eyes flutter close.

“I said I want you to come home with me, dove.” His nose brushes against hers, his words entirely soft.

She’s speechless— completely and utterly floored. “To Asgard?”

He chuckles, minty breath fanning her lips. “Yes, to Asgard.”

She pulls back, head so fuzzy she almost topples over from the motion, hands curling tighter to keep from falling. He really wants her to go home with him? Just like that her heart starts beating again, kicking starting her pulse which begins hammering as the notion of staying with him starts to become clear. He’s not leaving?

“But—” she stammers, blinking rapidly as she tries to form a coherent thought— “why me?”

For a moment he just looks at her, his brows knitting together once more, his eyes filling with something she can’t decipher. He kind of looks confused. Only she could confuse a god. She almost slaps herself, her pulse thrumming in her ears. Why the heck would you ask him that you idiot? Now he’s not gonna’ want to take you with—

“Because you’re all I have.”

He says it so nonchalantly— like it’s a fact and not a confession that makes her very essence roar. She supposes that to him it is just a fact. That when you’re all powerful speaking your mind is normal. It is just a fact and she is just a girl and he is just a god. Fact, fact, facts. Her head spins. This— he— cannot be real.

“I—” That’s as far as she gets before her sentence drops, mouth gaping but empty.

Thankfully he picks it up, continuing his unconcerned profession.

“It’s not home if you’re not with me, my little midgardian. Not anymore.” He shrugs and she almost chokes— how is he saying this so calmly when she feels like she’s going to combust? “I really think you’d like it, actually. It’s very pretty— lots of gardens. Oh, and the library! You would enjoy the library.” He tilts his head, his eyes fading out slightly as he thinks about his home. “I’m sure there will be a ball of some sort when we arrive home. I know, I know— you don’t like big events but—”

This time she’s the one who places her hands on his cheeks, shaking her head, letting the first euphoric giggle out. “Of course I’ll go, Loki.”

A grin spreads across his lips, his eyes widening like he just won the lottery as he leans forward, connecting them once again. It makes her heart jump in her chest. What did he think she was going to say? No? She giggles when his lips press against her cheek, her nose scrunching. He must notice because his mouth curves even more against her skin. Soon his lips aren’t just on her cheek but on her forehead and chin and nose as well.

“Even if we have to go to a ball?” He teases, his voice lighter than she’s heard it in weeks.

“Even then.” She confirms, fingers gliding into his hair and tangling them in the silky strands. She takes a deep breath, nerves thrumming as she adds softly. “You’re all I have too, you know? You’re my home too.”

Loki hums happily against her skin, taking her own confession the same way he had made his own— easily. It’s the best outcome she could have hoped for. She can’t wipe the wide smile from her lips as he wraps his arms properly around her once more. It’s not long before his lips find her ear, soft words echoing against her skin.

“You should probably start packing then, yeah?”

#Loki #Loki Laufeyson #Loki x reader #Loki x y/n #Loki Laufeyson x reader #Loki Laufeyson x y/n #Loki fic #Loki imagine #Loki Laufeyson fic #Loki Laufeyson imagine #Loki fluff #mcu #mcu fic #marvel cinematic universe #Dinner at Dizzy's

[cuttoothed]

Day 8 of @jonmartinweek for the “AU” prompt.

This week has been such a delight to write for, and it’s the most productive and inspired I’ve been in a long time. I've really enjoyed all the great content coming out of this week. Thanks to the organizers for this wonderful event!

CW here for depiction of depression, though the term itself isn’t used. Depression symptoms are also shown to spontaneously improve over time, though it is stated that this is not a complete or permanent recovery.

*

There is a land with many gods. Gods of war and of peace; of harm and healing; of storms and snows. Gods of life and death; gods of hearth and home. The smallest village has its own small god; the cities have thousands, all clamoring for attention.

There is a valley with a kind and gentle god. He makes sure that the rains fall in spring, and in summer that the sun shines on the fields of growing crops. In winter he tempers the cold winds, gentles the frosts to spare the valley worst of the chill. The people love their god, and trust that he will always care for them.

Until one spring, the rains do not fall, and the clouds do not part to let the sunshine through. A freezing fog rolls in, blanketing the little village and the lands around it; the fields remain frozen, and those few plants that sprout from the frost-bitten earth rot in the clinging damp. The people despair, because their god has never let them down before. Have they done something wrong? Angered him somehow? They will have enough stores to survive one year without harvest, perhaps two; if their god’s kindness does not return by then, they will have to abandon the valley that has been their home for centuries.

The most senior leaders from the village go to speak with the god, in his shrine on the hillside. The god is distressed at their plight, but he tells them he cannot help; his soul is mourning, and he does not know why. He has tried to call on the sun, on the soft rains, but his heart is too sorrowful, and all that comes is fog.

The people of the valley try everything they can think of, to restore their god’s happiness. They bring him gifts, recite stories and songs; they throw a carnival in the foggy village square, with costumes and games and music. They offer to search for anything that will make him happy, if he will only tell them. But the god cannot tell them, and nothing brings him joy, and the fog remains.

*

One day, a scholar comes to the village. Jonathan Sims is from the city, from one of the temples of knowledge, where they have heard about this valley and its inconsolable god. He walks through the cold, mist-shrouded streets, and up to the hillside where the god’s shrine is.

The shrine is a cottage, small and quaint, with lights in its windows and smoke curling from its chimney; it isn’t like any shrine Jon has seen before. He hesitates before knocking on the door, unsure if this could truly be the home of a god. The person who opens the door looks like a man, with a kind face, and rough, home-spun clothing; he is quite unlike the gods of the city, who are sharp and polished and alien. But one look at his eyes tells Jon that this is the god: they are ageless and endless, swirling like silver-gray fog.

“I’m sorry,” says the god, “I’m not really in the mood for visitors at the moment.”

“Please,” Jon says, before he can shut the door. “I’ve brought jasmine tea—I heard you enjoy it?”

The god hesitates a moment, then says:

“All right, you can come in—but just for tea.”

The inside of the cottage is what Jon would have expected from its outside, cozy and cluttered, with a fire crackling in the hearth. The god fetches saucers and cups and brews a pot of the fragrant jasmine tea, and there are little cakes with dried fruit and honey, which the god tells him were a gift from the village.

“I’m not much of a baker myself,” he admits, pouring the tea. Then he asks: “What’s your name?”

“Jonathan Sims—Jon. What, uh, what should I call you?”

“I don’t have a name,” says the god. “The people around here just call me “the god”, and I’ve never thought to ask them for one.”

“You could always choose one for yourself.” The god gives him a curious look, as if that’s not something that had ever occurred to him.

“I suppose that I could,” he says. He takes a sip of his tea. “This is very nice, thank you.”

Jon has never had tea with a god before. The god asks him about the city and his work for the Temple of Beholding, and Jon finds himself talking freely; this god is very easy to talk to. His face is open and kind, and he listens attentively as Jon talks about the city, its people and its gods, about the work of the Temple to gather knowledge, to understand their world.

“Why did the Temple send you to me?” the god asks at last.

“We heard of what happened in the valley—of the fog,” says Jon, and sees guilt flash across the god’s face, the silver-gray of his eyes darkening. “I came to see.”

“Not to try to cheer me, then?” the god asks. There’s a bitter note in his voice.

“No, not to cheer you. Just to speak. To understand.”

“I’m glad you aren’t wasting your time, then,” says the god. “My people have done all they can to lift my sorrow. And I have tried, every way I know how, to send this fog away, to clear the skies, but I cannot—”

He shakes his head in frustration, lines of worry and grief etched across his features. Jon has the sudden impulse to reach out and comfort him; but this is a god, and besides, they’ve scarcely even met.

“I’m sorry that you carry such a burden,” he says. The god looks at him, and his mist-colored eyes are grieved.

“My sorrow isn’t important, only that it causes me to fail my people.” He turns away, his expression pained. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t bother you with my troubles. It’s probably best that you leave.”

Jon wants to protest, but he thinks it’s probably not a good idea to refuse a god’s request. He sets down his teacup and puts on his coat, and at the door he pauses.

“May I come back tomorrow?” he asks. The god considers, and then nods.

“I would like that,” he says, with a faint hint of a smile.

It’s quite a lovely smile, Jon can’t help noticing.

*

In the village, Jon asks about the god. The god has always been there, he learns. The god has always cared for them, has always ensured their harvests are bountiful and their winters are mild. The people of the valley don’t understand why their god is so unhappy now, but they hope it doesn’t linger too long. They need him to be the joyful, attentive god he has always been; they depend upon it.

The next day, he walks back up to the cottage on the hillside; the door opens to his knock, and the god smiles in greeting. They drink tea by the fire, and Jon asks about the valley—about how it is, when the fog isn’t here. The god talks about the farms and the orchards, the beauty of this place in both summer and winter; he talks about the lives of the people, their joys and their trials, how they rely on him for their wellbeing.

“That sounds like a great responsibility,” says Jon.

“They need me to care for them,” the god says simply. “So that is what I do.”

They talk into the evening, and the god insists Jon stay for supper; a rich stew of root vegetables and herbs. The god smiles shyly when Jon compliments the meal.

“I’m a better cook than a baker,” he says.

It’s coming into night when Jon leaves, and the god gives him an oil lamp to light his way to the village. His fingers brush against Jon’s as he hands him the lamp, and there is a jolt of electric sensation; a reminder that he is still talking to a god.

“Walk safely,” says the god.

“May I come back tomorrow?” Jon asks, and the god smiles, his eyes shining silver-gray.

“I look forward to it.”

*

Jon comes back the next day, and the next day, and the next. Sometimes he and the god talk; sometimes, when the god’s sorrow is too deep for conversation, Jon makes tea and they sit together quietly. Some days they walk in the hills, where the fog coils around the god’s feet like a cat. Jon brings the god the books he’s carried with him from the city, and the god—eventually, shyly—reads Jon a poem that he’s written. Jon is no aficionado, but the soft sincerity of the god’s voice makes something warm curl in his chest.

Their fingers brush over tea cups and the spines of books, each touch sending that little electric thrill through Jon’s nerves, and a warmth that has nothing to do with divinity. He knows it’s foolish—utterly ridiculous—to harbor such feelings for a god. But the god is kind and caring and clever; he sometimes makes terrible jokes, and when they walk, he insists on stopping to greet every shaggy brown cow they see.

The god is also sad, a bone deep, aching sorrow whose roots are unfathomable. He tries to explain it to Jon: he has always felt such sorrow, from time to time, as if all the joys of life were far away, seen from behind glass. But it has never lasted for so long, and it has never before prevented him from fulfilling his duties; he has always been able to push it aside, to do what he must.

That, Jon thinks, is part of the problem; his god is too kind, too devoted, too willing to sacrifice himself for his people.

His god, and when did Jon start to think of him that way? Not in worship, but in growing affection?

*

More than anything, the god loves to hear of Jon’s travels. He has journeyed far and wide in service to the Temple, and the god listens raptly as he describes distant places he has been, sights he’s seen, people he’s met.

“I’ve never traveled anywhere,” the god admits. “It sounds quite wonderful.”

“It can be,” says Jon. “Though it’s best when you have somewhere to return to.”

*

One morning in midsummer, the fog curls denser than ever, and Jon can scarcely find his way to the cottage through the murk. He hurries as fast as he can, worried that something might be astray. He worries more when the god does not open the door to Jon’s knock; Jon wonders for a moment if he might not be home, but they had agreed to walk and visit the cows today. His god would not forget.

He hesitates, then lets himself in.

He finds the god curled by the fire, sitting on the floor with a heavy blanket around his shoulders. His face is drawn and tear streaked, and as Jon approaches another shuddering sob tears itself from his throat, fresh tears flowing from his silver-gray eyes.

“Oh—” Jon drops to his knees on the hearthstone, his hands flying up as if to touch the god’s face, but instead hovering helplessly above his shoulders; they have never touched, but for those accidental brushes. Does he have the right?

“Jon…” the god says, his voice rough and choked. “I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have to see me this way.”

“Don’t say that,” says Jon, distraught. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” says the god, even as another sob shakes his shoulders. “I’m—there’s nothing wrong, not really. I’m just being...selfish. Absorbed in my own foolish melancholy when my people—“

“Forget your people!” Jon snaps, more sharply than he intends, and he sees his god flinch. “Just for a moment, think of yourself. I beg you.”

“My people—this place—they are me,” says the god. “If not for them, what would I even be?”

“You would be dear to me,” Jon says, hoarsely, and the god’s fog-colored eyes go wide, startled. The truth, then, and this time Jon does press a hand to his god’s soft cheek. The touch sends that familiar, tingling thrill through his palm, the feeling that Jon has learned to love.

“Oh,” the god whispers, and his hand comes up to cover Jon’s on his cheek. He leans into Jon’s touch, smiling even as the tears continue to flow.

*

There comes a day, in autumn, that dawns with sunshine and blue skies.

Jon wakes with his god curled beside him in the warm nest of their bed, and watches the light shining in through the window with wonder. It isn’t precisely a surprise: the fog has been lessening these past few weeks, the clouds growing less gray, but still he had not dared to hope that the sun might return—to the sky, and to his god’s heart.

After a time, the god wakes as well—slowly, as he always does—and his tousled head turns towards Jon. His eyes blink open, and their color is the clear blue of summer skies.

“G’morning,” he says sleepily, and Jon’s heart swells with love for him.

“Good morning,” he says. “The sun is out.”

*

The people of the valley rejoice with the return of the sun. This year’s harvest is lost, but they can begin to plan for next spring’s planting. The leaders of the village go to the shrine to give thanks to their god, but the strange scholar from the city answers the door and refuses to let them inside.

“He’s busy,” the scholar says, and shoos them away.

*

“You know that the fog may return, in time?” The god’s fingers twine gently with Jon’s. “I love you more than breath, but love cannot guard against such inborn sorrow. It comes when it wills, regardless of life’s joys.”

“Let it come,” says Jon. “I have loved you in the fog, and I will again. You own my heart, however heavy yours might be.”

He lifts his god’s hand and kisses his fingertips, feeling the buzz of bright sensation against his lips.

“My dear,” his god murmurs. “My heart.”

*

It isn’t long before Jon receives the letter that he knew would come; the fog has lifted and there’s no more to be learned, he is to return to the Temple at once.

He reads the letter once, then burns it.

*

“We should go somewhere,” Jon says, one evening. His god smiles, fingers stroking through Jon’s hair, leaving little trails of electric sensation behind.

“That’s a pleasant fancy,” he says. “I would love to travel with you, see those wonderful places you’ve told me about.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Jon urges. “Just for a time?”

“I-I couldn’t,” the god stutters. “My people—“

“Your people would carry on without you,” says Jon. “You have given everything that you are to this place and its people for so long; you’ve suffered through pain and sorrow in silence, until you could conceal it no more. You have thought of nothing for yourself, love, and so I must think of it for you.”

His god is staring at him now, his blue eyes wide and wet with tears. Jon grasps both of his hands, feeling the little sparks of divinity dancing across his skin.

“Come away with me,” he pleads. “Be selfish, for a little while.”

“Jon…” His god breathes his name like a prayer, and Jon wonders at the fortune that brought him here. His god smiles, bright and glorious.

“Yes,” he says.

