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honeypirate · 3 years

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Made of Sunlight

Tokoyami

Tokoyami x Fem!Reader with Similar Quirk!

quirk is she has a quirk partner that is almost identical to her but she is made out of the light of the sun, her quirk is almost like the opposite of Dark Shadow. The idea for this quirk I got from this post

Tokoyami x Y/N

Dark Shadow X OC Kira (quirk partner)

Warning: only lightly edited

“Kira I know. I see them. You know you’re not supposed make so much noise” your quirk and partner huffs before blending into the light around you. Your eyes follow the boy with the beautiful feathers and his shadow partner as he finds his seat in the class, you stand by the door, waiting for the teacher to crawl out of his sleeping bag before you enter the room.

“Who’s that?” Dark Shadow whispered into his ear when you finally walked inside, “she must be new. There’s something about her. I like her” Tokoyami watches as you talk to Mr. Aizawa, your kind eyes and smile making his heart race. He senses something, something is different about you, he has to know.

“There is an open seat next to Tokoyami and Dark Shadow, don't make too much noise. I’ll give you the first day tests after your classes, meet me at the training field outside at 3” you nod and then look over at the boy you had eyed before, the one Kira had made a fuss over. You felt her stir, fluttering about and making your back tingle. You willed her to calm down and keep her emotions in check.

“Hi” Dark Shadow whispered as he popped his head over next to you, making you chuckle, and Kira swoon against you. You tried to keep your expression calm but you were really annoyed she couldn't relax just because she thought the shadow was cute. “Hi” you respond, Kira echoing it in your head ‘hi hi hi hi hi’ you lean around Dark shadow and make eye contact with the boy “Hi” you say to him and he clears his throat “Hi, I’m Tokoyami, welcome to our class” “I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you Tokoyami.” you reach out your hand and when he takes it you both feel electricity run down your spines “I hope I can sit next to you this whole time.” you add and his eyes widen for a second before Aizawa starts the class.

“This is Y/n L/n. she will be joining our class from today on. She just moved here from America and against my judgement she has been placed with us in the middle of the year. Everyone be nice to her.” and with that he launched into his lesson.

At the end of class you found yourself surrounded by new faces, you learned their names and immediately connected to them all. “Are you moving into the 1A dorms?” a nice girl named Mina asks and you nod “my stuff should be getting moved over now. I’m on the fifth floor, room three” the nice frog girl with the green hair, Asui, smiles “that’s next to my room, Yaoyorozu is also on that floor” you grin “perfect! I hope we can be good friends!”

Tokoyami watches you as you talk to the girls, the other guys around him talking about how cute you were and speculating what your quirk was. He couldn't help the way his heart would race every time you would look around the room until your eyes fell on him, he wasn’t always glad he had a bird head but he was in that moment, because you couldn't make him blush on the outside, you only affect his heart.

“So your quirk is similar to Tokoyami’s except your’s is with the light and not the shadow.” you nod as you use your quirk to blend the light around Kira, making her visible to everyone now and not just you. She flicks her hair and it glitters with fractured light “yet she makes me hide away” she says dramatically with a huff, hoping she could get some sympathy from the teacher but she was dreadfully mistaken. “We’re going to run through these tests and if you fail you’re out of my class” you gulp, but nod once, getting into the right mindset as Kira sighs, rolling her eyes, before nodding and squaring her shoulders.

“You passed, barely. You’re free to go. I’ll have make-up tests for you from what we covered at the beginning of the semester, they won't be due until the end of the semester but you will have to do them” you nod once and then he turns and walks away, rubbing his eyes.

“I dont keep you hidden on purpose. It just takes a lot out of me to hold your form” you say through pants as Kira fades back into the light, blending into invisibility. “I know. I know. I’m you so i know everything. I just like to give you a hard time” she pats your head and you chuckle before walking out towards the new dorms.

“So that’s why she was different” He says from his spot at the window “she is beautiful” Dark Shadow adds beside him “the light hurts you if you don't remember” Dark Shadow sighs, sounding like a lovesick creature “it doesn't hurt me per say, it just makes me weak, which she already does” he drones and Tokoyami rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like i don't know how the human girl makes you feel, i know your thoughts” Tokoyami just ignores Dark Shadow as he gathers his things up from his studies, maybe he’d offer to show you around the dorms or something, either way, he’d talk to you somehow. Probably. If he could get the guts up for it.

After getting back to the dorms, Mina and Asui take your hands and show you around, giving you the grand tour. When they get to your room you find a collage of decorations that spelled out your name on your door “aww that’s so cute guys!” you say and Mina squeals, “just wait!” she says and then she opens the door.

Inside is all the other girls and a few of the guys, one you think is called Deku and the other was the boy with many arms, he must have moved the furniture around. He looked sheepish and sweet. You look at all of their smiling faces before you realize that your boxes were unpacked and your bed was made. You gasp and look around the room with wonder, they had even decorated. “Guys” you whisper and blink away tears “this is so nice. This means so much to me you have no idea” your eyes land back on the group of kids and Mina steps forward “we’re glad you like it, we thought you might be mad but we wanted to do something to welcome you. We left your clothes packed though” you laugh “okay. Thank you. Really. I wasn’t looking forward to unpacking. And you decorated!” Yaoyorozu steps forward “I hope you dont mind, but we added a few things from our rooms as well” she points out the wall behind you and you turn, gasping again and going over to it, a collage of different things from them, little pieces of their personalities, pictures and posters form their rooms and a few from the others here.

One poster in the middle catches your eye “this is AMAZING! Is this the rare all might poster from the-” Deku cuts you off and steps forward “yes! From issue 234 of the” you finish the sentance with him “heroes of the world magazine!” you laugh with him “thank you! They dont sell that magaizine in america, i only read about it online.” he scratches the back of his neck “it’s no problem, i have two” you gasp “You have TWO OF THEM?” Mina laughs “he has more than that you should see his room” she gasps and grabs Ochakos hand “we should show her our rooms too!” “wait!” you shout and they look at you, you grin “did you guys find my star stickers?”

Every room you saw you rated, extremely generously because it was fun, and gave their door a colored star sticker.

Mina- “12/10 and a gold star. I LOVE the pink! 3 red stars for that because I don’t have pink”

Ochako- “12/10 and a gold star. I feel really comforatble here. Very Homey. 4 blue stars because blue makes me feel like home for some reason”

Yaoyorozu - “100/10 because omg girl your bed is a dream. Three gold stars for that bed alone” she blushed, she was a little embarrassed about it before but now she feels glad.

Jirou- “19823429347/10 are you KIDDING ME? You’re so badass Jirou! Maybe if you have some time we can jam out sometime, i’m decent at the guitar. Let me know” you smile and place every color of star on her bedroom door as she blushes in the corner

Hagakure- “I love the cherries! And the stars! This is so cute! 11/10!” she claps when you place gold stars on her door

You go through the boys rooms, fangrling over Deku’s and placing red, blue, silver, and gold stars on his door.

When you get to the last room on the list, Tokoyami, they all make excuses and try to bypass it, saying it was too dark and scary to see again, but on your way back to your room you shake your head, what could be so bad? Kira whispered to you and you nodded, sneaking back and knocking on his door.

“Hi” you say when he opens it a crack. “I was wondering, could I see your room? Everyone else showed me theirs and i was curious what made yours so creepy” he looked you over once, before Dark Shadow pulls the door open the rest of the way “come on in! Hey where's your friend?” you furrow your bows as you’re herded in the room by dark shadow “he means your quirk partner” Tokoyami says as he faces away from you, embarrassed that everyone thinks his room is scary.

“Im right here!” Kira says but she doesnt show up, the darkness drowning out any powers she may have had alone. You chuckle and concentrate the last of your energy, pulling light from the open doorway and his purple lamps to build her form better, “it’s not that i hide her, her form is just made out of the light, so it’s harder to keep her visible. Tokoyami, Dark Shadow, this is Kira.” as Dark Shadow and Kira talk about their lives being attached to someone, you look around Tokoyami’s room as he just stands awkwardly.

“Your room is SO cool” you say softly as you gawk at his decorations, you’d keep your room like this if it wasn't so hard on Kira “look at this!” you exclaim as you hold up his skull decoration with glowing red eyes and he chuckles in shock, you were so cute, so bright and bubbly, literally made out of sunlight, and you liked his room? He was so intrigued by you. “This is the skull of Yorick, the king's jester” you say in a dramatic voice and then giggle as you set down the skull and look at his other things. His heart was beating out of his chest, how were you so perfect? And WHY WASN'T HE SAYING ANYTHING?!

You make your way slowly around his room, your hand running along the edge of a cape that was on the back of his desk chair, you point to a poster in the middle of his collage, a band that you listen to often “is that from their last tour? Did you go?” He pops out of his head band takes a step towards you “no I couldn’t go, unfortunately. They’re my favorite band” you beam at him and he feels his heart pop out more butterflies that flood his veins “they my favorite too! We should go to a concert sometime together, if you’d like” yes. You have killed the resident bird boy. “I/ I - uh - I - *Tokoyami brain go:@•#[*“ Dark Shadow and Kira move closer to you guys “he's trying to say he would really like that” Dark Shadow says, patting Tokoyami on his back as Kira giggles. Tokoyami brushes Dark Shadow away

You feel a little dizzy and Kira flickers for a moment before fading “sorry I’m just at my limit. Mr Aizawa goes hard” you laugh and Kira sighs dramatically. “Are you okay? The dark probably doesn’t help. Maybe you should go” Tokoyami forgot about his nerves and shyness, just for a moment, now worried for you.

You laugh “the darkness makes it harder for Kira but I’m okay with it. But I should go I don’t want to impose” when you get to his door Kira says goodbye to Dark Shadow, and he hands her a small piece of paper and you turn to Tokoyami, who’s watching the exchange a little confused “it’s for our collage in our room, Mina and the others gave us some things to make it feel like home, posters and pictures. Thank you for showing me your room,” you place your hand on his arm gently “no matter what anyone says it’s a freaking amazing room, not scary at all” you smile warmly and he feels his tongue get thick in his mouth, his palms start to sweat, “th-thank you” he nods and then panic flashes through his eyes “wait!” He says before you turn and he walks back into his room, grabbing the poster you commented on and handing it to you “for-“ he clears his throat “for your collage” you beam up at him, excitement on your face and on your voice “really? You don’t have to! It’s your favorite! I couldn’t-“ he chuckles, and a surge of confidence finds him, finally, as he says boldly, albeit a bit shaky from his nerves “I insist. I’ll get another when we go to a show together” a soft sound of elated shock escapes your throat, one that he really liked hearing, as you gaze up at him “thank you, Tokoyami”

After his door closes you place a gold sticker on it before walking away “What did he give you?” You ask Kira “this drawing!” She shows you a small piece of paper with a quick pen drawing Dark Shadow made of him and Kira. It was adorable honestly. You chuckled softly as she sighed like she was love sick.The next day you find the picture hung up by your mirror, on its own special place Kira chose.

The next few weeks flew by, you spent all your free time studying and having Yaomomo tutor you so you could turn in all your make up work in the first month, hoping to make your way on Aizawa’s good side, which by the nod he gave you you’re pretty sure it worked. To celebrate Mina suggests a movie night at the dorms and everyone, even Bakugou who you haven’t even spoken to once, agreed, which honestly shocked you.

You put on a pair of cotton shorts and a big sweatshirt before grabbing a soft blanket and heading downstairs, the smell of popcorn hitting you before the elevator doors opened. “Hey y/n! Do you like scary movies?!” Mina asks as you enter the kitchen area. “Yeah I do! Are we going to watch one?” Half of the kitchen sighs and Mina laughs “it was a tie that you just decided!” You laugh “sorry guys” you scratch the back of your neck before Mina grabs your hand, dragging you to the couches and pulling you down next to her.

“So do you like anyone yet? It’s been a month, do you have any eyes on any of the boys?!” She asks excitedly and you chuckle as a few other girls come over “Don’t get me started!” Kira exclaims, making the girls laugh as you structure her form “Dark Shadow is just dreamy” she swoons as Dark Shadow waves at her from across the room.

“And how about you y/n? Do you like Tokoyami maybeeee?” Hagakure’s singsong voice makes you laugh “yeah, he’s really kind, and very interesting. But my plan is just to wait and see if anyone likes me, before i make up my mind” “ARE WE GOING TO START THIS OR WHAT?” Bakugou shouts as he walks into the room, making everyone chuckle and Mina pop to her feet “OKay guys buckle up! It’s a scary one tonight!” Mina gets it set up and then takes her place on the floor on her stomach, the place to your right staying empty.

“Dark Shadow wants to sit next to Kira” Tokoyami says while avoiding your eye contact shyly and you smile “of course!” you pat the seat and he sits beside you stiffly, nervously “but Kira is too bright for the movie so if you want i can make her like a shadow in the dark, the opposite of light.” Kira is one step ahead of you as she pulls a little power from you to phase herself as someone puts out the lights “now SHUT IT” Bakugou shouts again as the movie begins, ominous music filling the room.

“No no no” you whispered under your breath as the guy in the movie ran straight down the same path the murderer was on, you put your hands in front of your face, looking through your fingers as the music gets even more intense. The moment you see the knife moving your body is turning of its own volition, into the shoulder of the boy on your right, a scared gasp leaving your mouth.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly and you nod into him “is it over?” you whisper back, and he nods “yeah” you chuckle and move your head up to meet his eye “sorry, Tokoyami” you go back to watching the movie but the action is repeated every time someone dies, soon your hand finds his under your blanket that had got tossed over you both and Hagakure to your left. He’d squeeze it every time the scene ended to let you know it was over, you felt your heart race every time.

When the movie ended you stayed there, holding his hand under your blanket as your friends crawled around the couch to discuss the craziness of that movie, “i did not expect that the killer was actually the aunt of the boy’s friend he lived with in college, total TWIST”Mina talking absolute nonsense as you chuckled, Hagakure leaning against you “but that fireman was so handsome, i need to look that actor up online.”

Tokoyami was talking to Todoroki on the other side of the couch, where he was sitting on a table chair, Tokoyami explaining the strange twist that Todoroki didn’t understand, absentmindedly squeezinng you hand every once in a while as he spoke. Your thumb brushes against his and he remembers that he’s holding your hand. My god, he’s holding your hand. How did he get so lucky.

Kira had a form again, comforting Dark Shadow about him being scared when the house was on fire. your heart felt warm, you felt truly at home in this small, second family, you had made at school, you were truly lucky to be having these experiences.