*

They lock up the cottage before they leave, an empty shrine, but only for a time. The spring sun is shining, and in the valley below they can see people working in the fields, planting for their next harvest. The god gives a worried sigh, and Jon takes his hand.

“Your people are well,” he says, gently. “And we won’t be too long away.”

“I know,” says his god, and squeezes his hand. Then he smiles, wry and mischievous. “I had a thought; since we’ll be out in the world, I should choose a name. I expect most people won’t take kindly to calling me god.”

“That may be wise,” Jon agrees, laughing. “Have you thought of the name you might want?”

“Well…” his god says. “I was fond of the protagonist in that novel of yours—The Life and Adventures of Martin Blackwood?”

“Martin Blackwood, eh?” Jon says, considering. His god—Martin now, perhaps—tilts his head quizzically, his blue eyes shining.

“What do you think?” he asks, and Jon smiles.

“I think it suits you.”

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartinweek2021 #my fic #jonmartin

[vostokovasmelina]

— 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝟑𝐂. (𝐬.𝐰.)

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢  |  𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢  |  𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

characters: fem!reader; sam wilson; archibald the tabby cat; sarah wilson (mentioned)

word count: 2.1k+

warning: none (no tfatws spoilers yet)

series summary: after the blip, sam wilson gets home to an unpleasant surprise - his key doesn’t fit the lock anymore and his apartment is now inhabited by a stranger and a grumpy feline. however, the unusual encounter is only just the beginning of their post-blip lives and the reader soon learns that what life takes away, it can give back in the most particular ways.

a/n: if this flops, i’m quitting.

Sam was tired. Truly, utterly tired. It felt like he hadn’t felt anything but fatigue for the last few days, the kind that seeps deep into your bones and cozies up in your marrow, the kind that never seems to leave. Like, ever again.

He knew he was probably supposed to call Sarah and tell her he was on his way. They had only talked once since he came back, right before Tony’s funeral, and even that was a rather brief telephone call. His sister had told him there was something he needed to know but Sam had said they would talk once he got to hers. First, he needed some rest. A short nap would do, really. And a cup of strong black coffee. Or maybe two.

He parked his car where he always had; the space furthest to the left, right under his favorite maple tree that looked so pretty in the autumn and kept the inside of Sam’s car relatively cool in the summer. He watched for a while as the light spring breeze played with the fresh green mane of this majestic old lady, and felt a soft wave of calm rush through every tiny particle of him. He was home. The battle was over and he was on his way to his family. He wouldn’t take that nap. He’d just get his stuff out of his car and put Cap’s shield somewhere safe - he would deal with that later.

But he would have that coffee. He did deserve a treat after all.

Sam had no trouble getting inside the building, thanks to a delivery guy leaving right when he was about to enter. He took a deep breath, just a short second before making his way up the stairs to the third floor. He had been told at least a million times that what felt like five seconds to him, had actually been five years for those left behind. And still, the dirty old apartment complex had not changed at all, not even a tiny bit. Everything had stayed the same; the chipped grey paint on the dense walls, the rusty banister, the dusty steps... It felt like a time capsule. It felt safe, it felt like home.

Except it wasn’t anymore.

As soon as he got up to his floor, he knew something was off. He didn’t realise at first but he did approach the door to his apartment more carefully, with a slight shadow of a frown on his face. Sam slowed down his last few steps and looked the door up and down, down and up again, checking every corner for something out of the ordinary, something that was not meant to be there. When he found nothing, he chuckled to himself. So stupid. He had become paranoid. It was only natural given his job but honestly, it had been high time he had calmed down. So he slid his hand into his jacket pocket to grab his keys, and with a small smile lingering in the corners of his lips, he tried to unlock his door.

And that was precisely when his smile fell.

The key just wouldn’t go into the lock. Sam tried to insert every single one of them, even went as far as attempting to force his car key through the tiny hole, which obviously didn’t work. His anxiety was slowly building up in his stomach again and just as he looked down at his key charm, he realised what had made him so suspicious the first time - his doormat was gone. His black scraper had been replaced by a dark green carpet doormat that looked like it was in desperate need for a wash. Or maybe a one-way trip to the dumpsters.

Eyebrows furrowed, Sam looked up at the rusty number 3c on the door and, once sure it was indeed his apartment, he thought he’d try his luck with the doorknob as well. His fingers were already wrapped around the cold metal when the door swung open with such force that Sam froze for a few seconds.

“I’m warning you; I’m armed!”

Sam immediately threw his hands into the air and even took a step back from your doorstep. He was frozen for a few seconds and only relaxed when he saw what you were actually holding in your hands - a tabby cat in one, and a bottle of deodorant in the other. He let out a silent sigh of relief at the sight and slowly brought his arms back to his sides, but he made sure to stay put and not to approach you just yet.

“It’s alright! I mean no harm.”

*  *  *

Several minutes later your heart was still racing, threatening to punch a whole through your chest and making a getaway down the corridor. However, you slowly relaxed your muscles as your breathing started to calm down, too, still staring the stranger dead in the eyes and making sure to hold Archie as steadily as your shaking hand could. Once you had decided you trusted the words of the man standing before you, you dropped your other hand holding the almost empty - and therefore useless - bottle. However, you did keep your distance and wrapped your now free fingers tightly around the doorknob on the inside, ready to smash it into his face the moment it would be necessary.

“Can I help you?” You asked, cradling your uninterested cat closer to your chest and burying your fingers deep in his soft fur. You raised a wary eyebrow at the stranger standing in your doorway who himself seemed just as suspicious as you were. As if he had any right to.

“Yeah...” 

You watched him look you up and down, your little grey feline jumping to your defence and staring the man dead in the eyes as if daring him to spend one more second eyeing you. And it worked. With a tiny frown he looked you in the eyes again and continued. Good job, Archie.

“Who are you?”

You thought he was joking. So you laughed and then saw the man’s face and then felt bad. He was absolutely not joking. He was genuinely confused and obviously had no idea who you were. And it was not like you were a celebrity around here but you had built quite a decent following of fellow plant-lovers over on Instagram, so you were actually mildly offended.

But it was alright; you decided to let it slide and give this stranger a chance. Who knows, maybe he had been following your updates on your snake plant stories. He did look like a snake plant kind of guy.

And maybe you could also clear up the confusion around why he had been trying to break into your home just a minute ago.

So you told him your name and when he still looked as confused as ever, you looked at him expectantly, shifting Archie’s weight from one arm to the other.

“And... who are you?” You finally decided to help him out and even offered him a tiny smile, which evaporated the second you heard his answer leave his lips.

“Sam Wilson. I-”

“Sam Wilson?” You cut him off and stared at him for a few seconds, trying to process the information. The longer you looked, the more obvious the similarities got and you cursed at yourself silently for not having realised it before. Sarah had warned you about it the moment the news broke out but she had also promised to deal with it and let you know once she had enlightened her brother. You had been expecting a phone call or maybe a text, definitely not the brother himself right on your doorstep.

“Yeah. Why?”

You had already opened your mouth to answer but were interrupted by Archie who had obviously had enough of being cradled like a baby and since the drama seemed to have ended, he was no longer interested. You let him land on the floor gently and nudged him in the direction of your tiny living room before turning back towards Sam and opening the door several inches wider.

“You know, I really think you should come in.”

“No, I have to call my sister and-”

“You haven’t called Sarah yet?!” You exclaimed, stopping in your tracks and shaking your head ever so slightly. “She’s gonna be so pissed, man.”

You watched him furrow his eyebrows and do that thing again where he looked you up and down, down and up again as if you could be an alien in disguise trying to lure him into some intergalactic trap. As if you hadn’t just tried to protect yourself with an empty deodorant bottle and a kitten. Sam Wilson clearly was a poor judge of character.

“Yeah, I know your sister, get over it. Would you please come inside?”

You put on your most friendly smile just for him and stepped aside, gesturing Sam inside the apartment you both knew so well. He gave you one last wary look before stepping over the threshold, and you rolled your eyes at him behind his back before closing the door behind the two of you.

*  *  *

“Tea? Or maybe coffee?” Sam heard from behind him and did a double take before turning towards you, already making your way to the tiny kitchen area  divided from the living room only by a worn wooden table. Sam watched you take out two identical white mugs from one of the cabinets and felt his stomach jump up into his throat and fall back into its place again; that was exactly where he kept his mugs, too. Well, used to keep them.

“Oh, ugh, coffee. Please. Black. One sugar.”

He saw you nod and get to work. Sam did wait for a while for you to start the conversation and finally explain to him what was going on. When that didn’t actually happen, he turned his head to look around, trying to shake off the weird feeling he had seeing you feel so at home in what used to be his home just a few days ago. Or five years ago. Question of perspective.

The first thing Sam noticed once he had actually taken the time to look around was green. What, at first glance, had slipped his attention was now screaming at him from every corner of the apartment. The living room was filled to the brim with houseplants. There were handsome little pots of plants on the windowsills, on the bookshelves, even on the kitchen counter. What hadn’t fit higher, got place on the floor.

You had turned the apartment into a botanical garden.

“Hey, plant lady? Is this even legal? It feels illegal.” He gestured all around the room and you followed his movement with your eyes, a tiny grin creeping its way onto your face but disappearing the very next second. Sam tried his best to play along and act like he hadn’t even noticed.

“Oh would you look at that, you can actually form full sentences,” you teased, giving him a side-eyed look before handing him your mug filled with hot black coffee, which Sam took gladly, ignoring the drop of sarcasm in your voice.

“Those are actually fine,” you continued after the first sip of your tea and pointing at the cat yawning on the dirty old couch in the middle of the living room. “Archie is the only problem here. But hush, he’s a secret.”

“How can you keep a cat here in secret?”

“I bribed the superintendent,” you whispered, leaning a little closer to Sam and flashing him a perfect albeit forced smile.

“Old Charlie? No way!” Sam scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“O-ho, yes way! Everyone has a weakness and I’ve found our old Charlie’s.”

“Which is...?”

“... a secret I’ve vowed to take to the grave with me,” you replied and gave emphasis to your words with a tiny nod of your head, leaving Sam slightly disappointed but smirking nonetheless.

In the short silence that followed, he took another sip of his hot coffee, enjoying every millisecond of the burning, bittersweet sensation before finally addressing the elephant in the room. Because even though his suspicions had somewhat settled, Sam was still completely confused about how on Earth you could possibly know his sister and talk about her so casually. And you must have been thinking of the same thing because as he looked at you above his now half empty mug and your gazes met, you closed your eyes and let out a sigh, gesturing towards the small kitchen table.

“Let’s talk, I guess.”

*  *  *

mini-series taglist - let me know if you’d like to be added

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@amirahiddleston

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mcu taglist - join here

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#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson headcanon #the falcon #the falcon x reader #the falcon imagine #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #tfatws imagine #tfatws mini series #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu mini series #mcu reader insert #sarah wilson #bucky barnes

[barzzal]

when the ball drops

summary: out of all the times you wanted to bail, for once you were certainly glad you didn’t ditch this year’s new year’s eve party.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: language, parties, drinking, flirty banters + a smitten mat (set in a pandemic free au)

↳ genre: fluff, meeting a total stranger, early 2000’s romantic/comedy typa thing (what i think at least)

↳ length: imagine; 5.9k

↳ masterlist: the barn

note: this is an entry for @hockeynetwork’s winter fic exchange and i was matched as @bqstqnbruin’s secret santa! i genuinely hope you get to enjoy this, boo!! i wanna thank a few mutuals, @tkachukme @calgarycanuck @pizzarandomness (esp @thirteenisles !!) for helping me out so i could get thru with writing this imagine! you guys are so nice i truly appreciate all of you. happy holidays & happy new year, everyone! 💕 (gif used: mine)

Every year you swear to yourself that you would spend the New Year’s at home, eating a peaceful dinner by yourself and maybe enjoy a good bottle of wine whilst you spend the whole night watching The Holiday. But just like all the other years you have spent alone since you’ve moved to New York, you end up breaking that same promise, pretty much with the help of your two best friends Emma and Katie.

Now, instead of being curled up in your living room, wearing your favourite knitted sweater and away from all the New Year chaos happening all at once in the very best place to celebrate such a festive occasion, here you are, getting your second glass of vodka tonic as you wait for the goddamn ball to drop.

The local bar has always been crowded especially during this time of the year. You and your friends already made it an annual thing which is probably the reason why despite the yearning you have for the idea of spending it all alone, you couldn’t find enough courage to ditch them and disappear even just for one night. 

“Where are the girls?” Gavin, the owner of the bar whom you’ve already befriended due to the amount of times you and the girls spent helping him close up was busily wiping the counter when you sat in your usual seat.

You casually motioned your hand to where you left Emma and Katie, dancing with men they’d most certainly end up kissing once the clock strikes twelve. 

“Alone again? You’ve got to blow off some steam, y/n.” He greets you with a concerned look exuding from his virile exterior. You idly shake your head, giving him a tight smile to reassure him that you were doing okay. 

“It’s not that big a deal.” is the usual thing you say to people when your being ‘alone’ on the holidays becomes in question. “Besides, I’m a big girl, Gavs.” You proudly announce, leaning against the bar with your palm resting underneath your chin. 

“I know you’re a ‘big girl’.” He rolls his eyes before his gaze trails off to your friends and then landing onto a couple of young lads from across the room. “I’m just saying, loosen up. Meet people. It feels nice to have someone holding you close at night so don’t be too hard on yourself.” 

A snort bursts from you as soon as you hear the words leave Gavin’s mouth. Who would have known a guy as tough-looking as him would be too much of a softy underneath? 

“What?” He holds his guard as he continues making your drink. The liquid swirling around a few ice cubes and a shot of liquor. 

“Nothing, nothing. I just– I didn’t think you were one of those people.” You say, clearing your voice once you’ve finally gathered yourself. “You know, the sappy romantics.”

Gavin looks at you, giving you an ‘Oh, please.’ look. “No, ‘cause that’s where you’re wrong.” He protests. “I’ve always been this soft, “sappy romantic” kinda guy. You just choose to see me the way you see me; a typical macho man who hands you good drinks.” He pauses, finishing off with the last touches of your drink. “But you know what? That’s fine. ‘Cause that’s how I know you’re just like me.” He then slides the cold drink towards you. 

“What do you mean?” You were intrigued to be fair. You already had your head tilted to the side trying to piece something that could justify what he just said.

“That.” He looks at you, index finger circling before your eyes to make his argument even more compelling. “You act like a strong independent woman, which by the way you still are,– but you have to admit that you do want someone who’s gonna want to spend his New Year’s watching that dumb old movie of yours.” He says with a grin before he pours another customer a shot of tequila. 

You were sure you wanted to just shrug it off, but somehow, you can’t help but think of how his words hit you in the subtlest way. Each word bearing an insane amount of possibilities of him being right all along. 

But what’d he know anyway? It’s not like he knew you better than anyone else. Maybe it’s just his way with words. Or maybe he’s just that good. After all, that’s basically the reason why he’s running a goddamn bar, right?

𖥸

It wasn’t Mat’s first time spending New Year’s away from his family but if he only had a choice, he’d certainly take the next plane with no question. However, given how the team’s fight for the Cup is going stronger than the last season, he couldn’t bring himself to risk going away and missing out on his usual routines. So, for the past couple of weeks he’d let himself be stuck with Beauvillier throughout the holidays. 

Now, for the sake of festivities, the two decided it’d be best to come out to the city and have fun welcoming the New Year along with some good friends that were surprisingly available at the last minute. That being said, the local bar was already the third one they’ve gone to having started the drinking binge earlier than intended. 

“Happy New Fucking Year, Motherfuckers!” The loudest and perhaps, the drunkest man cheered at the center of the dance floor, holding up his drink carelessly as he danced to the mind numbing EDM coming off from the DJ’s booth. 

“Way to get wasted. Am I right?” Dan says as he stands to gather everyone and clink their beer mugs for the nth time. 

“Somebody’s definitely gonna miss the ball drop.” Tito snides, referring to the drunken man cheering tirelessly. Mat shakes his head and idly laughs. Their glasses meet halfway, causing some of the beer to spill over the table. The loud music and cheers echoed in Mathew’s ears, finding the whole scene a little too overwhelming despite how he liked to loosen up with bottomless drinks coming his way. 

Somehow, he was thankful that he needed a second to breathe which only meant having to take his eyes off of the same guys he hangs with on and off the ice. Because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to see someone so beautiful yet seemingly out of place when his gaze landed onto that one girl sitting by the bar all by herself at what seems to be the loudest pub in the city. 

“God, she’s pretty.” The words unknowingly slip off his tongue, making him realize he’s announced his thoughts out for the group just enough to make their brows quirk at the now out-of-reach Mathew.

“What?” Anthony leans closer to him so as to give himself a view of what Mat had his eyes peeled for. 

“That girl by the bar, she’s— she’s really pretty.” Mathew says, completely sure that he has never said anything true in his life. Much to his surprise, the boys gathered around and turned their heads towards the girl sitting by the bar. 

“So? Go and talk to her, man.” Anthony casually proposes with a nudge, urging him to go after her. 

Mathew immediately lets out a foolish scoff and chooses to gulp a large amount of liquor from his mug. 

“Yeah, just go for it. What’s the worst thing that could happen?” Tyson chides, looking at the girl who has utterly made their night a little more interesting. That being said, being stuck with the three biggest blokes wasn’t that too interesting to begin with. 

“Oh, worst thing? She could hear me!” Mat runs a hand through his hair, incapable of taking his eyes off of her even just for a second. 

“You know if you don’t, I will.” Tyson puts his beer down and acts as if to make the move Mathew was too hesitant to do himself in order to boost his mate.

“Fuck off. Fine. Hold my beer.” Mat rolls his eyes and shoves Tyson his mug before gathering himself by straightening creases off his suit along with a few sharp breaths to ease out the nervousness he’d been feeling.

You watch the teeny tiny leaf of mint swirl around the whirl of liquor you’ve successfully made, ignoring all the background noise, still evidently fixated on the words Gavin has left you with earlier. Has it really been that long since you allowed yourself to be fully vulnerable around someone? 

A sad smile escapes your lips, one that made the man that was now towering all over you wonder what could have possibly caused such melancholy on the most beautiful girl he has seen all throughout the city. That’s a rather heavy way to put it but that doesn't mean he was lying. He did find you really pretty. Maybe even a little too much and too out of his league.

A tap on your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts.

“Hi.” He says, gray eyes illuminated by the strobe lights hitting your direction. You give him a tight smile, acknowledging his presence and frankly even the boldness he had to strike up a conversation. 

“I just wanted to ask if what you’re drinking is any good.” Mat subconsciously reprimands himself for coming up with what is yet to be the lamest thing he’s ever told a girl. 

Great. Now, you’re asking her if a vodka tonic is good? As if it could get any better? He thinks to himself. So, to compensate and reduce further damage, he plays it off by laughing quite sheepishly as he absent-mindedly massages his nape.

Noticing what the man was doing, you let out a shy laugh too, biting your lower lip as you find his foolish attempt of hitting on you quite adorable.

“Wow. You’re really good at this.” You tease, now giving away a playful smile, poking at his middle school pick up line. 

Mathew chuckles. His doe eyes shy and alienated by the confidence he certainly knew he had not until a few seconds ago when he met yours. “I swear I’m better than this.” He tries again, this time earning himself a soft giggle from you.

Atta boy, Mat. 

“I’m Mat by the way. Mathew Barzal.” 

He reaches out his hand which you gladly took. It was calloused and rough around the edges whilst Mat found yours completely fitting in his. Your eyes meet halfway as you both shook each other’s hands. Fingers lingering quite longer than it should be.

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.” 

“So, you’re telling me you haven’t had a tonic before?” You ask him, hands now all to yourselves. Mat leans against the bar, his elbow resting on the counter, unable to suppress the embarrassment now dawning on him upon remembering his little set back.

“I’m sort of a vodka tonic connoisseur.” He kids in an attempt to redeem himself. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.” 

You look at him, shaking your head at how unbelievably gorgeous this man is. “Fine. It wasn’t. I’ll give you that.” 

“So,” He takes a deep breath before taking one of the empty seats beside you. “I– I can’t help but wonder, I mean– if it’s not too forward of me, how come you’re drinking alone on New Year’s?” 

You take a sip off of your drink and faintly shake your head, dismissing his query. “Hmm. Actually, no.” 

Mathew muttered an “oh.” at the thought of hearing what he thinks you’re about to say next. To his surprise, and frankly feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his chest, you motion towards your best girls, Emma and Katie who were now obviously way too fond of the guys they just met.

“See those girls?” 

Mathew nods, the answer to his question now becoming much clearer and put together. An answer that absolutely went along with his cards well. 

“Those are two of the most important persons in my life going at it at a New Year’s Eve Party.” 

“Would it be wrong to ask why aren’t you ‘going at it’ like how they’re doing it now?”

Is he always this formal? You think, lips curving to a grin. 

“What?” He asks when he sees the expression (he can’t quite put a finger on) on your face.

“Nah. I’m all good. I mean, not that I don’t want to. I just–” You pause. Unsure of whether telling him the truth would do your case any better. What’s there to lose anyway? He’s just some guy you’re bound to meet at the bar. It’s not like you didn’t anticipate a scenario like this from happening, right?

“Just take me as someone who isn’t really fond of big parties,” he then cuts you off and finishes your sentence, “But still go anyways.” 

“Exactly.” 

Gavin pops in for a bit, handing Mathew a bottle of beer he was certain of not ordering. He looks at him puzzled. A silent question that Gavin answered with a wink before getting back to tending to his alcohol induced customers. 

Apparently, it’s on the house.

“How come you’re here chatting with me when your friends are all the way there?” You motion towards a curly haired man and the other boys across the room. One was even smiling at you but you just opted on giving him a nod before turning your head back towards Mathew.

“Well, I didn’t like the idea of having you celebrate the New Year’s alone.” He honestly says. But since you were the kind of person who wasn’t the best at taking any type of compliment nor flirty exchanges like a normal person would, you roll your eyes and be the blunt person you were always known for. “Oh. I thought you saw a girl sitting alone at the bar and saw that as an opening.” 

To be fair, Mat wasn’t really intimidated by your remark. In fact, he actually liked how straight forward you were with him. You didn’t look at him the way he’s gotten used to whenever he comes up and introduces himself to other girls; something that only made him more interested in you. He can’t help but want to know what exactly is going on in your mind. Not the creepy kind, of course. Just the one where he’d rather spend the New Year’s getting to know a total stranger than getting insanely pissed with the same men he’s spent most of his days with.

“That too.” He admits, taking a sip off his beer without breaking his eyes off you. 

There was a sheer silence for a moment. The kind that Mat knew was much deafening than the booming sound of the usual dreadful New Year’s Eve Party. “So tell me,” Mat regains himself, catching your attention once again. “What would you rather be doing tonight? You know, if you hadn’t had to come out here.” 

He watches your lips quirk thinking about what it was that you actually wanted to do tonight. Then again, you only had one thing in mind. 

“I kinda wanted to spend it alone for the past three years.” 

“That long? How come?”

“Well, you know, for some peace and quiet. Maybe watch a movie or two.”

Like what he has been doing since the moment he’d gone to talk to you, he watches you run your fingers around the rim of your cold drink. Evidently immersed in your own thoughts from trying to piece out the real reason behind your grave wanting to spend the occasion alone. 

Turning the tables, you ask the same question back, “What about you? I mean, other than getting shit faced, what would you rather be doing?” 

Mathew takes a deep breath trying to suppress the longing he’s felt for the past few weeks. He just misses his family so much that he couldn’t help but wonder how they’re doing even if he’s constantly kept in touch with them hours before he’d gone out with the boys. 

“I’ll be with my folks. You know, all that usual family stuff.” He answers you shortly. 

You didn’t think much of what he’s told you so you just tell him the very thing that crossed your mind. “You know, it’s amazing how two people who didn’t even want to be here find each other just so they could bitch about not wanting to be here a little bit more.”

The two of you share a good laugh, utterly and undeniably enjoying each other’s company. It didn’t feel weird having to talk to a total stranger, let alone let them have bits and pieces of yourself that only enables them to put together an image of you that isn’t even as close to who you really are. Regardless of that notion, there was something about how Mathew connected with you, and how you connected with him. 

It was far from being the movie type of thing, but you have to admit, the remainder of the time you two have spent talking over a half empty bottle of beer and a glass of vodka tonic has definitely made the two of you feel this unexplainable wanting of having to learn more about each other. That being said, when all drinks were drunk till its last drop, Mathew couldn’t help himself from wanting to spend a bit more time with you. Maybe, even the whole night if you’d only let him. 

“D’you want to get out of here?” He shoots his shot as quickly as he could, afraid that losing even just a second would mean losing a night of spontaneity with you. 

You have long waited for a reason to miss the annual party. And if that meant having to wait three years just so you could stumble upon a tall and fairly handsome man that was going to save you from a dreadful evening, nothing would’ve felt as right as this if it weren’t for the push Mat had stored in his piercing eyes and mischievous grin. 

You didn’t have to give it much thought. After spending a whole hour exchanging little trivias of yourselves, Mat finally had it easy in making a riveting case. You sigh in defeat as you fish out a few cash from your purse and slide it into your tab. 

Excitement now exuding from Mathew, he bobs his brows up and down whilst he watches you roll your eyes once again for the hundredth time tonight. “I’m gonna hate you for this.” You tell him as you get off the bar stool.

Mat hurriedly signals Tito for his coat to which he was able to catch the moment he had tossed it towards his way. He then gets yours that was placed on the back of your seat before finally following you out towards the door.

“I highly doubt that.” 

𖥸

Mathew draped your coat over your shoulders, helping you to slip into it. You politely say your thanks and hold your purse close, your gloves gripping onto the leather as the two of you stroll the streets of New York, the winter breeze brushing on your cheeks with every stride you make. 

“So,” You begin, putting both of your hands inside your coat pockets. “Where are you taking me, Mat?” 

He tries to think for a second. The thought of not having a concrete plan for the night finally dawns on him. He clicks his tongue and breathes in the familiar scent of the city. Mathew looks around the block and spots the good old food truck he and the boys once tried when they were out for an away game with the Rangers. 

“How about New York’s finest burrito?” He points to where the truck was parked, clueless to how his sudden movement placed him inches closer to you. You didn’t notice it until you looked at him for his eyes were still pinned to where the truck was at. 

Mat’s eyes were pretty. That’s a known fact. But what you didn’t realize was how astonishing they are not until you got this close. You took in the sight sitting before you as fast as you could while he was still preoccupied like a five-year-old kid seeing an ice-cream truck pass by the neighborhood. Your eyes linger from his well structured brows, his unbelievably long lashes, down to the tip of his nose and his rosy cheeks before finally settling down to his cherry plump lips. All of which were more than enough to send butterflies in your stomach. 

“O-Okay.” You agree. Mathew takes you by the hand before you can even say a word. Thank the gods for letting you live in a city that seems to never stop the hustle to still have open food trucks good for a quick bite at this time of the night close into New Year’s.

“Hey, bud. Two sixes to go, please.” Mathew says politely once he knocks on the window. 

“You’ve got to try this, I swear.” He looks back at you with the same warm smile beaming on his face.

“Unless you want a proper meal? I mean, there’s a diner down the–” You immediately cut him off and take out your purse, offering to pay for it instead. “No! It’s fine, really. I’m a bit hungry myself.” 

After spending the whole time waiting for the wrapped snack, arguing on who would be paying, you let Mathew have this one for now even if you didn’t like others paying for what you can pay yourself.

You take a good look at your watch and see that you only have about an hour left till midnight. An idea pops in your head, making you gasp at the thought. Mathew looks at you with a half-eaten burrito in his hand, his brows all furrowed as if to ask a piece of your mind. 

“Come on, I know where we should go.” 

𖥸

Mathew never thought he’d found himself standing on a rooftop of a random building overlooking the Empire State during one of the coldest times in the city. The things that has only kept him sane was the girl who was still holding his hand, the city lights that have always left him in awe, and of course, the well heated rooftop.

There have been a few exchanges that are quite notable over the time you’ve spent with Mathew. He’s told you about the usual night outs he and the boys have for leisure, the family he had back in Coquitlam, how much he misses his mom and his sister, and how much love he has for hockey that he ended up doing the thing he loved most for a career. 

Him, on the one hand, pretty much learned the same stuff about you. Well, almost, for he has yet to ask you the one thing that has been bugging him off all night. 

You were telling him how this was your safe haven in the city and how much you loved going here every time you felt like needing to take a deep breath and step back from the world when he asked you a simple question. One that’s absolutely left you surprised (and a little bit impressed) that he still even remembered it at this point. 

“What’s the movie about? You know, the one you’ve been wanting to see tonight.” He asks, both of his hands inside his pockets to keep warm. 

The two of you sat on the bench facing thousands of lights illuminating the whole city. You look at him for a second, biting your lip as you contest with yourself, the thought of Mat being the kind of douché that would shit around women and their romantic comedy films comes rushing to you like a cold December breeze. 

“Alright, why do you want to know?” You pass the ball back to his court. To which Mat shortly answers with a level-headed sigh. “I kinda get the feeling it has something to do with the three-year thing.” 

“You’re nosy.” You kiddingly say, earning a chuckle from him. 

“You’ve spent the whole night walking with me and I can barely even feel my legs anymore, y/n. Trust me, between you and me, you know you’re the nosy one.” The two of you share a small laugh, your voices are the only sound that can be heard besides the sleepless city acting as a white noise to you and Mathew’s little bubble. 

“Fine. And you’re a fucking athlete, so don’t even start.” 

You playfully give him a nudge on the shoulder when he starts mimicking what you say. Mat stops immediately and looks at you with the same doe eyes glinting under the security lights that the rooftop had. He then patiently waits for you to gather your thoughts, breathing in all of New York as he lets himself drown in your presence. 

You didn’t know how but there was this unspeakable comfort you feel around Mat. Sure, he was just a total stranger you’ve met a few hours ago, but no one, not even the guy who dumped you after your five-date rule, was able to connect with you at the same level as Mathew did. 

“It’s not that I want to see it so bad. I’ve watched it for like– a reasonable amount before it became my comfort movie. Plus, it’s literally called The Holiday. Why wouldn’t you want to see it during the holiday?”

You tell him a bit more of how you’ve come into liking it, stalling him from the real reason why you wanted to celebrate the New Year’s alone. But you know, that even after all the circles you’re willing to go through just to keep Mat at bay, you’re bound to lose all your strings and resort to telling him in the end. You just hope you wouldn’t be making the same mistake you’ve made three years ago. 