#mha tokoyami #tokoyami fukimage #tokoyami x reader #tokoyami x y/n #tokoyami fluff #Tokoyami x you #mha fanfiction #mha imagines #Tokoyami fanfiction #tokoyami imagine #mha x you #bnha x you #Dark shadow x OC

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littlx-songbxrd · 3 years

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Chain of Iron:Death theory

As the awaited release date for Chain of Iron approaches and the fandom decends into pure madness, I want to put in my last two cents of overthinking before I stop having coherent thoughts

So we all know this is a second book, and second books bring the absolute pain in the shadowhunter chronicles. There is likely going to be a death from the mains considering the theme of this book, and I am here to throw my theory and reasons as to who I think it might be. Im here to sadly theorize about why I think Christopher Lightwood might not make it past the last hours

1. Tatianas revenge

Right now, Tatiana wants revenge after all our main families: the carstairs, herondales, fairchilds and both branches of the lightwoods. For the lightwood-collins theres barbaras death. For the herondales her daughter has been manipulating their son for over 6 years. Theres a theory that the fairy poison Mathew bought that caused Charlottes misscarriage could be traced back to her. And there are other theories that Elias dissaperance between chog and choi could have something to do with Belial. As of right now the only family who is yet to recieve any permanent damage or tragedy are the lightwood-herondales. Which is really ironic considering its the only family that has two bloodlines Tatiana wants to harm. Not only that, but theyre also the children of who Tatiana blames directly for her fathers death, Gabriel. It seems fishy to me there hasn't been any permanent damage in their family, and I dont think that is gonna last for long

2. The family tree

The family tree states that Grace Cartwright (Aka Grace Blackthorn) marries Christopher Lightwood and theyre the ones who continue the line that leads to Alec and Isabelle. Now Cassandra has said varius times the family tree can be misleading, and I am a firm believer this is one of the misleading ends. Why this lie was created, I'm not sure, but lets analize some things. As of right now there are 5 lightwood children. At least 3 of them can pass down the lightwood name. Of those three, if we take into account that Thomas may not have kids due to being gay, that still leaves two branches of lightwood kids that may continue on. As of present time we only have word of one line, Alec and Isabelles. And Robert isnt said to have any cousins, theres no mention in the future of another lightwood line. So the idea that both Alexander and Christopher have kids is pretty unbelivable considering theres only one lightwood line in the future. Unless Alexander goes on to have only girls and Christopher has only one boy, it seems more likely the family tree is wrong. Isabelle and Alec are confirmed as of the bane chronicles to be decendants of Gabriel lightwood (Isabelle makes a reference to looking up her great great grandfather Gabriel Lightwood and telling magnus he was hot in the last story of the book)

So its already confirmed they're a) the last decendants of the lightwood line and b) that line stems from Gabriel. If we based ourselves solely on the family tree and Christopher being the one carrying the line, that would have been believable enough not to raise any red flags. Christopher IS the son of Grabriel Lightwood, able bodied and seems to have a general attraction to women (I mean, we all know hes aro/ace but lets stick with canon). There isnt anything pointing to him not being able to marry and have kids. Where the red flags raise for me is with Alexander

Alexander wasnt in the original plans for the family tree, he was added when Cassie started writting the last hours. If you take into account his role in chog, there really was no reason to add Alexander Lightwood. He doesnt seem to do anything, hes a 3 year old kid, you can very well delete him from the narrative and nothing would change. So why did Cassandra add him?? Why did she decide to make Cecily and Gabriel have another kid ?

To me, it seems a lot like the baby carstairs situation . The family tree says Alastair carries the carstairs line, Alastair is a gay man so he cant have biological kids, theres another unplaned baby to carry the line. It seems to me Christopher carrying the lightwood line is a lie, and Alexanders role is to carry it in his place. I even found a little info from an ask wayy before chain of gold came out where it said Alexander had green eyes, but in the book she changed it to blue eyes. The exact same shade the modern day lightwoods seem to have. A trait hes more likely to pass down than his lavender eyed brother who supposedly "marries" grey eyed grace

3. Character Arc

Characters in literature need goals, things to work for or work towards through the story in order for them to develop. We call those things character arcs, and it seems we have all ignored how christophers may have indirectly ended. If you read his short story, or just overall analize his character, his main goal is simple. He wants to create something that will help the nephlim through science. His personal character arc is that he wants to prove himself and his skill to the clave using his passion to be a hero.

An arc that could have been expanded all through the series, and ended with him using his skills in the end to defeat belial in some way, proving his passions worth. Through the story we could have had a glimpse at his struggles, how he was put down, the failed attempts, fustrations etc. This all could have rounded christopher as a character, and brought more satisfaction to the end goal of his arc which is proving the value of his science. But instead, his arc in book seemingly already ended? Because he did it, he figured out a way to combine science with his duty and saved the entire enclave from the demon poison. He is now acclaimed a hero for his skills. All the other characters have things to finish going into chain of iron, Christopher doesnt. Why would she end an arc that could have taken through the entire series in just one book? Christopher is the only secondary character with a defined personality and a lack of arc to look foward too in following books. This could all point that his arc was rushed because it was being cut short

4. Lightwood blood

There has been a lot of theories going around about Thomas being the one who gets killed in this book, which is resonable considering the unerving amount of forehsadowing we've had to him getting himself caught up in something. But I raise you this, why would CC be giving us so much assurance that Thomas was going to get hurt if she was going to kill him? Not only would she be reaveling one of her most devastating murders, she would basically be spoiling a very big part of her own book. Thomas death would affect everyone, if she WERE to kill him she wouldnt be indulging us in our Thomas death theory as much as she has. Itd be too expectable, I actually believe that by giving us all the info she has she has more or less confirmed he wont die.

I believe this is all a decoy. Shes giving us foreshadowing towards something bad happening to Thomas, to cover up the very big reality shes planning to kill someone else. Theres a very big chance that for the resurection, theyre gonna need Jesses families blood. Same way Malcom needed blackthorn blood to raise Annabel. As of rightnow there arent any blackthorns (by blood) left alive, the only blood relatives Jesse still had are the lightwoods. So we already know Thomas gets captured by the murderer (referenece to the art), but it is most likely he gets rescued. People speculate he most likely got captured for the resurection Tatianas trying to do, because of his lightwood blood. But if Thomas escapes, Tatiana still needs her families blood. And I'd like to point out this is also where the fact she hasnt taken permanent revenge on the lightwood-herondales would come in. Theres a good chance that if the murders are releated to her, and she cant have Thomas, she wont stop at just Thomas.

5. Story relevance

In all sense of story, Christopher is the perfect candidate to kill. As hard as that is to say: he's a secondary character, who has a well defined personality, loved enough by the fans that there would certainly be a shock factor following his death, important enough to the story that there would be a big impact to the narrative, and interwined enough with the main characters to cause emotional distress in the story. His arc is indirectly done, this author has a history of killing lightwoods, there isnt much to discourage the possibility he might be killed besides the faulty family tree. And as I said, that tree has been stated multiple times to be misleading

Bonus prove

6. Christophers cut-out

Same way were analizing the hell out of a broken spear, why are we not talking about the skull on christophers?

(Sorry couldnt get better quality pics)

The truth is, I hate this theory as much as everyone, Im genuinly hoping chain of iron proves me wrong. But there are 5 deaths comming, and not all of them can be side characters. Cordelia Lucie and James all have main character protection. I already explained why Thomas dying is unlikely. Anna, Ariadne and Alastair have gay protection (and I think some asks about Alastair dying were pretty much answered with a discreet no)

If there are mains dying, Christophers the most likely to go

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totheblood · 3 years

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hi.. i know ive been missing but ive been busy having crisis after crisis forgive i plan on coming back but heres my full review of lordes album from top to bottom, i originally sent it to my partner so thats what i talk about n im not editing it for yall im sorry

- the path: INITIAL HARMONIES??? i like the lyrics so much… commentary on peoples life paths??? omg shes getting kinda deep…. and very soothing like im transcending…. wait the beat just came in…. it didnt add much but GOD IS THIS SONG GOOD??????? IF YOUR LOOKING FOR A SAVIOR THATS NOT ME? (paramore said it first) THE CHANGE IN THIS SONG IS IMMACULATE ! uh the ending is good.. she said we are all broken and sad.. ur fucking right lmao we got our sad girl back but shes like omg the sun is gonna save us???? hopeful moment but i think this is her midsommar moment, HARMONIES ARE INSANE

- solar power: letting it play for full effect but it was never my favorite but still good to me. I KNOW IT SOUNDS LIKE IT SHOULD BE IN A RAZOR COMMERCIAL BUT IM ATTACHED TO THIS WOMAN

- california: the piano in this… omg its so good but its not a bop but the lyrics make me want to cry… basically commentary on how love in california is superficial or how she doesnt want love that doesnt feel like home. im definitely tipping towards the latter like not wanting a love that seems distant cold and superficial like only for show and its AMAZING u know im a sucker for lyricism and THIS??? amazing.. outros long af?

- stoned at the nail salon: again ive listened to it before but like … its so GOOD like this song resonated with me and its not a fun experience like yes i did grow out of the songs i loved at sixteen and i cant stop or avoid change like why is she making me think about this i think she hates me truly

- fallen fruit: shes a harmony god, THE MELODY IS AMAZING I CAN HEAR CLAIRO AND PHOEBE ON THIS ONE??? the symbolism in this album is insane and i stg im gonna punch this bitch in the face cause she said “how can i love something i know im gonna lose” and yeah bitch thats the STRUGGLE teach me how to fix it 😵‍💫 HOLD ON!! it CHANGED. SHES PLAYING W ME? this one is actually pretty jesusy but i love it i feel like im in a field in a pretty dress twirling around im !!!! shes gonna make me go sane maybe maybe im past insanity and im coming back down this is what this song makes me think of

- secrets from a girl (whos seen it all): SHE- first of all the TITLE??? this is the lorde i know…. “everybody wants the best for you but you gotta want it for yourself” shut thw fuck UP “REMEMBER ALL THE HURT YOU FELT FROM WHEN YOU WERENT DESIRED?” YES I FUCKING DO YOU MONSTER I HATE YOU. anyways this song is a bop but the lyrics are making me actually want to rip my brain out my skull CAUSE ITS TOO DEEP LIKE THIS SHOULD BE A FUN SONG I TURN UP TO AND DANCE LIKE A WHITE WOMAN BUT NO IM THINKING OF EVERY PAINFUL EMOTION Ive felt ever. “WELCOME TO SADNESS: the temperature is unbearable until you face it” im gonna . IM GONNA IM GONNA THERES SPEAKING WHO IS THIS VOICE????????? im gonna curb stomp this BITCH IM this song is good… in conclusion… the speaking at the end is… good but i hate how self aware i am….

- the man with the axe: shes so sad im gonna cry cause me too ..” moving the furniture when my back is turned” im emotional cause this one hits hard. i think she doesnt like being old.. this is so beautiful and im staring up at my stars and like wanting to cry.. wait no i am actually crying this bitch should be in prison….. the lyrics and melody on this one should be a crime “i shouldve known when your favorite record was the same as my fathers you’d take me down” i dont have daddy issues cause i hate my father but i felt that?????? like someone having that power.. THIS SONG IS SADNESS AND HEARTBREAK IN A SONNNNGGG.. the key change is unsettling but makes sense? im crying now cause this is so good i missed her so bad. this is a love song somehow? if thats the case i dedicate it to u cause u could probably ruin me if u wanted

- dominoes: ok a little groovy beat… IM GETTING THE SENSE THAT LORDE REALLY HATES THE IDEA OF GETTING OLDER SHES MENTIONED IT IN EVERY SONG AND NOW IM SCARED OF GETTING OLD TOO… i wanna pick the lyrics of this song cause rhey r simple n im just… this one isnt my favorite yet but it could change… i think this is my least fave i dont like it its like a banjo beat n im not okay with it.

- big star: hey my name!!!.. actually this song is making me so mentally scarred right now cause “i used to love the party now im not alright” okay. yeah i get it but this is a song to someone else about how bright they are and like … thats u but this is depressing as FUCK ! im so sad wtffffff baby you’re a big star. (you are, this is from me not lorde but im sure she feels that way too)

- leader of a new regime: harmonies AGAIN.. i love this one a lot cause its so simple and beautiful UGH THE PIANO ITS SO BEAUTIFUL… too short shes a monster. im gonna cry when im done listening to this. uhhhh i love her

- mood ring: again i listened to this but i love the fact that shes commenting on how mentally ill young women dont know how to feel or control their mood so they listen to trends like astrology i guess, i dont agree to an extent but shes a genius like ok girly get that bag. the SONG IS GOOD

- oceanic feeling: last song :( im sad but its slow so far and pretty ok, i feel like im drowning but in a good way like when water gets in ur eyes and u realize u can see underwater without goggles on omf so good, more harmonies tho girl… so long ong i love when shes speaks “i know ur scared so was i but everything will be revealed in time” like im finally breathing? “will she split a tab with her lover and laugh at the stars like her mother when she was a girl” gonna buy cherry black liptick also brb… Like so good i like this song butfft its so long and soothing like soothing.. THE END IT CHANGES SO ???? i love that omg a mans voice… shes so good such a good ending i feel content

ok time to give u my final thoughts, its very good but alot of the songs sound the same but alllll soothing. they all have really deep meanings that i want to tear apart but this is my initial listen! ITS SO GOOD! im gonna cry!zzzz its not melodrama tho so ?🗻 i give it 8/10 when melodrama is straight up 10/10 so

#lorde #lorde solar power #solar power #music #music review

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akisata-moved · 3 years

Text

pmd au ramblings under the cut becos i am annoying

i was toying with the idea of ryo espeon instead of ryo glaceon for a total of five minutes the other day bc i know theres that whole thing about him being like 'haha maybe i have psychic powers!' and also people think his 'event prediction' was like, actual psychic ability which im pretty sure isnt ttrue but thats not what im here to talk about but then i remembered two things the first of which being

ryo is tech shiny and shiny espeon.... shiny espeon looks like this

so thats a hard no. my original thought was like 'aw pink ryo is cute' and then i remembered he wouldnt be pink anyways. so glaceon is fine i quite like that one (plus its a funny haha callback to how he was incased in ice bcos ice type :-] )

the SECOND thing i remembered is that the pmd2 hero literally. already kind of has "psychic" abilities. the dimensional scream is kind of a psychic power...? i mean its like, visions. ryo is the bearer of the curse ig

very much enjoying the idea of making random town npcs/guild members characters from the 72 anime. just because i think its fucking hilarious if 72 devilman existed here for some reason. i think him and lala should be the equivalent to loudred and sunflora. chaco is obvs chimecho and himura can be... someone... he can exist somewhere in there. might as well throw in dorango too why tf not

not sure about wigglytuff and chatot?

the guild + town npcs is kind of a case of like... just keeping the ideas there but mostly changing pkmn species to fit the character ig... like i like the idea of miko as like, diglett's role too (like a sentry type pkmn) but i dont want her to be a diglett lmfao

darkrai, being the big bad of eos (i THINK? tf...) can... maybe fit into some kind of role of, like, devilman god? i dont know. i might try to twist the story around too so that the situation with ryo and darkrai is like.... more interconnected so like satan + god. so maybe darkrai created ryo? i dont know if he can do that though. but this is my au. so. ok its 11 am i havent slept and that doesnt make sense but whatever

i talked about psycho jenny on my old account but i really like the idea of musharna psycho jenny taking the role of grovyle. i think it makes sense bc jenny always seems to be like, satan's #1 Demon Pal so it would make sense for her to take the role as ryo's pokemon partner before he met akira. sadly psycho jenny must die. but not really bc special episode 5 happens

i have NO idea who can take the celebi/dusknoir roles. celebi kind of has to stay the same considering its celebi and her existence as a celebi is sort of important. dusknoir might be changeable

sachiko azurill (: pleasant i think

OH HOW COULD I FORGET!!! Team skull is obvs dosu roku (koffing), masa (skuntank), and i actually decided on manjiro for zubat just because i can honestly make the design work out. theyre kind of based more on their characters from the ova than the manga...? but yaknow. team skull kinda has their own little redemption (sort of, even if they were dickheads the whole game) so it works out

ok i think this is all i got for now.... uhmmnhm UHM IVE GIVEN THIS WAY TOO MUCH THOUGHT OK

#louie.txt #im changing my tag its now #pokemon mystery devilman #ok cool byeee

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ifandomalot · 4 years

Text

This is Love. (1/3)

Summary: Steve is captured by hydra, they use you as a toy for him. A sick game they play. He can't help but notice how much you hate touch, or any kind of human interaction. When his team rescues him, he takes you with him and shows you what love is.