You told Mathew about your on and off childhood sweetheart Claude who has always kept you high and dry throughout the years of being together. (That is if you were in fact together.) He was the constant reminder that you will never be the kind of person someone would want to stick around with.

You and him go a long way. You both ended up going to the same university because he just had to have you around and that he couldn’t afford not being with you even just for a second. He said that he couldn’t take the thought of having to see you only on the holidays so as the dumb kid you once were, your feet followed his everywhere he’d gone.

That cycle went on and on until you finally had the courage to leave everything behind and move to New York. Months as a new kid in the city, you were scared, of course. You spent your days hanging around your apartment, doing all sorts of crap you can even think of just so you wouldn’t have to leave your flat. Although, meeting Emma and Katie was the biggest push you needed to finally let yourself let loose. Long story short, at the first New Year’s Eve Party you’ve ever gone to after moving in the city, the person you least expected to see was the very first one to come out of Gavin's bar. Claude.

Just like what a normal person would do, the two of you sat down and caught up. Pretty much the same thing you’ve gone with Mathew. Although only a lot less chit chat and a lot more kissing.

Claude told you his real intentions. He said that he wanted to start something with you for real. Of course, you had let him but you have made the biggest mistake of telling him about your five-date rule.

Lo and behold, Claude did stick around for the fifth date. That being said, he had stayed only for the fifth date. You saw him sneaking out of your flat so early in the morning, leaving you nothing but a voicemail that said his foolish reasons and insincere apologies. Since then, after a lot of major hook ups here and there, you’ve never let yourself become as vulnerable and stupid as you once were with the biggest douche you’ve ever met.

“It’s crazy, I know. You can laugh about it.” You say when Mat hasn’t spoken for a few seconds. 

He takes a glance at you, a tight smile on his face. “I don’t think it’s crazy. That man is crazy. And also, a big prick. Classic dick move.” He tells you before he turns his eyes back to the city.

“Well, yeah. That’s me. That’s the holiday story.” 

“A crappy one, of course.” You add. 

Mat shakes his head no. He didn’t know why exactly but all he wanted to do at that moment, a few seconds before New Year’s, was to give you something,– even just a memory you could look back on. That that story isn’t going to be the one you’d be remembering for the next holidays. He wanted his to be something that’ll make your three-year-old crappy story long gone and forgotten. That his version would be the one that’s stuck.

“Definitely not this one.” 

As the clock strikes twelve, cheers erupted throughout New York along with fireworks shooting into the city’s midnight sky. The first thing you see upon looking back were the same kind eyes of the man whom you have randomly met at the party you dreaded most. Only this time, drowning you little by little as it becomes iridescent under the thousands of lights covering New York City.

You were frozen to your seat as Mat’s face inch closer to yours. You feel his breath against your cold skin as if it was lulling you to sleep. His hands find its way to your face, cupping both of your cheeks rather gently as he finally paints a new memory you’d be carrying for the rest of your holidays. 

“Happy New Year.” He greets you, almost like a faint whisper whilst the two of you gasp for breath. You blink a few times just to process what had just happened and digest how unbelievably good that kiss was. 

Mathew’s hands were still on your cheeks. You held them close so he’d know you weren’t ready to let go. You take a deep breath, gathering enough courage to ask him an unusual way of greeting someone a Happy New Year. 

“Will you walk me to my car?”

𖥸

You have both of your hands tucked inside your coat pockets as you walked the street leading to where you left your car. Mat was just telling you about the game happening next Thursday against the Bruins and how it would mean a lot to him if you’d come and see him play. 

“To be fair, the Bruins are good.” You commented, a playful smirk plastered on your face rather teasingly. 

Mathew lets out a snort as he rolls his eyes, chuckling at the thought of you dissing on his team the moment you had the chance. “Hey, both teams are good.” 

“It’s just the matter of who’s better.” You finish his sentence, yet again working your way with a clever remark. Mat hums, not necessarily agreeing with your sentiment. 

“So will you come?” He asks again just so he could hear you say yes. You take a deep breath, not letting yourself think too much of the said invitation. If you’re going, you’re going as a friend. Actually, you weren’t even sure if you could even call yourself such a label.

You nod your head yes to which had become the reason of Mathew’s glee. The two of you walked side by side in peace, basking in the comfort of each other’s presence. 

Once the rush of excitement about you coming to one of his games starts to wear down, Mathew begins to feel the weight of walking befall on him as it grows quicker with each step he takes. With his brows meeting halfway, he looks at you, eyes evident with confusion. 

“Where did you park your car exactly? I feel like we’re walking straight to Long Island.” He chortles, scratching his temple quite adorably.

You bit your lower lip as you looked up at him. Mathew’s physique towering over yours. “I uh– I took a cab to the party. My car’s actually parked outside my apartment.” You admit with a shy laugh.

Mat’s mouth went agape upon hearing you confess; awkward silence envelops the two of you with every second spent not talking to one another. Not long after, he decides to break the ice, undeniably impressed at how he’d never seen it coming.

Clever. He thinks, incapable of stopping his gut from swirling. His smile widens when he sees you looking at him; unfazed and perhaps, enamoured. 

𖥸

Mat did walk you to your car. The two of you exchange your thank you’s; utterly grateful for what has to be the best New Year’s you had in years. 

You wanted to ask him for one last cup of coffee because the last thing you wanted him to do was leave. But after all the things you’ve gone through with the man within such a short amount of time (and frankly, even a tedious walk) you still failed to muster enough courage to stop him from doing so. 

Once you see him get in the lone cab that miraculously passed by your neighborhood at such an ungodly hour, you close the door behind and head straight to your flat. 

You get home to the sight of your weighted blanket spread over your couch along with a couple of pillows that seems to be the best place to bury yourself in after a tiresome night out. Things were just as they were left hours ago; prepped for a much awaited movie night. As planned, you quickly get out of your winter clothes, head for a quick shower, before finally slipping into some comfortable nightwear.

You were just finishing up putting the bowl of popcorn and a bottle of Chardonnay on top of the coffee table when a buzz coming from the intercom catches your attention.

Once your hands were free, you quickly made your way towards the box, a bit irked at the thought of Katie and Emma ruining your long-overdue New Year agenda upon remembering how she’d told you to let her in the building just in case Katie gets a little too overboard. 

“Emma, I’m about to watch Jude Fucking Law. Just come up!” You hurriedly say, turning your head back to the screen which already had the movie on pause. 

However, instead of Katie’s whiny and drunken voice, what you heard was the same familiar chuckle that had been cruising your mind all night. 

“You know, I don’t think I mentioned that I haven’t watched The Holiday. Is Jude Fucking Law any good?” He asks. A mental image of how his eyes crinkle when he laughs comes to mind upon hearing his voice. 

Once again, pretty much like how you’ve spent the whole evening with Mathew, a wide smile lets loose as you press the black button. “Come on up.”

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fic #letters to barzy #barzzal imagines

[dragonblobz]

I'm on my bullshit again. No lemons. Just Shinigami goodness. Wrote this to In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth 3 by Coheed and Cambria.

Ryuk has been around for such a long time. Ever since she had found that notebook sitting on that tree stump years ago. Cover soft looking and beaded with dew. It had looked as if it had been there some time. And, although the pages looked weathered and yellow, there was no mold or outward damage.

Surprising given its location in the middle of the woods. She’d only even seen it because she’d stopped and knelt to retie her shoe. Just an alien black square looking sharp and unreal sitting on that stump just off the jogging trail.

She can remember how the thing had felt when she’d picked it up. Soft in texture. Like careworn leather.

The words “Death Note" emblazoned on the cover had made her feel a little unsettled. Eerie out here in the predawn misty quiet.

A silent voice inside her mind had whispered that maybe she should put it right back down on that stump and keep running. As far and as fast as she could.

Another voice, vapid and cunning, had laughed at the absurdity of such a book, with such a title, being left out here in the middle of nowhere.

She hadn’t left it there. Without opening it, she’d tucked it under her arm and continued on her morning run.

She performed all the menial tasks of her daily life, forgetting all about that Death Note leaving dew marks on her dining room table.

Breakfast was bland. Work was tedious. No different than any other day. Even when she’d reentered her home and plopped her work bag next to the thing, her eyes really didn’t focus on it.

It was the tall bony Shinigami standing in her kitchen that finally arrested her fuzzy mind from the blandness of living.

He hadn’t even been looking at her. Instead, the spinous processes of his vertebrae pressed onto the dark material upon his long back as he leaned over her counter. Observing a bowl of fruit as if it were a still life masterpiece.

She hadn’t moved. Was utterly frozen. Just watching this creature as it looked at her food.

“What’s all this junk? Taking up room that could be used for perfectly good apples.” It’s voice, low and yet raspy, grated on her eardrums as it lifted a hand and poked a claw into the ripe flesh of an orange. The movement causing several pieces of fruit to fall out of the over filled bowl entirely.

With a deft movement, the creature caught the only apple which had exited the bowl. Rubbed it with the pad of it’s thumb as it finally lifted it’s face to look at her.

It’s face………

Cadaverous. Eyes beady and large and yellow. Nose squashed. Like a mummy who’d decided to affix it’s hair for a punk rock concert. It was even sporting a dangling silver earring on one of it’s little ears.

At her gawping expression, it had smiled. Wide thin dark mouth sporting a row of razor teeth appearing aged and yellow.

“No screaming, eh? Hiya, Y/N.”

She hadn’t bothered to question how this thing knew her name.

“Um…….. hi?” Her own voice sounded dry and distant in her ears. “And you are?”

It bit into that apple, it’s eyes closing. As if savoring the fruit. A stray drop of the juice dribbled down onto it’s chin.

It said a word. But muffled thru a mouthful of apple, it nearly sounded like a retch.

“Ex….Excuse me? I didn’t…… I didn’t quite understand that.”

“Not a good listener tho. Ah well. Nobody is perfect.” It’s long tongue snaked out to swipe at that bead of juice as the creature had studied her.

Raising it’s free hand, it extended a long bony finger. She noticed now the rings glinting on his hands.

“I. Am. Ryuk.” He said it very slowly. As if she might have been a child who might not understand. But there wasn’t a trace of sarcasm or ill temper in it’s behavior.

“So….. Ryuk…… why…… um…. What……. What do you want?”

At this, it’s smile had widened.

“I’m just here Y/N. YOU are the one that picked up the Death Note.”

Imagery of that notebook popped up in her head.

“I….. I did……”

“Yes. You did. And I’ll be with you until you die now. Or I do.” It was leering now. “Whichever comes first.”

“I see….” She didn’t really see. Turned from him and went into the dining room to pick up that notebook. Opening it. Reading the first thing written on the inside of the cover out loud.

“The human whose name is written in this note shall die.”

It had been frightening in retrospect. Not those words. Not that Death Note. Not even the monster standing in the doorway happily crunching it’s way thru a second apple and watching her.

What had been utterly terrifying was that she had not blanched. Had not set this note down and backed away. Had not told that creature to take it and go.

Instead, she’d stood there. Continuing to read. A name and face already coming to mind.

A face belonging to a monster who’d put that apple eating shark mouthed monster to utter shame. The man who’d killed someone she had loved.

Without looking away from the Death Note, she’d reached over and started rummaging thru her work bag. Fingers shaking and fumbling at keys and change.

“Never can find what you’re looking for if your bag is too full, Y/N.” Ryuk looked vastly amused. “You’re not even going to question the validity of the Note? That’s what you humans usually do.”

She hadn’t answered. Simply gasped as her fingers had clutched onto a great fistful of bullshit in her bag. Lifting the whole mess out to drop carelessly on the table. Chapstick and a tampon scattering across the surface.

And there, rolling and coming to rest against an old broken key chain, had been a blue ink pen.

She’d looked up at Ryuk. Eyes wide, almost manic.

“Any person?”

He smiled again. Repeated her words.

“Any living person.”

There had been no eloquence. No artfulness nor ritualistic care taken in that first death. She had scratched the name onto the paper. And a way to die. Almost stabbing it in. Breathing coming out in ragged desperate gasping.

After the deed had been done, the pen clattered to the floor as she’d wept. Fingers numb.

It hadn’t occurred to her that there would be no way to instantly verify this death. Not until that moment. And so, with a frustrated cry, she’d slapped the Death Note onto the table and fled into her bedroom. Right over to the dark corner to collapse, wrap her arms around her knees, stuff her face into her knees, and cry as a child. Ryuk following her, tilting his head quizzically at this suffering.

“Why are you crying? You couldn’t have liked that human if you wanted them to die.”

“Please…… please go.”

But he didn’t. Simply had sank down. Knobby knees on either side of his ghastly face as he sat across from her.

“I told you. I’m here till you die, Y/N.” There was no camaraderie or sympathy in his voice. It had been matter of fact. “But this surely will get boring very soon, won’t it?”

“When will I know if he died?”

Ryuk smiled again. Leering.

“My my. Impatient aren’t you. Actually that’s a quality I like about you humans. As for your question, I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.” His eyes glint as his smile turns wicked. “You could always write a name belonging to someone closer. If you’re seeking validation, of course.”

“There isn’t anyone else I wanna kill.”

“Then this is going to get very boring very quickly, Y/N.”

She hadn’t had to wait long. Two days later, she’d received correspondence that her presence would no longer be required at a hearing. The defendant was dead.

A quick Google search verified that the person had died just as she’d written.

Setting the phone down, fingers numb, she'd simply looked up at her Shinigami.

She knew that’s what he was now. She’d been peppering him with questions about himself and his kind. And about the Death Note. He hadn’t answered many of them. At least, not until she’d given him an angelic grin and revealed a bag of bright green apples.

“Your apples can be green???” He'd looked absolutely delighted. And had been far more forthcoming.

“He’s dead. He’s really……. Gone…….”

Ryuk merely grunted in visceral enjoyment as he popped the core of that Granny Smith into his maw.

Without warning, she’d reached forward, patting at another errant drop of juice on his chin with a Kleenex she’d just snatched from the box. The action was mainly impulsive. And she’d laughed.

“You’re so messy.”

The Shinigami had frozen. Utterly motionless. He didn’t breathe himself. Statue still. Simply looking at her.

The years passed by like this. The shock and relief provided by this first killing soon giving way to an almost comfortable routine. She didn’t go on a wholesale slaughter. And often targeted those who hurt children. The pain of such cases resonating with the events of her own life.

And there were so. Many. Apples. Loads of them. Ryuk loved all kinds. Although he did seem preferential to Honey Crisp. She never once could get him to try another fruit. And she DID try. Not even a damn orange.

“It’s yummy. Ya know, for somebody that says he gets bored easily, you sure are picky.” She waggled the bright fruit.

“I’ve watched you peel one of those things. What sort of food makes you work so hard? Now THIS……” He'd held up his half eaten apple. “THIS is the pinnacle of crisp and juicy. Now leave that orange wherever you found it, if you please.”

Time was littered with conversations as simple as these, intermingled with serious discussions in which he was as non informative as ever.

It was one of these more serious conversations which followed an observation on her part.

She’d noticed changes in him. Very slight. But she was simply around him so much that she could see them. His movements had become slower. More careful. His speech slowed as well. As if he might be thinking more carefully. Or even forgetting things. She never once pointed this out.