Warnings: unexpected pregnancy eventuality, kidnapping, blood, and unwanted sex by both parties? But it doesn't go to much into detail. But i dont know how to categorize it. This is dark but soft. Also my grammar mistakes.

Part 2 / Part 3 (coming soon)

Steve doesn't remember much, the aching pain against the roundest part of his skull was the only thought manageable. Shaky fingers running over the clumps of blood that matted his hair, stables fusing the gash closed. His eyes take in the room around him, no windows, the only light is small lamp that illuminates the small corner of the room by the bed he currently say up on. The walls are a dull gray, the floor matching, the cement seemed as it ran for miles. A door is on the far right, heavy duty, not even a super solider could break it down.

His tact suit is gone, a plain white t-shirt and a pair of grey sweat pants clad his body, no shoes just a tall pair of socks that bundle against ankles. The throbbing inside his skull seems like the worst of his worries as his eyes scan the room, no way out. The small camera in the corner follows his every move. "Whoever you are, you've made a mistake."

Thick arms across against his swollen chest in dominace, trying to assert some kind of fear into the situation. It's no use, no one is there or obviously cares enough to call a bluff. A small stack of books are next to the sink, fingers run down the ridged brindle of the book, noticing the german writing. Hydra.

Steve's face moves in frustration, body growing taller as he realizes the situation, hydra had finally managed to do it, they got him. A small growl rumbles deep inside the roughness of his chest, fist meeting the cement wall in anger, the blood didn't bother him, the pain non existent. He steps over the crumbled pieces of the wall before looking right into the camera. "If you think I'll stay here peacefully, you're mistaken. I will punch my way out of here."

His feet start towards the carving he made in the wall but peeks his head towards the door listening to the gliding of locks. He stands tall, expecting someone to send in some poor bastard that was meant to tell him to behave but would only meet death in the hands of him.

Much to his surprise, a female thrown into the room, falling next to his feet. Adrenline was too high, he couldn't think straight. His body telling him this was a trick but mind realizing how similarly dressed they were.She was here as a prisoner too.

"Are you okay?" Steve's voice is rough, making you flinch but scatter away from him as his hands reached out to help you up.

An unsettling feeling is ripped deep inside his stomach, bubbling red hot as he notices the darkness behind your eyes. Nothing was there, a shell of a human. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Avoiding eye contact at all cost, you pull your knees to your chest, head resting against the hard shell of knees. What did they do to this girl?

Steve's eyes run over the soft features, skin with no wrinkles, big doe eyes avoiding him. Cheeks so lively, warm with color and lips that just resembled youth. Hair was beautifully knotless, curtaining past your shoulders, small shoulders that formed into the valley of your breast, no older than 23.

He decides to keep his distance, but drops to his knees to size you. Hoping that with being eye level would make himself look less scary, dominating even. "What's your name?"

When she doesnt answer he sighs, "I'm Steve."

Before he gets a chance to speak again, a loud crackling echos the room, source the camera. "Do you like her steve? She's yours."

"Mine? What?" Eyes don't leave you, he doesn't speak for the camera, more like asking himself.

"We want to be friends with you Steve. Give us your blood and you can do whatever you want with her."

He notices how fast your chest begins to move, a small choked sound constricting from your throat. The voice the reason for the anxiousness, scaring you.

"Stop talking." Steve hisses, "i will never give you my blood and you're scaring her."

"Have it your way then." All of a sudden the small light is gone, the room is completely black, the clicking of the locks telling him someone is coming. The door hit the wall with a large thump, he swore it shook the room, he stands arms reaching out trying to get a hold of something, if something was there. A large arm reaches around his neck, before he could even react the sharp pain of a needle in his neck has him out cold.

The second time waking up was easier, his body still in full fight mode as he jumped up, trying to locate the danger. Quickly realizing it was gone, and he was alone once again. The days started to form into a week, he's given no food, forced to drink water from the leaking sink in the block room - it drives him crazy, drip, drip, drip. Stomach painfully twisting as a tray is slid from under the door- a small piece of bread, what looked like chicken broth and a banana, better then nothing at all. His mouth salivates at the salty smell of the warm soup filling his nose, almost dizzy from the lack of food. It must be his lucky day, a few hours later lunch is there too. A sandwich with an apple, they even have him a cup to drink his sink water out of.

Dinner isn't existent, but for once this whole week he is not weak, stomach not painfully squeezing inside of him. Hes not full, but satisfied. The echoing of foot steps followed by the shuffling of a shadow behind the door thinking its a late dinner but the locks unhinge, the woman revealed, two large men standing behind you as you walked in.

Steve eyes meet your face as the door is closed, your eyes avoid him at all costs. Hair perfectly flowly, features even softer than before, might even say a sight for sore eyes that have been staring at half understandable words on a page and cement walls. Except for once small detail, a countless amount of bruising ranging from small to big across your arms, most likely from the men roughing you up, grabbing harshly at the small girl.

"Hey are you okay?" He is surprised by the small squeak of a yes as you finally talk. "Why are you here?"

"I, ugh - don't know." Shakily you cross arms across the swells of your breast, a surivial instinct, protecting most vital organs. Steve chooses to ignore it, "what's your name?"

"Y/N." Its softly spoken, but a name that fits you very well. The soft patter of drops against the sink, the only sound filling the room as you finally meet his eyes. Beautiful ocean waves, big blue skies being the only words that come to mind. His features are hard bit form a devilishly handsome man, but eyes so soft reminding you of the beautiful things in life.

"Did they feed you? I have an apple left from earlier." The large red apple looks so small in his gigantic hand. You shake your head, "No, I'm okay."

"You can sit down. Do you know where we are?"

"No, I'm okay." The honest truth is men scared you, especially the largely built one who stood with so much strength that you backed away from him.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not like them."

"I just don't want you by me."

Steve nods in understanding, forehead creasing i though as his tongue runs over his lips as he looks around the room. "You can sit on the bed, I'm going to go over here."

Steve points to the opposite corner of the room, "I'm going to move now, you don't have to be scared." You want to thank him for the warning but bite your tongue and nod, making sure he reaches the other side of the room before routing yourself to the pathetic excuse of the bed.

"I see you're getting along." The voice rings from the camera as Steve's eyes squint in annoyance. He decides not to play in, his gaze burns against your skin. It wasn't in a way that was uncomfortable, but he wanted to test you, ask you questions you wouldn't answer.

"She's a gift for you steve, aren't you lonely? we want to be your friends." Steve scoffs, "last time i checked, friends don't lock each other in prisons."

"You can do whatever you want with her." The voice darkenly is suggestive with unlawful thoughts, a concept as dark as that doesn't even register in his mind.

"What does that even mean?"

"We want you to take her." Steve's forehead creases in confusion, fingers stretching lines across his forehead, but when met with the horrified look on your face realization hits him like a ton of bricks, crushing his chest. Stomach clenching as he feels sick, was this normal for you to do?

The captures realized Steve wasn't going to just give up his blood, he also wouldn't take what they gifted him. Steve Rogers was a man of a moral code, the best kind of man mixed with a gentleman, that would never hurt a lady but wouldn't ever allow one to die because of his hand either. "If you don't fuck her, we will kill her."

They will strip away every part that is good of him, take away every moral and goodness this man has, starting with taking away the fact that he has a choice on who he sleeps with. Steve's ocean blues meet yours in panic, chest tight, he couldn't breath at the suggestion.

"No."

"She will die, and it will be because of you. You could've saved her Steve." This isn't right, the giant pit in his stomach screaming in horror as the words leave your mouth, "it's okay steve."

Your welcoming this, accepting it is survival but he isn't standing for it. His eyes water, he feels sick, taking away the one sense of security you posses, your choice and willing accepting that is gone. "No. I am not doing that."

"You're doing to let me die?" No, he wasn't going to that either. "They're not lying, they will slit my throat the moment I walk out of here."

"You can't even look in my eyes let alone do this!" Feelings getting the best of him as the wall crumbles underneath his power, bloody knuckles spreading the redness across his face as he rubs it stressfully.

"You have 30 seconds Steven." The voice warns, threatening is more like it.

"It's okay, i know you won't hurt me." Your soft voice is what makes him really choke up, an angel that didnt deserve this. Steve's weight is on top of you, his hand pressed against the matress supporting most of it. A hand so shaky he can't even pull at the strings of your sweats so instead you pull them down revealing what should be your choice to him.

"I am so sorry." It was a choked sob filled with so much sadness, a gruff from the chest that made even your heart break for him right now. He closes his eyes, preventing the tears from falling but in a forced moment like this, couldn't find himself to find excitment, but the fact that this was going to be life or death out weighed his feelings.

It was a small kiss, a peck barely there against his clothed shoulder made him gasp, not expecting the comfort in this moment. You of all people, comforting him, a sobbing mess of a man while your innocence he was taking unwillingly. The wetness of his tears meeting your cheeks, sliding down as he pushes into you and with that his heart breaking.

It continued for days, over and over again they make him get to know every part of your body, he begs them to stop, you tell him its okay, that this is how it has to be, but he can't take it. Sleeping soundly he watches you, peacefully in a peaceful world unlike this one. You don't care much for his touch, but sleep is the one place you don't scower from it. Its hard not to be close, the twin matress making it nearly impossible to not touch. The dark blush of the bruising is starting to fade, hand softly rubbing over the skin as you breath heavily. Chest is moving with every breath, lips slightly parted, beautiful.

Warm against him, he is glad you can sleep. It's been days since he has, guilt eating him alive, which is exactly what they want. They will continue to make him disgrace you until he breaks and allows them to give him the blood, and willingly participates in their experiments. The loud sound of cement crumbling following loud booms makes him clutch you close to his chest, back facing the door to protect you at all costs. Your awake now, breathing heavily into the chest as the sound of bullets ripple from outside of the door he coos. "Its okay, its okay. I'll protect you."

Nothing else is said as the fight outside continues until it stops, you look up at him, looking for answers until eyes widen in fear as the locks of the door sound. They were coming back for you. Steve turns, pushing you behind him as he stands tall, a man ready to fight.

"Buck?" It's just above a whisper as a tall man, almost as big as him stands. A metal arm, long black hair that reaches his shoulders.

"Steve we got to go." The girl is only noticeable when he reaches around to grab your hand, Bucky notices the messy hair, dried lips and the dark bruising against your arms. "She's coming with us."

The sunlight hurts, you cover your eyes quickly as you almost stumble to your knees trying to keep up with the two large men as bullets wiz past. Steve's arms are lifting you by the waist, nudging you to get back up. The quinjet sits only feet away, a tall, dark man yelling incoherent sounds over the swooshing of the blades in the air. In seconds the metal of the floor is cold against bare feet, door closing, it was safe.

Taking a deep breath your eyes running over the tower of Steve as the jet takes off. Bucky can't help but notice the shortening of breath from the small girl, coldness of the metal arm making you jump away in shock, "are you okay?"

"n-no!"

"Buck, buck, don't." Steve reaches for him, taking the artificial touch from her. "She doesn't like being touched. "

You feel trapped in here, three large men making it suffocating in this tiny box, that some how seemed even more freeing than the one you've grown so used to despite being high in the clouds.

"Breathe sweetheart." Steve coos, sinking down to your size, arms reaching out but not quite touching. "Its just me, my touch is good."

His touch is filled with unwanting pleasure, a reminder of what was taken away from you but also a certain gentleness that made you feel safe and secure. You don't let him touch you but nod at his words, following the rythm of his breathing from the pattern of his chest.

"What the fuck happened there?" Bucky wanted to say what the fuck is wrong with you but noticed how uncomfortable you already were.

"I just need to sit down." Steve looked broken as well as he sat finally, still feet away from you. Hands rubbing over his face, as a small cry feel from his lips. Any other time being captured by enemy lines wouldn't even affect him, but he didn't feel like the same man, he was a disgusting excuse of one that fell victim to them, they might have not gotten his blood but did strip the one piece of him he held dearly: his moral code.

Bucky chest squeezes as his best friends sorrow, hand meeting his back, rubbing soft circles of comfort. You watch every second of it, this was bound to happen, you saw the change every time he was forced to touch you, the breaking away of his head, of what he stood for but most of wishing you could accept touch like that, comfort, but any man that touched you only brought pain, physically and in the cause mentally. The ride was quiet once Steve managed to stop crying, didn't dare to talk, the emotion still raw in his chest, afraid it would start again. Once on the ground, a group of people surround him, hugs, kisses to his cheeks. Once again you were envy of his acceptance, the thought making you sick. Steve showed you to a room, placing a pair of what looked like his clothes at the end of the freshly made bed. "You can lock the door when I leave if you'll feel safer." Nails nervously scratching the back of his neck, "You can shower, and if you need me I'm right across the hall, goodnight."

Steve wanted to talk, apologize for what he had done to you but didn't also thought the events of today were enough, you deserved a goodnights rest.

Steve's clothing hung loosely from wet skin, the sweats needed to be rolled, sweater reaching mid-thigh. Sleep did not come easy, noisy sounds of the busy city, honks, and whizzing cars, something you weren't used to being secluded for so long. Anxiety bubbling deep inside your chest, burning your skin. The constant fear that they would come back for you, take you away with just a taste of this freedom.

It was strange but you missed the security, the sense of being protected by him, a feeling you have never felt before. Quietly you enter his room, he's not sleeping just deep in thought as he stares at the ceiling, not noticing your entrance.

"Steve?" Rolling your hands nervously into sweater paws as looks at you with worry. "What's wrong?"

He's sitting up now, ready for anything, trying to figure out the emotions of your face you keep so guarded. "I can't sleep."

He lays back down, hand extending opening the covers to allow you in. Thankfully he doesn't try to touch you. Running over the defined features of his face, ocean eyes so soft. For the first time ever he looks relaxed despite the dark circles under his eyes, the ocean surrounded by a deep red of regret, disgust in himself. He offers a sweet smile, which you can't find yourself to return but try your best.

Closing your eyes feels nice, his breath in your ear, you feel safe as you slip into a world of peacefulness. But not before hearing, "I'm sorry. Sweet dreams sweetheart."

Note: if you want to be tagged in the next two parts, comment below! Part 2 comes with the reader learning to accept his touch and unexpected surprise.

#stever rogers imagine #steve x reader #steve rogers #chris evans imagine #chris evans #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction

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hiraeth-doux · 5 years

Photo

i am still running

summary: When Barry Allen runs a hundred years into the past to save Diana’s long-lost pilot, he doesn’t know that he is giving her the greatest gift of all.

author’s note: This is a @wondertrevnet Secret Santa gift for @blueincandescence :) I hope I did it justice! Happy holidays!

AO3

1918

“Steve.”

Diana’s voice breaks through the deafening bellow of massive propellers and the roar of blood in his ears, muffled by the wind and the distance between them.

He wavers, for just a moment. Wants to look at her one last time. His throat closes up, his heart so heavy in his chest he doesn’t know how it doesn’t weigh him down to the cold concrete of the airfield that vibrates slightly beneath his feet.