Not until, one day, after clearing 6 entire apples, he’d actually groaned as he’d flopped upon her couch. Long booted feet hanging over one of the arms.

She plops next to him. Poking at one of the skulls on his belt. He’d long since stopped being surprised by her impulsive touches and nearness. Her humanness. Simply tolerating it.

“Are you hurting, Ryuk?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Oh. No reason.”

“I’m dying, Y/N.”

For once, it is she who freezes.

“I thought Shinigami lived a long time.”

“We do. My time is simply running out.” He’s just watching her.

“You’d said….. you’d said that you guys get more years by taking ours.”

“We do.”

She stops toying with that skull entirely. Turns her body so that she’s facing him directly.

“Is it time, then?” She’s oddly unafraid.

“Time for what?”

“For you to….. ya know…… write my name in YOUR Death Note?”

At this, he chuckles.

“I’m not going to write your name.”

She looks confused.

“But….. why not?”

Now he’s actually laughing.

“Do you WANT me to write your name in my Death Note?”

She chews on her bottom lip. Reaching out to pat his chest. Once again, he doesn’t react.

“I don’t want you to die.”

He laughs again. But there is no more true mirth in the sound.

“Why?”

She counters.

“Why won’t you write my name?”

“I am not entirely sure, Y/N.” The slight confusion in his voice gives credence to this answer.

“Well. I am sure.” She’s staring intently at him. “Everything ends, Ryuk. Nobody ever stays. Nothing is constant. I’ve never had a single person ever remain in my life. Except….. except you.”

He sighs. Patiently repeating himself.

“I will be with you until you die.”

“I don’t care if it’s because you have to be here. You’re still HERE……. Will it be soon?”

That same, toothy leer.

“You know I won’t tell you your lifespan, Y/N.”

“I don’t mean me.”

He just looks at her. She’s never seen his face so expressionless. Then repeats yet again.

“I will be with you until you die. Or until I do.”

“I will write my own name then. Will that do it?”

“Stop being foolish. Be a dear and get me another apple won’t you?”

“Yeah….. I will. But I’m not done.”

“I’m sure you’re not.” He chuckles.

It is as if this conversation opens a chasm in this inevitable process. Everything about Ryuk is changing. And so quickly.

Already emaciated and pale, even his dark lips turn papery and light grey. His hair grays too. Yellow eyes growing filmy where they had been so keen before. As if, when the aging process actually begins in a Shinigami, it is accelerated.

It is barely 2 weeks after this conversation that he gives a defeated grunt, sprawled on her bed as she’s on her laptop.

“I can’t get up.” He barks out a laugh. As if this is genuinely funny to him.

She closes her laptop and rises from her chair. Turning and walking over to the bed to flop next to him. Staring at the ceiling just as he is.

“You want another apple?”

“Thank you, Y/N. But I do not.”

“That close, huh.”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Will the Death Note still work? When you’re gone I mean.”

“Yes.”

Her voice is oddly cold.

“Do death gods go to hell? I cant go to heaven or hell. What about you?”

He doesn’t answer for several minutes. She doesn’t speak either. Finally…

“I suppose we will end up in the same place, Y/N.”

“I'm glad.” She turns her face to look at him. “I’ll need something before you go.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“The Shinigami eyes.”

At this, Ryuk turns his face as well. And they just stare at each other.

“Clever greedy impatient girl.” The insult is almost affectionate. “Are you truly that afraid to die alone?”

“Nobody should die alone. And this way, neither of us will half to. Half my lifespan for the Shinigami eyes. We’ll die at the same time.” She looks back up at the ceiling. He does too.

When he feels her fingers intertwining with his, as always, he doesn’t react.

“I never actually made that offer to you. Merely spoke of it.”

“I don’t care. I want the Shinigami eyes.”

He turns his face to her.

“Who am I to turn down such a lucrative deal?”

She sees his hand coming towards her face. Closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, the picture of her and some old friends on the wall is noticeably different. One face, the face of the friend who’d committed suicide years before, is clear and unblemished. The other faces each have a name and numbers above them.

And when she looks back at Ryuk, she sees that his hair is once again jet black. Eyes just as clear and sharp as she remembers. He leers at her. Squeezes her hand as she’s squeezing his.

“I’ll take that apple as well. If the offer is still there.”

She grins.

“You got a new lease on life and you STILL won’t try an orange?”

He scoffs.

#death note #ryuk #fem reader #ryuk x reader #tw suicide reference #my writing

[riversofmars]

Finally back to my passion project! Very happy to dive back into this world where Stranded 3 and 4 don't exist XD

Chapter 10: Regrouping

Humans are driven by emotion. We are notorious for it and there are plenty of alien species out there that don’t understand it. They would often consider it a weakness and I can see why. Emotions can be overwhelming, they can weigh you down and swallow you whole. Many of our actions are merely emotional responses. We are driven by them as much as they can cripple us. Positive emotions make us strong, confident and determined, we feel invincible. Negative emotions doom us to fail before even starting. One of the greatest challenges in life is dealing with emotions, learning how to manage them and act appropriately. Everyone deals with emotions differently, there are no hard and fast rules. As you probably remember, I am the type that needs space to process and be by themselves. Only that time, there was no pub I could drop into to drown my sorrows. That time, I had to deal with them head on and it wasn’t easy.

Tania and I parted ways quickly after our break-up conversation - if that’s what you want to call it. Neither of us wanted the pain, the guilt, the discomfort to linger, so we bade each other goodnight and went our separate ways, each dealing with things in our own way. While I imagine Tania would have returned to her bunk for peace and quiet, I had no such place of safety to turn to. It wasn’t such a bad thing, I’m better on my feet anyway when I’m uncomfortable or anxious, so I just started walking.

I was wandering aimlessly for a while, trying to sort through my gloomy thoughts and eventually made my way back to the central hub. I didn’t really know what to do with myself. It was the middle of the night and I was utterly exhausted but I didn’t know where else to go. I figured I probably ought to ask someone about where I could find a bed but with most people asleep, I didn’t know where to turn and I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone. My eyes were inevitably drawn back to the hospital corridor.

“Liv?” The Doctor’s voice carried over to me and I looked around. Of course they were still awake, they never slept, and I spotted both Doctors waving at me from the ticket office at the back of the central platform. It appeared to be Kate’s office but it was only the Doctors there. The UNIT chief must have opted for sleep, same as the Osgoods. I briefly wondered how long I had been wandering the corridors of the underground station for.

“Weren’t you meant to be resting?” The future Doctor asked as I found the two of them perching on the floor. It wasn’t a huge surprise, the Doctor had never been great at sitting on chairs properly for any length of time.

“I’m not tired,” I lied.

“So what are you planning on doing?” My Doctor asked with raised eyebrows and I felt almost guilty when I answered:

“I was just going to check in on Helen again...”

“She’s sleeping, you should let her rest,” he answered and I knew he was right, of course.

“Well, then I don’t know where to go,” I huffed, fed-up, exhausted and at the end of my tether. It was a moment of weakness as my facade slipped.

“Sit with us,” the future Doctor offered as I pinched the bridge of my nose, taking a deep breath to aid my composure. I was so tired of keeping my emotions under control, so tired of fighting.

“No, no, you two are probably giving off some mad levels of chronon radiation or something, being in the same place at the same time…” I tried to wrestle up an excuse, I didn’t want to interrupt their scheming and while I wasn’t exactly sure what I wanted or needed, I thought the safest course of action might be to just be by myself.

“Nothing that will harm you,” the future Doctor chuckled. “Come and sit.”

“Fine…” I sighed as I didn’t really have anything better to do and my legs were weak from our late night exertion. I dropped to the floor beside my Doctor who gave me an encouraging smile.

“Now, give her a hug, Doctor,” she carried on and her past self and I exchanged confused glances.

“What?”

“She needs it,” the future Doctor explained almost patiently. It seemed as though several lifetimes worth of additional experience in dealing with humans had resulted in her being slightly more perceptive than her past self.

“Right,” he looked at me surprised, as if he was wondering what she had picked up on that he hadn’t. I started shaking my head, I could do without their pity but it was too late. The Doctor pulled me - unwilling as I was - into a tight embrace.

“I don’t, I-” I started saying with an exhausted sigh but didn’t have the physical or emotional strength to fight it. As the Doctor didn’t let go, I reluctantly settled into the hug and rested my head against his shoulder. I will, of course, never admit this to the Doctor but it felt so good to be held, to be able to stop and not have to do anything. I trusted him with my life and felt far more comfortable with him than I would ever say. Looking back now, that was just what I needed and I’m glad the future Doctor realised that. I closed my eyes so the tears that threatened them wouldn’t fall.

“It’s gonna get better, it’s all gonna work out fine,” the Doctor assured me and I was inclined to believe him.

---

Impatiently, I drummed my fingertips against the glass of my recovery pod.

“Everything is looking as well as can be expected, we’ll be getting you out now.” The chief medical officer stepped up to the pod and gave me an encouraging smile. I had been there for days and we had gotten accustomed to each other’s presence. I wouldn’t say we had gotten friendly but I think she was curious about me, about how I had gotten to where they had found me and where our paths had differed.

“Right, good, finally…” I nodded, trying to keep my impatience at bay. It had been a long few days and I was more than eager to finally get out of the intensive care module. Physically I felt fine, no more aches and pains with the exception of the unsettling knowledge about my terminal condition in the back of my mind. When the module finally opened, I was delighted to breathe normal air again, not the super sterile environment of the pod. Spaceship air was still not the same as being on a planet but it was an improvement.

“All the physical damage has been cured,” the med-tech informed me as she ran a scan while I slowly sat up, monitoring my progress.

“I know,” I nodded and watched the glass that had engulfed me retreat to underneath the bed. I turned to the side of it, hanging my legs off the gurney, checking my movement. I seemed to have recovered well. “So what’s the prognosis?” I decided to ask. I like certainty. I like knowing what’s coming and when.

“Impossible to tell,” she gave me the same answer she had given me any other time. I’m not sure why I expected her to suddenly have a prognosis but when I was about to leave the medical bay at last, it felt like something I should have.

“So I could drop dead at any moment,” I acknowledged with a sigh.

“It could be years. But yes, full metabolic collapse can occur at any time… there will be no warning,” she confirmed what I already knew. It was funny. The medical-chief was a similar age to me by the looks of her, she presumably had similar qualifications, she appeared human, she wore the same uniform I used to have… I could have been her, had I not quit the space service in a strop. If only I had stayed, then I wouldn’t be in this mess.

“Fantastic,” I murmured sarcastically.

“I’m sorry there is nothing…” She wanted to apologise for her inability to do anything to help but I wasn’t interested since I didn’t blame her. I didn’t have a solution either.

“It’s fine. Best not to think about it, eh?” I gave a brave smile and did my best to push the thought to a back-corner in my mind. “Is there any chance of a change of clothes?” I looked down myself. I was dressed in a white jumpsuit that I recalled being standard issue for use with these kinds of intensive care modules. They were conducive to healing and didn’t get in the way of the pod’s processes as normal clothes might have. The one thing they were not was fashionable. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t care about fashion but these jumpsuits come in one size and one size only. I’m a petite woman, it did nothing for my frame and I set about folding up my sleeves and the trouser-legs.

“I’ll see what I can do,” the medical chief chuckled but she didn’t move, she just looked at me like there was a question burning on her tongue, so I looked up to her when I’d finished making my clothes manageable.

“What is it?” I asked almost patiently. I appreciated everything she had done for me, I would be dead if this space craft hadn’t picked up my distress call. The medical staff pulled me back from the brink of death, the least I could do was answer her question.

“What in the heavens were you doing on that isotope carrier?” She blurted out what I presume she had been itching to ask ever since I appeared in her medical bay but good medical practice forbade the interrogation of patients until they were in a fit state. “Even without the explosion, long term exposure would have…”

“Long story,” I smiled apologetically as I interrupted her. “And not a nice one, I was… running away from something. I don’t really fancy recounting it.” I hoped she would understand. All I wanted was to forget about Nixyce VII and move on with my life, even if there wasn’t much left of it.

“I’m afraid we will need you to do just that,” a stern voice sounded from the other end of the medical bay and we both looked around. An officer had entered, judging by his uniform and rank insignia, he was clearly part of the command structure aboard.

“Commander, really, she’s only just come out of the pod,” the medical officer greeted him with cautious apprehension and I immediately felt uncomfortable with the way he was sizing me up. I had met his kind before, the ambitious, aggressive type with little patience. There were plenty of them in the space service. I tightened my grip on the edge of the bed as I watched him stride over.

“We have waited long enough, mission control is expecting an update,” he declared and fixed his eyes on me. “Also, I am keen to find out how a former space service medical officer gets herself stranded on a Dalek isotope carrier so very far from home.” He narrowed his eyes as if he was hoping to get his answers from staring me down.

“It was a Dalek vessel?” The medical officer looked surprised, almost shocked at the revelation. I should have known they would realise as much but I could only hope they didn’t draw the wrong conclusions from it. My heart sank when I looked at the med-tech who looked confused and conflicted.

“From what we could establish from the wreckage,” the commander confirmed while I remained quiet. I wasn’t sure what to say. “Also, we have not been sitting idle during your recovery, Med-tech Chenka. We have dug up your personal file and what scraps of information we could gather about Nixyce VII where you’d requested to be dropped off on your last tour… you have some explaining to do,” he carried on briskly.

“Would it be asking too much that you just drop me off somewhere along the way?” I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. I was so tired of fighting. I thought things would get easier, now that I had escaped back to civilization but it seemed this would present its own challenges.

“Now, Med-tech Chenka,” the commander snapped impatiently and I obeyed, feeling thrown back into the midst of my space service training. I got off the bed, relieved to find my legs did, in fact, hold me.

“Thank you for fixing me up,” I gave the med-tech a wary smile.

“Have you done something,” she asked with disappointment in her eyes.

“Just… thank you,” I repeated and cast my eyes down as I followed the commander.

---

When I woke up again, my neck was stiff and my body ached. That is what happens when you don’t sleep on a bed. I groaned and as I turned I realised I had fallen asleep against the Doctor. My head had rested on his lap and I quickly pushed myself up, embarrassed.

“Morning, Liv, sleep well?” The Doctor beamed at me and I looked around confused and mortified.

“You are not telling anyone about this!” I hissed, feeling my cheeks burning. Fortunately, there was no-one else around with the exception of the Doctor’s future self who was sitting across from us still and watching with amusement. It seemed as though neither of them had moved all night.

“I think you needed that rest,” she offered kindly.

“You know, I’m really not young enough to be sleeping on the floor like that anymore…” I started complaining as I stretched out my aching muscles, then glared at both of them as they grinned sheepishly. “Don’t even say anything, either one of you,” I threatened, then deflected: “Have you come to a… plan?”

“Plan might be a strong word,” my Doctor conceded, apologetically.

“Ideas,” his future self added quickly.

“Right,” I nodded. I don’t know why I expected two of them would be better than one. It was double the brain power but also double the chaos. In my experience, for every good idea the Doctor has, he also has at least one stupid one, one with virtually zero chance of success and one that involves suicide.

“The Doctor said it was River that told you about what was going to happen?” The future Doctor cut through my thoughts and as I looked at her, I realised this was something she seemed to be quite keen to talk about. Her expression betrayed a sense of urgency, of wonder and almost yearning.

“Yes,” I nodded my confirmation.

“How is she?” She carried on asking, almost too quickly.

“Fine, as far as I could tell. We didn’t exchange much in the way of pleasantries…” Thinking back now, I almost felt bad about that. When River had filled me in, she had taken the time to address my fragile emotional state, but I had never asked what she was up to, how she was doing. River always seemed to be just fine but the expression in the future Doctor’s eyes led me to believe things were far more multifaceted than I realised.

“Right… Did she give any indication where in her timeline she was?” Her questions continued and I couldn’t blame her.

“Sorry, no… Just the usual mysterious ambiguities about not being able to see you, either one of you.” I looked back and forth between both Doctors.

“Right…” She sighed, almost defeated.

“So you don’t remember any of this?” I asked when suddenly, it occurred to me that this was someone who had - technically - lived through all of this already. I understand the whole thing about time travellers not being able to remember much from when they meet themselves and their memories blurring. In this case, however, the Doctors were only meeting then. The future Doctor should at least be aware of these events, even if they didn’t remember details. “You would have known of it, even if you don’t remember it because of the timelines crossing. You would have remembered the Daleks attacking, for sure. You’re only crossing timelines now,” I explained as best as I could manage.

“This might not always have happened like this. There is every chance this was never meant to turn out this way. You only got involved because you travelled to the future. In a way, River kick-started this whole thing…” The future Doctor retorted with a weak smile.

“What was it you said she’s doing?” I turned to my Doctor, trying to remember what he had said about River’s interference.

“She’s destabilising this whole area of space-time with her meddling. Breaking up fixed time… it’s incredibly dangerous, she surely wouldn’t be doing it if there was another way…” He ran his hands through his hair, seemingly trying to think.

“River doesn’t take fixed time all that seriously…” The future Doctor chuckled, then carried on more gently. “You probably really weren’t meant to get involved but River thought it was the only way so here you are. The Doctor mentioned she gave you a notebook of all our failed attempts… can I see it?”

“I told you what it said,” her younger set interjected but she carried on:

“I’d just like to see it for myself, I know her better than you do.” I couldn’t argue with that, she certainly had that advantage and I will admit, I was quite curious to find out more about their relationship but I knew it wasn’t the time. So I pulled the notebook from my pocket and passed it to the future Doctor who took it carefully, almost as if it was a precious relic and my heart went out to her. I could tell she was missing River very much while our Doctor didn’t know her well enough yet.

“I’ve read most of it. It’s all the ways in which we have defeated the Daleks,” I explained as I had many times before. “If you skip to the last one, that’s the one we met you in, the one we travelled to and witnessed.” The future Doctor flicked through the notebook until she got to the attempt I was referring to, and then beyond.

“What’s this?” She frowned, taking a closer look and I leaned over.

“I don’t know, she probably started on another loop but decided it was time to call it quits and deliver…” I commented. She was referring to a page where she had started writing but broken off. There were quite a few empty pages at the back, the notebook wasn’t full by any means, and this seemed like a last moment but broken-off addition.

“No, no no no no, it’s not, this is deliberate,” the future Doctor retorted with excitement as she turned the notebook, then turned it again. “That’s brilliant. River, you are brilliant!” She exclaimed and jumped to her feet.

“I’m not following,” her younger self frowned. Whatever the future Doctor had found out, he was annoyed he hadn’t done so himself.

“You’re not meant to, this message is just for me,” she explained and started pacing excitedly. “Something only I would understand, references to things you haven’t done yet.”

“Why didn’t she come to see you when the opportunity was there?” He asked a question that I had posed River as well and that she had refused to answer with any clarity.

“She said it’s more complicated than that, that she couldn’t see you…” I interjected, directing my response at both of them and the future Doctor frowned, her excitement ebbing away for a moment.

“But she- oh. She would have thought…” A sort of realisation seemed to be dawning on her.

“What?” I prompted, eager for an answer myself.

“That she couldn’t because we’ve already had… our last night together. That’s stupid, River, just plain stupid, there is always more time…” She groaned sorrowfully and I thought I understood.

“Maybe she thought seeing you would hurt too much…” The words slipped over my lips before I could contain them and they sounded about as hollow as I felt uttering them. Seeing someone you care about and knowing you can’t be with them is a painful thing, I’m speaking from experience.

“So what is the message,” my Doctor spoke into the silence that stretched around us and I was glad for the interruption.

“She’s left something for me to find… we’ll be going on a treasure hunt,” the future Doctor revealed as enthusiasm slowly returned to her voice and she put on a brave smile.

“Does it say what we are looking for?” Her past self asked and she shook her head:

“No but if I know our wife, it will be well worth our while. I’m going to talk to Kate!” And with that, she was off.

“I think I ought to get a change of clothes and freshen up… Sounds like we will be in for another adventure shortly,” I looked to the Doctor who seemed to be in a trance, the words of his future self seemed to be sinking in. I didn’t know what to say. That was not how he had been meant to find out. It had been a simple slip of the tongue but a fateful one.

“Did you know?” He asked softly and looked up to me as I got to my feet.

“Yeah, I did, I’m sorry,” I answered gently. “I didn’t think I ought to say…”

“No, I suppose not…” He sighed and gave a soft smile. I could tell the feelings for River were there already, even if they were distorted and confusing still. The time he had spent with her when she had pretended to be Sister Cantica seemed to have left an impression.

“You have all of that ahead of you, and I get the impression you’re going to be having a good time,” I tried my best to sound positive but he cut me off with bitterness:

“Until it ends.”

“Everything ends, everything has its time… your words, not mine,” I retorted and simultaneously gulped down my emotions, trying not to think about the implications, trying not to think how all this, seeing the Doctor’s future, affected the rest of us as well. In the future, Helen and I were not travelling with the Doctor anymore. She had new companions, new friends... Of course I never expected to be travelling with them forever. As far as I could tell, the Doctor was near immortal and Helen and I, well, we were human, with human life spans. There was also every chance that eventually the lifestyle would kill us, unless we had the good sense to leave first. It begged the question where we would go, and more importantly, if Helen and I would be doing it together. I couldn’t face the thought that one of us might leave before the other and we go our separate ways.

“I suppose,” the Doctor mused and his voice was laced with a similar sorrow as I was feeling.

“I’m sorry…” I took a deep breath and he nodded:

“I’m sorry too.”

---

I ran into Martha halfway across the main area. The whole place was buzzing with activity and excitement as the new day had started and the future Doctor was filling Kate in on what she had discovered.

“Did you manage to get any rest?” Martha asked kindly and I gave a weak smile.

“Some,” I replied, which was technically true, though I wasn’t sure whether it had done me any favours. Some sleep was better than no sleep and my emotions were not quite as raw as they had been the day before. I decided to take advantage of Martha’s presence and asked: “You wouldn’t know where I can get a change of clothes from, would you?”

“I’ll show you, I need to freshen up as well,” she answered kindly and gestured for me to follow. We stopped off in one of many stock rooms, one entirely dedicated to clothing.

“You really thought of everything, didn’t you,” I commented and searched the piles for something suitable. I’m not picky with this sort of thing, so long as it fits, I’m content. Jeans and a cotton shirt would do just fine, I decided after brief deliberation.

“Before you ask, Helen is just fine,” Martha said as I gathered together what I needed. I looked up, surprised but also grateful.

“Good,” I smiled and followed her out of the room and down the hall.

“Can I ask what…” She started as we turned into the bathroom, then seemingly seemed to think better of it: “No, never mind, it’s none of my business…”

“What?” I retorted, confused and worried by her hesitation. “You can’t start like that and then just leave it…” She didn’t respond immediately and I took a moment to look around. I know I said it before but this whole underground base thing really was ingenious, UNIT had done a lot with what was already there. What used to be a - presumably - long out-of-order public bathroom had been brought into the twenty-first century and had been made fit for purpose. I stepped up to a sink and assessed myself in the mirror. I still looked extremely tired and splashed some water on my face. I caught a glimpse of Martha in the mirror, she was watching me so I prompted more encouragingly: “You can ask whatever you like, seeing as you did such a great job with my shoulder, I owe you.” I peeled away the dressing to have a look at the cut while I waited for her to answer. The sutures had remained neat and intact, despite my precarious sleeping arrangement the previous night. I made a note to change the dressing later on when we got back to the medical corridor.

“What is going on between you and Helen?” Martha blurted out and my heart dropped. I didn’t know how to respond but fortunately, I didn’t need to, not yet, as she kept talking quickly, presumably while she held her nerve: “Please don’t take this the wrong way but… I’ve known Tania for a while now and she thinks the world of you-” She carried on and my chest tightened at the mention of Tania, as memories of our exchange from the previous night flooded my mind. “I just don’t want her getting hurt when-”

“Tania broke up with me, if you must know,” I interrupted her firmly and it felt almost liberating to say it. At least I didn’t have to feel guilty anymore.

“Oh, I see…” Martha blinked, surprised. “Because of Helen?”

“Because she deserves better than my divided attention,” I answered and turned around. I figured honesty was the best policy. The perceptive doctor seemed to have already guessed most of it anyway, I wasn’t going to insult her intelligence by lying. Also, if she was friends with Tania, there was every chance she would find out the truth in the end anyway. In a strange way, it felt good to actually acknowledge it to someone. Maybe it would help me figure out the fog of feelings. “But there is nothing going on between Helen and I. Please don’t mention it to Helen either, don’t ask her about it, it’s not fair, she’s not…” I lowered my gaze. I wanted to save Helen the embarrassment, I had put her through enough already.

“Really?” Martha seemed confused and so was I by her response.

“You sound surprised,” I observed and she shrugged.

“I am, I guess,” she admitted. “It just seemed so… obvious.” I almost laughed at that, at the irony of it.

“She’s not interested,” I answered with a sigh and turned back to the mirror, not for any reason, just to put some distance between myself and Martha’s observation that I wished were true.

“I’m sorry…” She retorted slowly as she didn’t seem to be able to think of something else to say.

“What made you even think that Helen…” I had to ask. I knew it would torment me and I would be left thinking it over and over but I had to know what had given her that impression.

“She was upset last night. When you left with Tania,” Martha explained slowly as she seemed to be considering her words carefully, unsure of what to say or not to say. In the end, it seemed like she opted for the whole truth: “I didn’t mean to pry but… she was crying.”

“What? Why?” I whirled around again, immediately feeling guilty for having walked away as quickly as I had the previous night. I had been focused on Tania which had been absolutely the right thing to do, but I hadn’t even picked up on Helen possibly being upset, not in the least. It made no sense.

“I didn’t ask, I didn’t think it was my place.” Martha gave me an apologetic smile.

“Maybe she was relieved that nothing bad happened to the Doctor and me… or maybe she was so angry that we didn’t take her, that… or maybe she was in pain from…” I was seeking explanations but none of them rang even remotely true and I couldn’t entertain the thought that she might have been upset over me going off with Tania.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be getting involved…” Martha seemed to be getting uncomfortable.

“No, it actually… it’s actually… good to talk about it, might help me get to terms with it… Helen is just not interested in me and that’s fine, I knew that from the beginning, I just… got my hopes up for no reason, hurt Tania in the process but… maybe that was for the best, she deserves someone that can properly love her and it turns out, I’m not that person for her… Anyway, it’ll be fine, we will all be fine…” I tried to sound optimistic and I wasn’t sure whether Martha was buying it.

“I know a thing or two about being in love with someone that doesn’t love you back,” she said after a moment of silence between us.

“Right...” I didn’t know what else to say and fixed my eyes to the floor.

“When I used to travel with the Doctor, I was… well, it’s not important how it was but I… once I had some distance and realised my own potential I became a much happier person and that’s when I met Mickey…” Martha said and I gave a joyless laugh as I interrupted:

“Are you telling me to stay away from Helen?”

“I just think you’re not doing yourself any favours, you’re torturing yourself,” she observed and I have to admit, she was probably right.

“She is my best friend, first and foremost…” I explained why I would never be able to keep my distance. I had hurt Helen last night by not asking her along when the Doctor and I had set off on an adventure. Maybe she was worried we would leave her behind, maybe that was what had upset her. Helen had always believed that she was the odd one out, the late addition, the one that didn’t quite fit in with us… which was of course entirely wrong and misplaced self-doubt. I couldn’t have her feeling like that. I needed to make sure things went back to normal. “I need to fix things.”

“Then maybe find out what she was so upset about?” Martha suggested and I knew she was right. It would be best to address the issue head on. If Helen really was worried for her place in the TARDIS, I had to put her mind at rest. We were a team, the three of us, no matter what.

“I will try, thanks,” I nodded and Martha smiled:

“Now, I’ll leave you to it, I’m sure you can manage the next bit by yourself.” With that she left me to wash up and get changed.

#Doctor Who #fanfiction #action/adventure #liv chenka #helen sinclair #eighth doctor #thirteenth doctor #river song #kate stewart #martha jones #stranded AU #Revolution of the Daleks Au #dw fanfic #liv x helen #river x thirteen #river x eight

[themusicplayedherlife]

Missy’s Lesson Plan

Lesson #1 Listen to Her Worries

pairing: marcus moreno x f!teacher!reader characters: f!reader, marcus word count: 3.6k+ warnings: fluff, awkwardness, bonding, summary: dating is hard; dating after losing a significant other is even harder, but Missy is sure she has a foolproof plan that will help her dad and her teacher finally confess their feelings and get the happily ever after that they deserve! a/n: sorry for the wait! since so many people liked it i wanted to make sure everything about this chapter was decent to post, so ya’ll have @forevans​ to thank or else this would’ve been stuck in limbo for a long time lol--also, im about to dub reader and marcus the thank-you-couple lmfao--you’ll see why

There are three things you are absolutely sure about in your life.

1. Your name. 2. You love your family. And 3. Missy Moreno is your favorite student.

“Turns out she was just testing us!” She moves around your classroom, picking up scraps of paper and throwing them into the black, durable trash bag she’s hauling around with her, recounting her heroic tale of saving her dad and the other Heroics with her new super powered friends. “A transfer of power or something. Can you believe it?”

Yes and no.

Your heart had literally jumped out of your throat and blood turned cold when Missy was plucked from school during recess—“taken somewhere safer,” the principal had informed you after you stormed into her office wanting to know where your student was and why you weren’t informed.

School was released an hour after that, a way to prepare citizens for the inevitable destruction the Heroics tend to cause in the heavily, populated metropolitan areas, and after making sure every single one of your students had been picked up by a family member, you hurriedly headed home.

You had sat yourself down in front of the television with your mom, worried for Mr. Moreno and the rest of the Heroics (more so for Missy’s dad), feeling completely and utterly helpless.

It only got worse when agents suited in black and white showed up at your doorstep, demanding to know where Missy Moreno and the other super powered children were hiding.

“You lost them?” You had balked—your worry rising to new heights—first Mr. Moreno and now Missy? You didn’t know what to do other than demand how a bunch of agents could have lost a group of untrained children during an alien invasion!

None of them answered you, remaining stoic, and if it weren’t for your mom, you would’ve pounced and clawed the closest agent out of desperation.

The agents only left after turning your house upside down in their search for the children.

And then, after hours of waiting, the news showed the Heroics, Anita Moreno, and the children landing in front of the White House, safe and sound. You almost cried from relief in your mother’s arms.