Steve clenches his teeth and surges forward. To look back is to change his mind – he knows it, like he knows that it is not a luxury they can afford. There is no time. If she is who she has been claiming to be all along, if she really can stop this terror then he knows she will, but she can’t be everywhere at once. One of them needs to take care of the deadly gas.

It has to be me.

He has come to this war to make a difference, and he hates that having to choose between Diana and millions of people is the price he must pay for it.

He knows she will understand, though. Knows that she would have done the same thing.

It is the path they have both chosen.

One last burst of effort, and he is climbing into the airplane, fighting his way toward the cockpit. It is easy to move when he has a goal, a clear plan. He tries not to think of Diana, of her disoriented confusion. Tries not to think of the way she looked at him last night, of what her lips tasted like—

Steve sinks into the pilot’s seat, his hands moving on the will of their own as they steer the plane forward, his muscle memory, strong and steady, no match for his scattered mind. For a moment, he can swear he hears her calling his name again, but he brushes the thought off - she is too far away. Must be the wind.

The altitude is making him dizzy, blurring his vision.

The inside of the plane smells of gasoline and metal.

Steve leans back in his seat. He closes his eyes and takes a breath.

He doesn’t think of breaking more promises or wish that things were different for them, but his finger trembles on the trigger nonetheless.

When the fire starts licking at his skin, he thinks of dancing in the snow.

—

2018

The air is fresh.

It is the first thing that Steve notices when his mind swims back to consciousness. It has been so long since he breathed anything but death and blood and gunpowder smoke that despite the fog in his head and dull throbbing in his skull, it is the smell of cold soil and old autumnal grass near his face that snaps him into wakefulness. Even more so than a rock jutting into his shoulder blade.

The other thing is the voice.

“—come on, man. Wake up.” It fades in and out a little, muffled, “God, she’s gonna kill me,” followed by an urgent whisper: “Hey, come on. Steve? Are you Steve?”

There is a tapping on his cheek. And then the other one.

Steve’s chest constricts when he inhales sharply, his lungs expanding as if he’d come up from underwater. He blinks his eyes open, squinting against the brightness of the day even though the sky above him is low and grey.

He is on his back, lying on the cold ground. There is a line of trees to the right from him, blurred in the periphery of his vision; the chilly breeze smells intoxicatingly of snow.

“There you are!” The chipper voice makes him wince a little. “I was starting to get worried–”

He blinks once more, and a face hovering above him shifts into focus. Half a face. Steve’s brows pull together in confusion. There is a man sitting beside him and trying to rouse him - and quite unceremoniously, too. The upper half of his face is hidden under a red mask with some yellow insignia on either side of his head. When Steve looks at him, he breaks into a smile so bright that it is tempting to smile back.

If only he knew what the actual hell was happening to him.

“Look,” he man tones down his enthusiasm. His eyes dart around for a moment or two before he leans closer to Steve, his voice dropping again. “I kinda miscalculated the return point a little bit, but don’t tell Clark. I’ll never live it down.” He makes a face. “Hang in for a little while longer, okay?”

None of this makes any sense. Steve’s eyes drop from the man’s fast-moving lips to his shoulders and then down to his torso, all wrapped in a red suit, tight as a second skin. He tries to think but his brain feels like it is made of jelly, his stomach tied into a queasy knot.

The black sky above Belgium… the plane… Diana.

Headache explodes behind his eyes.

This must be a dream.

“What–” he starts, his mouth dry and his voice croaky. He swallows and wants to try again, but when darkness closes over him once more, he is grateful.

—

There are ten feet and a hundred years between them.

Diana stares at him from across the room in the glass house where the smiley guy who introduced himself as Barry has brought Steve a little while ago. Her face is ashen like she is seeing a ghost, and when she looks at him like that he is not sure he is not one. Even from his spot fifteen feet away from her, he hears her shuddered inhale. His heart drops into his stomach.

The year is 2018, according to Barry and an older man with thin-rimmed glasses sitting on the tip of his nose who opened the door for them when they arrived. A hundred years from the day when he climbed into a German airplane to help Diana stop the God of War from plunging the world into endless chaos. A hundred years that were crumpled and compressed into the few minutes that it took Barry to drag him all the way into the future – Steve chooses not to think of this just yet.

He doesn’t believe that what Barry has told him is true, and Diana doesn’t either, if the look of shock on her face is any indication.

Her eyes roam over his features for several long moments. Someone is talking. There are other people in the room – Barry, the butler whose name Steve missed the first time around, and two other men. If he wasn’t so busy trying to stop his heart from breaking through his ribcage and leaping out of his chest, Steve would probably find it fascinating that the face of one of them if half-covered with a metal plate.

She doesn’t believe that he is real, and he can’t fault her for it. He wants to move toward her, but he is not sure how. Not sure if he can because it has been so long and you can’t walk across time. Yet, he remembers the way she felt in his arms only last night, when the fire went out in the grate without either of them noticing for they didn’t need it. Not when they had one another to keep warm.

The memory is so bright it all but makes him keel over, blood roaring in his ears.

A hundred years…

He stares back.

Diana looks the same but also so strikingly different that Steve is not sure whether to be excited or perplexed, and it is not her hair, slicked back, or her black pants and a fitted long-sleeved shirt – she is dressed like a man but he decides not to dwell on that, or how curious Etta would have been. It is in her eyes, guarded and full of doubt. The Diana he had met on the Paradise Island was starry-eyed and hopeful beyond anything he had ever seen. The woman standing before him now is anything but.

He doesn’t want to know what she has gone through to have the spark that shone brighter than the sun itself grow dim. Not yet.

“Steve,” Diana breathes, and even though her voice is so soft that it barely carries across the space between them, it still feels like a sucker punch that nearly sends him down to his knees.

Steve swallows, hard, and tries to smile. “Hey.”

Someone is speaking. Barry, Steve thinks, but he is not sure. Someone is trying to explain all of this to her. He doesn’t think she is listening; knows he certainly is not. Doesn’t care much for what is being said, either.

All he wants is to look at her, take her in the way he never had a chance to. Before, they were always running out of time.

“Can’t be…” she whispers, shaking her head.

He finds his voice and says, “It’s me.”

A strangled sob rises in her throat. Her hand flies up to her mouth and he watches her face crumple.

“Diana…”

When she slams into him with the full force of an Amazon warrior, he staggers backwards, nearly taking them both down to the floor. Doesn’t care that she has knocked all wind out of him, too relieved, too… everything. He catches her in his arms and gathers her to him, only now realizing that he is shaking all over.

The past hour of his life might have felt like a dream, but this is real. Diana is real. She is warm and solid and so very here. Steve buries his face in the curve of her neck and breathes her in, and god help him, she smells wonderful. Like sunshine and home, and it makes something snap loose inside of him. All the time he has spent holding back – he can’t take it anymore.

“Steve,” she breathes. He feels her lips brush along his jaw ever so briefly. She is saying something, asking something but her voice drowns in a thunderous sound of his heartbeat.

For him, it has only been a few hours, and he still can’t imagine missing her more.

Her hands move over his face, lean fingers skittering over his cheeks, pushing his hair back from his forehead. He can see tears in her eyes, her smile is weak and watery, and the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

“You’re back,” Diana murmurs, cupping his face in her hands, dark eyes flicking between the blue ones as though she is still waiting for him to disappear like a dream. “I don’t—I don’t understand. I watched you–”

She cuts off, a shadow of anguish crossing her face.

When Steve leans in and kisses her, desperate to wipe the last memory she has of him from her mind, he can feel salt on her mouth – hers or his, he has no idea. She kisses him back, deeply and hungrily, a century of longing poured into one touch, enough to leave him dazed and disoriented and breathless. And so alive he can feel it thrumming in his blood. Diana’s hands push through his hair, her arms wind around his neck and he holds her closer, scared beyond words to lose her again.

She feels the same, tastes the same, and after everything it is almost too much to bear.

Steve makes a mental note to thank the cheerful Barry later, but the thought is fleeting. The room falls away. He doesn’t care for anyone standing there. He is lost in her and he doesn’t want to be found.

—

Everything around them is a blur.

Steve doesn’t remember when everyone leaves, or how, but one moment he and Diana are standing in the centre of what appears to be a living room, the weak autumnal sun inching its way towards the horizon outside, and then it is dark and they are sitting on the floor with their backs against the glass wall overlooking the deck and a lake beyond it. The reading lamp on the side table by the couch is switched on, filling the room with warm light, and while Steve knows that they are not alone in the house, he can’t hear anyone else.

His arm is around Diana and her hand idly traces the collar of his shirt. She can’t seem to stop touching him and Steve doesn’t mind. He hasn’t looked away from her once.

His thick coat and the jacket of his stolen German uniform are draped over the back of one of the chairs, a silent reminder of the collision of time. He is yet to understand how they are going to go about all of this because her brows furrow whenever her gaze drifts to his clothes and it is clear that she is no more fond of those memories than he is. He doesn’t want her to remember.

Steve slides a knuckle under her chin, lifting her face to his, and kisses her again, softly.

“I can’t believe this,” Diana murmurs against his lips.

“Yeah, well….” He lets out a short laugh and shakes his head. “Is it really 2018? I can’t exactly… it’s a hard one to process.”

She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and his heart slams hard against his ribs. God, he loves her smile. She raises her hand to stroke her thumb along his jaw and nods. “It is.”

He nods, too. “I–” he clears his throat. “I—I’m sorry,” he mutters.

She frowns. “Steve…”

“That night,” he continues quickly, his eyes moving over her face. The same face. It’s been so long… how is it possible? He swallows. “I wasn’t planning to—I didn’t want to—it happened so fast.” He is stuttering and babbling but he doesn’t know how to stop. She is watching him quietly, and he tries to remember what it was that he wanted to tell her but never had a chance to. “I’m sorry for leaving you, Diana. I’m sorry that you had to do this on your own for long. I’m so sorry for—for everything.”

She touches his cheek. “Steve.”

When he looks up, her eyes are kind. He leans closer to her and rests their heads together.

“You’re here now,” she tells him, and he feels the weight of guilt lift off his chest. Just barely, but it’s a start. “There is nothing to forgive.” If it wasn’t for his arm wrapped around her, he is certain he would have flown away.

“I still don’t understand,” he admits, glancing around the room before he turns to her again.

“I will explain, I promise.” Diana runs her fingertips down his cheek and Steve covers her hand with his, turning into her touch to kiss her palm. “I will tell you everything you want to know.”

He nods once more.

He has questions, so many of them, but they all fade in comparison to the enormity to what has happened to him, to them. A chance he has never dared to hope for. Everything he has ever wanted right there, his for the taking. They have known each for one week - and a hundred years - and his heart feels so full that he can hardly breathe.

“Diana,” he starts, unsure where he was going with it. His thoughts are a jumbled mess, and she is watching him, her gaze full of wonder, making him forget how to think.

She is so beautiful, and because he doesn’t know what else to say, he says just that.

She smiles. Her hand curls over his jaw. “I missed you,” she says softly.

Steve feels the corners of his mouth tug upwards. “I missed you, too,” he confesses, which sounds odd and silly – he is not the one who has spent a century without her – and it makes her laugh a little.

He reaches behind her to pull the elastic band off of her hair and it cascades down her shoulders. She doesn’t stop him as he threads his fingers through the heavy mass, soft and smooth against his skin.

She presses a kiss to the side of his chin and rests her forehead against his again. “You look good for a 136-year old,” she tells him.

Steve laughs. “And how old are you, again?” He teases. They are quiet for a few moments, content in the comfort of each other’s presence.

After a while, he takes a breath, bracing himself for whatever comes next. “So, where do we go from here?” He asks, yearning for her answer and scared of it all at once. He would have done anything for her, anything to be with her, but a hundred years is a long time, and he doesn’t want to presume, not even after—

A void opens up between them. A hundred years feel like forever.

“What do you want to do, Steve?” Diana asks.

He watches her watch him as he searches for words.

He is a man who infiltrated Ludendorff’s circle, a man who walked – well, rode – into the German High Command like it was nothing, a man who climbed into a plane packed to the brim with poisonous gas and flew toward his death. He has done all that, and yet he has never been more terrified than he is right now. No one has ever told him that baring his heart and soul before someone he loves could feel so paralyzing.

Diana is still waiting, the pause stretching between them.

Steve twists a strand of her hair around his finger. He swallows. “I want—I want to do everything we didn’t get to do… the first time around,” he says, hoping against all hope that those are the right words. “To pick up where we’ve left off.”

“I would like that,” she whispers. “I would like that very much.”

She stands up and offers him her hand, “Come with me.”

Steve grabs onto it like it’s a lifeline and he is a drowning man and she is his salvation. Always has been.

He follows her through the quiet house and down the hallway to the last door on the left. She pushes it open and steps into the dark room, pulling him inside after her. She closes the door and turns around. Her hands reach for him, smoothing over the planes of his chest like she still can’t quite accept that he is standing right there, made of flesh and blood.

Steve lets her, watching her brows furrow ever so slightly, barely resisting the urge to smooth that frown out with his thumb.

“Diana…”

She takes a shaky breath and looks up to meet his eyes.

“You must be tired,” she whispers as she lifts her hand to touch his hair near his temple.

“Not that tired,” he says, his mouth suddenly dry because he doesn’t quite believe that he is real either, or that she is, or anyone else in the house, in this time. It felt so much more different with the smiling Barry and the rest of them around. Here, alone with her, the air feels charged and thick, filled with unsaid words and promises he never got to keep.

Her fingers curl over fistfuls of his shirt and she pulls him to her. When she kisses him, there is a different kind of hunger, different kind of longing to her touch than before. The one that coils his belly into a tight knot and sets his blood on fire. It demands and claims and consumes, and Steve is happy to oblige and surrender. He is breathing her like she is the air, the light, the everything.

“Are you sure?” He rasps when he comes up for air, his head swimming and her eyes the one thing he can see.

Diana doesn’t hesitate. “I am.”

Later, he sleeps at last, his arms wrapped tightly around her body, their legs tangled together, his mind at peace. And for once, for the first time since the war consumed them, he doesn’t dream.

—

The world is a mess.

So much more of a mess than Steve could ever have imagined. It leaves his mind reeling.

He has always prided himself on being adaptable, on coping well with changes, but that was before the reality of the future slammed into him like a freight train. There is no keeping up with it now, no taking his new life in stride. There is only holding on with all his might and praying that he is not thrown off at the next curve.

And boy, oh boy, are there many of those.

Diana tells him the truth. About herself and Ares and the secrets that her mother kept close to her heart for longer than mankind remembered itself. There is an edge to her voice when she speaks Hippolyta’s name and it catches in her throat, and Steve knows that the wound is still open and bleeding. That it might take another century for it to heal.

She tells him about the Justice League, too, and while he is fascinated, by the time she is done talking he has realized that he is not surprised it’s where he path took her. It’s in her blood. He can’t imagine her standing aside and watching the world burn. It’s a bittersweet feeling, too – pride mixed with understanding that she has had a whole life that he wasn’t and never will be a part of.

Steve thinks of her first day in his world, on the streets of London, curious and determined and taken aback by just about everything around her. Now she belongs here more than he does, and he has yet to wrap his mind around that.

The regret quells when he sees the fond look on her face, hears affection in her voice when she speaks of the other members of her team. In the few days that he has known them, he has grown to understand the sentiment, and if nothing else, he is happy that she has found her place.

“So, you guys are saving the world, huh?” He muses with a smile when she falls silent.

Diana shakes her head. “We are doing our best to keep peace,” she corrects, suddenly wistful. “The world can’t be saved, Steve. Not when it is set on the path of destruction, not from itself. But we can protect it—try to protect it when nobody else will.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that. His instinct is to reassure her but even in his mind, the words sound empty. He knows better than to feed them to her.

One day, Steve thinks, he will ask her to tell him about the darkness she has seen and walked through, but the scars are too raw yet. He can see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice; she carries it inside of her like he does his own. Too raw and too tender to the touch, and it is not the pain that he wants to bring back.

They have time, he reminds himself, and lets the subject rest for now.

—

The world is a mess, and Steve has never felt more like a fish out of water before.

He is a little amused and a little insulted when Barry asks him if he knows what a refrigerator is. After all, 1918 wasn’t that long ago. But then Diana has to go back to Paris and he follows – there is no question about whether or not he would. He would have followed her to the edge of the world if she so wished, eagerly and gladly.

The feeling is thrilling and exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

In Steve’s memories, Paris is the city filled with pain and people trying to escape the horrors of the war. The city of hospitals for the injured and a refuge for people running away from the terrors of the front. He remembers grey streets and grey faces, the whole place a smudge in his mind like someone ran an eraser over a pencil drawing. It used to smell of dust and smoke and desperation, bleak image with bleak future.

Diana’s Paris is nothing like that. It is bright and colourful and loud. God, so loud. It sets off his inner alarms and makes him look over his shoulder more often than not. It is packed with locals and tourists, cars honking and cameras flashing. Even in the late November, with its endless rains and cutting winds, it is bursting with life.

Steve tries to match those two Parises together in his head and fails, relieved that hers is nothing like what he feared it might be and scared that it is yet another piece of puzzle that doesn’t quite fit, and might never do. Once again, he thinks of Diana stepping into his world for the first time, his life alien and wild to her. And he wonders if she felt just as lost then as he does now, or if it is different for him because he is looking instinctively for something familiar but comes up empty each time?

Her home is an obstacle course that he needs to navigate with the care and precision of a trained soldier. His boot camp has nothing on Diana’s kitchen with its shiny appliances that confuse and terrify him more than an army of angry Germans. He doesn’t understand why a stovetop needs so many settings, and apparently there is absolutely nothing like a ‘smart’ phone to make a person feel irrevocably dumb.

Steve is not used to feeling so helpless, so hopeless. So out of control.

“You know that I don’t care about whether or not you can use the toaster, right?” Diana asks him one night.

“A waffle-maker,” Steve corrects, frustrated. He has figured out the toaster, thank you very much.

She presses her lips together and tries not to laugh, earning a glare from him in response.

“I almost set your kitchen on fire,” Steve grumbles under his breath.

“That’s what we have a fire extinguisher for,” she points out, amused.

He hums noncommittally and shakes his head, looking away.

A moment later, her arms slide around his waist and she presses close to him. She rests her chin on his shoulder and a shuddered breath stutters unevenly from his chest. He curls his hands around her forearms, thumbs brushing over her wrists.

“And it is our kitchen,” Diana adds – something the she has said before but the sense of belonging hasn’t quite settled yet. Being adrift for so long, he wonders if it ever will. She presses a kiss to his shoulder, warm even through the fabric of his shirt. “Steve?”

“Hm?”

“What if it was me?”

He half-turns to her. “What?”

“After the war, if you—” she falters for a moment.

They never talk of the before, dancing artfully around the subject of his demise that didn’t quite happen, but also did. Sure, they have spoken about Charlie and Etta and Sameer and Chief, trading the stories from his time with them and hers, but there is a wall around that night, an unspoken agreement to never take it down. She is treading carefully along it now, balancing on the edge of it, and there is a tug in his stomach when she comes close to falling over.

“If it worked out differently and you lived, would it have mattered to you that I didn’t know a thing about your life?” She asks quietly.

He thinks of her on the boat, telling him that London looked hideous, in Selfridge’s under Etta’s watchful eye, in the council – equally fascinated and shocked, and his lips twitch a little, the irony in the reversal of their roles not lost on him. He remembers his own amusement and exasperation, their race against time and his desire to slow it down.

“No, of course not,” Steve says decisively. He turns around in the circle of her arms, feeling his shoulders relax, tension draining out of tight knots of his muscles. Diana nuzzles into him, tucking her face into the curve of his neck, her breath warm on his skin, and he wraps his arms around her. “Never.”

“Then why should it matter to me?”

He huffs, unable to argue with his own reasoning.

Some spy, he muses. If he allowed himself to be cornered like that on a mission, he’d be dead within a day. But, as it turns out, that’s the effect Diana has on him. Instant and absolute surrender.

It’s not about that, though. It’s not the coffee machine or her laptop that make him pause in his tracks and do a double-take at his new life. Not the new clothes that fit right but still occasionally make him feel like he is wearing someone else’s persona. He can’t say it, won’t say it, but there are still moments when he is acutely aware of the abyss between them. The one that’s always been there and might always remain.

He has yet to understand by grace of what gods did he get someone like her to love someone like him.

She is a princess and a goddess with a heart of gold. She could have had anything, anyone, and this is not something Steve takes lightly; she could have this whole world at her feet. There is never a moment when he feels like he needs to prove something to her, that he needs to earn her love and affection, but part of him still wants to know that he is worthy, and there are times when it’s not that simple.

But she is right, too. If their situation was reversed, he wouldn’t have cared for a moment. He would have wanted to be with her and he would give himself to her without hesitation. His heart – a little worse for wear but still beating, his soul – a little tired and frail around the edges, his mind and body, and everything in between.

“I love you,” he whispers into her ear.

Never tires of saying it.

—

Steve stops looking for reasoning.

Somebody told him once, a long time ago, that you don’t love someone because of their good qualities but despite their bad ones. Steve knows now that it is bullshit. He doesn’t love Diana because she is generous and kind and full of light, or because she makes his heart beat at a different pace. And he doesn’t love her in spite of her uncompromising stubbornness and impulsiveness.

He just does – because he can. Because he is lucky to have her.

He stops trying to justify it in his mind because it is not a rabbit’s hole he wants to jump into. And more importantly, he no longer feels like he needs to.

He is still learning and it’s infuriating at times. It is not just the technology and the settings on the washing machine that won’t ruin his new clothes. It is everything. The world is made of new rules – how to speak, how to act, how to be. It is a process of trial and error, and there are moments when he needs to remind himself to take a breath. The future is not going anywhere.

He likes Netflix and hates crossword puzzles because everything has changed and he doesn’t know any answers anymore. They invented a new world and gave birth to new people while he didn’t exist. How the hell is he supposed to know who the 39th President of the United States was? When did they get so many of them? Before he died, they were only on the 28th. He likes the cars and doesn’t quite appreciate Indian food that is too spicy for his palate. He does understand the concept of inflation but every trip to the supermarket feels like being robbed in broad daylight.

“We can afford some strawberries, Steve.” Diana picks the crate that he tries to shove back into the fridge and puts it into their cart.

She bites her lip around a smile, and he feels his face grow hot.

Just looking at the price tags is making him mildly sick.

“You could eat for a week on that,” Steve mutters under his breath but doesn’t try to remove anything else from the cart. She will probably send him to wait for her in the car if he does, he suspects, and chooses not to mention that strawberries are not even in season.

Diana shakes her head, her expression sympathetic. “Not anymore, I’m afraid. Not for a while.”

He huffs through his nose.

She loops her arm through his while he ignores an older lady with a young girl giving them curious looks.

Half the time, he can’t help but feel like he is drowning in information that seem to come easily to everyone but him.

He learns not to ask questions when he is not ready for answers.

—

The snow falls two weeks later, thick flakes that come late at night and turn the world outside the bedroom window into something enthralling and surreal.

Steve is sprawled half over her, his head on Diana’s chest and her arms wrapped around him, his breathing yet to be found. He can feel her fingers thread through his hair, damp with sweat, her heart hammering away in earnest into his ear.

He tries to shift his weight off of her. “I’m heavy,” he slurs, utterly spent, but Diana tightens her hold on him.

“I like it,” she whispers into his hairline and he doesn’t have it in him to protest. Not when there is a smile in her voice and he is too boneless to move.

He likes feeling every inch of her body with every inch of his. Can’t get enough of her.

There is still an edge of desperation to her touch sometimes – like she can’t hold him close enough, like she is scared that he might slip right through her fingers. Steve is not afraid of losing her, not really. Not the same way she had lost him for a hundred years. But he is, too, because she is the best thing that has ever happened to him and he doesn’t trust it to last. Doesn’t trust whatever powers-that-be that spin the wheel of fortune high above them and dictate their fates not to screw him over. It has happened before, after all, and he wouldn’t be surprised.

However, that is not to say that he doesn’t trust Diana. He trusts her more than anyone in all of creation and part of him knows that he should be wary of it, but he is not. She sees right through him when even he wants to look away. She takes him apart and puts him back together without losing even the small parts in the process, and somehow in the end he is a better version of himself than he was before. She calls him out on his bullshit but so does he, without hesitation, and sometimes it feels like a balance.

Other times, it makes him want to laugh.

They will both have to figure this out one way or another eventually, but he is not in a hurry. Truth is, he wouldn’t have minded spending forever doing just that.

“Like Veld,” Diana says quietly when he starts to doze off, snapping him back into wakefulness.

Steve focuses on the snow storm. He feels her sigh against him and holds her closer still.

“Do you remember Veld?” He asks. Can’t help but ask. Can’t help but ask so many things.

The memory is strikingly bright in his mind, every word, every touch seared into his brain for the rest of eternity. But, technically, it has only been three weeks for him. It has been a century for Diana. He wouldn’t have faulted her memory for getting blurry.

He feels her hand move through his hair once more. “I do.”

“What do you remember?” Steve traces a pattern over her shoulder with his fingers as the whiteness outside grows nearly absolute.

“Charlie singing,” Diana whispers, smiling.

“Somewhat off-key,” Steve adds with a chuckle, a low sound rumbling in his chest.

She laughs a little and he feels the curve of her lips when she brushes a kiss to his forehead. “Us dancing,” she continues.

“Swaying,” he corrects her like she did back then.

“Swaying,” she echoes, amused. “The room above the inn…”

This time, when Steve pulls back and props himself up on his elbow, Diana doesn’t stop him. His gaze trail over her face. He brushes her hair from her cheek, so drunk on her he can’t think straight.

“Yeah?” He smiles.

She grins back at him, and then laughs, her eyes crinkling, and the sound of it makes his heartbeat stutter and trip in his chest.

Talking about the past makes him realize how fleeting the present could be, and how uncertain the future is, no matter how carefully they plan it. There are reasons why this can’t work out, and reasons why it will. He decides that Diana’s smile belongs with the latter category.

Steve wants to live forever because he wants to never forget. Not anything, not a single thing. For other reasons, too, but mostly this, he thinks. Until she kisses him, and he forgets how to think for a long while.

—

Diana doesn’t have a Christmas tree. Doesn’t have a box of mismatched ornaments, either. Never has. All those years in his world, and parts of it are still as alien to her as they were when she first arrived there.

It comes up during dinner one night and is said in passing, without a hint of wistfulness – it never felt like her place, like her tradition to adhere to or her celebration to enjoy – before she moves on to telling him about her day.

Steve stares at her for a long moment, not quite sure how to feel about it, or what to say. It’s not a big deal, he knows that. In the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing at all. But maybe he could—

Maybe he could–

And just like that, Steve Trevor is a man on a mission again.

The last Christmas he can remember is the one from when he was 9, and his chest constricts with a rueful twitch even though the memory is blurred and frayed and out of focus. He hasn’t thought of that winter in so long that he can barely pull the images from the back of his mind – the candle-lit table and modest but delicious meal, the smell of food rich in his mind, and them sitting together at the table by the fireplace as the storm raged behind snow-frosted windows.

On impulse, he tries to conjure the sound of his mother’s voice but it fades off into nothing. Not even a hint of it left behind.

He wonders where those memories went and what took their place, and what happened before or after that made the magic fade. The war, he thinks. So much of it that for the longest time he didn’t know how anything else would ever fit. Good things, too. Friends and shared moments of connection; belly laughs when good spirit was all they had.

Disappointment cuts through him and he shakes his head, forcing himself to stay focused.

Steve hasn’t thought of Christmas in forever and a half. The war never took a break for celebrations, and besides, when each day they woke up and got to see the sun felt like a miracle, if seemed foolish to consider a holiday something special. Sometimes, he feels like the war has lasted for decades. Like it has never ended.

It is not about Christmas though, he decides in the end. Not really. Not in the general sense of things.

He knows he doesn’t need to earn Diana’s love any more than she needs to earn his – and god help him, she never did. He has loved her since the moment he met her. Maybe since before then even – he can no longer remember not feeling the burning tightness of it in his chest, the force of it thrumming in his veins. But it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t want to give her everything, and while laying the world at her feet and fetching each star from the sky might not necessarily be a practical plan, maybe he can start somewhere else.

Somewhere smaller, for now.

Steve has Diana’s credit card. He has only used it on groceries before, and – once – to buy her flowers. And even though she has told him many times that he can, he should, do whatever he wants with it, he has never taken her up on her offer before.

It is burning a hole in his pocket when he steps into the department store and reminds himself to breathe. The place is loud. It’s packed and full of colour and it sets him on edge (because apparently you can take a man out of the war but you can’t take the war out of a man). It makes him want to turn around and retreat to safety, wherever that might be.

Yet, there is no gunfire outside and no planes in the sky dropping bombs on the city. When hi heartbeat settles, he realizes that it is excitement that surrounds him, and so he squares his shoulders and marches on, wishing he’d made a list and worried that he will forget something.

“Is there something in particular you’re looking for?” A sales assistant whose name tag reads Jen asks Steve when she finds him gaping at the shelves and trying to wrap his mind around the choices that he doesn’t know how to make.

He blinks at her. “Huh?”

Is there?

The list would have been handy right now.

He thinks of Diana and the things that she likes – books with deep meaning but also comic strips in the morning paper and strong tea on cold nights, she likes breakfast food and wearing his shirts and having her hair down, and she really likes that thing that he does with his tongue—

Not helping.

Not helping at all.

Steve clears his throat, feeling the back of his neck grow hot.

Maybe he does need some help, just this once, because he has never felt this out of time in his life, and there is a very good chance that it will take him another hundred years to get used to the world that is no longer his, but he doesn’t have a hundred years. He only has two days.

—

He would have been surprised if everything went as smoothly as he planned so of course it doesn’t.

Steve is a decent enough cook as long as basic survival is concerned – he can assemble a mean sandwich, pour milk into cereal without spilling it, and no one makes those instant noodles like he does, hands down. However, cooking a meal is not the same thing, and even though he is fairly certain that is it not a complete disaster – hey, at least the kitchen is not on fire! – he is sceptical about the overall result.

He is debating the dilemma of lumps in mashed potatoes and whether or not it’s worth giving that mixer thing another try when Diana comes home earlier than he expected, pink-cheeked and with the snow melting on her wool coat.

He hasn’t noticed that it started again.

She is early and he hasn’t cleaned the cooking counter yet and the roast is going to need another half hour in the oven, provided he figured out how to use the damn thing correctly, and even though he knows that none of this has to be perfect – because nothing and no one is, except maybe for Diana herself but she would never agree with him if Steve told her that – he still wishes that he had more time.