So, no, you can’t believe it; but seeing her here, this special girl, that has somehow worked her way into your heart from the moment she walked into your life, safe and sound in your classroom, you do believe it.

But you can’t tell Missy all of that when she’s practically bouncing on the heels of her feet, beaming up at you every few seconds to watch your reactions to her story. Instead, you widen your eyes for good measure and your mouth hangs open. It’s a little exaggerated, but you really are impressed with Missy—very much worried, but impressed. “Woah! I’m so proud of you!”

Her grin is so bright and proud, it makes you chuckle under your breath, your shoulders finally relaxing at the rare, childlike mirth dancing in her eyes.

“Are you going to write about it for your report?”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

Now that stops you from sorting through the craft supplies, eyebrow raising in surprise. “Maybe?”

“It’s stupid,” she murmurs, focusing a little too much on one area.

“Missy,” you start, patient, “why do you think it’s stupid?”

“It’s just—” she shuffles on her feet and then sighs heavily, looking up at you with dark eyes full of doubt—“what if no one believes me?”

It takes you no time to close the distance between you. You coax the bag out of her hands and set it down on the floor, motioning for her to sit at the desk she had just been pretending to clean. “Why do you think no one would believe you?”

“Because I don’t have super powers.” Her nose wrinkles, looking away from you and to the whiteboard.

“Missy…”

“I know, I know!” she exasperates, having heard this spiel from you many times before. “It doesn’t matter, it’s never mattered, I get it!” You stare at her incredulously, and she is quick to assure you, leaning forward on the edge of the chair. “I do, really! But I—it would be useful, you know?” She slumps back, finger rubbing at a spot on the table. “Proof, I guess.”

“Powers could always be useful,” you agree with a soft laugh. “But not always necessary.” She still doesn’t look at you, and you sigh softly, a small amused smile forming on your lips. “I know you know some of the most amazing, most brave people are the ones without powers.”

She looks up at you, head tilting and waiting for you to elaborate.

“You once told me that aside from your dad, your mom was your absolute favorite hero, remember that?”

She nods, a smile finally appearing on her cherubic face.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Missy.” You crouch down to her level. “You not having powers doesn’t mean the rest of the class won’t believe you. They know you’re a leader, they look to you not just because you’re Marcus Moreno’s kid but because they believe in you.”

“I knew it was stupid,” she murmurs bashfully, tanned skin brightening as she huffs and folds her arms over her chest.

“Hey, no, none of that. Having doubts or being scared or even jealous is never stupid. It’s perfectly human,” you assure her, her brown eyes searching yours. “In fact, I sometimes feel that way too!”

“Really?” She drops her arms and her pout softens. “You?”

“Of course! Just because I’m an adult doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes doubt myself or feel a little insecure.”

“Like what?” she asks, dark eyes curious and wide.

“Oof, a lot!” Your eyes roll to the ceiling as you think. “I think… one of my biggest doubts and fears is not being a good enough teacher.”

“What?” She gasps, jumping in her seat and eyes narrowing with scary determination to get you to believe that: “You’re an amazing teacher!”

Warmth fills your chest at the sincerity in her voice and eyes. “See!” You cross your arms over your knees, but Missy takes your hand in hers, and you let her, squeezing her smaller hand in yours. “Sometimes, we don’t see ourselves in the same light as others do, and that’s okay. We just need a little reminder every once in a while.”

“Yeah,” she drawls, playing with one of your fingers, “I guess you’re right.”

“I know I’m right.” You nudge her nose gently with a hooked finger and she wrinkles her nose in response. “And this is my reminder for you today: I truly believe you’re capable of doing extraordinary things, Missy. Powers or no powers.”

She grins, nudging your nose just as you had. “And I truly believe you’re the most amazing teacher ever.”

Yeah. Missy Moreno is definitely your favorite student.

“I know.” You ruffle her hair and she grabs your wrist to push you away, laughing.

A loud thud by the entrance of the class brings you to your feet, spinning in place and firmly placing yourself in front of Missy and the sudden intruder—only to find a sheepish Marcus Moreno mid trip and hand raised sheepishly.

“I—ah—sorry, I was going to knock, but the door was opened—” he says, quickly crouching down to pick up the empty rack you set up for the kids to place their backpacks and lunch on. “Sorry.”

Missy lets out an exasperated, “Dad!” while your form relaxes (replaced by a new tension squeezing your chest).

Clearing his throat, he straightens up, raising a hand in greeting and an apology. “Sorry,” he murmurs again.

“It’s fine, Mr. Moreno.” You offer him a warm smile, ignoring the little butterflies in your tummy. Turning to Missy, you catch a very much exasperated eye roll that only makes you stifle your laughter behind your hand. “Come on, Missy, get your things.”

She eyes her dad for a moment longer before nodding and hurrying to her table shared with Karina at the front of the classroom, a table away from your desk.

“Thanks for letting Missy stay.” He scratches the back of his head, his other hand resting on his hip as he shifts his weight. “Paperwork took me longer than I would have liked.”

“A hero’s work is never done, huh?” you joke, keeping your voice light.

He cracks a charming smile, the one that always seems to melt your insides into a pile of goo. “Unfortunately.”

Your eyes move to Missy, who is slowly putting her things away, organizing them and reorganizing. Her head tilts slightly when the conversation between you and Marcus pauses, dark eyes trying to inconspicuously look over her shoulder to get a glimpse of you and her father. Her eyes catch yours and widen in surprise before she snaps her head forward, pretending to be busy but not hurrying her movements, either—much to your amusement. What is she doing?

Shaking your head and returning your gaze to Marcus, you’re met by brown eyes full of exasperated fondness, an apologetic smile on his handsome features.

“I heard about what happened,” he suddenly says. “About some of our agents raiding your home.”

“Oh!” You blink owlishly, embarrassment crawling under your skin—what else did he know? “You heard about that?”

“Read about it in the report, actually.” He tilts his head, scratching the stubble on his cheek, and you press your lips together to keep from questioning what else he read in case they didn’t add the part about you losing your cool. “I have agents on their way to help clean up any mess they might’ve made and to replace anything they might’ve broken.”

This man is truly a god sent, isn’t he? “Mr. Moreno, I appreciate it, thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he assures you, firm and kind. “It’s our fault you got caught in the cross hairs.” His eyes fall away from yours, and again, he shifts his weight on his feet as he pushes his glasses back up over the bridge of his nose.

You wait for a moment, but when he doesn’t look back up at you, you let out a little defeated sigh, disappointed that the conversation is over. Not that you want to keep talking about agents ruining your home, but you like listening to Mr. Moreno speak. He has the softest, most reassuring voice that makes you feel safe in his presence; like he trusts you.

“Well, again, thank you,” you start as you make your way over to the plastic bin full of craft supplies on your desk and are about to take them to the closet you store them in when warm fingers brush against yours, taking the box from your hands. “Oh!”

“Let me help you with that,” he says, soft and rich, warm eyes full of kindness staring into yours.

“Thank you,” you murmur—and he’s close, not like when he was sitting across from you as you introduced yourself to him and showed him the first progress report of the year, but close enough that you can see the glints of black and umber in his eyes, tips of his shoes barely touching yours, and a small box keeping your chests from brushing against each other.

“It’s no trouble. Least I could do.” He flashes another smile, and again, your heart melts and you have to physically keep yourself from biting your lips by swiping your twitching fingers over your mouth, eyes darting away from him.

Clearing your throat, you say, “Let me show you where I need them.”

He nods and follows after you, keeping a fair distance even after you point at the empty space the bin was in earlier that day.

“Thank you,” you say—again! all you do is thank the man!—as he puts away the bin and closes the closet doors for you.

“Of course.”

“Okay, I’m finally ready!” Missy announces, a little too loud for it to not to be intentional.

“We should start heading out, then.” His hand settles on Missy’s head, steering her towards the door. “Again, thank you for letting Missy stay—really saved me.”

“It was no trouble at all.” You wave him away, following after them to walk them out.

“That was painful to watch,” you swear you hear her whisper to her dad, and he shushes her.

Did you imagine it?

“Ah, actually, Mr. Moreno, may I speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course!” He pats Missy’s shoulder. “Go on ahead, I’ll meet you down the hall.”

She narrows her eyes at him, as if trying to communicate something to him before nodding and walking off. “See you Monday, teach!”

“Bye, Missy! Have a good weekend!” You wait until she’s completely out of ear shot, or at least on the other side of the hall to address your worries to Mr. Moreno. “Missy told me about what happened on that spaceship and I—I’m worried. I know what Missy is capable of, trust me, I know. She’s—extraordinary. A good kid.” You bite your lip, wrapping your cardigan tighter around your frame, the cold wind brushing against your exposed skin. “But I—I can’t help but worry either way. I know it’s not my place—”

“No, no!” He steps forward and a little to the side, blocking the wind from hitting you. “Thank you for caring so much about Missy. I—I always feel grateful knowing you care about her and that she’s in capable hands at school.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, a huge weight off your shoulder now that you know you’re not stepping on his toes.

“I’m worried too, if I’m being honest.” His eyes slide to Missy waiting for him at the end of the hall where she’s rocking on her feet, and you follow his gaze, both of you smiling when she glances up and waves. “She’s headstrong. Once her mind is made up, you can’t stop her.” He chuckles, the sound low and a little self-deprecating.

“I would never ask you to change her mind,” you affirm gently. “All I ask, is that you look after her—not that you don’t already do, because I know you do, but it’s… different out there.”

He nods resolutely. “I promise.”

“You need to stay safe out there, too, Mr. Moreno. I can’t keep having two heart attacks in one day,” you tease, leaning against the metal doorframe.

“I promise you, we’ll stay safe,” he says it so seriously, eyes locked on yours that it practically steals your breath away. “Missy and I—we’ll protect each other.”

“Like you always do,” you hum into the space between you.

“Like we always do,” he reaffirms, just as soft.

“Good.” You stare at one another for a beat longer than necessary, but you look away first, straightening up. “Have a good evening, Mr. Moreno. Drive safe.”

“You too.”

You watch him walk away, waving each time he looks back until he reaches Missy. They wrap an arm around each other and with one final wave, they disappear into the stairwell.

Smiling, you head back inside to get your things.

“So,” Missy starts as they climb down the stairs, “did you ask?”

“No.” He sighs, bracing himself for the ten year old judgement (he can’t wait to see what her pre-teen and teenage judgement looks like, probably even more brutal).

“What?” She pulls away from him as they reach the final step. “No? What do you mean ‘no’? That was the perfect timing!”

He knows it was perfect timing! There were many perfect moments that he could’ve asked if you were doing anything this Saturday, but no! He just had to get distracted by the curves of your lashes and the way your eyes glinted under the setting sun and how your nose wrinkled when the cold air kissed your nose and—“Next time.”

“A deal is a deal, dad!” She reminds him, staring up at him with those eyes that used to remind him so much of her mother, but now they’re becoming less and less like hers and more her own. “You said you would!”

“I know, I know,” he whines in mock defeat. “I just… what if she doesn’t like me?” It’s a legitimate worry, one that has only grown since Missy started encouraging him to ask you out.

“Seriously, dad?” Her hand connects with her forehead. “It’s so obvious! And besides, how will you ever know if you don’t ask?”

“I guess you’re right. Any ideas?”

She cups her chin, thinking. Her eyes brighten. “I do have a plan!”

“And what exactly is this plan?” he asks, a little wary of what his precocious ten year old could possibly come up with.

“Just trust me!” She grins up at him and wraps her arm around his waist, tugging him along with her towards the car. “With my plan we’ll win her over completely!”

#Marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x y/n #marcus moreno #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal character #reader #reader insert

[whump-a-la-mode]

Gilded Cage - Part 5

I really need to get better at writing the choices, as once again a single choice got every vote. I suppose we all want the same thing for our poor whumpee ^^. Based on the votes, Villain will trust Sidekick.

Thanks to everyone so much for reading, once again!

CW// Imprisonment, collars, shock collars, villain whumpee, (fantasy) steroids, pills, syringes, medical talk, extensive discussion of fire, not caring if one lives or dies, public events, restraints, comparing oneself to a doll/dog, endangerment of the public

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Villain felt their mouth grow horribly dry as they stared at the offered hand.

It would have been terribly simple to raise their hand. To accept. To go along. That warmth in their veins, it was begging them to do so.

But... It wasn’t what the Heroes would want.

They’d spent so long placidly following their will like a dog. Yet no matter how long their leash became, the very idea of going against the Heroes’ will felt utterly alien.

They weren’t stupid. This was a life or death decision, certainly. The question being, which choice would lead to which outcome. To that, they did not know the answer.

But it had been so long since they had said no, they were unsure if their lips could still produce the word.

And, somewhere, in a part of them long since beaten into submission, they knew they wanted to fight back. Even if they were going to die, they didn’t want to go quietly. It was a petty move, a pathetic death throe, but it did not matter.

Villain shook Sidekick’s hand. Yet, at the end of the gesture, they did not release their grip. Their gaze lifted, meeting that of their visitor.

“I trust you. But... But I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

Villain flinched.

“Uh, sorry. It means go ahead.”

“O-ok. I just wanted to know... who hurt me?” Their lips shook even as they spoke.

Sidekick frowned, hesitating a moment. Villain felt their palm grow clammy.

“I don’t know.” They finally shook their head. “We don’t know who hurt you.”

“It wasn’t Journalist?”

“I don’t... I don’t have any way to know that for sure.”

“Okay.”

“We can try to find that out but, there’s bigger problems, right now. We don’t have a lot of time. Do you remember the signal? What you need to look for?”

“When the sun disappears.”

“Exactly. Before you go on stage, also, um, take these.”

Sidekick moved their arm so quickly that Villain nearly startled. They dug in their pocket for a moment, removing a tiny plastic box, smaller than a thumbnail. They held it forth, offering it to Villain, who took it. It was awfully difficult to hold in trembling fingers.

“Can I open it?”

“Mhm.”

They did so, though it took considerable effort. Contained within were two small pills, each circular and vaguely peach in color.

“Pills.”

“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone, okay? They’re going to help.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. They’ll help.”

“Okay.”

“I need to get going now, okay? I am really not supposed to be in here in the first place. Don’t tell anyone I was here. This conversation didn’t happen, got it?”

“Got it.”

Sidekick nodded in approval, getting up from the bed as Villain tucked the pillbox below their pillow. The former reached the door, grasping the knob, before frowning again and turning back to the bed.

“Villain?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you don’t like Hero. And I know they’ve done some... not great things. To you and to others. But they’re not a bad person. They just want to do what’s best for everyone. I promise that they’re not as bad as you think.”

The next words were quiet, muttered so lowly that they could have been mistaken as a breath. But Villain heard them. They know they did, as they shivered upon hearing them.

“At least, I don’t want them to be.”

Sidekick shook their head, raising it and their voice in equal turn.

“So, just, please try not to hurt them. Please?”

“I- I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Okay.” Their shoulders slumped. “Don’t try to contact me. Everything will be okay.”

With that, the door opened and closed, and again, Villain was alone.

In the absence of pain, doubt welled in, filling the pit in their stomach where a personality once resided.

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The syringe did not hurt going in.

That was the most worrying part about it. It wasn’t that Villain was unused to the presence of needles-- every other week, they saw the in-house physicians at the base. Ensuring that they were strong enough. It was excessive, certainly, but Hero did not allow for surprises, especially not in any form that would show on-camera.