For a long moment, Diana stands frozen in the doorway, her hand on the knob, her eyes moving over the Christmas tree that takes up the whole corner, adorned with bright ornaments that don’t look quite like those that Steve’s mother kept in the box that always made him think of pirates and hidden treasures, but they are shiny and pretty and, dammit, he tried his best. She takes in fairy lights strung around the room and two rather tacky-looking socks hanging over the fireplace and more ornaments that he attempted to be creative with.

(There is a present for her in one of the stockings, too. The best idea he could come up with on such a short notice that he didn’t have to pay for with her own money. It’s a braided leather bracelet that Chief made for him a while ago. He called it a good luck charm, and while Steve didn’t believe in luck, never had, he carried it with him. Perhaps because he has always believed in friendship and gratitude above all else.

He found it in the pocket of his pants the morning after Barry brought him back, the only thing he still had from his own time, aside from his father’s watch.

There is not much else he can give her, except for his heart maybe, but she already has it so a bracelet will have to do.)

“Steve,” Diana breathes, turning to him, and he is suddenly very aware of her apron that he is wearing and the flour on his hands and how half the kitchen is a mess while the other half is only a step above it.

“I thought you had a meeting,” he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind, and grimaces when it comes out like he doesn’t want her there. Because he does. He always does.

She smiles. “I cancelled it. It’s the last day before the holidays, I sent everyone home early.”

He nods and glances around in panic, his mind racing. He turns back to her and clears his throat.

“It was meant to be a surprise,” he confesses.

Diana presses her lips around a smile. “So I see.”

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” he adds.

“I figured.”

She steps into the apartment and closes the door, pausing for a second to notice a wreath framing the peephole. (Steve still can remember how they used to make those themselves but now one could buy a hundred wreaths of any shape and colour like it’s nothing, and for some reason, it is mildly disorienting.)

He fumbles with the apron belt until he can yank it off and tries to smooth down his hair—and great, now there is flour in his hair, too. Smooth, Trevor. Very smooth. This is not how it was supposed to happen, he thinks. He had it planned out, and…

And he doesn’t care about any of that, not one bit, because Diana crosses the hallway and walks over to him. She shrugs off her coat and drapes it over the back of the chair – and he catches the fresh scent of winter clinging to her clothes - before dipping her finger into a bowl of sauce he has been working on when she walked in.

“This is good,” she tells him after licking it clean.

Steve gapes at her, his jaw slack. She bites her lip, trying not to laugh, and it is suddenly more than he can handle. He reaches for her, his fingers curling around her hips to pull her closer until there is no space and no air left between them, and then he kisses her like it’s been months and not mere hours since the last time he did just that.

Diana kisses him back, her hands winding into his hair.

“You didn’t have to do so this, Steve,” she murmurs against his lips when he pulls back.

He rests his forehead against hers and traces his thumb along her cheekbone. “I wanted to.”

She smiles at him. “It smells wonderful.”

Steve makes a face. “Don’t say that until you’ve actually tried it,” he warns, his voice self-deprecating. “That… um, Google thing wasn’t very helpful, if I’m being honest.”

He feels her nails scratch through his hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re a marvel,” Diana whispers, shaking her head a little, and kisses him again.

—

They eat, and even though there could be fewer lumps in mashed potatoes and the roast could have used some more seasoning, it is not half as bad. So much so that Steve can’t help but feel all puffed-chest proud because everyone starts somewhere, and having a room to grow is not something to be ashamed of.

He can take a rifle apart and put it back together in his sleep, he survived the war – or almost did, at least; he is yet to figure out how to factor Barry’s assistance into the narrative – but up until a few hours ago he was someone who Charlie once labelled as “a man who can’t fry an egg to save his life”. The roast feels like an accomplishment. (So what if the apple pie is store-bought?)

Intrigued, Diana offers to help, but he waves her off, determined to finish what he has started. It’s the least he can do.

They eat with the music playing in the background, and Steve watches her in the candlelight with fairy lights twinkling above them, a small smile on her face. And he thinks that he would travel across a thousand years to fall in love with her all over again if he had to. If he could.

When he pulls out the bracelet, recognition sparks in Diana’s eyes. Recognition and understanding when she touches soft, worn leather, old memories flaring up in her mind. He watches them chase across her expression, her features softening.

“Steve.” She looks up at him, her thumb tracing the curves of the delicate braid.

She hasn’t known his friends like Steve knew them, but so can be said about him, too. All those years that she spent with them after the war…

He is suddenly very aware of the thread connecting them – with each other and with the past. Something that runs deeper than anything he has ever felt. Something that, he suspects, will still be there long after they are both gone.

“I know it’s not much…” Steve starts and trails off.

Truth be told, he knows nothing about current trends and fashions, or what one could give to a woman who seems to already have everything, and that’s the problem – there is so much that he wants to give her, but he is only a man. The only who loves her desperately and unapologetically, hoping and praying that it’s enough.

Diana is shaking her head. “It’s beautiful,” she assured him earnestly. “It’s–”

“From Chief, yeah,” he nods.

“I don’t have anything for you,” she says as he affixes it around her wrist.

She touches his cheek with her other hand, and when he raises his eyes, he finds her watching him, her expression odd in the way he can’t read. There are still moments like this sometimes, when she looks at him like she can see into his soul, and he wonders if she can find there something that she might not like.

He has never wanted to share more of himself with anyone than he does with her. He has never been more scared to do so, too.

“I have you,” he says simply, moving closer and reaching up to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear as he tries to bottle up the contentment that he feels around her so he can remember it for as long as he breathes. Knowing what Diana is and what she is capable of doesn’t make it easy for him to believe in magic, not entirely, but this moment - with the fire crackling in the grate and the smell of pine and cinnamon heavy in the air and the snow falling outside - is as magical as it can be. “What else can I ask for?”

“Flatterer,” she says, breaking into a smile so bright that it unravels the tight knot in his chest and he laughs before dipping his head to press his mouth to hers. She tastes of sugar and wine as she kisses him back, her hands on either side of his face.

He could do this forever, Steve thinks. Every day for a thousand lifetimes.

—

“Why would you do it?” Diana asked Barry the morning she and Steve left Gotham, their bags piled in the corner and Bruce yelling from the Batcave that the weather was about to turn for the worse and they should get going.

Barry stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his pants and looked down at his socked toes. Mismatched, Diana noted as she watched the tips of his ears turn red.

“I saw the photo,” he told her, grimacing a little, and her heartbeat stuttered in her chest.

She never knew he could do that, run faster than time itself, and even if she did, she would never have asked him to do this. Not for her, not for anyone else, not any more than she would have used her own powers for personal gain. And here he was, standing before her and looking like he was about to get chastised for giving her the greatest gift Diana could ever imagine.

Affection pooled in her chest, her throat tight with emotion.

“Barry…”

“And the watch,” he added quickly, looking up to meet her eyes. “That time, in the Batcave, you had that watch… which I assumed was his because it was all old and ugly—sorry,” he catches himself, “and I just–” he ran his hand over his hair, shrugging a little.

As if it explained everything.

As if it explained anything at all.

She smiled and moved toward him, wrapping her arms tightly around him, his body stiff for a moment because apparently the gesture came as a surprise. “Thank you,” she whispered into Barry’s ear as a bout of Steve’s laughter carried from the lounge. “Thank you for bringing him back to me.”

The memory feels weirdly old now.

It is impossible to believe that it has only been several weeks since he ran all the way back to 1918 to pull Steve out of the plane seconds before it went up in flames. Since Steve smiled at her from across Bruce’s living room and made a hundred years that had passed since that fateful night a century ago fall away, her time without him feeling like nothing but a faint dream.

There are still moments when she can feel his absence like a gnawing tug in the pit of her stomach, a chill running through her system when she least expects it. There are times when she wakes up in the dead of the night certain that it has all been an illusion. But the pain is not as sharp. It no longer takes Diana’s breath away or leaves her gasping for air, and all she has to do is roll over and reach for him to get all the reassurance that she needs that he is really and truly back.

The process is slow, but she is healing.

On Christmas morning, the world outside is quiet and white. Steve is in the kitchen, making hot cocoa for them – like they used to do in his family. With marshmallows – because he knows that she likes it that way. He is humming under his breath, and Diana smiles despite herself watching him from the doorway, her hands itching to smooth down his rather epic bedhead, his hair sticking out in every which way.

Last night, they did a puzzle, a thousand pieces strewn over the coffee table, and talked late into the night. They drank wine and danced to the melodic ballads about finding love and the miracles that happen on snowy nights. And then he took her to bed and made her forget what it felt like to be without him. Until her world was nothing but him.

Diana runs her index finger absently over the bracelet still wrapped around her wrist. She feels magic thrumming through it, ancient magic that has existed since before her time and will still do when there is no trace of her left in this world. And she wonders if Chief knew. If he knew to keep Steve safe until his time came to return to her. And she says a silent thank you to whatever gods that made it happen, to the stars that needed to align just the right way.

Steve turns around, two mugs filled to the brim in his hands with marshmallows bobbing on the surface. When he spots her, he smiles, and her very soul unfurls in her chest, taking up the space carved out by loneliness and heartache.

He puts the mugs down and walks over to her, his arms sliding around her waist. His grin is cheeky when he glances up, and Diana has a split second to follow his gaze and notice a sprig of mistletoe above their heads before his mouth captures hers.

When he kisses her, she feels safe. Like being lost and finding her way back to where she belongs.

“Merry Christmas,” Steve whispers when he leans back, and she can’t help but smile, her heart so full it might burst.

“How many of those did you put around the house, Steve?” She asks because it’s not the first mistletoe she’s come upon and she doubts that it’s the last one, either.

Not that she minds it, all things considered.

“Hey, it’s a tradition,” he protests without answering her question. “It’s what people do…” when they have no wars to fight. He trails off, and she feels like she is drowning and soaring all at once.

Man’s world finally feels like home.

#wonder woman #wondertrevsecretsanta #wondertrevnet #diana prince #steve trevor #wondertrev #my fic #secret santa #wondretrevedit #wwedit

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distractedhistotech · 5 years

Text

Ghost +1

Sydney was in the back of the van. She preferred it back there since she could move around more. Plus it felt weird staring out the window since losing her eye. She guessed it was the loss of depth perception. She was still learning how to gauge distance.

“So, that was kind of lame. Why did they think that guy was a ghost anyway?” asked Sydney as she tried to contact juggle some balls they had and dropped them all over the place. “He didn’t even put a lot of effort into his costume.”

“They were really superstitious,” said Arthur. “Only a few steps from being a cult when you think about it. They decide that anything strange has to have a supernatural or spiritual cause. Don’t even think there’s a scientific explanation because why couldn’t it be something that proves they’re right.”

“Arthur, you’re starting to ramble,” interrupted Vivi.

Arthur blushed. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. They were a bit…extreme,” admitted Vivi. “I can see why it would upset you.”

Mystery decided this was a good reason to lay his head on Arthur’s lap. Sydney then flung her arms around him. “Yeah! I thought they were creepy too!”

“Sydney! I’m driving!”

“Pretty sure they thought I was an idiot,” continued Sydney. “I mean that tone they used with me was just insulting! Just because I’m missing an eye doesn’t mean I’m an idiot! Lots of people are missing parts and are smart! I’m not a pirate!” Sydney paused. “Actually, there were some pretty intelligent pirates. I don’t know where I was going with that. I seem to come back to pirates a lot lately. I know why I do, but it’s getting kind of old. I need to find something else to obsess with when I get riled up.”

“You could go back to talking about comics,” suggested Vivi.

Sydney sighed. “Yeah, I miss that…Why do I have so much trouble bringing comics up nowadays? It used to be second nature, but now I have to focus to talk about them. Even though I still love comics. It doesn’t make sense. Is this part of growing up? Part of recovering from a traumatic event? Both? It feels like something’s wrong. But isn’t that normal now?” Sydney rested her forehead on the back of Arthur’s head, not noticing how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. “Do you ever feel like that?”

“Yes,” said Arthur. He’d felt like it since he woke up in a hospital missing an arm, missing a friend, missing memories, missing so much… “I don’t think it’s gonna go away.” Mystery let out a whine and licked one of Sydney’s hands.

Vivi looked between the two as the mood quickly started to darken. God, she just wanted her two friends to be happy like they used to be. She needed to find a way to change the subject and make them smile. “Why don’t we pick up a couple of pizzas or something and then watch a couple of hours of Star Trek or Star Wars or Captain America?”

Arthur caught on to what she was trying to do and smiled. “That would be nice. It’s been a while since we hung out.” He frowned. “That’s my fault.” He’d been busy looking for Lewis. He was trying not to ignore his remaining friends, but it was hard when he wanted to find the other one and mentioning him did…something to them.

“What the heck are you working on anyway?” asked Sydney. “You’re not usually this secretive. You’re not trying to make a mechanical eye again, are you?”

“No!...Not usually anyway,” admitted Arthur.

“I can see where he’s coming from,” said Vivi. “I don’t think we can buy another eye if something else goes wrong. We need an alternative method.”

Sydney shuddered. “Okay, point taken. Being blind sucked. I don’t know how someone can live with that for a lifetime. Especially if you’re born like that! Can you imagine never knowing colors? And I bet light doesn’t make a lot of sense either. And you can’t play videogames!”

“Can’t work on cars or fabricate parts,” continued Arthur.

“Probably can’t paint either,” mused Vivi. “Unless the various colors smelled different from one another.”

Sydney wrinkled her nose. “Is-Is that a thing? And I don’t mean synesthesia! Can blind people have synesthesia? Or deaf people? Or anyone missing one sense?”

“What if sounds are linked to smell instead?” suggested Arthur.

“Can that happen?”

“Dunno. Maybe.”

“Pigments are just a type of chemical compound, so it would make sense for them to have a scent,” said Vivi, keeping the conversation from veering off in a completely different direction for once.

“Depends on the chemical. Some don’t have a scent, or at least the scent is too faint for humans to pick up on,” explained Arthur.

“I dunno, I swear I was smelling more right before you fixed my eye,” argued Sydney.

“It’s not quite the same thing. When you lose a sense you pay more attention to the ones that are left, like reassigning roles. We get the most information from sight, so when someone loses their sense of sight they pay a lot more attention to little things that they didn’t even realize they were ignoring. Also, I think there’s some neuroplasticity involved. Your brain isn’t using the part that used to be for putting together what your eyes saw, so it starts using it for other things over time.” Arthur was silent for a moment. “Um. But you, uh, would know better than me, given, you know. Sorry, I got a little too into the science papers I’ve been reading.”

Sydney smiled and shrugged. “It’s fine. I think it’s pretty interesting, even if I don’t understand all of it.” She tapped her eyepatch. “Does losing an eye affect how much of my brain it uses?”

“Just one? I’m not sure. You are seeing less…”

“Can you still smell and hear more than you’re used to?” asked Vivi.

Sydney shrugged. “Dunno. I don’t think so. Was kind of distracted at the time. Plus, everything looked different when I could see again.”

Vivi huffed. “It is just so unfair. How is it that my abilities still haven’t manifested but my half of the eye lets you see spirits?”

“It is really strange,” agreed Sydney.

“Maybe it’s because your abilities are already active,” suggested Arthur. “And you do have some control over ‘em.”

Vivi hummed in thought. “That might be it. There are still so many unknowns…”

“Hey, I don’t care how as long as no one else has to go blind,” said Sydney. “Besides, I’m sure something will wake you up eventually.”

“Yeah, but what if I’m like 40 when it finally happens?” complained Vivi. “Heck, if I have kids by then, they might have gotten their power before me…”

Arthur winced. “Do you want kids?”

Vivi nodded. “Of course! One, maybe two. I just have to find the right guy,” she said, giving Arthur a significant glance.

Arthur missed said glance entirely as he was distracted by thoughts of what could have been. Sydney was blind on that side. The only one to notice was Mystery, who huffed. Why did life have to be so difficult for these kids? The last time he’d had charges this prone to trouble…

It hadn’t ended well. Mystery would rather not dwell on the depressing memories.

Vivi realized her hint had gone over their heads yet again and decided to just move on. “Do you guys want kids?”

“I want one! So there can be a Sydney Scoville III!” proclaimed Sydney. “But just one. Don’t think I could handle more than that.”

Arthur was silent. Lewis wanted kids. He’d be an amazing father with how well he handled his sisters. “I dunno if I want children. I don’t want to pass on any of my issues.”

Vivi and Sydney both frowned at Arthur’s reasoning. “Most of your issues are due to your early upbringing,” pointed out Vivi. “You wouldn’t make those same choices and mistakes. That would prevent most of those issues from happening.”

“They could still pick up the behavior from me,” argued Arthur. “There’s only so much that I can change.”

“I don’t think you need to change,” said Sydney. “I mean, yeah, you’ve got anxiety issues, but lots of people do. You’re also smart and nice and help people and have cool hair and stro-”

“What if I attract something dangerous?” interrupted Arthur.

“Then I’ll just keep living nearby,” reasoned Sydney. She’d live with him if he asked. “I mean, I don’t see why I would leave Tempo.”

“Me either. Tempo is our home,” agreed Vivi. She placed a hand on Arthur’s flesh and blood hand. “We’re stuck with each other. For life.”

Arthur felt himself cheer up a bit at that. He gave Vivi a smile and tried to give Sydney one as best he could. Maybe he was being selfish, but he wanted to stay close to his friends.

And then the dashboard started to spark. Arthur’s eyes widened. “What?! No, no, no…” He stomped on the gas several times but failed to pick up speed.

Vivi frowned. “Is something wrong with the van?”

“There shouldn’t be! I just performed maintenance on it!”

Sydney raised an eyebrow. “Am I the only one who thinks the purple sparks were weird?”

Arthur blinked. “Purple?”

Sydney nodded. “Yeah, I was staring right at the dashboard.” The high beam light looked like a jellyfish. “Definitely purple.”

“That is not a thing that should happen!” shouted Arthur.

Vivi nodded. “Electricity’s supposed to just be white, which suggests this isn’t normal.” The van came to a stop right in front of…Vivi blinked several times. “A dancing mansion?”

Okay, it wasn’t actually dancing. However, it was sort of pulsing/bopping to a beat that one could fell in their bones. It was noticeably run down and purple and had eerie lights in the windows.

“There’s no way that’s not haunted,” deadpanned Sydney.

“Erm…” Arthur tried turning over the car again. “We don’t, have to investigate, do we?”

Vivi thought of what happened last time they’d jumped into an investigation without any preparation.

Blood. Hospitals. Loss. Guilt.

“If you can get the van started, we’re leaving,” said Vivi. “Sydney, you’re not wearing your suppressor?”

Sydney shook her head. “Still practicing controlling it on my own.”

“Good. Don’t reign it in.”

Mystery just stared at the mansion. He recognized its aura. He could barely believe it.

When did Lewis come back and what did he have planned?

Lewis was planning to exact his revenge. The plan had been simple: Create a mansion on a road that they often traveled along near Tempo (He couldn’t get into Tempo, but that could be because of some of the wards Vivi had tried setting up.), lure the Mystery Skulls (especially Arthur) into the mansion, separate them, bring Arthur to his location, kill Arthur, and reunite with the girls and Mystery, with possible minor changes as were needed. He was also open to making Arthur confess what happened to the girls (They must not have seen what happened to just go along with him.) before killing him.

The plan started to unravel as soon as the van came to a stop in front of his mansion. Part of that was because instead of rushing into the mansion on the heels of Vivi like he was expecting, they stayed in the van. And stayed. A lot longer than he recalled them ever doing so when he was alive.

Part of it was indirectly Sydney’s fault. He’d known that her aura was potent against malevolent spirits and the like, but he hadn’t really appreciated it until he felt it pressing down on him. From all the way outside. He found himself rubbing his temples. Ow. No wonder the nastier spirits went out of their way to avoid her. He was actually leaking some energy. He could last for some time as long as he was careful, but theoretically, they could just stay in the van until he was too drained to keep them here. If they tried that, he’d have to go out and confront them. Not something he wanted to do, but if it became necessary…

Lewis wondered why he was being affected in the first place. He wasn’t evil…Well, okay, he did want to kill Arthur. That was justified, but maybe it was gray enough for Sydney’s ability to categorize him as malevolent. If that was the case, then it would probably stop after he killed Arthur and no longer had any desire to hurt someone.

Lewis was dragged from his musings as several figures started exiting the van. Finally! Lewis quickly started setting up the finishing touches of his plan.

It was time to end this.

Arthur had to admit defeat. “I’ll need to look under the hood, and I don’t want to do that in front of a haunted mansion.” He sighed. “I don’t wanna go inside either.”

Sydney had been staring at the mansion the whole time. She could see the music. And anger. This eye was so weird. “I think you’d be okay. Pretty sure my aura will reach that far.”

Mystery could confirm that her aura did extend that far and would retain enough potency to be effective. Not that he could tell them, but it was certainly a weight off his shoulders.

Vivi started handing out various items for protection and fighting. “It’s a tough choice. Stay out here alone but relatively safe or go inside with us to stay close to Sydney and me.”

Arthur groaned. If he was less worried about the girls’ safety he would stay outside, but he couldn’t help but worry that if he let them go inside that he would never see them again. It had happened before. Even if he couldn’t do anything to protect them, he could draw fire away from them.

“I think I’ll go with you guys,” Arthur decided.

Sydney and Vivi studied him for a moment before Sydney suddenly bit her thumb and smeared some blood in the center of his forehead. “Just in case.”

Arthur instinctively looked up with crossed eyes for a moment. “Uh. Okay. I guess that’ll work.”

“It should. There is power in blood,” said Vivi as she gave him some holy water and slipped a beaded necklace over his head and under his shirt. “We can try practicing making protective symbols with it too.”

Sydney chuckled. “Like an anime.” She nodded. “Anything that you think will help.”

Arthur fought down the urge to wipe at the blood on his forehead. “Can I just say that I don’t like having other people’s blood on me?” It brought back bad memories.

Sydney winced. “Oh. Sorry. Should’ve asked first, shouldn’t I?”

Arthur took a deep breath. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. You said it might help so it’s something to try.” The blood itched on his forehead. “But I am totally scrubbing it off when we get out of here.”

Vivi nodded. “Sounds like a decent enough compromise.” She handed an ofuda to Sydney. Sydney smeared some more blood on the back of it. “I don’t want either of you getting hurt again. You’re just starting to get back to where you were before.”

That made both of them wince. The last few months of learning to live with new handicaps had been difficult and frustrating in several ways. They didn’t want a repeat with themselves or Vivi or Mystery.

All four of them silently vowed to protect the others.

The walk up to the mansion’s front door took just a few seconds. Vivi knocked on the doors (She was concerned that the inhabitants would be excited by Arthur knocking and see Sydney knocking as a declaration of war.), which creaked open ominously. The inched in, the doors slamming shut behind them.

The darkness didn’t last long enough for them to pull out flashlights. Several purple wisps of fire floated by and lit candles lined along the walls and set on a chandelier.

Vivi absently noted that the layout kind of reminded her of the Spencer mansion, except a lot more purple.

“Sydney, stop humming.”

“Oops. Didn’t notice-”

Several purple ghosts suddenly popped up. “Who-o-o-o-oa!”

Most of the group immediately tensed up. Vivi didn’t immediately though. “Cute!”

They really were adorable…until more popped up behind them. “This time I might just disa-Who-o-o-o-who-o-o-oa!” They suddenly got pointy toothed with claws. “Oh yeah!”

Nope. They took off running down the hallway through break in the ghosts.

“This time I might just disappear!”

A suit of armor suddenly lunged towards them and swung an ax. Sydney and Vivi dove under the ax. Arthur vaulted over it. Mystery barely dodged it, having to use his kitsune magic to retract his head into his body.

“Gah!”

“Mystery!”

“)%$*&$^#$(%^)*%(&%*&$&!”

Mystery popped his head back out before any uncomfortable questions could be asked.

“Who-o-o-o-who-o-o-oa…”

They abruptly realized that the paintings lining the hall were moving. They suddenly leapt out. “Oh yeah!”

The Mystery Skulls leapt into each other’s arms. Thankfully, the portrait spirits pulled back into the paintings. “Who-o-o-o-oa…” And then the lady painting reached out and pulled a rope next to her painting.

A trapdoor opened under them. They fell down screaming, and things became bizarre, even by their standards. They weren’t falling as quickly as they should be. It was more like they were floating. Not to mention there were several random items in the space with them. A few hours later, they would comment on how it was oddly reminiscent of Alice in Wonderland.

They floated past several mirrors. Vivi was a bit confused by the fact that her reflection had completely purple eyes. From what Mystery could see in his cracked mirror they could see past glamours. Arthur was facing away from the mirrors so he didn’t see that they failed to reflect his prosthetic. Sydney did faintly notice this but was a bit distracted by how her reflection showed her right after her injury with her remaining eye leaking various colors from it.

Then Arthur’s fall suddenly sped up. Vivi and Sydney made to grab him, but just missed him. Then they noticed Sydney was falling even slower and tried to grab each other, but it was too late again.

Sydney let out an ‘oof’ and shot to her feet as she landed. “I’m armed!” she shouted, brandishing the ofuda. She turned around. There were a bunch of boxes, a dusty bed with no covers, and… a mannequin in a wedding dress and holding an ax? Sydney thought she was in the basement until she noticed some windows that she ran over to. She felt her brain short circuit. “How the *&^*) do you fall down into the attic?!”

Vivi and Mystery had landed in a kitchen where a pair of dagwood sandwiches were laid out on the center counter. The two stared at them for several moments but managed to pull themselves away. “Right. Separated…We should look for Arthur first. Sydney can take care of herself in this sort of situation.” Her stomach growled. Mystery’s growled even louder. “…I wonder if it would be safe to grab a few pieces.”

Arthur landed on his ass in what was probably the basement. He absentmindedly glanced upward in confusion (How did that work? Ghost logic was so weird.) before zeroing in on a large coffin with a skull and thorny vine design on the top of the lid. It was beating like the rest of the house.

Not good.

The coffin slowly opened, revealing a jawless skull floating above a large body in a nice suit.

Lewis narrowed his eye sockets as he floated out and slammed his feet in front of Arthur. He glared at his murderer, full of hate and anger.

Arthur stared in fear, unable to recognize his dead friend. All he saw was a scary, probably powerful, likely dangerous ghost that had separated him from his friends.

Lewis broke the silence by pointing a finger at Arthur. “Fuck, it’s you I hate the most.”

Arthur gulped and pointed at himself. “Buh-buh-Why?”

It was a reasonable question from Arthur’s point of view. Lewis…it did occur to him that he wasn’t as recognizable without his face. He lit the braziers and let his hair form. “Does this answer your question?!”

No, it didn’t, but Arthur decided he wasn’t going to explain that this was a case of mistaken identity to a ghost that probably wasn’t going to listen. He threw the vial of holy water, turned on his heel, and ran.

Lewis did recoil a bit at the holy water. He was a fire ghost. Water stung even if it wasn’t holy. Then he threw it off, decided this was proof of Arthur’s guilt, and gave chase.

Arthur was in good shape (He didn’t understand how he was still so healthy when he’d been hospitalized and locked in his workroom so much for the last few months.) and used to running from scary things. He glanced behind him and saw the ghost practically flying towards him. No more glancing back. He put on a burst of speed.

Oh, hey, Vivi and Mystery. “Angry ghost! Run!”

Vivi and Mystery looked away from the sandwiches they were still debating eating. They looked in the direction Arthur came from, threw the sandwiches at the angry ghost, and ran after Arthur. Lewis didn’t bother trying to avoid the sandwich contents and flew right through them.

“We need to find Sydney!” shouted Vivi.

“Where is she?!” shouted Arthur.

“I don’t know!”

Mystery could feel that Sydney had ended up in the attic and was managing to work her way down. He pulled ahead and ran up some stairs, Arthur and Vivi close behind him. They ran through a bunch of doors and rooms.

Sydney heard the racket and threw open the door of the room she’d wandered into. “Angry Elvis ghost!”

That threw Lewis for a loop. “Elvis? Are you kid-” He saw the eyepatch. “What happened to your-”

Sydney threw an ofuda at him. Lewis yelped and pulled it off. That hurt!

“You stay away from Arthur!” demanded Sydney.

That hurt almost as much as the ofuda. “You don’t get it. He-”

Vivi darted back and grabbed Sydney. “What’re you waiting for?!” She then dragged Sydney off.

Okay, Vivi and Sydney didn’t know about his murder. Somehow. Maybe it was post traumatic amnesia or something. Clearly, this needed to be remedied. Also, why was Sydney wearing an eyepatch? She wasn’t wearing an eyepatch for the heck of it. There’d been scars peeking out. He gave chase, now equally intent on telling Vivi and Sydney what happened along with killing Arthur.

He threw fire to keep Arthur from moving down a hallway. Arthur turned and stared at him fearfully. Lewis felt his desire for vengeance clawing up his heart.

And then Vivi and Sydney put themselves between them, Vivi with her arms outstretched as if to shield Arthur as much as possible, Sydney with her hands up as if she was prepared to fight him.

This was wrong. Vivi and Sydney were supposed to be on his side. He wasn’t the enemy! He just needed…Maybe…Yes. That would work. He willed his anchor towards them.

They just needed to see the proof of who he was, that they knew him.

The flames died down. Arthur was certain he knew the way to the front door from this spot. He grabbed Vivi and Sydney and booked it.

Vivi and Sydney glanced back once.

Mystery made sure to take up the rear.

Lewis stared in disbelief and heartbreak as his murderer and the love(s?) of his life and (more than) best friend.

And his anchor fell and broke.

And Lewis switched to frustration and anger and despair and why did this happen to him?! Why why why?!

He screamed, pouring his everything into it as his fire erupted around him.

The living Mystery Skulls barely made it through the doors in time to avoid being burned alive. Mystery might have had something to do with it. They rushed to the van. “Go go go!”

Arthur revved the van. It started. “I’m going!”

They peeled out of there.

None of them saw the figure watching them from one of the high windows. Lewis watched as the van drove away. He pressed down on his cracked anchor and looked at the picture inside.

It was from shortly after he and Vivi started dating. He had an arm around Vivi, who was hugging him. Sydney had an arm thrown over his shoulder while he used his free arm to support her. No Arthur. The three of them were smiling and happy and whole and alive.

They could never go back to that.

Lewis barely noticed the tear running down his face as he finally passed out and returned to his anchor, the house fading around him.

#MSA + 1 #msa+1 #Mystery #Vivi #Arthur #Lewis #Ghost #mystery skulls #extra member #au #grrlpowercomic au #What am I getting into?