Thus, they had long since learned to stop their instinctive flinching away from the sharp prick. It wasn’t that. They felt the prick, yes, but it did not hurt. It was simply an emotionless report. Something had breached their flesh-- there was nothing more to it than that.

Maybe that was the whole point of the thing, they supposed.

Doctor, who seemed to have unofficially taken up the case, turned away to fuss over tools on a countertop. There was an awfully sorrowful air about them. They didn’t want to meet Villain’s eyes.

“How have you been feeling?” They muttered, seemingly paying only a cursory amount of attention.

“Fine.”

“Any pain?”

“No.”

“Numbness?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“That’s good.”

The physician turned, placing the buds of a stethoscope in their ears.

“Can you breathe?”

“I hope so.”

“Don’t joke.”

They kneeled down, in front of the uncomfortable plastic chair on which Villain was seated. The chill of the stethoscope’s bell could be felt even through their clothes; a soothing cold against an overwhelming warmth.

Villain hated the silence. The observations, the readings, all of it. People looking at them, examining every inch of them, yet not finding it important to tell them so much as what they were looking for.

They wondered, for a single humorous moment, in the Heroes had assigned a veterinarian to take care of them. One final joke.

Doctor stood back to their full height, removing the buds from their ears. Their lips pursed into a fine line.

“You’re terribly lucky, you know.”

“I know.”

“Your breathing sounds okay. It’s a miracle, by all accounts.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah...”

Villain placed their hands upon their knees, letting themself slump forward in the rigid seat. They cast their gaze downwards.

The warmth had been fading over the past few hours, if only slightly, but now, it had been refreshed to its full strength. Just another thing to fill in the spaces left behind by all the things they had lost. They hated the thought, and though it made them bite their tongue, they could not help but sometimes feel that the only things they had left were their name and their body. Both things that could so easily be taken.

“Doctor?”

Again, the physician had turned, determined not to gaze upon their patient.

“Yes?”

“Who hurt me?”

“That’s a very vague question.”

“Who shattered all my ribs? Who broke my leg? Who-”

“Okay. I get your point.”

“Do you know?”

“I-” Doctor bit their lip. “Yes.”

“Please. I want to know.”

“That’s classified. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you.”

“I can’t even know who’s killing me?”

An exasperated sigh, followed by the clicking of metal as Doctor put down their instruments, one by one. They turned, countenance downcast in despair. Villain sat up, leaning back, ready for all the world to be screamed at and shook. But the only noise was that of Doctor’s quiet tone:

“Hold out your hand, please.”

Villain did so. Doctor gripped it, interlacing their fingers in a way that sent a dulled shiver along their spine. It was a firm grasp, but not in a hostile sense.

“Warm it now, please.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Your hand. Make it warm.”

For a moment, they were struck by the absurdity of the request. No one could simply will a body part to heat or cool. When they realized that that assumption was wrong, they felt suddenly nauseous.

Their powers. They still had them, somewhere. Buried and long forgotten. A warmth not produced by syringes and injections, but by will itself.

“I don’t- I don’t have permission to do that. My powers are not to be used. I don’t even know if I can-”

“I have all the permissions. All the papers and whatever, I have authorization. It’s for medical reasons. For your health.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certain.”

Villain nodded hesitantly.

Digging for their powers felt like searching for the name of a childhood friend. A fact once comically simple rendered obscure. It was not where they had left it, not in the place that had once housed a fiery personality and sharp tongue. Instead, they found it buried, among memories and tears and pains long repressed. Among the images of what their face had once looked like, neck unmarred.

From the depths, they retrieved them. The flame struggled to find itself, at first. Flickering and sputtering. But, at last, it steadied itself, and its warmth crept outwards. Flowing into Villain’s palm, to the ends of their fingers.

Though slight, Doctor smiled.

“You make fire. That was all you were, once. Before they knew your name. The pyrokinetic. The arsonist. But you have not been that for a long time. And you are afraid of becoming it, ever again.

You are afraid of destruction. Of burning the foundations of the world until its roof collapses upon you. I know you are. Do not forget that I know you as well as they do.

Flame, it requires three things to be produced. Fuel, heat, and oxygen. You only supply the heat. Do you truly think warmth to be evil? Is goodness epitomized by living in frigid cold?”

It took Villain a moment to realize that they were being asked a question. They blinked, replying:

“I- No. It isn’t.”

“So, if warmth is not evil, then why are you?”

“I make fire-”

“You make warmth. Heat. The mother of all life.”

The grip on Villain’s hand grew stronger, firmer.

“I do not think that you are evil. Even if my opinion means nothing, I thought that you deserved to understand that. Do you understand?”

“I don’t know.”

“You will, I think. When it’s time.”

With that, whatever smile Doctor had managed to produce fell back to its frown. They turned, again.

“Doctor?”

“Yes, Villain?”

They hesitated a moment, their next words catching on the scales of their desert-dry tongue.

“Am I going to die?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I... I don’t know. Hero hasn’t told me yet.”

Doctor stiffened, but did not say anything. For a few moments, they sat once more in silence as the doctor shifted among their equipment. It was Villain who at last spoke up, tone quieter than the buzzing machines around.

“What was the reason, for holding my hand? What were you checking for?”

A chuckle.

“Nothing at all, Villain. Nothing at all.”

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If it was possible, Villain somehow managed to feel lonelier the three days after the incident than usual.

Out of all the things they had gotten used to, they wished desperately that the loneliness was one of them. It was a horrible, overwhelming thing. The only pain that still truly hurt.

Their life was simple, and by many accounts, comfortable. Certainly, the room in which they spent their life was comfortable. Plush blankets and soft mattresses, ivory bookshelves and televisions. Their choice of video entertainment was practically limitless, and their well-organized collection of books ranged from Stephen King to Jane Austin and back again.

It was nice. Comfortable.

Every day, they would wake up, shower, get dressed, and... sit. Just sit. Staring at the television sometimes. Staring at a book at others. But always, they sat. Waiting.

They had long since stopped watching much in the way of TV. Watching the conversations, the love stories, the friendships... it all made them feel sick to their stomach.

At some point, they would be called to lunch. Their time to eat was limited, after which they would be returned to their room until dinner, when the same procedure was repeated. Such a rhythm was only accented by their press appearances, as well as frequent visits to doctors and hair stylists. Maintaining their appearance, or updating it if the current trends so desired.

They were lonely. Horribly, painfully lonely. They couldn’t remember the last time they had talked to a human being. A real one. Or, at least, someone who saw them as a human being, rather than a prop or a canvas. Even their interactions outside of their cage were stilted. Impersonal.

Impersonal, for as far as anyone was anymore concerned, they were no longer a person.

Those three days, however, had somehow managed to be worse. They felt with painful presence that they were no longer being contained, but hidden. Intentionally kept from view.

Their meals were eaten in their cell, now, and their media appearance the day after the attack had been short and nerve-wracking.

Now, on the fourth day, even being dragged from their room and taken to a car felt like a cause for celebration. The guards did not speak to them as much as they spoke orders, but that was okay. It was still speech, still words. That was enough.

The car was the usual one that they were transported in, shoved into the back seat and blocked from the outside by a wall of tinted windows.

At one point in time, in a time that now felt to be ancient history, there had been more security to the vehicle. A system of chains, on their wrists and ankles, securing them firmly to the seat. Once they were out of the base, the Heroes seemed to consider them more dangerous.

Of course, at that point, they were well aware that melting metal was well within Villain’s capabilities.

The metallic substance that Hero created, however, was an exception to that rule. They were unaware if the material had ever been given a name. It was a simple thing, appearing from air itself and being molded into any shape Hero so desired. That shape, from then after, could only be altered by its creator.

It was the only reason they had not simply melted off their collar and fled into the night. The device could not be removed except by those brutish hands.

The same material was used in those shackles that secured them to the seat. They were still there, hanging, useless. Their physical purpose was now secured by a psychological one.

Villain buckled themself in.

The driver was a nobody, one of the many employees that the Heroes maintained on their payroll. Villain wished nothing more than to lean back in their seat, to relax. But they knew that that wasn’t going to happen.

As soon as they had heard the guards’ footsteps outside their door, they had shoved Sidekick’s pillbox into the very bottom of their pocket. Now, they felt it digging into their leg. A tiny, horrible reminder.

Today, they could not relax.

They had spent so long pondering. They were under no obligation to go along with Sidekick’s plan. They had given their word, yes, but their words meant nothing. Their voice was a vector for scripts, and their agreement had not been scripted.

It would be so simple. To get up on stage, perform their tricks, and get off. Keep on the straight and narrow path that they walked so religiously.

In the pit of their stomach, it was what they wanted to do. But the very thought of going back to that cell, of living like a good, well trained mutt, made them feel even sicker than the thought of punishment.

The drive to the event center was not a long one, though it was made considerably more difficult by the throngs of vehicles belonging to both civilians and the press, filling the streets with the smell of gasoline. Originally, the conference had been meant to take place in a local auditorium, but overwhelming demand had switched the venue to a full-on stadium.

Instead of moving to the front parking lot, when the car made it to the building, it instead maneuvered around a small, blocked-off side street, to a lot where only a few vehicles were parked, all marked with the logo of the Organization of Heroes.

Villain’s door was not locked, and they opened it on their own, moving unsupervised and unfettered to the performers’ entrance. The Heroes got out of their own vehicles in turn, moving at their own paces towards the entrance. Watching them, but not exactly closely.

Inside the back entrance was a throng of activity. Cameramen and organizers and makeup artists. A few of the latter began drifting towards Villain, but they did not think that they could stand that overwhelming touch. Not today.

Behind them, the Heroes entered, though they did not speak. They would issue their orders when they were needed.

The minuscule pillbox in their pocket made its presence known by shifting against their leg, sending a dulled shiver through Villain’s spine. Half to escape the approaching artists and half to comfort their own nerves, they quickly ducked into the nearest bathroom.

The cool air and the sound of their feet on tile at least did something to help the warm numbness flooding their fingertips.

Again, Villain could not stop themself from looking in the mirror.

They recognized their face even less. The makeup work to restore their appearance had been extensive, and even now, they felt almost to be staring at a doll.

That’s what they were, wasn’t it?

They wanted to scream.

Instead, they turned on the water, as cold as they could make it, running their hands under the faucet. The second the liquid struck their skin, it fizzled and turned to steam, quickly obscuring the image in the mirror.

Villain breathed as deeply as they could with numb lungs. They willed the heat to retreat from their palms, for the flame to calm itself, but the steam only billowed hotter.

A knock sounded on the door. The steam turned to flame.

“Villain?” A voice called. One of the Heroes. “Are you in there?”

“I’ll be out in a second.” They replied, moving quickly to flush the toilet before returning to the sink. That seemed to satisfy the hero enough, their footsteps heading away.

Their face could no longer be seen in the mirror on account of the fog.

Villain felt their own shaky hand move to their pocket, removing the pillbox and prying it open. Those little round things stared back at them.

They had a choice to make, and for the first time, they made it for themself.

The pills tasted like nothing, dryly sliding down their throat.

Starting from their chest and flooding outwards, they felt the warmth of numbness transform into something hotter, something sour that tore at the edges of their veins. They moved to the toilet, attempting to flush the pillbox, but found that the plastic had already melted in their hand. They washed it down the sink drain, even as the handles warped beneath their fingers.

Villain trembled.

They hadn’t used power enhancers before, had never had access, but the feeling...

Even without looking in the mirror, they knew they were smiling.

It felt like being a villain again.

The doorknob flinched away from them as they turned it, heading back out into the fray. They hardly look at the Heroes who whisked them away, hurriedly instructing them as they hurried towards the stage.

“Just let Hero do the talking.”

“We don’t need your input, this time.”

“Just smile.”

With that, they opened the backstage entrance, and headed up. The stage was relatively makeshift, the kind used when bands performed in the stadium. Despite its lack of permanent nature, the stage lights were sweltering, their heat overwhelming as soon as the door was opened.

Villain loved it.

Wait- What were they thinking?

As the Heroes moved onto the stage, an overwhelming cheer erupted from all sides. When Villain did the same, they were met with concerned muttering.

They gave the widest smile they could.

The stage was open to the air, the fresh air making them feel as though they could finally breathe. They moved to be at Hero’s side, beside a podium.

Of course they were nervous. Performing always made them nervous. Perhaps it wasn’t stage fright, but they always remained terrified that they would make a mistake.

It helped, somewhat, that the bright sun overhead prevented them from seeing the stadium seats that surrounded them. The glare was simply that strong.

The sound of microphones turning on pierced Villain’s ears as they stood at Hero’s side and smiled.

“Thank you, everyone, for being here today.” Hero’s voice was so charming that Villain almost thought, for a moment, that they were kind. “We are so grateful for your concern regarding recent events. I would like to begin by pointing out that, as you can see, Villain is just fine.”

They laid a hand upon their shoulder.

“We are well aware of the rumors of their death. They are completely unfounded. Their recovery is advancing quickly. But that does not mean that they were not harmed, and that does not mean that a criminal is not on the loose.”

A grumbling, groaning noise filled the air-- the breathing of an ancient beast. It took Villain a moment to realize that the noise was coming from above, though looking upwards made them flinch against the sunlight.

The stadium roof, with horrible slowness, ground inwards.

Hero looked up, smile still well on their face. With a joking tone, they stated:

“Looks like we’re expecting some rain. No worries, folks.”

No worries.

Villain felt their weak heart skip a beat in their chest.

They were waiting for the sun to disappear. The throbbing of blood in their veins quickened.

Still with agonizing slowness, the roof, bit by bit, cut out the sunlight-- and more importantly, its glare.

Row by row, person by person, Villain watched as the stadium seats were revealed, along with their occupants. Some were reporters, newspeople, but the majority were civilians. Dressed in casual clothes. Young and old, smiling and frowning, and all innocent.

The roof got louder as it reached its half point.

Heat pumped in their veins with such a force that they worried it would break through their flesh.

They understood, now, what Sidekick wanted. They had asked for chaos, and had given Villain these pills...

They wanted a scene, certainly, but more than that, they wanted a show.

Sidekick wanted Villain to destroy this place. To light the stadium ablaze. They were sure of it.

The roof continued to close, only a hint of sunlight peeking through.

More people. Almost every seat was filled.

Villain felt heat gather in their fingertips.

They swallowed.

Were they a hero, or a villain?

What was the real difference?

The roof closed, and the sun disappeared.

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What should our Whumpee do? It’s up to you to decide!

There are two options, each one leading to a separate story branch. To vote, feel free to use any means you would like to contact me. Replying or reblogging this post works just fine, as does PMing me directly or sending me an ask. I am unsure when I will be writing the next part, so as long as the next part hasn’t been posted yet, voting is still open!

I will choose the story path based on which option has more votes. This time, I do not have any questions to go along with the options (mostly just cause I couldn’t think of any oops,) but feel free to add any ideas you would like! The choices and questions for this part are as follows:

A) You are a villain, go through with the plan and burn the stadium B) You are a hero, continue the press conference as normal

@whumpilicious has recommended a third option for this choice:

C) You are an antihero, attack Hero specifically

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to contact me. This is my first time doing anything like this, so I apologize if it’s odd or confusing ^^

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