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amidthedust · 5 years

Text

Alarm; pt2

There are days when it was my fault.

There are days where the sickest parts of me

Tell me I am worse than my rapists.

Nightmares ring in the lowest days, always,

The first lit torch in a line of unlit torches,

There is always an alarm.

There are always signs, before the walls all cave in.

Nights where I wake up and can only breathe,

Nights where I think my breathing is part of the nightmare,

Nights where I wake up more aware than ever

That I am not supposed to be breathing,

Prayer to any God or Goddess or Diety that might still be awake

To tear air from my lungs and light from the room,

Warmth from my body, memories from my skull,

Life from my heart,

Because, fuck,

I am worst than my rapists.

What kind of monster

Turns someone into a rapist?

What kind of monster can

Create demons out of simple honest men

With words and truth alone?

What kind of monster would rather there be

More monsters in the world,

Than keep fire and sulfur and acid in its lungs?

Four is supposed to be a lucky number,

So sometimes I think about that, about how funny it is

That four different people claimed my body against my will,

For 16 years, four by four, shouldnt that be so fucking lucky?

That four different people who never knew about each other

Could all see in me flesh to be claimed and kept and dirtied,

And I tried so hard to be clean, again,

Tried so hard to remove whatever label in my skin

Marked me as for sale, or as free for the taking,

Scrubbed my skin raw,

Tried to bleed the sickness out of me,

Threw up till I saw blood when it didnt fucking work,

But never stopped feeling sick,

Never got the sickness out of me,

Couldnt ever get any of it out of me.

Almost four years after the last time I saw any of them in person,

I still get scared, sometimes.

If 4 of 7 of the close male family members I ever knew

Would claim their right to skin I never thought I'd need to protect from them.

Doesnt it make sense, then, for me to fear the majority?

I get scared on the bus, sometimes,

I cant walk into crowds at the grocery store, sometimes,

I cant grab a fucking onion because a strange man is standing in front of the onions and fuck, the odds arent in his favor,

I wouldnt want him to be turned into an assailant,

Into an attacker,

Into a rapist.

When they teach you rape, if they teach you rape,

They tell you to run, kick, fight, yell, scream, mace, call for help,

Say no,

Get out of the alley way, but,

I have never been molested or raped in a place I wouldnt ever have to go back to.

They dont tell you about the shutting down,

Or how the alarms start sounding like you're under water,

How that turns into feeling like you're under water,

How hard it is to scream, or yell, or fucking say no

When the waters in your throat and you forget how to speak,

When it's your father raping you,

The no should be implied, and you know it is,

Which means no means nothing, wouldnt mean anything but-

More danger, or pain, or threats,

You dont want to make him angry, do you?

You already turned him into a monster, haven't you?-

Which means nobody has taught you what to say

Which means you drown, and you fucking drown,

And you can feel digging, somewhere, and you imagine someday

You'll bury yourself in a swamp, somewhere,

Preserve your body and all of its damaged dirt,

Because you know you, or some important part of you,

Has already died, right?

Will always be trapped, preserved in that moment, anyway, wont it?

Maybe someday, some scientist in some lab

Will find your body,

Will see the mud caught in your throat,

The mud that choked and suffocated and killed and maybe

Theyll break through it, and some scream, or some No,

Will finally get out of you, and maybe

They will cry for you, as hard as you will learn to, someday.

Or maybe theyll break through the mud in your ears and all that will escape is the moment;

The sound of ringing alarms and a whispered

"You know we're gone past that now."

There are days when it is my fault.

There are days when I look in the mirror and see a monster,

See mad scientist,

See a creature who creates rapists in weak men

After all, they are only doing what weak men do, arent they?

There are days when it is my fault,

There are days

When I look in the mirror and see Little Girl.

Little girl is still named Ariel, and hasn't ever liked that, much,

Wont tell you her middle name because shes been trained

To hate her mother enough to hate that part of herself.

But she loves to swim, and loves her brother,

Someday she's gonna go to Penn state, you know.

Someday she's gonna be a forensic scientist, you know.

She really wants to learn how to skateboard, someday.

Shes already been hurt by 3, but 4 is such a lucky number,

Isnt it? I survived 3, but still know 4 was the number that

Finally Fucking killed me.

There are days when Ariel looks up at me and I want to warn her;

I want to tell her to fucking Run.

Run, dont look back, dont trip, dont tell anyone where you're going, dont tell anyone who you are;

There are days where I think

If I could just reach hard enough into the mirror,

I could put my hands around her throat,

And save her,

Like she couldn't save us, back then.

Stop her from creating Rapists of Rapists,

Save her, and save me, and save us,

Save everyone who has ever known us Hurt,

Known us Damaged Goods,

Waste of Time,

Too Much Trouble.

There are days when it is my fault.

Someday, I know, really,

That I'll have to forgive her,

Me.

She was so small, then.

But there are days when the only things I still

Have in common with her are as follows;

I love to swim, I love my brother,

I want to learn to skateboard, someday,

And

The trauma.

Sometimes I wonder if she did die.

If she did save herself, at the expense of dying and leaving me

Behind.

I cannot bring myself to hold that against her.

Someday I hope I can forgive her, me;

My father would still be a rapist if I had never talked about it,

The only difference would be that maybe my brother

Could have forgiven me for leaving, if I never had;

If I'd told him the lies they passed on about drugs and drinking

Were true.

That I was an addict and I ran away to do heroine like my mom.

I hope someday I can forgive myself

For telling the truth,

And creating rapists.

Everyone likes a happy ending,

Logan has always loved superhero stories,

And beating addiction

Sounds better than seeing a rapist in your own father.

There are days when it is my fault.

When it is all my fault, every moment of it,

Every hand on my body, every finger inside me,

Every nightmare and stolen inhale,

Every tear and "I'm sorry" and "dont touch me"

Every unpurchased fucking onion;

It's all my fault.

I still have the shirt I was wearing the first time it was my father.

A tattered greenday shirt, worn, faded, just a t shirt.

Sometimes when I get caught up

Thinking it as his fault that he raped me,

I put it on, and remember silence,

Remember fear, failure, weakness, smallness,

Remember Ariel thinking it wasnt really happening,

Being too afraid of pre established violence to react.

It was my fault, today.

At least,

Today I feel like it was my fault.

But I'm wearing my shirt, and its smaller on me than it was,

Then.

I'm trying to focus in that, instead.

How small she was.

#personal #writing #mine #poetry #tw #twviolence #twsuicide #twtrauma #twabuse

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hcrris · 5 years

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can ….. i come in ????? have been watching unbreakable kimmy schmidt for 3 hours pretending time isnt passing , life isnt real and in fact.. i am dreaming (-: lajdfksl hey <3 im jay im 21 and i love those instagram profiles of hamsters in little clothes ( when they got little purses? ???? dont talk to me im cryin. ) below u will find info about jane harris aka literally the vine of the little kid scribbling hard like his life depended on it. shes a mess ?? but a semi enjoyable mess. a mess with good intentions. if u want to establish some connections, LIKE THIS and i will come annoy u <3 alternatively u can ease my social anxiety and msg me here or through my discord sencha tea#4035 (و ˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و♡

( lily collins, cis female, she/her. ) — jane harris has been a medina complex resident for three years, now. they’re twenty-three years old, and they tend to avoid making eye contact. sometimes when i walk by B06, i hear cherry-coloured funk by cocteau twins playing. lately, i’d say they’re pretty effervescent, but sometimes that’s overwhelmed by the fact that they’re neurotic. i mean, they usually pay their rent on time, though, and that’s most important fact here.

repeatedly fixing the apartment number on the door when it swings down to a nine, a split moment of shadow after the radiance of laughter, carl sagan’s pale blue dot, a life of frequent minor accidents, constant hunger for balance overshadowed by emotional turbulence.

🇧🇦🇨🇰🇬🇷🇴🇺🇳🇩

TW ALCOHOLISM EMOTIONAL ABUSE DEPRESSION & ANXIETY !!!!! ok moving on

her parents met in art school in paris.. her mom is french and studied art history while her dad was an exchange student from california with a skewed artist mentality. it was that saccharine, toxic sort of love. her mom always felt like she needed to be the guardian angel in the relationship who would always hold him up when he was feeling down and he was feeling down….. a lot. because she was putting all that energy to save her relationship, she was drowning too but never enough to walk away. there was a lot of love there but it was twisted and uncomfortable at times

when they found out jane was on the way, it felt like they needed to suddenly grow up. her mom was ready to make changes, adapt to the new lifestyle. her dad, on the other hand, urged they rethink if this is what they want but he didn’t push for abortion.. he understood it was jane’s mothers choice to make and reassured that he would be there for the both of them no. matter. what.

but ??? the reality was he felt trapped by the idea of a child and he struggled to acknowledge and accept how quickly his life was flipping upside down and how he lost all control of it. he wanted to travel around europe ???? soak in nature, daydream and make art . but jane’s mom wanted to settle. instead of embarking on adventures after graduating, they decided to move to california.

things just seemed to fall apart like domino from then on. janes mom was lead astray.. thinking that what california would bring them was stability but instead, it was all chaos. they rushed to get married .. turned out janes father wasnt on good terms with his parents. he was irresponsible financially, put both his parents in huge debt, was blinded by his ego to ever realise his mistakes. lied constantly .. convincing janes mom that there’s light going forward. that once he finds a sponsor for his art .... once he sells his first piece ... once they see in him what he always saw in himself , he was going to make it right. and he reassured he would make it right for jane.

janes mom was so pathetically in love that she pushed through .. living in a sort of imagined world, believing that things were better than they actually were. and her dad was good at persuading that narrative. he would come home with a pocketful of cash and the bills paid. oftentimes, it was all an act. his art wasn’t selling and a lot of what he bragged about was borrowed or stolen. behind the curtain, he was absent and unmotivated. he would come home in the evening claiming that the whisky breath was celebratory but in reality, he was complaining to the barman two blocks away about how his life feels monotone .. like a french black and white movie.

the day of jane’s birth was a whole mess. her father decided to drive her mother to the hospital, knowing he had one too many. they were caught for speeding and while janes dad spent the night at a nearby station for driving under influence, her mom was at the back of a cop car, crying for one too many reasons .. jane decided to hang on for a little while longer and was born at 3am the following night. cradled in her mothers arms and her dads voice humming on the line

jane would only ever hear the romanticised version of this story from her mother. this ??? fucked up sense of security that no matter what, love conquers all. that love means supporting each other, loving each other extra when everything else falls apart. but truth is.. her mother was forced to give up her own dreams, lost all connections to her past, worked days and nights at a nursing home to support her family and pitch in to her husbands alcoholism while she’s at it. making excuses that jane was too young to contradict. all while the only source of happiness for her father was the haziness of his evenings, when he felt like floating and he could barely hold onto to his paintbrush. he was a stranger living in their basement .. more than he was ever a father

growing up, jane watched her mother mask her depression. carry empty bottles out from the basement, trying to hide it from jane .. it brought her shame. she was doing the same thing to jane that he was doing to her for all these years .. consistently expressing a certain attitude, this unwavering satisfaction for the life they are living and so ... it hardens. you start to believe it. except unlike her mother, jane was observant.. she had other lives around her to compare to her own, voices of reason that pierced through the skewed perception her mother drilled into her skull. when jane grew into her skin, she felt so ... disgusted and angry. she tried to pull her mother out of her fantasy but nothing worked.

through her high school years, she felt helpless .. her home life was a nightmare and she made every possible attempt to stay out of it for as long as possible. she took on jobs and extracurriculars .. stayed at her friends’ house until she couldn’t. and she would think.. think so hard, she would start crying. pushing her own problems away .. in her head, she would imagine herself in a different skin, a different place. it was the only way she could calm her breathing. only to have to battle the same thoughts the following morning

after graduating high school, jane went to community college for product management got a job offering after her placement at a big company and moved out shortly after ( and MOVED IN to medina... can i get a yee yee ) .. she got insurance for the first time in her life and eats too many of free pizza slices at work to save up on groceries every week <3

she doesn’t visit her parents bc she no longer feels like her mother is on her team. she’s lived a maddening and terribly draining life and living alone has brought her deserving peace.. although she’d rather keep contact with her mother to a minimum, its obvious that jane is her mothers anchor. if she feels as though her daughter is not fighting for her, she breaks down.. as much as jane wants to run away from her past, it always seems to catch up

if ur still reading literally who are u lafjdkl. ill be done schoon ..... oof

🇨🇭🇦🇷🇦🇨🇹🇪🇷 🇹🇷🇦🇮🇹🇸

if they are friends ... jane. will. talk. ur. ear. off. but probably not for the right reasons lol .. she has never been assessed by a professional, isn’t taking any treatment but she definitely needs it :( shes a chronic overthinker.. the voice in her head keeps chattering away most of the time which gets a little nauseating. she hates silence and feels like she needs to fill it with words. she often says the wrong things .. to the wrong people ... at the WRONG time and she is very aware of it. its the culprit for her self doubt and struggle to open up emotionally to the people shes close to. shes very critical towards herself, she micro analyses everything from the way she acts, the way she looks and what she says. shes also not a fan of confrontation !!!!!!!BUT!!!!!!!!!!!

she is a FIREBALL when she stands up for others. i dont know how she hasnt gotten into a physical fight yet. she would literally rip ur side mirror off ur car if u didnt wait for an old lady to cross the street. is intense in every possible way. if shes angry, shes angry and impulsive and out of control, when she is in love, she feels it in her bones and simultaneously wants to rip her hair out, when she’s passionate about something, she is persistent until she isn’t and when she loses motivation, everything feels bleak .. theres never any emotional balance, even though she fights so hard for it every day

likes sci fi movies .. literally when they are Floating in space ???? SIGN! JANE! THE! FUCK! UP! letterboxd is probably her favorite app. sometimes she will post a review, read it over and over, find something wrong with what she said and then delete it. shes very neurotic. she either has good days where she can comfortably be herself or bad days, when it feels like everyone is judging her every move when in reality. ... it is always .. all in her head.

and she is mostly in her head. she creates fantasies of her life, relationships platonic and romantic and as a result, nothing ever seems to measure up. she feels secure in her fantasies but oftentimes when it hits her that they are just that, fantasies, she ... feels really alone.

will trip over her own feet . has like 5 bruises from washing the dishes </3

she works as a part of a product design team in a big company.. probably has the knowledge to move up the tier but does not have the courage to stand up for herself . she doesnt believe in herself and is kind of a pessimist .......

got high one night and decided she wants to start an uber ....... only for women. but doesnt think its a good ide a (its a good idea. id like to think in 10 years time ... bitch made it)

really weird. likes eating broad beans and frozen strawberries .. will literally eat a lemon.

she will have different interests every week but never seems to be any good at anything ???????????? makes her sad.

claims tidying up with marie kondo changed her life LAKJDSKLDJ

*draws curtains* anybody else tired?

#mediocre.intro #»-.-°-ỽ-⸰-ｓｈｕｔ-ｕｒ-ｔｒａｐ-⸰-ỽ-°-.-«#4 hrs ago : yea ...... i could finish this intro in like 2 hours :) why not. whats gonna stop me ???? writing doesnt take that long.#it takes literally ?? 2 miliseconds. lol .......#im shtupid !!!!! have to take a shower. this is longer than all shakespeare plays combined.#if u read this im manifasting a good year for u.

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